Paper Hearts

12

Looking back on it now, the plan to meet Luke Callaway in the theatre was not the best idea I could have come up with. But, at the time, it was all I had.

So there I was. Alone, sitting in the leather chairs facing the empty stage, dust filtering from the bright, Broadway-style lights that buzzed whenever they were overheating. A stack of discarded scripts sat in a corner, and in the other was the sound booth.

It had seemed like the perfect meeting place. After all, Grayson hadn't had a school production in years, not after the drama department was shut down due to budget cuts. Now it was just an empty room, only used occasionally for classes or a study hall period. Other than that, there was nothing—and no one—that could possibly bother us here.

I checked my watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was nearing 4:15, and there was still no sign of Luke.

I restrained from calling him, worried that I'd sound like some sort of mother hen who hovered over him whenever he was late, and passed the time by sorting out the carefully-printed sheets of paper that I had worked so diligently on the night before.

You see, I am the type of person who always needs a plan. Therefore, when it came to this—The Fake Boyfriend Scandal of Two-Thousand and Sixteen—things were no different. In my hands, I held several notes, pointers, and everything I could possibly think of to help Luke and I survive the coming weeks and—what's more—the week of the wedding.

I had enough information and notes to fill an encyclopedia, which must have been pretty obvious, because the second Luke Callaway arrived, he shook his head.

"Victoria, what is that?" he asked, gesturing to the stack of paper in my lap.

"You're late." I said crisply, sidestepping the question.

"For what, homework?"

"Ha ha," I drawled sarcastically, patting the chair beside me. "Take a seat."

He did, and I tried not to take notice of the warmth of his fingers as our hands brushed ever-so-slightly.

Clearing my throat, I turned to him, arching a brow as he tilted his head in attempt to read the words on the pages. I rolled my eyes, snapping my fingers to regain his attention.

Once I did, I began.

"These are the details that we'll have to go over in order for this to be a successful plan," I announced, my voice cool and somewhat automated. "I have listed here—"

"Have you been reciting this?" Luke cut in, with a snort.

"No," I protested, and after a slight pause, "Yes."

"Victoria—"

"Wait, wait, hear me out!" I said, the desperation in my tone becoming more and more evident. "I swear, I know it looks like a lot, but seriously, we need to think things through. I've searched up plane tickets, and—"

"Hold up. Who said anything about plane tickets?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, Luke, you didn't expect us to drive all the way to Florida, did you?"

The look I earned at this was answer enough. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Look, you don't have to worry about expenses. Mom's got it all covered. You just have to show up."

But my joking manner wasn't good enough, apparently. Luke's face seemed to be going white.

"It's not the cost I'm worried about," he said, quietly, and I furrowed my brow.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Okay," I said finally, after a few moments of uneasy silence. "Um, anyways, there's obviously some things we'll need to know about each other. You know, in order to pass off as a...uh..."

"A couple?" Luke finished, and I laughed, hating myself for blushing.

"Yeah. That."

"What kind of things do we need to know about each other, then?"

"Oh, you know," I said, waving a dismissive hand as I frantically searched through my notes. Once I found the pages titled Questions to Ask, I gave a tight smile. "The basics."

"Like?"

"Uh," my gaze dropped to the questions, and I began reading them off. "For instance...what's your favorite color? Do you have any pets? Coffee or tea? Chocolate or cheese?"

Luke laughed then, casting his eyes upward as he said, "Red. My dog's name is Marvin. Um...coffee. And—cheese, I guess. I don't have much of a sweet tooth."

"More for me," I muttered, and he acted like he didn't hear me, although I saw a brief smile dance across his face.

"What about you?" he asked, and I looked up, slightly taken aback.

"Oh," I stated. "Um...purple. No pets. I don't like coffee or tea, so I guess the answer's hot chocolate. And, as a follow-up to that statement, chocolate. Cheese can throw itself off a cliff, for all I care."

"Interesting." He murmured, and I shrugged nonchalantly. "Remind me why we need to know these things again?"

"In case anything comes up in conversation," I scoffed. "If neither of us knows anything about the other, we're doomed."

"Right. Because your family is going to immediately interrogate me, in case they're suspicious of the truth behind our relationship."

"You have obviously never been in the same room as my mother," I said, and that earned a laugh, albeit the fact that I was being dead serious. "Anyways, let's keep going. What do you want to do with your life?"

At this, I was met with a shocked expression.

"That's...that's kind of deep, isn't it?" he asked, pushing the words through a laugh, and I shrugged.

"Only if you take it that way. I don't know...what's your dream career? Is there anywhere you want to travel to?"

"A career in running would be nice," he said, after a moment of contemplation. "Although I doubt that will ever happen. And I've always wanted to go to London."

"Me, too," I said, oddly pleased by this tidbit of personal information that we now shared. "I've heard it's beautiful."

"And the accents," he said, and that made me laugh out loud. "What?"

"Nothing," I replied, waving him off. "You're absolutely right. The accents are probably the best part."

"Yeah, well. Next question?"

My finger moved absentmindedly down the list, landing on a question towards the very end.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Texas." He replied, and I arched a brow.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Lived there until I was about five, and then we moved to Louisville, and now we're here."

"Huh."

"How about you?"

"Grayson." I replied flatly. "It's always been Grayson."

Before I could allow myself to think about that fact (it just made me sound so unbelievably boring), I moved on.

"Um...do you have a favorite ice cream flavor?"

He opened his mouth to speak, and I intervened quickly, "Other than vanilla."

He pulled a face, and I sat back triumphantly, pleased that I was forcing him to think. After a while, however, the silence began to get annoying.

"Come on, it's ice cream," I said, through a groan. "It took you less time to tell me what you want to do with your life than this."

"This is a very important question, Victoria. It requires a lot of thought."

"Does not."

"For you, it does."

"That's different," I replied, casting him a sideways glance.

"Yeah?" he asked, and the tone in his voice was challenging. "How so?"

"It just is."

"Fine." Luke said finally, tapping his chin in mock thought. "It's Oreo."

"Jesus," I muttered. "All that time wasted on such a trivial flavor."

"What's wrong with Oreo?"

"What isn't wrong with Oreo?" I retorted. "First off, it's called Cookies and Crème. Secondly, the cookie to cream ratio is far from proportionate. I mean, you might as well order vanilla ice cream with a side of crumbs. And don't even get me started on—"

"Woah," Luke interrupted, with a loud laugh. "Okay. I won't pick fights with you about ice cream flavors."

Upon realization that I'd probably sounded like a lunatic, I averted my gaze.

"Sorry." I muttered.

"Don't be. It's cute."

At this, I couldn't help but shoot him a sideways glance, unsure of whether to be annoyed or flattered. Weirdly enough, I felt a bit of both.

Shaking the thought away, I cleared my throat, turning back to Luke as I said,

"You ready for the next question?"

________

It was a full hour and a half until we decided that we had done enough—for one day, at least. I packed up my notes, satisfied with the things that we now knew about each other, which ranged from ambitions to favorite songs.

Right when we were exiting the school, beginning to walk out into the parking lot, I watched as he approached his truck, and I lingered a few steps behind, not quite sure what to do. Dad had the car, and the walk home was going to be a long one, but the last thing I wanted to do was intrude.

As Luke climbed into the front seat, I gave a tiny wave.

"See you tomorrow," I said. "Same time, same place."

His eyes glinted in the afternoon sunlight as he glanced down at me through the rolled-down window.

"Aren't you coming?"

Yes, I thought, but out loud, I said,

"Oh, you don't have to. Really, I'm fine."

This earned me a skeptical glance as he said,

"Victoria."

I blew out a breath.

"Fine."

I crossed to the passenger's seat, sliding in and shutting the door closed behind me. When I looked up, Luke caught my eye and smiled.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and I nodded my head.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Hey," he said, placing a hand on my forearm. "Don't worry about it, okay? You're doing great. Everything's going to be okay."

Just keep on telling yourself that.

"Okay," I said, with a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

And he started up the engine, pulling away from the school and out onto the open road, adjusting the mirrors and turning on the radio.

Everything's going to be okay, I told myself, and despite the fact that I desperately wanted to believe it, I couldn't.