The Rumor Machine
1201 Words
Elyse
Walking into school with Caleb at my side had become routine over the past week, but that didn’t make the stares any less suffocating. Girls still gave me dirty looks sharp enough to cut skin. Guys smirked like they knew something I didn’t. And Mia? Well, Mia was practically bouncing beside us, whispering commentary under her breath like a sports announcer narrating a championship game.
“Look at that—two sophomores just turned around mid-step to stare. That’s a record.”
“Stop keeping score,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered back. Then, after a dramatic pause: “But also, Ely, your life is literally a w*****d story now. I can’t not document this.”
Caleb, walking just a pace ahead of us, shoved his hands into his pockets like he didn’t hear a thing. Typical.
By the time we reached my locker, I was already exhausted. Caleb leaned casually against the one next to mine, which only fueled the whisper fire.
“You know you don’t have to escort me everywhere, right?” I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to deal with Sofia alone?”
I flinched. Point taken.
Still, it grated on me—this unspoken assumption that I needed protection. Sure, Sofia Villanueva had all the charm of a venomous snake in stilettos, but that didn’t mean I wanted to look helpless.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “But you’re making me look like I can’t function without you.”
“Good,” he said simply, his tone flat. “That’s the point.”
I slammed my locker shut a little harder than necessary. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here we are.”
I wanted to scream.
The first major misunderstanding came courtesy of our English teacher, Ms. Ramirez, who had a twisted sense of humor.
“As part of our midterm assessment,” she announced, “you’ll all be working on group projects. Two people per group. You’ll write and perform a dramatic scene that explores conflict resolution.”
I could practically hear Mia’s squeal three desks away. Conflict resolution? With my fake boyfriend? The universe was mocking me.
Of course, Ms. Ramirez had the brilliant idea of assigning partners randomly. So when she pulled out a slip of paper and read,
“Elyseana Reyes and… Caleb Del Vega,” I nearly fell out of my chair.
Mia actually fist-pumped in victory.
Caleb looked unbothered, because of course he did.
When class ended, he sauntered over to my desk. “My place or yours?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“For the project,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh. Right. Um.” My brain scrambled. The thought of going to his house felt like stepping into a lion’s den. But inviting him into mine? With my parents? No thanks.
“My place,” I decided quickly. “Friday after school.”
“Fine.” He walked off without another word.
I stared after him, wanting to strangle him and myself at the same time.
By the time Friday rolled around, I’d rehearsed how I was going to act cool about the whole thing. Spoiler: I failed.
The moment Caleb walked into my house, my mom’s eyes lit up like she’d just been told BTS was performing in our living room.
“Oh! So this is the Caleb we’ve heard nothing about!” she exclaimed, smiling way too brightly.
I froze. “Mom!”
“What?” she said innocently. “I’m just saying hello. It’s polite.”
Caleb, ever composed, gave her a polite nod. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Reyes.”
Cue my mom’s delighted gasp.
“You have manners!” she whispered to me as if it were the juiciest gossip in the world. “And he’s so handsome, Ely! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Because he’s not my real boyfriend, Mom, I wanted to scream. Instead, I dragged Caleb upstairs before she could pull out the baby albums.
When we finally settled in my room, I crossed my arms. “Rule two, remember? Don’t talk about us. That includes my parents.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, sitting down on my desk chair like he owned the place.
“You didn’t have to,” I muttered.
Working on the project should have been simple—we just had to write a short skit about resolving a conflict. But of course, we couldn’t agree on anything.
I wanted something lighthearted. He wanted something dark and broody.
“Not everything has to end in tragedy,” I argued, waving my notebook.
“Not everything has to be a joke either,” he countered coolly.
“It’s not a joke! It’s creative. It’s fun.”
“It’s unrealistic.”
We glared at each other across the room, and for a moment, it felt like we were already performing a conflict scene.
Finally, I huffed. “Fine. Compromise. We’ll do it my way—but with your serious ending.”
He tilted his head, as if considering whether to argue. Then, to my surprise, he smirked. “Deal.”
Just when I thought we were done for the day, my mom called from downstairs: “Ely! Dinner’s ready! Caleb, you’re joining us!”
I froze. “No, he’s not—”
But Caleb was already standing. “I don’t mind.”
I shot him a glare, but he just followed me down to the kitchen like it was nothing.
Dinner was… torture.
My mom asked him a hundred questions, from his favorite food to his college plans. My dad, usually quiet, actually leaned forward, intrigued. And my little brother? He decided to whisper, “Wow, Ely, you finally got a boyfriend,” loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
The worst part? Caleb played along. He was polite, respectful, even charming. My parents loved him instantly, which was the most terrifying thing of all.
When he finally left that night, Mom turned to me with stars in her eyes. “He’s wonderful, Ely. Don’t let this one go.”
I buried my face in my hands. If only she knew.
By Monday, word had spread. Don’t ask me how—probably my brother, probably Mia, probably divine punishment—but somehow, half the school knew that Caleb had dinner at my house.
The rumors exploded.
“They’re practically married.”
“Her parents already love him.”
“Did you see them working together? Couple goals.”
I wanted to scream. This wasn’t just spiraling—it was snowballing downhill with rocket boosters.
Mia, of course, was thrilled.
“This is amazing. You’re so in deep now, bestie.”
“I’m in deep trouble,” I corrected.
And when I caught Caleb smirking at me from across the cafeteria, like he knew exactly what he’d done, I realized something awful:
We weren’t just faking anymore. We were acting, yes—but the world around us was buying it. And worse…
Some traitorous part of me almost wanted it to be real.
- Writer
