From experience, I knew how good it felt to not care what people thought of you, and the first few times could be exhilarating.
“They’re going to think whatever they want, no matter what the truth is.” She laid her head on the headrest. “Might as well live my life how I want to.”
“Aww, Isla girl is growing up,” I said, mimicking what her mom had called her.
She looked over at me but kept her head on the headrest. “Or your bad influence is rubbing off on me.”
“Am I really a bad influence if I’m helping you realize that whatyouthink of your life is more important than what others think?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she said, sounding like she was assessing me as she stared at me. “That sounds like something someone who is a bad influence would say.”
Chuckling, I said, “Is that so?”
“Yes, but you’re pretty, so I’ll keep you around.”
I laughed again. I didn’t think I’d laughed this much in a long time. Isla was a breath of fresh air, one I desperately needed, even if I hadn’t known I’d needed it. I just hoped I didn’t mess anything up with this fake-dating situation I’d put us in. I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship, so I’d need to be extra careful. Which meant we needed to talk about our fake relationship, maybe set some ground rules.
“Are you still upset about having to pretend to date me?” I asked, cautiously broaching the subject.
She sighed. “Yes and no. I’m extremely grateful that you helped me save face back there, but I don’t love the idea of us having to pretend to be something we’re not.”
“Again, I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” I said. “I think it’s only fair that you set the expectation of what you want this to look like. How long do you want to date? What kind of PDA are you comfortable with? How do you want to go about dumping me? Do you want to do that in private, or do you want to have some big public break up? You name the terms.”
“Wow.” She gave me an impressed grin. “Somebody knows their fake-dating trope.”
“Fake-dating what?”
“Trope,” she answered. “It’s the use of a common theme in books and movies, like enemies to lovers, grumpy versus sunshine, friends to lovers, forbidden romance, and lots of other ones, but the fake-dating trope is a classic.”
“So we’re the fake-dating trope.” I kept my eyes on the road, hoping she wasn’t thinking we were going to be some kind of romance story.
“Yep.” She pulled her feet up and criss-crossed her legs. “But we’re not going to fall for each other in the end.”
“No, we’re definitely not.” My chest felt tight at the thought. “We’re good enough friends, and after tonight’s performance, pretty good actors. I’m not worried about us easily going back to our normal.”
I didn’t know if I was saying that more for me or for her, possibly both, but it felt good to put those words out there.
“I agree,” she said, and the tightness in my chest eased a little.
This was going to work. Neither of us had feelings for each other or wanted to be in a real relationship with one another. I didn’t need to worry about her falling for me, and I’d never fallen for anyone, so that wasn’t a concern either. Everything was going to be fine.
The only thing that might make fake-dating hard was the fact that I’d never been in a relationship before. I didn’t know the first thing about being a boyfriend.
“I, uh, have never been someone’s boyfriend before, so this is all new territory for me,” I admitted. “I’m not exactly sure how to be a boyfriend.”
“Just keep it simple,” she said, turning to face me. “Continue being my friend, but just add in small touches like hand holding, putting your hand on the small of my back, putting your arm around me, and then, every once in a while, look at me like you think I’m sexy.”
That was it, huh? That didn’t sound too bad. And I definitely wouldn’t have a problem looking at her like she was sexy.
I looked at her and gave her a nod. “I think I can do that.”
“Good. The more simple and natural we can keep this, the less awkward and obvious it will be that we’re faking it. No need to make a big production out of it.”
The more she talked, the more relieved I was. “Sounds great.”
“I’m thinking we’ll pretend to be together for two months,” she said, almost as a question. “That way it can seem credible, but not be so long that it takes too much of your junior year. Any longer than that might seem too unbelievable, with your reputation. But if you think two months is too long, we could do a month.”
I smiled to myself as I listened to her. She was talking fast and using her hands, and I’d learned she did this when she was either passionate about something or she was anxious. In this situation, it was definitely the latter.
