I snorted and bumped my shoulder into hers as we started down the hallway toward her classroom. Usually, we couldn’t walk ten feet without someone nudging their friend or whispering. Ever since the day that photo of us in the costume store was leaked, we hadn’t gone more than ten minutes without someone making a comment or at least looking in our direction, but now…
A group of freshmen brushed past us, laughing about something, and didn’t even glance our way. A few of Lilah’s classmates walked by and waved—friendly, normal, no lingering looks or knowing smiles.
For the first time since this all began, we were invisible.
Lilah looked at me, a frown twisting up her pretty face. “Okay, is it just me, or…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but I didn’t need her to. “Nope.”
We stopped a couple feet from her English classroom door, where I usually kissed her goodbye every morning. Lilah looked around in confusion, clearly waiting for somebody to notice that we were standing here. But nobody did. The hall buzzed with normal conversations—homework, parties, our upcoming hockey game—but nothing about Lilah and me.
Lilah’s eyes flicked toward a group of girls passing by—girls who had definitely squealed over our “relationship” just lastweek—and her lips parted as they walked by without so much as a glance in our direction.
She turned back to me. “Huh.”
“What?”
“They didn’t even—” she gestured vaguely, “—stare. Or whisper. Or anything.”
“Guess the novelty wore off.”
“Yeah.” She looked weirdly thrown off by that. “That was fast.”
“News cycle is brutal,” I said, trying to sound casual. “One week you’re campus royalty, the next week you’re just another couple arguing about coffee stains.”
She gave a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. For whatever reason, she seemed upset about this. Upset that the plan worked exactly as she’d wanted it to. Had she somehow forgotten the endgame of her own plan?
“Guess we did it,” I said.
“Did what?”
“What we set out to do. People stopped caring.”
She stared at me for a beat, like she was trying to process that. “Huh.”
“Wasn’t that the goal?” I asked.
“Yeah, I just—” she shrugged and fiddled with the lid of her coffee cup. “I guess I expected it to last longer.”
“Going to miss having your time in the spotlight?” I asked. I already knew the answer would be a resoundingno—Lilah had no interest in fame and had only done this as a means to an end—so I was surprised when she turned and looked at me like a wounded animal. She didn’t say the words outright, but it was written all over her face.
For whatever reason, Lilah Turner didn’t want this to end. A small spark of hope flamed up in my chest.
“Let’s go for coffee,” I blurted out.
Lilah’s browns pinched as she glanced at the classroom then at me again. “What, now? I have a test and?—”
“No, after school.” I shoved my hands in my pants pockets so I wouldn’t fidget nervously. “We were supposed to have a date anyway, right? So let’s go for coffee and…” My instinct was to say that we could talk about this but I wasn’t sure how she would take that. I didn’t want her to think that this was supposed to be the end. I stayed silent for too long, but Lilah let me off the hook.
“The carnival is tonight,” she said. “You know, the one you suggested we go to together? Meet me there and we’ll talk.”
The bell rang before I could respond, but I nodded. I had no idea what I was going to say to her at the carnival. No clue how I was going to broach the subject. All I knew for sure right now was that our fake relationship was coming to an end—but I wasn’t willing to give Lilah Turner up just yet.
CHAPTER 28
lilah
The winter carnivalfelt like something out of a snow globe. The lower quad had been completely transformed—white lights strung between bare trees, glowing softly against the dark sky, their reflections shimmering on patches of snow that hadn’t quite melted yet. Booths lined the pathways in uneven rows, their canvas roofs dusted with frost, banners flapping gently in the cold breeze. Someone had hung paper snowflakes from the lampposts, and every few feet there was a coil of extension cords feeding power to speakers, lights, and ancient-looking carnival equipment that probably hadn’t been inspected in years.
