Is that it, then? he asks.
Yeah. It’s so frustrating to be so close to what Mats knows and not get anything. Did I really expect him to tell me? This whole idea was stupid, Becks.
He clears his throat. Then I have a question for you. I know you don’t want to do this dinner thing with me. Is that only because of your brother?
Yes, of course, I reply.
And there aren’t any other issues? he presses.
Like what? We barely know each other.
He watches me closely. Like my being Japanese.
For a moment, I’m bewildered; I can’t believe he’s asking me this. It’s not something that’s ever occurred to me. But then, it clicks. He’s asking me because it’s what he thinks of my brother. Instantly, my anger against him returns full-force.
I turn to face him fully, hands on my hips.
Absolutely not! I’m not a racist, and my brother isn’t either. And if I needed a reason to dislike you, I could do better than that. You’re a stuck-up rich boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind. You only date perfect Barbie dolls. And you have a weak fucking slap shot.
Thank fuck I still have enough energy to run home and escape this conversation.
6
OH, FER YUM
MATS
I’VE FUCKED UP.
I’m driving Cleo to our second dinner and the atmosphere in the car is even colder than the late-January freeze outside. She hasn’t said a word since I picked her up, which I suspect is harder on her than me. I’m not a person who needs everyone to like me, but with Cleo, it feels very personal. She hates everything about me. If appearing to be a loving couple is the key to securing this donation, then we are truly fucked.
And this time, it’s my own fault. Cleo held out an olive branch of sorts by coming to see me and talk about the big issue between us: her asshole brother. Even now, I’m confused—did he not explain to her why he got taken off the team? But concocting some bullshit excuse that makes him look blameless is exactly what I’d expect of him.
I can never tell her what happened, that’s completely up to him. But I could have held my temper better. And I definitely shouldn’t have asked her straight-up if she’s racist. What’s the point of a direct question, anyway? Nobody’s going to admit it.
Besides, after a year and a half on campus where I rarely heard anything about Cleo—suddenly, she’s everywhere. She scores a highlight-reel-worthy goal in a weekend game that makes the Monarch hockey home page. She’s in the Student Union Building, collecting canned goods for a food drive. She’s leading her teammates as they attempt some viral dance for a Minks TikTok video.
It’s pretty clear that she’s nothing like her brother, and now I feel shitty for my assumptions.
So, it’s my turn to make the effort. Should we set up guidelines for this fake couple stuff?
She turns to me with narrowed eyes. Guidelines? Like what, Mr. Ego? Don’t fall for you? Because I can abso-fucking-lutely guarantee that’s not going to happen.
Then she crosses her arms and looks out the window, like a kid pretending she’s somewhere else.
I press on. What about a backstory? Like how we met? What we did on our first date? Our likes and dislikes? Or the million other things you’re supposed to know about the person you’re dating. I have a brain full of now-useless Lana knowledge.
We don’t need all that shit. Marjorie already thinks we’re a couple, Cleo scoffs.
How did she even get that idea?
Maybe her vision is as good as her hearing, and she mistook all the times you stared at me like I was a headless alien for adoration, Cleo snaps.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. Was I taken aback at some of the dating stories she told? Absolutely. But my shock was due to those jerks she dated. I can guarantee those guys weren’t raised by feminist mothers.
I have no idea what you’re talking about, she mimics in a nasal tone. Fine, here are my guidelines: Don’t touch me. Don’t call me any pet names. And don’t tell anyone that we’re pulling off this stupid fucking stunt.
Why are you warning me? You’re the one who’s more likely to tell all her friends that we’re fake-dating. I keep my personal life to myself. Well, I believed I did, but apparently it was all over social media.
