Prologue
Brielle
It was abrilliant idea. It would totally get my besties off my back and satisfy their crazy need to see me with a boyfriend. And why is that? Why do girls have to have boyfriends to achieve some level of popularity? Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I was born without that part of the brain—or heart—that went “omigosh, I need a boyfriend!” Bruh. Seriously.
Anyway. I came up with the best idea—I thought—ever. So when my family and I went on vacation, I came home with a long-distance boyfriend. He was totally fake, of course. I made him up. He didn’t exist except in my imagination and on my Pinterest board. Which, by the way, can give a girl all sorts of ideas if you need to create your own fake boyfriend.
So yeah. That’s what I did. I named him and everything. His name was Brooks. He was going to be a junior in the fall. He was a catcher on his high school baseball team—I threw that in because I knew a lot about baseball since my older brother Reece was the captain of his team, and it sounded cool.
My friends wanted to see pictures. Enter deepfake photos. They’re real, y’all, and they work. So don’t do it. Because, yeah. Then the worst happened.
Partwaythrough the school year, he showed up. Yep. My fake boyfriend, Brooks, waltzed into my school. He’d just moved into the area from Minnesota, had left his position as catcher of his baseball team, and was the spitting image of my AI-generated photos. If weird happens, then it happens to me. But this was above and beyond weird. Because the day Brooks stepped into my high school was the day my world turned upside down.
But his did too.
At least, that’s what I’ve been told.
Brooks
I just wanted to play baseball. I’m good at it. I’ve been the catcher on my baseball team for two seasons now, and we kick butt. But then my parents decided Minnesota was too cool—literally. Mom said if she had to endure another winter colder than Alaska, she’d leave us all. She was kidding, of course—I think. Anyway, mid-year of my junior year, my parents up and moved us to Wisconsin.Wisconsin? How is that any warmer?
And you know what that means? I wasn’t the catcher of my baseball team anymore, either. I made quick buds with Reece, captain of my new high school’s baseball team, but that didn’t mean I was automatically in. There are tryouts, and even then, I might not be starting catcher like I was used to.
So here I was, in a state of confusion, while my mom was in a state of sheer horror that Wisconsin isn’t much different than Minnesota, and we really moved here because Dad had gotten a new job. But let’s face it. I don’t fit here. But I only had two years of high school left, and then I’m leaving. Preferably for the minor leagues, but Dad says that’s a “pipe dream”—whatever that means. He wants me to focus on something more career-oriented, but engineering isn’t on my to-do list.
And then the worst happened.
There was this girl. Reece’s sister, actually. She was in a tight spot, and I have a weakness for sad, pathetic creatures. Like, this one time, I saw a kitten near a dumpster and took it home. It had fleas. Mom was not happy. Five years later, Gizmo sleeps on my bed about twenty-eight hours a day.
Brielle reminded me of Gizmo. She stared at me with these huge, sad eyes like she was somehow trapped and going to die or something. I felt like I needed to rescue her. I just didn’t know what her problem was.
Until I found out.
It was me.
I was her problem.
And she needed me to rescue her.
I was screwed.
Chapter 1
Brielle
February 1st
“Soooooo?”
My aunt Tracy’s eyebrows bobbed up and down, and she planted her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on the countertop of the kitchen’s island. She was perched on a stool, and even though she was in her early forties, I think Aunt Tracy had the maturity level of a twelve-year-old girl, at least when it comes to boys.
This is why I created Brooks. My AI-manufactured, Pinterest-inspired, fake boyfriend. It’s genius, really. Because now I can satisfy Aunt Tracy’s need to talk boys—and hopefully get it over with soon, because I have a book in my bag waiting for me. It’s a special edition, and my best friend, Lia, convinced me to read it. Well,convincedis a stretch. She bought the book for me and had it shipped from her home country. O, Canada! Cue the Canadian national anthem. Gosh, I love Lia because she even ordered the UK version of the book, which has embossed lettering and sprayed edges.
“Sooooo?”
Oh yeah. Back to Aunt Tracy.
I mustered the same excitement I usually have for books. “Want to see a pic?” I waved my phone in the air like a tempting piece of gossip.
