Brooks
“What are you doing for Brielle for Valentine’s Day?”
That was the question all the girls in school wanted to know. My buddies, like Reece, couldn’t care less for the most part. Some of them had girlfriends, so I paid a little bit of attention. Chocolate seemed to be the answer, so I snagged a bag of Hershey’s from the store and handed it to Brielle onthebig day.
Apparently, there had been higher expectations, which made it worse because someone had covertly recorded me handing the bag of chocolate to Brielle at her locker, and then they’d put the video online with a:Mason strikes out for V-dayas the main kick of the reel.
I don’t know if Brielle cared or not. Ever since we’d had coffee and my mom had made her not-so-subtle announcement that she was heading back to Minnesota, Brielle had been different. I wasn’t sure what to do with this side of Brielle. She seemed genuinely concerned about my situation with my parents, but she didn’t bring it up or pester me about it. She just checked in on me in the evenings with texts, we hung out at school—for obvious reasons—and occasionally, she’d ask if Mom had come home yet. It’d only been a few days, really, but it seemed like Mom had been gone for weeks. It was hard to focus ontryouts coming next week, when Dad had suddenly shifted his attention back on me now that she was out of the house. Last night had been a long lecture about my grades in Lit, and I’d made sure Dad knew I was working on an extra credit project with Brielle.
“Who’s Brielle?” Dad had asked.
I’d just stared at him, because by now, he’d not only been told about Brielle, but I knew Mom had shown him the video that made us shoot to the top of social media feeds everywhere.
“Run.”
I jerked my head around and caught sight of Reece as he raced toward me. He grabbed my shirt sleeve and dragged me down the hall.
“Dude.” I followed him into the bathroom. “What the heck?”
“The news is here.” Reece looked like he had swallowed cooked spinach and wanted to puke.
“About the tryouts?”
“The tryouts?” Reece gave me such a look of bewilderment, I knew in this moment, I must be as clueless as my dad. “Duh. No. The news is here for you and Brielle! To interview you.”
This was—unexpected. “We already talked to Phoebe. Why does—”
“Not the school newspaper—thelocalnews. Like—the news from Madison, our state capital? They’re in Principal Carson’s office right now.”
“How do you know they’re here for Brielle and me?”
Royce shot a look toward the bathroom door as though the news crew was going to barge in and interview me at the urinals. “Deduction, my friend, deduction. The reporter is that Barbie-doll reporter who does all their community-interest reports. She’s wearing a pink sweater with a bright red heart in the middle. With those shiny things all over it.”
“Sequins?” How I knew what they were called, I had no idea.
“Sure, yeah.” Reece waved me off. “Point is, your story is getting attention. It’s the whole AI-to-true-love angle, I’m sure of it.”
I leaned against a sink, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. Let’s just get it over with.”
“Nooooo!” Reece slugged my arm. “Are you nuts? If this ends up on the news tonight, my dad will never allow you within ten miles of our house, Brielle will be grounded until she’s forty, and—no. Just, no. This type of attention isnotthe Walters family’s idea of a good time. It’s more like, let’s just invite the paparazzi to stay over the weekend.”
“Fine. It’s not like I want to do another interview anyway,” I wasn’t quite sure why Reece was freaking out so bad. All I had to do was say no.
But Reece wasn’t finished. “Principal Carson loves the idea. He loves the exposure for the school. I could hear him telling the news people how great this was going to be and how ‘honored we are to have you notice the fine example of how technology and quality students can combine to begin healthy modern relationships among teenagers in this new day and age.’” Reece mimicked Principal Carson’s voice.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“No clue.” Reece shoved me toward the bathroom door. “You need to play hooky. Leave school. I’ll get Brielle, and she’ll meet you at my truck.” He shoved his keys into my hand. “Take it, go somewhere for the day.”
“Um,” I raised an eyebrow. “Your dad won’t like Brielle playing hooky either.”
“Yeah, well, it’ll be far worse if she ends up on the evening news, her face plastered on television, and my family’s privacy invaded.”
“Wasn’t it invaded when our video went nuts online?”
“No. Because our hometown and school weren’t mentioned. To everyone in the world, you’re a cute couple from Wisconsin. Hits state news, they’ll have our home address in minutes.That’swhat Dad won’t like.”
“He’s very protective of you guys.” I didn’t think my dad would’ve cared as long as it wasn’t a sports news van that showed up. My mom would’ve been snapping pictures and signing media releases before I’d had a chance to think. “Wait,” I said. “Doesn’t the news need our parents’ permission before they can interview us?”
