He takes five minutes to respond.
If only hedidhave basketball…that would’ve made everything so much easier.
I refocus my attention on the film again. It's only when an intense gunfight occurs on screen, that it hits me.
No matter how fake it is, I’m going on an actual date.
With Marlon Salvador.
Fourteen
What the hell are you even meant to wear on a fake date?
My reflection stares back at me as I stand before my mirror, clad in my off-the-shoulder black top and denim jeans. Is this all too much?
I have to remind myself that to my parents, this is my first ever date, and even more, my first official date with Marlon.
Ria peers in through the gap in the bathroom door, widening it to get a full glimpse at my look.
“Wow, look at you all glammed up for your date tonight,” Ria teases and I kick lightly at the door.
“It feels so weird getting ready like this for Marlon,” I murmur softly.
“I mean, you’re the one who decided on the whole fake-dating thing sis,” Ria points out and I can’t bite back because it’s true. Oh, to be facing the consequences of my own decisions.
“So, where are you guys really going?” Ria asks.
“We actually don’t know. We weren’t planning to go out tonight until Mum mentioned it and I panic texted him.”
“And he just happened to be free? Wow, lucky you.”
Far from luck, really.
“Do I have to give him my‘if you hurt her I’ll die speech’?” Ria teases, nudging me, “You know, to spruce up the dramatics.”
Despite Marlon and I’s constant childhood battle, Ria and Marlon never seemed to have any issues. I don’t think they’vereally interacted much, outside of friendly exchanges either. I seem to have been the only sole victim to Marlon’s antics. We were a tornado, two clashing winds trying to best each other.
“I needed you to say that to himagesago,” I say, nudging Ria back.
I take one more look in the mirror, scrutinising how I’d used my favourite lipstick for Marlon, before heading downstairs.
Mum is in the kitchen, popping a lasagne in the oven for dinner, when she spots me. Her eyes take me in and her lips stretch wide and proud, a sparkle in her pupil.
“You look beautiful, Lene,” she coos, stepping forward to pinch my cheek and I swat her hand away.
“Mum,please.”
A knock at the door jolts us both, and Mum launches forward, as though she’s the one going on the date.
“Coming!” she calls out, and begins skipping down the hallway to the door. Dad, who’s on the living room couch catching up on basketball highlights, peers over his shoulder.
“Marlon here?” he asks, getting up from his seat.
“Yep!” Mum shouts out, “Hurry Lene! You open the door.”
The entire scene feels oddly like the lead up to the end-of-school formal in every teen romantic-comedy. I didn’t have a date for my high-school formal and instead went with my friends. While I didn’t mind, it would’ve really been nice to have my littleShe’s All That,walking-down-the-stairs in my dress moment.
I reach the door, hands closing around the handle and bracing myself for another act in front of my parents, then open.
