Ollie leans his head against the back of his seat and considers what I’ve said. He must also be stumped about what to write because he tilts his chin up, brings the edgeof the bag to his lips, and pours the remaining almonds into his mouth. The man looks like a squirrel right now, his cheeks full as he chomps happily.
After a full two minutes of chewing, and another minute to down a bottle of water, Ollie’s up to the challenge. “Gimme,” he says, reaching for the phone.
Out of sheer desperation, I place it in his outstretched palm. He starts typing, then deletes a few words, then starts again. After reading over it half a dozen times, he’s satisfied with his masterpiece.
So satisfied, in fact, that he hits the little send arrow before I can read it and give the okay. I’m annoyed, but it’s my own dumb fault for letting him have my phone. He tosses the phone to me, then reaches under the seat for the backpack I stowed there. “You got any snacks? I’m starving.”
Just as I’m about to tell him he can help himself to the beef jerky I have in the front pouch, I read what he sent to Claire on my behalf, and reconsider. “Dude, seriously?” I ask, waving my phone at him.
Unzipping the large pouch of the backpack that my teammates jokingly refer to as my ‘mom bag,’ Ollie unearths a protein bar and a package of roasted chickpeas. They’ve both probably been crushed to dust, so I don’t protest. After all the ‘help’ he’s given me, the least I can do is feed the man, right?
Pete: My family wants to meet you, so they invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Gramma Dottie’s making stuffed shells because she knows you don’t eat meat.
Dammit. I could have typed that myself. I’m about to shoulder check him when my phone dings.
Claire: That’s really sweet. What time? And what can I bring?
Agreeing to a fake relationship with Claire is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not that I regret my decision. Some of the people at Bainbridge—at any school, really—can be total dicks when they want to be, and whoever keyed Claire’s car fits that description. The harassment she was dealing with was uncalled for and it’s died down since she and I went public with our relationship. Or, more accurately, since Ollie told everyone that we were a couple.
Campus Security miraculously found some camera footage for the section of the parking lot they previously said was uncovered. What a coincidence that they made that discovery the day after Rosco and I told Coach what happened to my girlfriend’s car.
So, yeah, I like to think I’m helping Claire, and I’d do it again without question if she needed me to.
But it’s still the dumbest thing I’ve ever done because I’m falling harder for her every day, even though the chance of something real starting between us is a longshot.
Take right now, for instance. I’m finishing up the salad while Gramma puts a loaf of garlic bread in the oven. Cooking is something we’re used to doing together, and we make a good team. But every time laughter erupts from the living room, Gramma shoots me a look.
Like the rest of my family, Gramma Dottie thinks Claire is perfect, and that she’s perfect for me.
We’d only been here for about five minutes when I knew she’d fit in seamlessly. On Gramma’s orders, I told Claire not to bring anything. There’s always more than enough food on the nights Gramma cooks. But my bossy, practical grandmother made a freaking fuss when Claire walked in with a vase of wildflowers and a bottle of wine.
She kicked Leo’s ass and then Henry’s at Night Raid, and now she’s talking music with my mom as they make a playlist for after dinner.
“Food will be ready in five,” I tell everyone as I set the salad bowl on the table. Leo and Henry are putting out the plates and silverware, and when Claire leaps up to help, they both wave her off.
“We got this,” Henry tells her, a goofy grin on his face. “You and Ma keep talkin’ about old people music from the nineteen hundreds.”
I linger long enough to see Claire smile politely at my brother before itching her nose with her middle finger. I’m not sure if she realizes it, but that sealed her fate: Henry is officially in love with my fake girlfriend.
I know the feeling.
Okay, I’m definitely not in love with Claire, but seeing her with my family makes me like her even more. My mom hasn’t looked this relaxed or laughed this much in weeks. They’re deep in conversation about Grunge music and the summer Ma spent in Seattle in the early nineties. Claire’s soaking up every detail, her attention genuine.
“She’s good for you,” Gramma says without preamble when I walk back into the kitchen.
“Who?” I ask, playing dumb. She smacks me with the towel that’s perpetually draped over her shoulder, and I laugh.
A minute before the timer dings, I open the oven door and lift out the tray of stuffed shells and the pan of garlic bread.
“When you know, you know,” she says, and I stifle a laugh because that’s what Claire said a few weeks ago. Of course, she was joking.
“I’m serious,” Gramma insists, swatting me with the towel again. “I knew Grampa was the one for me the firstday I met him, god rest his soul. And I knew your father wasn’t worth a damn the day I met him. I’m a smart lady, Peter. Where do you think you get all those brains of yours?”
“It’s still pretty new, that’s all I’m saying.” I should feel bad for lying to my family by keeping up the ruse, but is it really lying if I want it to be true? I should also talk to Claire, but the bubble we’re in right now feels good and I’m not ready for it to pop.
“Everything’s new at some point,” Gramma tells me, grabbing the bottle of wine Claire brought. “And she has good taste.”
