Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  A website popped up shortly after the beginning of the fall semester, and its sole purpose was to share “rumors” about each member of the team. Some rumors were true, as was the case with Cooke, some were gross exaggerations, like mine, and some were disgustingly false, like the one that implied Ian Forrest was responsible for his best friend’s death in high school. The site even went after Rose, Ian’s girlfriend, because she was helping us dispel the rumors with positive stories in the school’s newspaper. Thankfully, her dad has some serious pull and was able to get the site shut down a couple of weeks ago. But the damage has been done, and we’re all working to shed some of the rumors that still cling to our reputations.

  Cooke reruns the play, his footwork spot on, but his pass to Coach Baker is flat and too far to the right.

  Coach Baker doesn’t comment; he just gives Cooke a disapproving stare as he runs back to where Brad Gardner and I are in line. “You’ve got this,” I tell him, patting his shoulder.

  “How are you feeling, Lawson?” Coach Baker asks. “You aren’t on my field nursing a hangover, right?” There’s the reminder of the rumors. They never drift far.

  “No, sir.”

  He gives me a pointed look, still pissed off. Ian’s right, they’re paying attention. It’s a burden that I’ve been wearing out of awareness and also guilt with a hint of resentment. “If I see any more shit from you off of this field, you’re going to be riding the pine. I don’t care how good you are. You aren’t above the rules of this team.”

  “No, sir.”

  Another stern look from Coach Baker. A disappointed glare from Coach Harris followed by a look of contempt from Gardner, who’s been trying to take my spot for the past year. He’s hungry for attention and playing time, and he makes no effort to hide his distaste for my mistakes.

  I run toward the hula hoops laid out on the field that represent our offensive linebackers. My grip is firm, my feet light, my looks solid as I dance around the markers and throw a perfect pass to Coach Baker. A month ago, he’d be congratulating me and pointing out my footwork to my teammates. Today, he blows his whistle, prompting Gardner that it’s his turn.

  Every guy on the team had at least one appearance on the rumor site, and depending on the particular rumor, our coaches have had to defend us to the school board or the administration, or even the news. A few of the rumors were sent to review panels and investigated. Some sparked questions and doubt about the special treatment athletes receive, while others centered around the guys’ personal lives on the team, their secrets laid out for all to judge. My indiscretions fit into the mold of disappointment and special treatment. Coach Harris and Coach Baker have been reminding me how I failed our team and school and them as well as myself for several weeks now, holding my starting position over my head like one dangles a cat toy to make them do a trick—and I’m sure as hell jumping.

  “Faster this time, Lawson,” Coach Baker bellows before blowing his whistle.

  I make my way back to the line of hula hoops and do just that.

  “Practice sucked,” Arlo groans as he sits on the bench in the locker room, his right knee extended. He tore his ACL last winter and has only been back on the field for a few weeks. None of us ask how he’s feeling because Arlo takes the question personally, tired of feeling like the weak link in the chain.

  “You guys want to watch some tape tonight?” I ask, rifling through my locker. My question is an invitation for anyone on the team, but I direct it to my roommates Arlo and Lincoln, who have become an extension of my family.

  “We don’t have time to watch tape. The girls have us going to the house to set up for the party this weekend,” Lincoln tells me.

  The reminder feels like defeat. The last thing I want to do is head home and clean for a party I don’t care about or want. Yet, this is what happens when my best friend is dating my little sister and yet another payment for my indiscretions. They’re all watching me, my sister, my friends, even my dad, who I’ve barely spoken to in the past year, are all paying too close attention to my actions, making it seem like I’m being babysat. I realize this is largely my fault, so I’m trying not to act like the asshole it often leaves me feeling like.

  “Are we really going through with this? No one wants to go to a dry Halloween party.” I shove the clothes that need washing into my duffel bag and discover a brown banana that is shriveling and stinking at the bottom of my locker.

  “Dude,” Arlo remarks, eyeing the rotted fruit as I lift it by its stem. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

  “Who cares if people come,” Lincoln says from the other side of me, ignoring the banana that I fling into the nearby trash can. “The fewer people, the better in my book.”

  “Amen,” Ian says from the opposite side of Arlo. “People are fucking disgusting. After the last big party at my place, I found so much random shit left behind. Shoes, condoms, empties, underwear, someone even left their damn glasses. Like how the fuck do you lose your glasses?”

  An innuendo teeters on my tongue but stops as I glance at Lincoln. Him dating my little sister is still strange for me, but it’s also not a situation I would dare meddle in or force him to pick a side with because he prioritizes Raegan and works hard to be a good boyfriend and makes her happy in ways I didn’t even realize she wasn’t before. And there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he’s happier than he’s ever been.

  “I already hired a cleaning company,” Lincoln says. “I don’t want to deal with anyone’s shit. And we’ll barricade the stairs to make sure nobody goes up to our rooms and loses their shorts.” Another mention of my strip poker defeat.

  “I’m more worried about people being dicks and breaking things or trying to steal shit,” I say.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “It’s going to be fine. No one’s going to be dumb enough to come over and steal from us. Rae’s been working hard on this.” For you, are the silent words he only says with a hard stare. I know it’s the truth. Rae’s been worried about me losing my shit since before my cheese started sliding off my cracker last year.

  “I heard you painted a mural for the party,” Arlo says, looking at Ian.

  Ian shrugs dismissively. “It’s more like a backdrop. The girls wanted something for a photo booth.”

  “My boy’s an artist. Wait till you see his shit,” Luis Garcia places a hand on Ian’s shoulder. Unlike the rest of us who met here at Brighton, the two of them have known each other since childhood.

  I miss their next exchange, noticing several missed calls and texts from my ex, Candace. I debate ignoring them, but the number of them has me checking to ensure all is well.

  Candace: Are you just going to ignore me now?

  Candace: What if I was hurt? What if I needed you? Are you just going to turn your back on me?

  Candace: I can’t believe that three years means nothing to you.

  “Booty call?” Arlo jokes.

  I shake my head. “Candace.”

  Lincoln looks up from his phone, his dark gaze stoic. He hates Candace and always has—all of them have. It’s partially her fault and partly mine. I got tired of defending her, and she never apologized for anything—something I found incredibly attractive initially. I liked that she didn’t give a shit about anyone’s feelings or expectations, but I realized too late that she didn’t care about my thoughts or feelings, either.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I tell Lincoln as I slide my phone into my bag. “I’m not responding.”

  Lincoln raises his brows, still silent.

  The jokes and conversation among my friends cease at my comments. Candace is among my laundry list of items that has everyone feeling uncertain and losing faith and confidence in me and my decisions.

  “I thought you guys were done?” Ian asks. His gaze is pragmatic and patient, reminding me of Caleb. I’ve been a bright spot on his radar lately. He went as far as suggesting to bench me after finding that I’d broken the team rules and got drunk the night he hauled me home from
the party.

  Another scoff from Lincoln. “She’s never gone for long. You’ve seen the pattern. They break up, and then she’s back like a rash within a week.”

  Arlo snickers. “Like a rash,” he repeats.

  “It’s been six weeks,” I say, trying to prove Lincoln wrong. He’s forgetting the fact that Candace and I have gone a few stretches that lasted a full month, but this is our longest time apart. I don’t mention the detail because I don’t want to talk about Candace any more than I want to talk about the fact I’ve enjoyed partying and drinking more than I probably should have over the past year.

  “You guys have broken a record,” Luis says with a chuckle.

  “Was it a jealousy message? Did she see you walking or talking with another girl again? ‘I’m going to kick your ass if you’re cheating on me!’” Arlo mimics her, using a horrible, screechy voice that sounds nothing like her, but captures her jealous nature like a polaroid.

  I shake my head and grab my bag, prepared to leave. “No.” Maybe it’s because I have two sisters or because Candace and I dated for three years, but regardless of the reason, it feels wrong to be talking about her or blaming the extent of our unhealthy relationship solely on her when I know I was the other half to that madness.

  “That’s good. She always turns crazy when she gets jealous. How many times has she shown up in the middle of the night, swearing you had a girl in your bed. Fucking nuts, dude,” Arlo continues.

  Ian smirks but doesn’t join in the conversation.

  “We’re done for good this time,” I say.

  Lincoln cuts his gaze to me. “She finally crossed the line by burning your shit?”

  “It’s over,” I repeat. “We both know it’s over. We’re on mutual terms with the breakup.”

  “We’ve heard this before,” Arlo says. “I’m convinced she has a magical vagina.” His eyes brighten. “Oh wait, is it because she lets you do butt stuff?”

  “You’re such an asshole,” I tell him.

  “Rose and Olivia would string you up by your toenails if they heard you,” Ian warns Arlo. Arlo is dating Olivia, and she and Rose are best friends.

  “What? No. Rose would probably ask even more questions. If you recall, it was your girlfriend who asked if vaginas all feel the same.”

  Ian claps a hand over his face.

  Lincoln chuckles. “How’d you answer that one?”

  Ian wipes his fingers down his face. “You guys are off-topic. This is all about Candace and if she’s going to claw her way back into Paxton’s life.”

  I flip him off. “Thanks for that, buddy.”

  He grins. “You bet.”

  “I’m heading home. I’ve got homework and tape to watch and a stupid party to plan for, apparently. Catch you assholes later.”

  “I expect dinner to be ready when we get home!” Arlo yells after me as I make my way through the locker room. I don’t turn to acknowledge him, keeping my focus on getting home and the list of things I need to do. This year is all about focus. It has to be. Raegan’s right—they all are—I’ve worked too damn long and too damn hard to let everything slip away because of a few parties.

  I toss my bag into the trunk, get into the driver’s side of my car, and head home, where I find Caleb on the couch with a gaming controller in his hands.

  A year ago, I would have gone to my parents’ house and holed up in the living room to focus and dig myself out of this hole I’m stuck in. It was easier to concentrate there with the familiarity and comfort of home-cooked meals and my family, but last year my dad’s affair with a student at Brighton went public, which left him temporarily fired and caused my mom to stay with her sister for several weeks on the opposite side of the country. And then Raegan nearly drowned, my parents got divorced, my mom moved out, and Candace and I broke up no less than two dozen times. It’s been one hell of a year, and I’m worried this will pale in comparison to my dreams of being drafted to the NFL imploding because of my actions.

  My phone vibrates again and again, and then again.

  Candace: I can’t believe you won’t even respond to me.

  Candace: Do I really mean that little to you?

  Candace: I hate you, Paxton.

  “Everything okay?” Caleb asks.

  I silence my phone and set it face down on the coffee table. “Just more Candace drama.”

  Caleb glances from my phone to me. “What’s she wanting?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t even know. She wanted me to come over tonight to discuss shit.”

  Rae appears from the kitchen, a paper banner trailing from her. “Don’t let Candace suck you into her drama,” she says.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Preparing for the party. Didn’t Lincoln tell you?”

  Caleb glances from her to me, a smirk on his face. I’ve been friends with Caleb for as long as I can remember. Everything in my life, he’s been there for, and I’ve worked hard to reciprocate the same level of friendship and loyalty to him because, with Caleb, there are no expectations. If I quit football today, he wouldn’t give a single shit except for making sure it was what I wanted. “I think what Rae’s trying to say is Candace has a habit of manipulating you and playing mind games.”

  Rae shrugs. “In a much more diplomatic approach, sure. If you need a more direct approach, I can offer that, too.”

  I shake my head. “We have a history,” I point out.

  Rae nods. “I know. I understand … or I’m trying to.”

  “You and Maggie have always talked about closure. I honestly think that’s what she needs.” I point out, mentioning our older sister, who is all about feelings and emotions and is currently living in Nigeria.

  “Yeah, but you need to make sure you’re considering your needs as well,” Caleb says, setting his controller on his lap. “She’s like your kryptonite. You get around her, and you forget about your breakups. You guys have an attraction that makes you both want to take risks and try again.”

  He’s so damn right.

  “Give yourself a few weeks. You need some time to adjust and find your own stride and your own routine. Then, if you want to meet with her and try to gain closure for you or her or both of you, you can, and it won’t be from such an emotional state.”

  “Exactly,” Rae says. “And luckily, you have a busy weekend because we’re having a party!”

  4

  Poppy

  Our movie-themed idea for the Halloween party is separating the creative from the unimaginative as people arrive and wander through the house. Many costumes are shockingly artful and creative, but I was so distracted between planning for the party and seeing Mike that I forgot to consider that people love couples’ costumes. It seems nearly every couple or group of friends is matching tonight. Dressing up as Jessica Rabbit was inspired by my red hair and an attempt to step outside my comfort zone, but now it’s just a reminder that there’s not another half to this costume.

  Each time I move, the slit on my right thigh distracts me, though my boobs have admittedly never looked better. The combination should have me feeling confident and brazen, but instead, I’m feeling self-conscious and nervous that Mike might show up, and I’ll have to pretend I am this new, sexy, assertive person.

  “Hey,” my friend and fellow co-party host, Olivia Reid, smiles as she pulls me in for a hug. She’s dressed in a blue dress with a white apron tied around her waist, her dark hair in a low ponytail that hangs over her shoulder. She’s the perfect Belle and looks like she came out of the Disney movie. Rose Cartwright, another co-host and friend, grins. She’s wearing a flapper dress that contours every flawless inch of her body, and a bright red shade of lipstick that makes her full lips appear even plumper. The two are best friends, and over the past several months, our paths have continued to cross, initially because they both date guys on the football team, but now it’s because we’ve built a friendship based on much more than convenience.

  “You guys look fantastic!” I
say, hugging Rose. “Did Arlo dress up as the Beast?”

  Olivia laughs as she nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wears it to every event this year.”

  As she says this, I can imagine him doing just that. I’ve known him since he moved here from New Jersey to attend and play for Brighton, and became friends with Paxton. He’s funny and lighthearted and went from being one of the biggest flirts on campus to not even registering that another girl was near him after meeting Olivia. “I hope he does.”

  Olivia shakes her head. “Don’t encourage him.” She looks around at the house that they helped us decorate after hiding anything breakable or of value in the bedrooms upstairs, which has given Lincoln the excuse to crash at our apartment all week. “We deserve a pat on the back. Every other party tonight will have flat beer and a fog machine, and this place looks like a medieval castle. We did good.”

  “Correction, we did awesome,” Rose says.

  “Cheers to that,” Chloe Robinson says as she and her twin sister, Vanessa, join us. The two are juniors from Florida who we’ve become close with over the past couple of months since school started and they began dating Tyler Banks and Cooper Sutton who are both on Brighton’s football team.

  I grin, and take a look around again to admire our work. We spent weeks planning and making decorations to fit the space to feel like an actual Halloween party rather than another college house party. “Everyone seems to be enjoying the games, too.” I’d been worried people would find them childish, but it turns out things like bobbing for apples and watching scary movies in a darkened backyard are universally appreciated.