Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “Dylan’s sick. He’s running a fever and has been throwing up all day, and your father is stuck on a job site, and I’m supposed to be at the studio in twenty minutes. Is there any way you can come over and be with him? He’s asleep right now, and he’ll probably stay asleep so you can get homework done or watch TV or whatever.”

  I rub a hand over my forehead, wanting to say I can’t and feeling bad over the fact. But if I stay here, my night will likely be worse because I’m still grumpy and unsettled about the Candace situation. Neither option is appealing. “I thought you redid the guest room so you could do the shows from home?”

  “We did, but I’m doing this one for a local radio show, and they need me there. It’s for the book launch, and I really need you if you can make it.”

  I glance at the group of people who are starting to pour alcohol and energy into activities, laughing and smiling which only makes me feel worse. “Yeah. Sure,” I tell her. “It might take me some time to get there. I’m at the beach.”

  She sighs with relief. “That’s okay. I’ll let them know. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

  I hang up and start messaging Rae to explain that I need to leave and ask if I can borrow her car since we drove together.

  “Hey,” Mike says, a cup in his hand. “It looks like you could use this more than me.”

  I shake my head. The last thing I want is a drink, and with Mike, no less. “No. I’m actually getting ready to head out.”

  “Already?” He looks around. “The football team hasn’t even arrived.”

  “Why are you here?” The question bursts through my thoughts and straight out of my mouth.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Poppy, I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. I wasn’t trying to cross any boundaries. I was just… I don’t know. I didn’t tell Maddie that you and I had dated because I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable and because I wanted to be friends with you again. I missed hanging out with you.”

  “Where’s Maddie?”

  He points. “Hanging out with some friends and grabbing a beer.”

  “We shouldn’t hang out. I don’t want her to have any reason to be jealous.” I don’t want to be Candace.

  “Poppy,” he says my name with a gentle and patient tone, one he used to flex when I was feeling overwhelmed about something. When I meet his brown eyes, they’re friendly, but the familiarity is absent. I can’t read him the same way that I could—or thought I could. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

  I want to remind him that we had more than a year to be friends, and he never picked up the phone, or sent an email, or did anything else, but I’m late, and this argument would likely only sound solid in my own head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. Dylan’s sick, and my parents both have work obligations, so I’ve got to go.”

  “Sister of the year award.”

  I scoff. “I didn’t exactly volunteer.” I finish my text to Rae. “And I’m being a party killer because I didn’t drive.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “I rode with Rae.”

  He twists at the waist, so his shoulders point toward the parking lot. “I can give you a ride.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay. She just has to drop me off. It won’t take that long.”

  “I’m already here. Come on. You’re like a fifteen-minute drive.” He nods, shoving his free hand into his pocket. A guy walks by and Mike flags him down. “Hey, you want this beer?”

  To my surprise, the guy accepts it and raises it with a silent cheer. “It always shocks me how people will accept drinks from other people,” I admit.

  Mike grins. “I have a trustworthy face.”

  I scoff again and check my phone to see if Raegan’s replied.

  “Come on,” he says.

  “Maddie’s already uncomfortable. I’m not going to make it worse.”

  “I’m not going to kiss you. I’m still your friend. You need to get to your parents’ house, and almost everyone here is already drunk because it’s fucking cold and really fucking boring.”

  Someone trips over their own feet, like they’re trying to prove Mike’s point.

  I breathe out a dozen excuses. “Why don’t you invite Maddie to go with us?”

  “Are you really that uncomfortable around me?”

  “I’m uncomfortable by all of this.”

  “She’s with her friends. I’ll text her. It’s thirty minutes there and back, tops. I’m not going to do anything. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers with a peace sign.

  “That’s not how you do it.”

  “Details, details.” He shakes his head. “Come on, your sister of the year award is on the line.”

  I sigh, feeling the hypocrisy of the situation, and rationalizing each excuse: I didn’t invite Mike over. This wasn’t planned. He’s helping me out because of a family emergency. It’s just a ride.

  I nod and follow him across the stretch of beach, the sand cold as it slips between my jeans and into my tennis shoes.

  “I’m just over this way,” he says, nodding toward a sleek silver car. I follow him to the passenger door, which he opens, allowing me to slide into the car.

  Mike circles the car and gets into the driver’s seat before hitting the button to start the expensive car. “Aside from babysitting duty, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to guess?”

  I look across the space at him, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

  He smiles but doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I know you, Poppy.”

  “Knew. Past tense.”

  “Is everything okay with you and Paxton?”

  “Yeah.” My answer is automatic.

  “Really? Because I heard a rumor tonight…”

  “You know what they say about rumors, right?”

  “That they start from a kernel of the truth,” he says.

  “No, I’m referring to the quote we read in Modern Political Thought,” I say, glancing at him. “Edward Counsel said ‘Rumors generally grow deformed as they travel.’”

  “I heard this one firsthand.”

  I have no doubt he’s going to ask about the rumor site that plagued Brighton earlier this fall. “Was it about the football team?”

  He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have given a shit if it was about them.”

  “Who was it about?” I ask, knowing his answer.

  He looks at me, confirming my suspicion. It’s about me. Candace is telling people that Pax and I aren’t really dating, that it’s all fake. “What did you hear?” I dread his response already. “Do I want to know?” I cover my face with one hand. “I used to think it would be exciting for people to know who I was, but now it’s just weird.”

  “That’s why so many artists have written songs and entire albums about how lonely popularity is. The more famous they become, the smaller their circle shrinks,” he says. “Never knowing who you can trust or who wants to be your friend or just use you or sell stories about you to the press…” He shakes his head. “That’s partly why I was so surprised you were dating Lawson. He’s smack dab in the middle of the spotlight, and he’s going to be traveling all of the time and having to do interviews and all of the publicity and shit that he already has that will only amplify once he’s drafted.”

  I think of the girls in the elevator from this past weekend, how they were so blatant in their desire for Paxton—and right in front of me, too.

  I clear my throat. “What was the rumor you heard?”

  “That Paxton dated another girl for the past several years, a Candi? Carrey?” He sticks out his thumb and points toward his window. “Blond hair, medium height, kind of screams when she talks.”

  “Candace.” My jaw flexes.

  He snaps. “Yes.”

  “That’s not really a rumor, it’s the truth.”

  “Well, she seems to think they’re going to get back together.”

  My head spins so fast, m
y neck aches.

  “She seemed like his type…”

  I stare at Mike, waiting for him to say more. “What does that mean?”

  He glances across at me, gently smiling like he’s letting me in on a secret. “You know what I’m saying. You’ve met guys like him before.”

  “Guys like what?”

  “I just can’t get over the fact that you’re dating Paxton Lawson,” he says, ignoring my question.

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, he’s Raegan’s brother. Two, you’ve never even talked about the guy. Three, if he dated her, then he clearly was shopping for eye candy and something to make his pants tight and nothing else because she was a shallow idiot. Girls like her only care about shit like money, their hair, and how many people follow them on social media.”

  Bitterness tangles in my chest. The very last thing I want to do—now or ever—is defend Candace, yet, I do. “And you know this how?”

  He gives me another grin, but this one smells of pity. “I wasted ten minutes listening to her while I was waiting to get my beer.”

  “Speaking of which, should you be driving?”

  “I only took one drink before I found you.”

  I pull in another breath, allowing his earlier words to settle in my mind—why is Candace saying she’s going to get back together with Paxton? Who is she saying this to?

  “I heard Lawson’s expected to be a high draft choice.”

  “For not liking football, you sure seem to know a lot about Paxton.”

  He looks at me again. “He’s not right for you.”

  My heart starts hammering faster than a rainstorm. “I thought we weren’t doing this?”

  “What happens when he gets drafted next year?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Do you even know where he’ll go? What if he ends up on the other side of the country?”

  “Like you?” I ask.

  “He’s going to be handed millions of dollars and all the freedom. What are you going to walk away with?”

  “This isn’t your business. You’re dating Maddie.”

  “I don’t love Maddie,” he argues, turning onto the street that connects to the neighborhood my parents live in.

  “Then why in the hell did you ask her to move across the country with you? Why wouldn’t you have just told her who I was? You weren’t trying to spare my feelings that day. You were trying to spare yours and hers.”

  “You and I have always understood each other. Music, school, people, movies … we have the same interests, the same understanding. He’s never going to understand you.”

  I hate that I’m listening to him, and I hate it even more that his words lick at each of my fears. “You have no idea who I am anymore, Mike. I’ve changed. I’m not the same girl I was when we broke up. You need to realize that.”

  He’s idling at the house next door to my parents’, but I swing open the door. “We can’t hang out anymore. This is over.” I get out and walk the remaining distance.

  31

  Poppy

  Sampson greets me at the front door, his tail swishing happily as he noses at me, relentless for attention. Mom’s in a black pantsuit, her purse already on her shoulder.

  “Dylan just fell back asleep,” she tells me, shuffling through her purse. “Be sure to take his temperature on the hour. I have a chart on the fridge where I’ve been tracking it. Also, he can have his next dose of ibuprofen at eleven.” She stops, her neck snapping as she looks at me more closely. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just cold out. You’ll want a heavier coat.”

  “Thanks again for coming. You are my sanity saver.” She gathers her coat and folds it over her arm. “Remember, medicine at eleven.”

  “You aren’t going to be back by eleven?” I ask. Sampson pushes his head against my hand, demanding more attention.

  Mom lifts her shoulders. “I don’t know. I hope so, but these can drag on, and it’s with a couple of other people, so it may run late.” She stops and looks at me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”

  I nod. “I’m just hungry.”

  She accepts my excuse without question, and for some reason, this has a lump forming in my throat. Nothing feels fine. Have I been acting like Candace? Is Paxton acting like Mike? Playing both of us and waiting for the best option?

  I take a deep breath and try to clear my thoughts. “Why’s dad at such a late meeting?”

  Mom grins. “Your dad and grandpa are wining and dining some potential clients. Your father can’t stand them. He probably feels like he’s in purgatory.”

  “It’s…” I rotate my wrist. It’s only seven. This day just feels like it’s been seventy-two hours at this point. “Never mind. I’ve got things covered, don’t worry.”

  She leans forward, her lips leaving a cold outline on my cheek. “If you want to stay over, there are clean sheets on your bed. Also, don’t kill me, but if you have time to program the remote, it’s not working again.”

  I try to grin because my throat feels tight again. I glance beyond my mom at the Christmas tree glowing warmly and realize I have nothing but time tonight for the first time in over a month, and it has me feeling almost uneasy because I don’t know what to do with it. “Drive safely.”

  She disappears, hitting the keypad on the other side of the door that locks the deadbolt with a click.

  “Come on,” I say to Sampson, heading into the kitchen first, where I grab him a biscuit that he goes and happily eats on his dog bed while I make a quick detour to the guest bathroom and put my feet in the tub before I take off my shoes and peel off my socks, releasing a trail of sand on the tiled bottom. I brush out my jeans and then rinse my feet before heading upstairs. Dylan’s door is cracked open, and I push it wider, hearing his soft snores.

  Sampson follows me in, his footsteps light, but tail clumsy as he knocks over a toy. Dylan doesn’t stir. My parents were worried when Dylan was younger because he got sick constantly—especially ear infections—and was always a little small for his age. His allergy list is longer than my arm and had my parents reaching toward both western medicine and more holistic options to help him. Since turning eight, he’s been growing and filling out and experiencing fewer bouts of illness that have all been milder. I feel his forehead with my palm, relieved that he’s not too hot. I check his humidifier to make sure there’s enough water, make sure his night light is on, and press the stuffed whale that Rae got him when he was a toddler closer.

  I leave his door open and head downstairs, Sampson trailing me. Sometimes, I miss living here, the comfort, the space, the familiarity of each cupboard and drawer and closet and knowing the neighborhood as well as I do, but this house has always been too big, too quiet, too empty, and I don’t miss those details, though I worry Dylan will experience an amplified version. Granted, Dylan’s always been an extrovert, comfortable with making friends and talking to strangers. I doubt he even notices the silence here because he’s always filled it with games, toys, and friends.

  I pass the grand piano that I used to practice on for hours each week, the formal dining room that we only use for holidays and guests, and go straight into the family room and locate the remote that I re-program. I lay a blanket across the couch so Sampson can sit beside me. He doesn’t need more of an invitation, curling up alongside me, head on my lap as I flip through the TV, desperate for a distraction. I probably need to text Pax. I definitely need to make sure I let Rae know I left.

  I blow out a breath and reach for my phone, discovering a couple of missed texts from Rae.

  Raegan: Sure. Where are you? Want me to go with you?

  Raegan: Poppy?

  Raegan: Don’t make me sound the alarm…

  Me: Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to disappear.

  Me: I’m okay. I just needed to get here. Have fun at the party. I might spend the night at my parents. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

  Raegan: Is Dylan okay?
<
br />   Me: Yeah. It seems like a mild case of the flu.

  Raegan: Want some company?

  Me: No. You should stay and have fun.

  Raegan: Call or text if you change your mind.

  This is one of the downsides of dating my best friend’s brother. I don’t want to talk to her about what’s going on because it seems impossible for her not to pick sides, and yet, I’m desperate to talk to my best friend about all of these questions and doubts.

  Paxton

  “I’m glad your parents are back, but this weather has me missing their house,” I tell Ian as I walk beside him to the beach.

  He chuckles. “I’m telling you, we’re going to have to put the pressure on Banks. We could fit in his damn garage. That place was huge.”

  I grin, feeling a sense of calm wash over me with the quick resolve that settled my thoughts on my drive here, my focus and purpose are on Poppy, a resolution in hand. “I’m pretty sure he likes his cars more than us.”

  Ian laughs. “Without a doubt.” The wind whips, carrying the scent of the bonfire toward us. “But, this is still pretty damn sweet,” he says, stopping with a view of the group that has gathered to come and celebrate with us—for us.

  “Every time we walk into a packed arena, I’m still shocked people have come to see us play.” My words feel like an admission.

  Ian grins. “It’s been a wild ride.” He sets his hand on my shoulder and releases a breath. “It’s really strange that it’s all about to end. I’ve been so ready for us to win so we don’t have the weight and pressure resting on our shoulders, but now that we’re so close, I wish I could rewind and play this season all over again.”

  I breathe in the sea air, feeling the same solemn and sweet taste of melancholy.

  “Why aren’t we celebrating?” Hoyt asks, throwing his arms around Ian and me. Behind him, Arlo is making his way down, his attention on his phone.