Forgive My Fins
Page 37
Instead of taking notes during class, I focused on preparing my answers to the questions she was bound to ask. Not good for my flagging GPA, but a worthy sacrifice.
I’ve got my story all worked out. “It’s kind of a misunderstanding. After he kissed me”—I ignore Shannen’s sigh of envy—“I was so startled, I just kind of nodded. I didn’t even realize he’d asked me out until he dropped me off at home and said he’d pick me up at seven.”
“But then you told him, right?” She hitches her bag up higher on her shoulder. “Why is he still acting all possessive if you told him it was a mistake?”
“Because I, um, didn’t.” I hadn’t considered that totally logical follow-up question. Geez, this is getting more complicated by the second. Now I remember why I usually never lie.
“Then what?” she demands. “You’re, like, actually dating him?”
There is no easy way out of this, so I might as well dig in. “Well, kind of.” At Shannen’s shocked look, I add, “For a little while.” Then, remembering what Quince said Friday night before we left for the dance, I get an idea. “It might make Brody jealous.”
Shannen’s brown eyes narrow. “You’re using Quince?”
“Don’t make it sound so awful.” Then, because the idea of using someone like that, even someone I generally despise, makes me feel a little sick, I add, “Besides, he’s kind of in on it. It was his idea.” Not a lie.
“Oh.” Shannen sounds disappointed. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m not using Quince, or because I’m not actually dating him. She asks, “How long do you two plan on keeping up this façade?”
“A week,” I blurt. “Just a week. Then we’ll break it off and be back to normal.”
Quince and I can play nice for a week, right? I just need to explain to him why this cover story is necessary. He’ll understand. I hope.
“Absolutely not,” I tell Quince the next day after school. “I’m going to the swim meet with Shannen. You’re not invited.”
I slam my locker shut and turn away from the stormy look on his face.
“It’s a free country,” he says, falling into step beside me. “I can go if I want to.”
I shrug as if I don’t care, when the last thing I want is Quince at the swim meet. This is my Brody time, and I don’t want the bond muddying my thinking.
“Besides,” he says, shoving his hands into his back pockets so his leather jacket pulls open and his T-shirt stretches tight over his chest—not that I noticed or anything. “If we’re pretending to pretend to be an item, I can’t just let you go swoon over another guy for a few hours.”
Swoon? Ha! I don’t swoon. Get anxious and tongue-tied? Yes. But I got over the whole swooning-at-the-sight-of-him thing ages ago. Last month, I think.
“I’m not going to swoon,” I insist. “I’m the team manager. I have official duties, like submitting the roster, recording the times, making sure everyone’s at the starting block on time.”
“Right,” Quince says with complete insincerity. “So I’ll be there to support you in your official capacity.”
We push through the exit and out into the late-afternoon sun. Shannen’s car is in the front row, and I can see that she’s not in it yet. Since I’m waiting for her—driving and I are like oil and water…literally—I turn on Quince.
“Listen.” I drop my backpack and cross my arms over my chest. “This whole fake dating thing is a cover, to explain things we just can’t explain. It’s not real. I’m not your girlfriend, pretend or otherwise. You don’t have the right to act all jealous and possessive.”
Quince steps closer. “It may be an act,” he says, his voice low. How does he still smell of mint toothpaste at the end of the day? “But as far as most of Seaview High is concerned, it’s the real deal. I’m not about to play the school fool while my supposed girlfriend drools over another guy.”
I can feel his male pride swirling around me, wrapping me in a cloud of possession. Even if we both know this is pretend, the bond magic is making the fake emotions feel real. Clearly, Quince can’t tell the difference. Who am I kidding? I can’t tell the difference, and I’ve been around this magic my entire life.
What crazy leap of logic ever led me to believe that we could pull this off without a hitch? Nothing ever goes that smoothly. Especially when magic and little white lies are involved. And clearly, Quince is using this as another opportunity to make my life miserable.
The door we just came through swings open, and from the corner of my eye I see Courtney and two of her groupies emerge. Before I can even groan, I feel Quince’s arm wrap around my waist and pull me tight.
“What the—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish my startled question. I’m too stunned to react, so I just hang there like a limp jellyfish in his arms. As Courtney and her crew pass by, I hear her say, “PDA much?”
The groupies giggle on cue. Why do all the most embarrassing moments of my life have to come with witnesses?
Quince releases me, gives me an arrogant smile, and then says, “See you at the pool.”
Then he turns and saunters off toward his motorcycle. I’m staring at his retreating, leather-clad back when Shannen emerges.
“Were you and Quince just…kissing?”
I’ve got my story all worked out. “It’s kind of a misunderstanding. After he kissed me”—I ignore Shannen’s sigh of envy—“I was so startled, I just kind of nodded. I didn’t even realize he’d asked me out until he dropped me off at home and said he’d pick me up at seven.”
“But then you told him, right?” She hitches her bag up higher on her shoulder. “Why is he still acting all possessive if you told him it was a mistake?”
“Because I, um, didn’t.” I hadn’t considered that totally logical follow-up question. Geez, this is getting more complicated by the second. Now I remember why I usually never lie.
“Then what?” she demands. “You’re, like, actually dating him?”
There is no easy way out of this, so I might as well dig in. “Well, kind of.” At Shannen’s shocked look, I add, “For a little while.” Then, remembering what Quince said Friday night before we left for the dance, I get an idea. “It might make Brody jealous.”
Shannen’s brown eyes narrow. “You’re using Quince?”
“Don’t make it sound so awful.” Then, because the idea of using someone like that, even someone I generally despise, makes me feel a little sick, I add, “Besides, he’s kind of in on it. It was his idea.” Not a lie.
“Oh.” Shannen sounds disappointed. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m not using Quince, or because I’m not actually dating him. She asks, “How long do you two plan on keeping up this façade?”
“A week,” I blurt. “Just a week. Then we’ll break it off and be back to normal.”
Quince and I can play nice for a week, right? I just need to explain to him why this cover story is necessary. He’ll understand. I hope.
“Absolutely not,” I tell Quince the next day after school. “I’m going to the swim meet with Shannen. You’re not invited.”
I slam my locker shut and turn away from the stormy look on his face.
“It’s a free country,” he says, falling into step beside me. “I can go if I want to.”
I shrug as if I don’t care, when the last thing I want is Quince at the swim meet. This is my Brody time, and I don’t want the bond muddying my thinking.
“Besides,” he says, shoving his hands into his back pockets so his leather jacket pulls open and his T-shirt stretches tight over his chest—not that I noticed or anything. “If we’re pretending to pretend to be an item, I can’t just let you go swoon over another guy for a few hours.”
Swoon? Ha! I don’t swoon. Get anxious and tongue-tied? Yes. But I got over the whole swooning-at-the-sight-of-him thing ages ago. Last month, I think.
“I’m not going to swoon,” I insist. “I’m the team manager. I have official duties, like submitting the roster, recording the times, making sure everyone’s at the starting block on time.”
“Right,” Quince says with complete insincerity. “So I’ll be there to support you in your official capacity.”
We push through the exit and out into the late-afternoon sun. Shannen’s car is in the front row, and I can see that she’s not in it yet. Since I’m waiting for her—driving and I are like oil and water…literally—I turn on Quince.
“Listen.” I drop my backpack and cross my arms over my chest. “This whole fake dating thing is a cover, to explain things we just can’t explain. It’s not real. I’m not your girlfriend, pretend or otherwise. You don’t have the right to act all jealous and possessive.”
Quince steps closer. “It may be an act,” he says, his voice low. How does he still smell of mint toothpaste at the end of the day? “But as far as most of Seaview High is concerned, it’s the real deal. I’m not about to play the school fool while my supposed girlfriend drools over another guy.”
I can feel his male pride swirling around me, wrapping me in a cloud of possession. Even if we both know this is pretend, the bond magic is making the fake emotions feel real. Clearly, Quince can’t tell the difference. Who am I kidding? I can’t tell the difference, and I’ve been around this magic my entire life.
What crazy leap of logic ever led me to believe that we could pull this off without a hitch? Nothing ever goes that smoothly. Especially when magic and little white lies are involved. And clearly, Quince is using this as another opportunity to make my life miserable.
The door we just came through swings open, and from the corner of my eye I see Courtney and two of her groupies emerge. Before I can even groan, I feel Quince’s arm wrap around my waist and pull me tight.
“What the—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish my startled question. I’m too stunned to react, so I just hang there like a limp jellyfish in his arms. As Courtney and her crew pass by, I hear her say, “PDA much?”
The groupies giggle on cue. Why do all the most embarrassing moments of my life have to come with witnesses?
Quince releases me, gives me an arrogant smile, and then says, “See you at the pool.”
Then he turns and saunters off toward his motorcycle. I’m staring at his retreating, leather-clad back when Shannen emerges.
“Were you and Quince just…kissing?”
