All About You

Fourteen

W hat 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’ve really 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 him ages ago,” 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 little She’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.

I see the rose first before I see Marlon. Then, I take him in.

He’s clad in a loose, white polo shirt that’s tucked into a pair of smooth, black trousers. He looks like a regency hero. His hair, usually tousled, is a lot neater, and I glimpse the sheen of gel. The culprit of this new look.

Marlon does not look the part of a charming prince, but all the parts of a dashing knight. The thought slithers into my mind unwarranted.

Marlon Salvador is handsome , and I hate it.

I take the rose from his hands, and after a beat I finally remember to say, “Hi.”

“Hi Jas,” he says with that cheeky smile. He turns to my parents and bows his head respectfully, “Hi Tita, Tito.”

He steps forward, pressing his cheek to theirs in greeting.

“Not too late, okay, Marlon?” Dad points his finger at Marlon as he says this, but the glint in his eyes gives his playfulness away.

Regardless, Marlon nods in compliance, ever the good boy.

“Of course Tito. I will have her back safely.”

“You two have fun, okay?” Mum coos. I hand her the rose before stepping out the door. Marlon leads me to his car, and opens the door for me.

Once we’ve both stepped inside, he turns to me,

“You looked a bit flustered back there, Garcia,” he teases and I hate the blush that crawls onto my face, “Do I have anything to do with that?”

I roll my eyes, slapping his shoulder for good measure.

“Shut up. You clean up well, and that’s all I’ll admit, but you’re an ass.”

“So, you agree that I’m good looking?”

Oh he’s insufferable. Especially if he thinks I’d admit that.

“Just drive, loser.”

The sound of his laughter blends with the engine as he pulls out of my house, and I watch my parents as they wave us off.

“So where are we going?” I ask. We still hadn’t figured that out.

“This strikingly handsome outfit that had you tongue-tied is about as far as I thought of, especially since I only found out about these plans five hours ago. Where do you want to go?”

There is no way that I am going to eat in a fancy restaurant with Marlon tonight. As much as I can, I want to avoid anything that’ll resemble a real date. Our little act at the door is as far as I’m willing to go.

“Let’s just get some takeout somewhere,” I say.

“Hmm, sounds good, I don’t want to spend much tonight,” Marlon adds. I almost sigh with relief at his agreement until he slaps the steering wheel slightly.

“Wait, but my parents also want pics, and sorry but I don’t want them, or your parents thinking I took you to a KFC or something for your first date.”

That’s true. I sit back, thinking of another solution. I perch up.

“How about, like, a park or a hill, or an overlook or something?” I suggest, “That way we can still get cheap food, but at least the nice view will even it out. We can camp out there until we’ve spent a reasonable amount of time out.”

“Oh, how you sweep me off my feet Garcia,” Marlon coos.

The nearest fast-food outlet to us is a Mexican joint.

As we walk in through the front doors, we earn a few puzzled glances from the patrons. For a moment I’m confused as to why we’d be gaining so much attention, until I catch my reflection in a window.

Marlon and I are dressed as if we were going to attend a symphonic show at the Sydney Opera House, and not at all like two people on their first fake date.

I ignore the one-over that the junior trainee gives me and order myself a chicken burrito, while Marlon orders himself a bowl of nachos, and surprisingly an extra order of share fries between us.

“Aw, aren’t you feeling generous?” I tease.

Marlon scoffs, “90% is for me Garcia.”

Once the food is collected and ready, we head on our way.

“So, do you know where to go?” I ask as I grab a fry and pop it into my mouth. The sweet salsa taste melts on my tongue.

“I do,” Marlon says, “It’s uh - I used to take Christine here sometimes.”

Before I can respond to that, Marlon reaches forward and turns the volume up a little more. An evasive action. I turn to him, noting his blank expression as he continues driving, and decide not to push the topic right now.

“Hey Garcia, if this was an actual date…” Marlon begins again after a moment, and when he notices my sour expression, he rolls his eyes. “Not with me , I mean in general. If you were on an actual date, what would the perfect one look like?”

I’d actually thought of this, many times, with many different faces. There is no limit to my imagination, whenever I delude myself over what I’d love to do on a real date.

A candlelit dinner. A quaint picnic on a meadow. Stargazing. Many of my ideas have been influenced by the countless dates I’ve read about in romance books, or watched in movies. As a result, a lot of my own fantasies are just copy-and-paste from fiction.

So, what did I actually want?

“Something to do with books, maybe,” I profess, and it’s ironic that a real date I’d love to go on would include the catalyst of fiction itself.

“Or something like what my parents used to do. They told me about how they used to go comic-shop hopping, because it’s a shared interest of theirs,” I continue, and shake my head, “It’s cheesy, I know. God, if I could choose, I’d want to have a date right at the heart of the library that the Beast gives Belle in Beauty and the Beast. ”

“I remember that scene.”

“Yeah.”

“And so, what, you and your beau would just go around looking at books?”

The hint of amusement in Marlon’s voice tells me further he couldn’t possibly understand.

“Well, yeah, then at the end of the day we could, I don’t know, watch the sunset, maybe? I’ve always loved the sunset.”

I found the sunset, and the oranges that it casts across the sky, to be so beautifully romantic. The way that the light dips into the darkness, as though greeting an old lover, to rest in its arms. Day and night, coaxing each other in.

When I catch Marlon’s eyes watching me through the visor, I shrug, and continue, “Though honestly, to just be in each other’s presence, really, is what I care most about. While I fantasise most of the time of these fictional romances happening to me, I feel that when it comes to love, you find what suits you both the best. Something that not even books could record. It’s unique, just for you.”

“You have a way with words, Garcia,” Marlon professes.

Houses begin to fall away as we enter a parklands dirtway that leads into some ominous looking forestry. The car tilts slightly as we head uphill, and eventually the trees tear away to a clearing. We’re high enough that we’re able to see over suburban streets, the household lights below casting constellations.

It’s a beautiful spot, for a nice date. If I were the real girlfriend, of course.

The soft glow of the dashboard is the only source of light inside of the otherwise dark car, once Marlon pulls us to a stop. As if reading my thoughts, he pulls out a little galaxy lamp from his bag, and I chuckle at the action.

“So, you stargaze in the car instead of the real thing?” I tease.

“Why are you disappointed?” he counters, clicking the lamp on, “Did you want to do the real thing with me?”

I glower at him, though it’s useless because of the dark.

“Never ever,” I retort.

Marlon laughs, placing the galaxy lamp between us, resting upon the car lever.

“The stars are sometimes hard to see, and it’s dark up here,” he explains, “And besides, we have to make this ruse the best our parents have ever seen, while it lasts.”

My stomach grumbles.

“I guess we should begin our romantic dinner,” I state, unwrapping my burrito.

“I suppose we should,” Marlon agrees, with a chuckle.

To fill the silence, he plays some orchestral music from his phone, with some I recognise from video games I’ve played. I begin bopping my head up and down to particularly upbeat tracks, with Marlon following along with my movements. Until the playlist begins to play an unnerving tune, and I grimace.

“Um, how about we put on something a little more calming,” I suggest, the violent strings of the piece sending shivers up my spine.

“Why, are you a scaredy-cat?” Marlon teases quite childishly.

I roll my eyes.

“Well, yes, if you’re out here playing background music for a murderer while we’re out here in the middle of the woods.”

“Um, this murderer background track is from one of my favourite video games, thank you very much,” Marlon retorts.

He holds up the phone for me to see, and the name of the tune tells me it’s from the horror game Until Dawn. The album cover displays a skull superimposed in an hourglass, and my stomach jumps unnervingly. I reach forward to skip the track, when a notification appears atop his screen, the ping resonating across the car.

It’s a text. From Christine.

“I - uh,” I motion toward the screen, cheeks heating. Marlon swivels the phone, and the moment his eyes land on the text, his shoulders tense.

The music stops, and an awkward pause balloons in the air between us, the silence in the car only raptured by the rapid tap, tap, tap of the digital keyboard. The desire to leave the car, to give Marlon some space seizes me, but I stay.

A sound, caught between a sigh and a groan escapes his throat. This Marlon, this flustered, nervous Marlon is one I’ve rarely ever seen, one I only glimpsed a few times when Tita Regina would chastise him when we were kids.

“Marlon?” I ask, uncertain.

Constellations from the projector blanket his stony expression. It’s jarring, how an emotionless Marlon fazes me more than if he were to have his unbearable smirk right now. I wish he did.

“Well, okay look, some parts of this story might sound cheesy and embarrassing so promise me you won’t laugh,” he says.

While usually I’d retort with a snarky reply, proclaiming I couldn’t make any such promises, something about the genuinity of Marlon’s eyes makes me bite my tongue. Softens the hard spot for him in my chest that’s otherwise always riddled with annoyance.

“Of course,” I say. Then, to lighten the mood a little, I add, “Besides, cheesy and embarrassing is my thing, remember?”

Marlon shifts a little in his seat.

“Okay so, obviously you know all about Christine. I’m not sure if you know this, but she’s my first ever girlfriend. Well, was ,” he begins, and reaches up to scratch at his earlobe. “Usually, how it goes, is I would be interested in a girl. We would chat, we would go out for like, a week or something. But there’d be no commitment, nothing on a deeper level you know?”

Back then, I remember hearing the general playground gossip about Marlon and his new girl every month or so.

He and I didn’t attend the same school, but our cohorts were mutuals and so news of Marlon would always travel over to me.

He was also quite popular, unsurprisingly, and tiptoed that reputation of being a player, simply because of his numerous situationships. I don’t think he’s a heartbreaker though. It always sounded like mutual casualness.

That’s the difference between him and I. Regardless of how our families acted with the both of us, he still went ahead and did what he wanted. Dated whoever he wanted, even if it were simple high-school relationships.

“It was at about Year 12 that, I guess, I wanted to feel a little more than just casual. It’s not like I swore off being in real relationships, it just never happened for me. So I decided, maybe it was time I actually like, try being a boyfriend for once. Try committing. Christine was someone who I’d actually been quite interested in and well, I thought why not, you know?”

I observe as Marlon fiddles with the steering wheel, this thumb creating indents in the foam cover.

“We dated for a year, and obviously you know this part but we broke up, and it was because she told me she believed I wasn’t boyfriend-material. She didn’t feel I knew how to be one. Both our family’s didn’t help with that one either, because she definitely heard all of that.”

He exhales sharply, and I wait a moment for him to continue. He doesn’t.

I ponder his words, letting them sit in my thoughts.

“Did you like - like her, Marlon?” I ask.

“I did! I’m sure - I’m sure I did! Of course I did. She’s my first girlfriend, the first one I put an effort into courting, and going on dates with.”

His hands leave the steering wheel, and begin to pick at his pants.

“I just feel like I need to prove to her that I can be a good boyfriend. Better than before.”

Marlon slumps against the car chair, relaxing the tension in his muscles after his explanation. I somehow try to reconcile this vulnerable side of Marlon with the devilish, troublemaker I’ve known all my life.

The urge to reach over and comfort him somehow; to pat his hand, to caress his shoulder suddenly seizes me. I don’t act on it though. Should I…?

Another ping sounds from Marlon’s phone, and I watch him glance at it reluctantly.

“We’ve started talking again, after ages,” Marlon says, answering the unspoken question on my tongue, “Very safe territory. We’re both guarded, I can tell. But, I want to try and see her. Meet up with her somehow. Maybe if I can talk to her in person again, we can fall back into our old dynamic. It can feel a little normal and less forced.”

“Marlon,” I begin, wrapping my thoughts around my words before I say it aloud.

After all, I don’t have any relationship experience, but I’ve seen enough evidence in front of me to know that this can only work if Marlon is truly, 100% in it.

“You sound like you want to prove you’re a good boyfriend, for the sake of proving you’re a good boyfriend rather than, you know, wanting to be with Christine.”

His brows bunch together, and while he’s glared at me before, somehow this expression flusters me. In this moment, I don’t want to discourage or annoy him, for the first time ever.

“I do want to be with Christine. I - It’s stupid,” he groans, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel, “I can’t believe I’m admitting this all to you. But I kind of want to know what it’s like to love properly as well, Garcia.”

The words pang like a bell, striking my lungs. I had never expected him to be like this.

“You know, I see my parents, I see your parents. I see everyone else around me falling in love. Why couldn’t I do it properly? Did I love wrong?”

Marlon meets my eyes, and they billow with a sort of desperation, a gleaming innocent hope that, for a moment, feels like I’m staring into my own reflection. In that second, I realise that he’s being genuine. He truly wants to win Christine back, to prove to her that he’s somewhat different.

“There’s no right way to love,” I murmur, “We all have our own ways of loving. And you’ll find your own.”

His eyes brighten, “You think?”

“I think you can. You’re clearly genuine about this, or else I wouldn’t be feeling this sorry for you,” I joke, an attempt to soften the mood. It works. His lips stretch into a smile, and it is not his usual smirk, not the one laced with underlying trouble, but a true smile.

It strikes me like a thunderclap that comes unexpectedly amidst a sunny day.

“How?” he questions.

“Well…I guess you can start with the little things. Like it’s the beginning all over again. Like, asking her to catch up after uni one day, or taking her out to her favourite spot. Buying her little gifts she enjoys. Show her you’re thinking of her, instead of voicing it.”

Marlon is listening to me intently, nodding along, like what I have to say is actually valuable, despite the sudden dawning of imposter syndrome. He doesn’t have that glint of mockery in his eyes like usual. Without the mischief, he is almost like a soft breeze. Calming, lingering. Comforting. The light from the lamp illuminates the brown in them.

I cough, glancing away, feeling as though the eye contact had lingered longer than intended.

“You’re definitely perceptive in this, Garcia,” Marlon says, after a moment. His tone is lighter now, playful. Back to normal.

"Well, I am the expert between us,” I joke.

“Ugh, yes, little miss obsessed-with-romance-books all your life. God, I still remember how you’d read your books while we were meant to be studying back when we were like 14, 15,” he reminisces, and I gasp at his misleading recollection. I slap at his arm.

“Excuse me, you were the one who wouldn’t help me out with my homework!” I exclaim, accusingly, and he chortles.

“That’s because I knew you were smart enough to do it on your own, obviously,” he drawls, “Why would you have even needed my help?”

We both laugh, before my gaze falls on his.

“Thank you for telling me this, by the way,” I say, genuinity dripping from my voice. “I thought I’d be the last person you’d ever tell,”

“You are, but also you’re the first person I thought who’d understand.”

“Strange, the girl you’ve tormented all your life is the one who’s going to help with your love life.”

“And the boy you’ve despised since we were born is the answer to all your problems. Fate works in silly ways, Garcia”

Childhood enemies joining forces to help each other with our failed love lives. Who could’ve imagined?

We decide to shave off more time by watching some episodes of Sailor Moon, with Marlon generously offering his Crunchyroll. We’re two episodes in when I get a text.

Damn, amidst Marlon and I’s little conversation and my hunger I’d forgotten to take faux pictures for her. The discarded burrito wrappers do not scream romantic first date at all. I glance outside my window, at the night sky. Unlike what Marlon said before, there’s actually a nice scatter of stars. I hatch an idea.

Stepping outside, I gesture for Marlon to follow. There’s a nice patch of grass toward the edge of the overlook and I lower myself, cross legged. Marlon watches me.

“Come on,” I prod, pulling on his arm. He settles beside me.

The stars above create a perfectly romantic mood. I take his phone and put on one of my favourite romance songs: All About You by ATEEZ .

“This is quite a romantic song, Garcia,” Marlon wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I glare.

“It’s my favourite romance song and everyone knows it, especially my parents” I grumble, “So it only makes sense that I’d use it with you - you know what, nevermind. Just, come closer.”

A snicker escapes his lips as I tug on his arm, coaxing him to come closer to me. The sound of ATEEZ’s voices wafts through the air, as the song ramps up toward the chorus. I quietly chastise myself for choosing this song for this moment. When I finally introduce it to my true love, it’ll be tainted with this memory.

“We need to hold hands,” I say, “For the photo.”

A grin creeps onto Marlon’s face. The insufferable kind.

“If you wanted to do this all along, you could’ve just asked,” he says, at the same time I hold up a hand and say, ‘Nope, nope.’

We take a few moments to lace our hands together properly - his fingers are much longer than mine so it makes my hand look miniscule. We struggle with positioning, tangling ourselves as we decide where my elbow should rest. In the scuffle he accidentally hits my rib.

All About You continues to play in the background, and it’s almost laughable how such a touching melody is the backtrack for two people who cannot seem to hold hands normally.

Finally, we manage a less awkward position for the photo and I snap a photo of our intertwined fingers, with the song illuminated in the background. After a couple shots, I pry my fingers from his immediately, both of us jumping back to put distance between us.

I load the photo into my family group chat. Immediately Mum reads it, reacting to it with heart emojis and a blushing gif. Ria reacts to it with a laughing emoji while Dad just throws a thumbs up.

“Hey, show me the photo,” Marlon whines, and I turn the phone to show him. He breaks into a laugh.

“Not bad, you could fool anyone with that.”

Exactly. I send the photo to Marlon, too, so he can show his own parents, before we get up.

“So, wait, since you’ve never had a boyfriend, no offence,” Marlon begins, holding up his hands in surrender. I didn’t realise I was already glaring.

“If that’s the case, then are my hands the first you’ve ever held?”

My refusal to respond is all the answer that’s needed. Marlon chuckles, and I walk past him, toward the car, heat spilling across my face already. I slide myself in, with Marlon following after, that intolerable grin still lingering.

“And you’ve never had your first kiss?” Marlon asks.

Why are we talking about this? I glare at him, hoping it’s enough to end the conversation right there and then.

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Marlon ponders for a second, tapping his chin.

“Want to practise?”

The slap against his chest is instant, and he gasps in pain.

“Ow?”

“What is actually wrong with you?”

He rubs the spot where I’ve hit him.

“Relax, I was just kidding. As if I’d ever put my lips on you,” Marlon murmurs.

I scoff, leaning away from him and against the car door.

‘As if I’d ever let you near me like that.”

Marlon raises both his brows, and I feel many girls have been subject to this flirty gaze. It’ll never work on me though.

“You’d be so lucky if you had the chance.”

I bark out a laugh. Really, he must stop making me laugh this hard. It could be detrimental to my health.

“In your dreams,” I counter, “And anyway, I want my first kiss to be absolutely magical. Preferably it’d be in the rain.”

Marlon chuckles, “Like in The Notebook?”

“Exactly like The Notebook.”

“That’s silly. You’re just going to catch a cold and it’ll be uncomfortable.”

I swat away his words.

“What do you know?”

“ Alot more than you Garcia, that’s a promise.”

I roll my eyes, hating how he is likely right. I wonder how many girls he’s kissed, before deciding that Christine is the one he wants. As the date reasonably draws to a close, we decide to head on home.

“I should walk you to the front door,” he says, once we pull up to the front of my house. He pauses a second, before scratching behind his ear, “And I - uh - I might ask for your parents permission or whatever.”

I punch him lightly on the shoulder, “Sucks to be you.”

Marlon frowns at me, “You owe me forever, Garcia.”

I tsk my tongue, shaking my head, “Calm down, you’ll do fine. You’ve done it with Christine, anyway. I’ll pretend to be oblivious and stay upstairs.”

Dad is the one who opens the door for us, greeting us both before heading down the hallway, giving us the illusion of privacy. Both my parents are likely lingering behind the wall, beside the stairs, where they think I can’t see or sense them.

I turn to Marlon, and the hint of that devilish smile reminds me that this is pretend.

“Thank you Marlon, I had a great time,” I say.

“Of course, anytime” he replies, matching my tone. Then, he bends down and presses his lips against my cheek in a small peck. The contact sends waves of shock down my body. Instinctively, I press my fingers against where he’d kissed me, before remembering that this is Marlon.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I tell him, “Get home safe.”

I reach forward, giving his hand a small squeeze, communicating a thank you through the small gesture. Then I head down the hallway toward the stairs, and try to pretend I don’t see Mum and Dad huddling behind the wall.

“Actually, Tito, may I talk to you and Tita?” Marlon says after a few seconds, once I’d reached the first landing of the stairs.

It feels like quite a while before I hear Marlon say his farewell to my parents. The car engine starts up and I listen to him drive away. I’m in the middle of pulling off my top in the bathroom when I hear my Mum knock on the door.

“Just changing, Mum,” I call out.

She opens up the door and through the mirror, I observe as she leans against the doorframe.

“So, Marlon asked you to be his girlfriend tonight?”

Ah. So that’s the story he went with.

“He did,” I tell her, hoping that I have a convincing enough expression of bashfulness.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you both had feelings for each other? Or, tell me at least,” she says and I lift my gaze, to meet hers in the mirror.

While there’s that hint of happiness floating on her expression, there’s also the slightest crumb of disappointment. Throughout my life, Mum has always expressed how she wants Ria and I to always feel comfortably open with her. She prided herself on being the type of parent to not judge, to not disregard or belittle her children’s feelings.

It’s a norm within Asian households I’ve found, at least from the stories that Cheyenne and even my cousins have told me, that there’s a sense of emotional divide.

The thing is, I’ve always been open with my Mum. But this is the one thing I feel I can’t be entirely open with. It’s the one truth she doesn’t see.

“It just happened suddenly,” I confess, “I didn’t expect it myself, but maybe something has always been there, something I didn’t realise until more recently. And when he began to slowly court me, it all clicked at once.”

Mum steps forward, a smile crawling onto her lips.

“That’s nearly exactly what he said,” she laughs, “I’ve always known he’s a good guy and I want nothing less than a good person for my beautiful daughter.”

Mum steps forward to plant a kiss on my head.

“Remember to put that in the laundry, okay? And use the new facial oil cleanser I bought. I’ll make some tea before you go to bed.”

She steps out, leaving the bathroom. I let her words linger in the air. These are the words I’ve always dreamt of hearing from my Mum.

For her to approve of my first love, to believe we fit together, just like how her and Dad do.

I want her to say that about Rafayel, one day. It’s surreal that the first time I hear her saying this about a guy I’m linked with, it’s about Marlon.

The thought clouds my brain when Ria enters the bathroom suddenly.

“How was the date, Ate?” she asks.

“It was fun,” I say. Then quietly, “As fun as it was for a fake date, of course. But fun overall.”

“And how was Marlon? How did you survive him for 3 hours?”

“He was actually not too bad. For once he didn’t make me want to strangle him. It was…nice. We just talked and watched some Sailor Moon and I don’t know. It was fun.”

That’s when I notice Ria’s smile. A smile that suggests she knows something that I don’t. A smile implying more than meets the eye.

“What?” I ask, even though I know what she’s about to say.

“You know, I heard some of the stuff he was telling Mum and Dad. To convince them to let him date you.”

I roll my eyes, “Ria it’s all pret-”

“He was talking about how amazing you are. How much you make him laugh. How loves it when he’s the reason why, and how he wants to continue to find ways to make you smile. How you’re absolutely gorgeous to him -”

“Ria, it’s just pretend.”

“But what if you start liking Marl-”

“No. Impossible. We’re interested in other people and -” I don’t realise my voice is rising until Ria widens her eyes in warning. I take a deep breath. “That won’t happen. I promise you.”

Ria holds my gaze, as if challenging me to challenge my own words.

“Okay,” is all she says.

Defensiveness flares up in me, this desire to prove her wrong. To wipe whatever idea she has about Marlon and I out of her head. But to fight against it, to show I care so much would also suggest something might be happening. So I keep my mouth shut and ignore as she walks away.

I know she’s wrong. That she’s just messing with me.

I know for certain that other than this ruse, other than being slightly less-annoyed with Marlon and perhaps a potential budding friendship, nothing more would ever happen with him.

It’s all just pretend.