Chapter 6
Brooks
I figured out her name was “Brielle” when my phone started pinging with notifications that I was tagged in some post. I’ll admit, I wasn’t thrilled when I saw it.
In fact, irritated was pretty much what I felt.
I watched it two times before I shut it off, not wanting my repeated staring at the awful reel to give the algorithms ideas and start feeding me more reels of that boy/girl genre.
I had no clue how someone had made a video of Brielle Walters and me so fast. I mean, I’d just met her and cracked heads with her in study hall, and literally thirty minutes later, I was walking down the hall getting punched in the arm by dudes I didn’t know.
“How’d you manage that?” one guy asked. “Brielle’s a bookworm.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.
“Dude, watch out for Reece. You break his sister’s heart, and he’ll get you kicked off the baseball team before you’re on it.”
What?
“She’s hot.” That comment bugged me. I didn’t know why, but it did.
It was as though Brielle was only worth being talked about because she was pretty.
And yeah. I’d noticed. I mean, she was .
. . cute. But, she also delivered her opinion about music with the delivery method of a skilled pitcher out for blood.
We can not be friends.
I had to believe she was serious. She sure sounded like it. But according to username, Jen_Girlie182, I was dating her. Brielle Walters and I were in a relationship. We were a thing. A couple.
So I intended to talk to her about it the minute I saw her.
She may not be Jen_Girlie182 who’d posted the video, but she could surely put a stop to the rumors.
The last thing I needed was anyone thinking I was sucking up to the starting pitcher on Driftwood’s baseball team and dating his sister to make it onto the team.
“This is so saaaaaad!” A Blond girl with pouty lips whimpered as I passed her.
I gave her a quick look but kept walking.
Another girl’s hand grazed my shoulder, and I jerked away. She didn’t seem to notice. “And I was so planning on going to prom with you in the spring!”
My eyes widened.
What the—
Another girl. I think she had red hair—maybe it was orange—I don’t know. But she stopped me with a hand on my chest and looked me straight in the eye.
“When you break up with Brielle, I’ll be right here. Waiting. For you.”
Good grief. Get me out of here.
What was it with these girls? They were obnoxious!
That’s when I saw Brielle, standing in the middle of a circle of about nine different people, including her brother Reece. She had the appearance of a kitten being surrounded by overexcited pet owners all battling for her attention. She was scared. I could see it on her face.
And she was trying not to cry.
Crap.
I could withstand anything but tears from a girl. Genuine tears, that is, and these looked totally genuine. They made her green eyes sparkle with a shimmer that made me actually feel bad for her.
I rethought my irritation, especially after making it past the last three annoying girls.
I didn’t need that to deal with, along with everything else that came with starting at a new high school in my junior year.
Not to mention, she was Reece Walters’s little sister, and he’d been cool when I met him.
I didn’t want to make him mad and dump Brielle before I dated her.
Plus, she was crying. Almost. Enough. There were tears. Tears.
Crap.
The poor girl needed saving.
My arm practically flung itself over her shoulder without my permission, and then I dropped some lame question and all but confirmed it.
I was dating Brielle Walters.
And I didn’t even like One Direction.
“Shortstop?” she whispered under her breath as we walked away.
I hadn’t removed my arm from her shoulder. I’m not sure I could have if I wanted to. It was like it had a mind of its own and thought it belonged there. That was dumb. I waited until we rounded a corner and then dropped it.
“Shortstop?” Brielle whispered again, but I didn’t miss the frantic swiping at her eyes.
“Hold up,” I muttered. I looked around. Students were ducking into their last classes for the day. I didn’t want to be late to mine, but somehow this seemed more important.
Without thinking, I palmed open the door to the janitor’s closet that was conveniently right there and somehow unlocked. I nudged Brielle inside and then kicked the door shut with my foot.
Oh great.
It was dark as night in here and I could feel her breath on my face.
I spun around and fumbled for a light switch. My hands hit the long pole of a broom, then a mop, and they dominoed their way to the floor, clattering in the darkness.
A click sounded, like a chain being pulled, and light flooded the closet from a lone bulb in the ceiling. Brielle was lowering her hand and then returning her arms to a protective embrace of herself. She stared up at me with those green eyes and a look that begged me to explain myself.
Me?
Explain myself?
Heck no.
“What is going on?” I asked. No, I must have demanded because her eyes got all watery again and she ducked her head.
I wasn’t going to apologize. No. I’d already played along with the charade against my own better judgment, and now I was hiding in a janitor’s closet with her.
Because that wouldn’t raise questions if someone found us!
“Brielle?” I knew my voice was a bit sharp, but I needed that stubborn, mouthy version of her from study hall. Not this kicked-to-the-curb stray kitten version that made me want to play hero and give her a home all at the same time.
She looked back at me.
“Listen, I don’t know where that video came from, but I’d sure like an explanation, and you seem the logical person to give me one.”
“I didn’t make the video!”
There it was. That defensive lift of her chin as though somehow I’d offended her.
“Then who did? And why?” I asked.
Her chin lowered a bit. “J-Jenessa did.”
“That’s the who, now what about the why? I mean, this is my first day here. It’s not like everyone knows me, and yet that video made me feel a bit too established at Driftwood High.”
“Yeahhhhh,” Brielle coughed. “About that …”
“And that picture of me? It isn’t me.”
“It looks like you,” she countered.
“A little. Sure. Okay. But, anyone can tell it’s AI.”
“If they want to look hard at it, sure.” She dragged out her words like she was going to try to justify something. “But if they want to believe it’s authentic, they will.”
“Fake news?” I jabbed with my question.
Her eyes just widened like she knew a secret. “Well…”
“Out with it.” I mimicked her stance and crossed my arms, only I wasn’t hugging myself like I was going to cry. I was getting irritated again.
“So,” she cleared her throat, “I like to read.”
“Congrats.”
“And,” Brielle heaved a deep breath, “I like baseball.”
“Smart.”
“So, I don’t really have time—or an interest in . . .”
“In what?” I pressed.
“Dating.”
“Perfect. Let’s break up.” I reached out and patted her shoulder like everything was solved.
“W-wait.” She reached out and tugged my t-shirt sleeve.
I looked at her fingers.
Brielle dropped her hand.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked.
“Well, I might have made that photo before you came, and I might have told my friends I was dating said guy whose photo I faked. And I might have accidentally said his name was Brooks, and then you sort of coincidentally showed up at school today.”
That was the craziest story I’d ever heard. “That’s a real dog-ate-my-homework excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
Dang it, if Brielle didn’t really seem convincing. Fine. I’d play along. “So, you created a fake me, not knowing I really existed?”
“Mm, hmm,” she nodded.
“And then you told your friends you were dating me?”
“Yes.”
“Because …” I let my words hang.
“Because I wanted to get everyone off my back about having a life outside of books and baseball,” she concluded.
“There is no life outside of baseball,” I retorted.
“Exactly!” She threw her hands up in the air. “But far be it from me to get my friends to believe it. So I created you. And I said you lived in North Carolina. And you weren’t supposed to be real, and you weren’t supposed to show up at my school. Ever!”
It was so stupid dumb that I believed her.
“I was going to explain everything to my friends,” Brielle hurried on now that she’d found her courage. “But then Jenessa made that stupid video, and now it’s all over school. I’m dating the new, hot junior from Minnesota who plays baseball.”
“I’m hot?” I winged my eyebrow upward.
She pressed her lips together—they weren’t all puke pink either, they were . . . lips—anyway, she pushed them together and glared at me.
“K, fine.” I shook my head. “So we just tell everyone it’s a hoax.”
“And I’ll spend the rest of my high school career in the liar’s dugout. No, thank you,” Brielle pouted. She could actually pull off pouting and look cute.
“K, so, we fake break up.” I offered.
“After you just called me ‘Shortstop’ and held me all the way down the hall like I was your Cinderella?”
“You don’t strike me as a Cinderella type,” I observed.
“I’m not,” she confirmed. “I’m more like Belle with books, but throw in the Milwaukee Brewers, and you’re spot on.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. No, I demanded. This wasn’t my problem. It was hers. Brielle Walters had created it, and she could clean it up.
Only there she was again, sniffing and looking away, swallowing hard and pretending she was stronger than she probably really was.
“Ok. Fine.” I lifted my hands, palms facing her, and tried to avoid hitting the broom handle with my elbow and sending it crashing to the floor again. “One week.”
“What?” She was a little breathless, and that was weirdly cute.
“We date. One week. Totally fake, but no one has to know. Then you dump me. Better you dump me than me dump you. Your brother would probably kill me.”
“He would.”
“Yeah. And I’d never make it to tryouts, let alone on the team.”
Brielle eyed me for a second, hesitating. She must have decided to say what was on her mind, but she was cautious when she did. “Reece knows you’re fake.”
I stared at her. Great. So he’d know none of this was my fault. “Then he won’t hate me,” I said aloud.
“Actually,” Brielle winced, “now he probably will hate you.”
“Why?” I drew back and scowled at her.
“Because you’re playing along. Reece hates players.”
“It’s fake!” I exclaimed. This whole thing was the dumbest thing ever.
“So, one week?” Brielle seemed to want to bring this to a conclusion.
I was all turned around by now. She could have said the closet door opened to Japan on the other side, and I’d have to seriously question if it was true or not.
“Fine. One week. Fake. And you tell Reece that it was your idea.”
“Fine.” Brielle nodded. Her shoulders lowered. She seemed relieved and bothered all at the same time.
“Fine,” I repeated.
“Fine,” she said.
“Fine.” we both said in unison.
I opened the door.
It was the school hallway, and unfortunately, I was not in Japan.