Chapter 15
Brielle
“I feel like I’m juggling a gazillion balls,” I whined to Lia. My phone was propped on my desk as I worked on homework. I’d just gotten an email notification and opened it, and, of course, things had just gotten more stressful. It seemed to be the trend lately.
“What does the email say, exactly?” Lia asked.
I scrolled up to the beginning of it. “I thought it was a scam at first,” I admitted.
“I doubt the Consortium of Teen Writers is high on the target list for scammers to impersonate.” Lia was doing the dishes or something. I could hear it in the background.
“I don’t know for sure if I even want to be a writer,” I retorted.
“Whatever. You’re the one who applied for the summer program, so part of you is wondering. And, if not that, then what? Your other option is cosmetology school.” Lia answered.
“I could be someone’s assistant—like, I could do administrative work at church or something—like a church secretary,” I offered.
Lia laughed. “You’re too bossy. You’d end up telling the pastor what to preach on. Besides, I’ve never met anyone who aspires to be a church secretary. Who calls it that anyway?”
“My mom,” I answered. “There’s nothing wrong with church secretaries,” I defended. “My grandma used to be one.”
“Brielle. Just tell me what the email says.”
“It says,” I skimmed it so I could summarize it for Lia.
“That they want to interview me for the possibility of working in their summer program. That the program accepts twenty students, and if accepted, the writing program I’d take part in over the summer would count toward college credits with a partial scholarship. ”
“You knew that when you applied, didn’t you?” Lia asked patiently. “But now would be a good time to decide if you want to pursue being a writer.”
“I was thinking maybe more of an editor. I like to pick stories apart more than try to write them.”
“Either way,” Lia crashed a dish into something, muttered, and then turned on the water. “What else does it say?”
“They said they want to interview me—”
“You already said that,” Lia interrupted.
“Annnnnd,” I dragged out the word more because I was afraid to say what followed out loud.
“The topic they’ve chosen for our interview is to talk about my unique perspective on modern love.
You know they select a topic in order to assess the applicant’s skills in communication, imagination, the merging of reality with fiction, plausibility—”
“Modern love?” Lia’s face filled the entire phone’s screen. The look of incredulity on her face didn’t help me relax. At. All.
I decided to just read it. “We’d love to hear about your experience with AI, authentic relationships, and unexpected connections made using technology as it relates to the young adult experience.”
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Lia’s mouth dropped open. “They must’ve seen your story.”
“I know.” I couldn’t help that my throat was closing up. I thought I was allergic to attention. Did they make Epi-Pens for that? Probably not. “The entire interview sounds like it will be based on my relationship slash romance with Brooks.”
“What romance?” Lia winced.
“Exactly.” I did my habitual fall-back-on-my-bed routine and took my phone with me. Grasping it with both hands, I shook my phone as I peered into Lia’s virtual eyes. “My future is dependent on Brooks Mason.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Lia said what I was really thinking. “Your dad is going to kill you.”
I couldn’t tell Brooks about the interview. I mean. Talk about putting pressure on a guy I’d literally just met.
But here I was, sipping coffee—which, of course, in typical nice-guy Brooks fashion, he’d brought me—and sitting in the coffee shop with him.
I hadn’t told my parents about the interview with the writing program yet.
How could I? When I applied, I thought I was going to be interviewed about a fictional book concept or a relevant topic in current times.
There’d been nothing to indicate it would be a personal interview about personal me and my personal life.
I’d prayed about it all night long. My prayers were more like “Dear God, make it all go away,” then morphed into “Dear God, help me know what to say to my parents,” and soon became “Dear Heavenly Father, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”
Brooks and I hadn’t said much. The only reason we’d come to the coffee shop together in the first place was that he’d called and asked me if I wanted to start working on our project together.
“What do you think of Mr. Darcy?” I was desperate for something to talk about besides us.
“Mr. Darcy?” Brooks lifted his eyes.
I sipped my coffee. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then flew back up to my eyes as though he’d caught himself doing something he didn’t want to be caught at. I felt a flush creep up my neck. “Lizzie’s love interest?” I answered quickly.
“Oh.” Brooks turned his attention to the window by our table.
He seemed far away today. It was a different side to Brooks than I’d seen before, and definitely not one I’d imagined when I created the AI version of him.
He was almost brooding, but not in a darkly handsome sort of way.
This was like a—I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay sort of way.
But I was scared to ask what was wrong, too. Because I probably already knew.
Us.
We were wrong.
This whole thing was wrong.
And Brooks had really gone out of his way for me, and I’d dropped him in the middle of an epic mess.
I should let him off the hook. But—how did I do that now?
I’d have to give Mom and Dad some sort of explanation, which meant the truth was likely to come out, and then I’d be grounded for life.
Not to mention, I really wanted to do well in this interview, and if the entire thing was based on my very public relationship with Brooks, then how did I go into the interview and start with a, “Wellllll, we actually broke up”?
“There you are!” A woman’s voice interrupted the tense silence.
I jumped.
Brooks jerked around.
It was Brooks’s mom, and she had her phone out. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked like someone who had been crying but was trying really hard to pretend she wasn’t.
“I had to track your location. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” She asked Brooks.
He shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
I’d met his mom—she told me to call her Evelyn. I had instantly liked her. Now she glanced at me and seemed uncomfortable that I was there.
“Brooks—” she tried again.
Brooks just looked up at her, his face expressionless.
Evelyn sucked in a deep breath and adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “First of all, please answer your phone in the future, all right?”
Wow. If I had been in Brooks’s shoes and didn’t answer my parents’ call, Dad would’ve told me I could pay for my own phone if I wasn’t going to use it.
Evelyn was almost . . . polite to her son.
Was that normal? I mean, I was used to parents who were pretty amazing but definitely parents.
As in the, you’d-better-listen-to-them kind of parents.
Brooks’s parents were more—well, Dad would probably call it “progressive parenting” or something like that.
“I—umm,” another glance from Evelyn to me.
I guess I couldn’t blame her. I was actually paying attention to her as opposed to Brooks who had turned his head to look back out the coffee shop window.
“I’m going out of town for a bit, honey.” Evelyn’s announcement had no impact on Brooks. “I—I’m going to head home—I mean—to Minnesota. I wanted to see your grandma and grandpa.”
“K.” Brooks said. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced at Evelyn.
She clutched her purse against her like it was a shield. “I left food in the fridge. Your father will be home in the evenings like always, around six. But you can eat suppers earlier if you need.”
Awkward silence.
I had to say something. “I hope you have a good trip! When will you be back?” I shouldn’t have asked.
Evelyn’s face drooped. “I don’t know.” Her voice was watery. Her eyes filled with tears. She sniffed. “Okay. Well, I’ll call you when I get there.”
“K.” Brooks said again.
“I love you, buddy,” Evelyn reached out and squeezed his arm.
I think she probably would have preferred a hug. I know it would’ve made me feel better to see them hug. The whole scene was painful. Something had happened, and it was obviously not good.
Evelyn hesitated, then turned and left the coffee shop.
I leaned against the table, staring at Brooks. “You’re not going to give your mom a hug?” I asked.
Brooks flicked his finger against his paper coffee cup. He didn’t answer.
“Are you okay?” I was at a total loss as to how to help him. “Did—Did something happen?”
Brooks met my eyes.
I’d watched a reel once of a beat-up puppy someone had found behind a dumpster. Sad music had played. Then it showed them rescuing it. Loving on it. A few days later in the next clip, the puppy was flea-free, playful, and happy.
Brooks had the look of the puppy behind a dumpster.
I wanted to rescue him all of a sudden, and for the moment, nothing about our fake dating stuff even seemed to matter.
“What happened, Brooks?” I asked, hopefully in a caring sort of way and not one that came across as prying.
Brooks’s jaw worked back and forth. I’ve noticed that with guys. They don’t cry. They just flex their jaw, and then their Adam’s apple goes up and down. That’s what Brooks’s did too.
“Is it your parents?” I asked. I had my suspicions. I mean, one and one make two, and in a marriage, my parents had always said, if it’s not positive then it’s negative. I had a feeling this was one minus one in the Mason household today.
Brooks looked down at his coffee and picked at the edge of the black plastic top. “Mom and Dad are having issues.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. Then I bit my tongue so I didn’t talk too much and accidentally make Brooks shut up.
“They have for a long time.” He lifted his eyes.
“Are they—”
“Getting a divorce?” he finished, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. I thought they might two years ago. Then things got better. Then Dad got the job here, and we moved, and—it’s been tense.”
“Do you and your dad get along?” I had to ask. Brooks hadn’t talked about his dad. He seemed a bit terrified of mine—although, could I blame him? Dad was intimidating.
He shook his head. “Not really. I mean, everything’s fine, he just doesn’t—we don’t have much in common. Not like Reece and your dad.”
“They’ve always had baseball in common,” I offered a small laugh.
“Yeah,” was all Brooks said. He said it in a kind of wistful way.
I wondered what it’d be like if Reece and Dad didn’t have anything in common, and I could see right away how that’d be tough.
I mean, they were guys, so it’s not like they showed a ton of affection, but they did things together.
I mean, Dad and Reece just vibed off each other.
A dad-and-son type of thing. It seemed weird to me that Brooks didn’t have that.
“What do you have in common?” I tried. I thought I might help Brooks identify something that would make him feel more hopeful.
Brooks gave a short snort. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Dad is a professor of literature at the college.”
It all made sense then. In that moment. Like an epiphany.
A light going on. A gong sounding. We had a college in town that was an extension of the University of Wisconsin.
It was, in a way, an educational piece of community pride.
Not all smaller towns could boast college campuses, and I knew the professors there took their positions very seriously.
But literature? And Brooks was almost failing Lit?
“Is that why you don’t like to read?” The realization dawned on me.
Brooks offered a small laugh. “When I was little, Dad would read me The Odyssey before bed. We finished it by the time I was five. Then he moved on to Ivanhoe—it did put me to sleep.” Another laugh.
“I hated it. I had no clue what any of the books were about. Then, when I was eleven, Dad started grounding me if I didn’t get my required reading done on time. ”
“For school?” I clarified.
“No. This was required reading Dad assigned me. He believes a person needs to stretch their mind because it’s their greatest muscle.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. He’d probably like you,” Brooks smiled sadly.
“Probably not when I admitted I read mostly romances.” I tried to offer it as a peace offering.
It must have worked. Brooks laughed then, for real this time.
For a second, he was quiet, and then he lifted his eyes.
We stared at each other for a moment, and suddenly, I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t want to look away. This was more.
This was bigger than just a guy I’d dreamed up with AI who then happened to be real.
This was broader than a fake dating scheme that was necessary for an extra credit project and to get me through an interview.
This was about Brooks. The guy, Brooks. A real guy who loved baseball and couldn’t share that with his dad.
A real friend whose parents were on the fritz, while I pretty much had the best ones ever.
Brooks needed me. I could see it in his expression, even though I think he was trying to hide it from me. He needed a friend.
I started to reach out for his hand, but then I pulled back, too nervous to carry through with it.
He must have seen me, ‘cause then he moved his hand and his fingers folded, warm and a little bit desperate, around mine.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“I didn’t do anything,” I countered.
“You’re here.” Brooks’s expression made me want to cry. “And that’s more than I can say for a lot of people right now.”