Chapter 24
Brooks
I was pretty much a fake myself. After I left the Walters house, I was relieved Mr. Walters hadn’t found out that I’d helped Brielle.
I was also mad at myself for being hurt that Brielle hadn’t confided in me about her interview when I hadn’t been honest with her about the recruiter.
I tried to brush it off. I mean, people didn’t get scholarships and get recruited to play baseball based on who they were dating.
But, I couldn’t deny that they were looked at not just for their athletic abilities, but also their character.
Were they team players? Did they take coaching well?
All of that. I couldn’t have our dating relationship outed to the entire world that we’d completely faked it.
And were we still faking it?
There were moments I swore that Brielle was sincere.
That she really, actually did want me to be her boyfriend.
If I knew that for sure, this would be easier.
I could see myself actually dating Brielle.
More than that, I wanted to be with Brielle.
But how did we move from doing each other a favor to actually being honest?
We didn’t. That’s how. Because if I honestly told her how I felt, the poor girl would panic.
I understood. There was safety in knowing she didn’t have to worry about my feelings.
That she could just live the fake life and everything would be okay.
Especially now that her interview was over.
But I still had my future to look at. I was potentially going to be analyzed and judged for my skills and character.
Not to mention that stupid Lit extra credit project.
If I didn’t score well there, buh-bye baseball, Coach would be super upset, and Dad?
Well, he’d probably send me to West Point or something in order to prove to me that baseball was not a future.
“Did you see this video montage?” Jenessa shoved her phone in my face at the beginning of physics class.
Music played—of course, it was some dorky love song—and photos Jenessa had taken of Brielle and me swooped and faded and swiped and floated across the screen.
“Isn’t it cute?” Jenessa finished with a happy sigh.
“Why are you so obsessed with us?” I asked. I asked before I thought, really.
Jenessa’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she squeaked, drawing her phone toward her chest like she was protecting its feelings from my irritation.
“I mean—” I continued, taking out my stress on Jenessa. Who, if I was honest, really deserved it because she’s the one who took what I’d said to be friendly and turned it into public information.
“I’m not obsessed!” she protested. “I admire you!” Her pouty, pink lips were shiny with gloss. I could smell it too. It smelled like watermelon. “You’re both so cute together.”
“Brielle doesn’t need me to be cute,” I muttered.
“See?” Jenessa waved her arm as if I’d made my point for her.
“This is why you’re to die for, Brooks Mason.
Every girl in school—in the world—wants to be Brielle.
You’re sweet, and romantic, and thoughtful, and you dote on Brielle.
It’s not fair. Not really. Why don’t you have brothers? ” she ended with a dramatic sigh.
“Just—Can you lay off the videos?” I asked.
“Why?” she countered, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you like the attention?”
“Not really.”
“But isn’t that good for your baseball career? I mean, think about it. Anything we do in our lives we’re not only going to be measured by our skills and our brains, but by our influence on social media.”
“I hope that’s not true.” The idea was nauseating.
“If you want any sort of public persona, it’s true.”
“I want to play baseball,” I retorted.
“Right.” Jenessa bobbed her head up and down.
“So be cool, because they’re watching. If you play any major sport, you have to watch your public persona.
Get used to it, Bruno.” She punched my arm.
I have no idea why she called me Bruno. “Now, if for some reason you and Brielle weren’t really dating and you were just—faking it, then that’d be its own scandal. ”
There’s a kind of sick panic that fills a person when someone nosy like Jenessa hits on the truth for no reason and without intending to. But hearing it come out of her mouth was not unlike if I were told I’d never play baseball again. Horrifying.
I turned away from her in order to shut down the conversation.
“You’re good, right?” Jenessa leaned in as our teacher cleared their throat to start class. “I mean, you guys aren’t breaking up, or anything, are you?”
She sounded worried.
I shook my head.
“Whew.” Jenessa pulled back. “‘Cause I made the cutest reel to post tonight with Brielle watching you at practice. She practically worships you, Brooks Mason.”
Doubtful.
I tried to pay attention to class.
Physics was annoying, but Jenessa was worse.
“Trust your pitcher, Mason!”
Coach called to me from the dugout. I was distracted. I was distracted by Brielle and by my conversation with Jenessa. This was exactly why I’d never wanted to date anyone. It was a distraction.
I tucked my chin in, and as Reece’s next ball careened toward the plate, I kept my chest over the ball as it slammed into my glove.
“Strike!”
“Good!” Coach called to me. “Work on sticking those pitches on the edge of the strike zone. We want to keep making them look like strikes, even if they’re not.” Then he turned to shout directions at Reece.
Hunter was batting, and he glanced over his shoulder at me as he waited for Coach to finish with Reece. “We’re going to have a good season. I can feel it.”
I hoped so.
Hunter continued. “This’ll be my first year playing with a girlfriend cheering for me too.” He grinned. “Claire’s pretty hot.”
I didn’t answer. If I nodded, it seemed impolite to Claire.
If I shook my head, it seemed impolite to Claire.
Mom told me girls shouldn’t be rated on a “hot” scale.
That it objectified women. But I was willing to admit that I thought attraction was important—at least to a degree—but let’s face it, the only girl I really noticed anymore was Brielle.
Especially her green eyes. Like grass. Or pine trees.
Sometimes they looked blue too. Or gray. It sort of depended on what she wore.
Like today.
I glanced toward the metal bleachers. She sat with a textbook propped on her knees, doing homework, while she played the role of girlfriend so well she’d yet to miss watching one of my practices.
Today she was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt. Her hair was up on her head in a messy pile. She must have realized I was looking at her, ‘cause she lifted her head and smiled.
Yeah. That smile.
It was killer.
I looked back at Hunter. “My girlfriend doesn’t even miss a practice.” I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t a competition between Claire and Brielle regarding who was the better girlfriend, and yet, I didn’t mind my own moment to brag a bit.
Hunter snorted. “That’s ‘cause Brielle believes in you!”
The guys were never going to let me live that one down. I didn’t dare tell Brielle. She’d feel bad.
When practice was over, Reece and I left the dugout and met up with Brielle, who, by this time, had her phone out and was chatting with her friend from Canada.
If I were the jealous type, I’d feel a little threatened by Lia.
I mean, she was always on the phone with Brielle.
But it wasn’t really my place to feel threatened.
It’s all pretend, I reminded myself. Remember that, Mason.
“You guys want to go get some french fries?” Reece pointed toward the fast-food restaurants.
“Sure,” Brielle said. She stuffed her phone in her back pocket. I knew that she hadn’t hung up on Lia.
The four of us—I had to remind myself to include Lia, so I didn’t forget she was eavesdropping from another country—headed to get fries. Once inside the restaurant, we realized we weren’t the only ones hanging out there.
As Brielle and I waited for our fries, the topic of our Lit project came up.
“Do you want to come over tonight and start working on the outline?” Brielle offered.
I thought about what was going on at home. Dad was gone. Mom would be working in her office. “Sure,” I replied.
“And have you—”
“I made it through chapter four.” I had tried to read Pride and Prejudice. It was so boring. “An entire chapter about everyone’s feelings about a ball?” I curled my lip in distaste. “Not a fan.”
Brielle pushed me playfully. “Come on! It’s an entire chapter laying out the hierarchy of the prejudice of their financial status.”
“Whatever you just said,” I conceded.
“No, but really, if we do our paper on it then—”
“I can’t.” A sort of desperate fear ran through me, and I couldn’t control my reaction.
Brielle stared at me. It shouldn’t surprise her—what I’d said—so maybe it was my reaction that made her look at me weird.
“I’m not gonna get that book read by the end of the semester.
Not with practice now. And, we can just write about us. Like we planned.”
Brielle looked around us to see if anyone was listening. She lowered her voice so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Don’t you feel a little guilty?”
“Guilty?” I tried to play it off as nonchalant.
“I haven’t told Dad about the writer’s interview.”
Oh. Yeah, I could see why she felt guilty.
“So I’d rather do our project on a fictional couple. I mean—it’d be more honest.”
“Just—” I tried to act cool, ‘cause really, she made sense. “Let’s get through this semester. School will be out. When we break up, it won’t even cause a scene.” Except I didn’t want to break up now. But that was beside the point.
“I wish—” Brielle bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest.
Dang it.
Tears.
The girl had the wateriest eyes I’d ever seen, and if I didn’t know Brielle, I’d think she was trying to manipulate me.
“What is it?” I touched her arm.
She shook her head, refusing to talk.
We stepped forward in line as we waited for our fries. Reece had gone off with some of the guys from the team, and so it was just us.
“Tell me. What’s up?”
Brielle’s chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “I just wish we hadn’t gotten so deep into this fake dating thing.”
I dropped my hand. I could tell she was getting close to wanting to be done with it all. To out us? Maybe not that far, but to break up? Yeah. And that would kill our project unless we could spin it differently—the ins and outs of failing teenage relationships?
“Listen,” I tried again. “I get it. But, we’re in, so let’s finish it.”
“But I’m lying to my dad.” A tear trailed down her cheek. She wiped it away with an irritated sweep of her hand.
That was it. That was the root issue of it all. Her dad. And I couldn’t blame her. I knew she was close to him. He might play hardball, but a person knew where they stood with Mr. Walters.
I had to think up something quick. Something to make her feel better. Better about us. Better about everything.
“Tell you what,” I offered. “Let’s finish the plan. Then, when it’s over, and we break up, then I’ll tell your dad everything. I’ll take the blame for it. I mean, I’m the one who went along with it in the first place, and I’m the one who needs this extra credit so I can keep my grades up.”
She was considering it. I could tell.
Please agree.
I realized my inner plea wasn’t just because of the extra credit. It was also because the idea of not being Brielle Walters’s boyfriend was not cool. I didn’t like it. I wanted to keep pretending because, well—it might be the only chance I ever had at being with her.
‘Cause even though I played baseball, I had to face the truth. In the end, I wasn’t a heroic book boyfriend. I was just pretend. All pretend. And I didn’t even need AI to accomplish that.