Chapter 5

My phone lit up under the table.

[What does that mean? We said we'd be together before homecoming.]

Then, a minute later:

[Be good, Julian. I'll fix this.]

After brunch, Mr. Aldrin walked us out to the driveway and handed Mark his car keys.

"Here, son. Take my car. Dinner, movies, whatever you kids do."

Mark looked back at me with the keys swinging from his finger.

"Do you want to come?" Chloe asked quickly. "I mean, we're all friends. You coming?"

"No," I said. "I'm tired."

Her shoulders relaxed. Just slightly. Just enough that I saw it.

She left with Mark.

That night their Instagram stories flooded my screen, one after another, the way they do when two people are with each other and want everyone to know.

[Hold on tight.]

[Never letting go.]

[End game.]

[Real couple energy.]

[Homecoming King and Queen.]

The comments screamed under each one.

Then Chloe posted one more story. A picture of the dashboard, headlights on a dark road, and words over it.

[What if I don't want this fake thing to end?]

I saw it.

I liked it.

She deleted it four seconds later.

The next morning she was at my door again before eight. She looked panicked, mascara smudged under one eye.

"Julian, it didn't mean anything."

I tried to close the door.

"Julian, stop acting like this."

"We broke up," I said. "Go find Mark."

"You know Mark and I are fake." Her voice climbed. "You know I love you."

"Fake." The word came out flatter than I expected. "You stole my umbrella for him. You wear his jacket to practice. You posted him. You looked at him like he was everything. If you like him, go like him. But don't keep me hidden in the dark while you kiss him in the spotlight."

"Julian—"

I shut the door.

My phone lit up on the hall table. An email.

Congratulations, Julian Stinson. You have been accepted into the Elite Football Summer Intensive.

I stood in the hallway and read it three times.

I was going.