Page 84 of Foolish Games

“You’re my date, Sebastian. It would look weird if we didn’t show up together. Why can’t I pick you up?”

“You don’t think it looks weird if we show up with you driving every time?”

“No,” she says. “Everyone knows my car. It’s the only red Corvette at FHS.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the heel of my hand. She doesn’t get it.

“How about I come over earlier?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound cheerful. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Faking more than our relationship. Sometimes, I look at Melody, and I wonder how long she was faking it before she gave up, before even that became more effort than she had energy for.

But I won’t be like her.

Fake it ‘til you make it.

That’s become my motto this year.

“I can get ready with you and Rob,” I go on when Viv doesn’t answer. “It’ll be fun. Maybe we can even sneak in a quickie when he’s not looking.”

“Why are you so weird about me coming to your house?” she asks. “I’m starting to think you’re married or something. Do you have, like, a baby at home?”

I glance across the room at Deane, who’s lying on his back on his bed, crashing two knock-off Transformer toys together, making quiet noises with his mouth when they meet. Not a baby. Just a baby brother and two baby sisters, all of us crammed into two bedrooms with twin beds. I think about Viv’s spacious bedroom with the big windows that let in so much light, the huge king bed with the sheets soft as air and pillows that feel like some angel flew up and snipped off pieces of heaven to bring back to cradle Princess Vivienne’s pretty head.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your parents?” I challenge her.

“You’ve been to my house,” she says. “You’ve snuck into my room… What? Four or five times in the last month.”

“Right,” I say. “Snuck in. When I was visiting your brother. Because you don’t want anyone to think you’d lower your standards and date a guy like me.”

“We’re not dating,” she points out.

The same way she always points it out, no matter how many times I bring it up and wait for her to say otherwise. She must know that I’m fucked over her, that it means more to me than I care to admit. That’s why she’s constantly reminding me that it’s not real. So I’ll get it through my thick skull that it’s not that serious. She’s just playing with me, and I can’t even be mad about it. At least she had the decency to be up front with me. I’m the one who’s too dumb to figure it out.

I didn’t expect to develop real feelings in a relationship that was never real to begin with. It was supposed to be an arrangement with my best friend and his sister. I was doing her a favor. It was never supposed to lead to this.

“Sebastian?” she asks, and I realize we’ve been sitting there with the line silent for a few minutes. I was supposed to answer, but I can’t remember her question.

“Yeah, Princess.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I say, straightening. “Or hey, maybe we can kick it with my friends before the party starts. Have a little pre-party of our own.”

“That seems a little rude,” she says. “Since they can’t come to the party afterwards.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” I remind her. “Trust me, they’ve got a party of their own to go to. Besides, what’s the big deal if they go to your fancy party? It’s just a couple guys from the team. It’s not like I’m bringing some loser like your ex.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Right,” I say flatly. “Your ex got an invite.”

Because somehow, in their Garden Party world, little Nerd Boy Chad is better than me. He’s from a ‘good family,’ which means he’s worthy of Vivienne. After all, she publicly dated him instead of hiding him like a dirty little secret. No matter how many orgasms I give her, I can’t change that. She’ll never see me as more than a meathead who gave her a good time. In her mind, I’ll never be anything but the gardener that rich women have affairs with.

I’m not the rich guy they marry.

But she’s wrong about me.

One day, I’ll be the rich guy. I’ll be the guy she wishes she’d married instead of being so caught up in making her parents happy that she walked out on the person who could have made her happy. One day, I’ll come back here, and when we run into each other in town, she’ll be with some short guy with watery eyes who can’t keep it up, and she’ll introduce him as her husband, Dr. Urkel Nerdington. And I’ll shake his soft little hand and say, “I’m Dr. Sebastian Swift.”

And then she’ll finally know that I’m not the only one who can fuck up.

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