Page 31 of You Started It

“She’s always in a mood,” I say, looking away from my uncle’s discerning brows. “She’s racist against Axel.”

“Oh.” Eli’s shoulders slump. “She doesn’t like that he’s an Arab?”

“Nope.”

“She has some messed-up stuff she needs to work through, but then again, don’t we all?” He runs a hand over his freshly shaved face as he looks past me at the front door. “Is Axel meeting you here?”

“His bike is kind of broken so I’m going to pick him up.”

Amo nods as I slip on my shoes.

“I see Axel’s having an effect not only on removing those permanent scowls but also on your fashion sense. Don’t worry. Axeltold me that you two are together, but I called it the first time I saw you with him at Shawarma Sitty.”

“Called what?”

“That you’d end up together. It’s cute. You’re like a million tropes balled into one fiery couple.”

“Anyway,” I reply, breathing in and exhaling out slowly. “Axel and I are just seeing what happens.” Again, my gaze falls to the ground. I didn’t realize how much lying would be involved in fake-dating. “And by the way,” I say, pointing to my clothes. “This isn’t Axel’s influence. I drove myself to the mall and bought these boxy jeans and crop top.” Putting yet another dent in my bank account, along with the fifty-dollar entry fee to Wonderland. I grab a cardigan and throw it over my top.

“Well, I think you look dope. Hey.” He grins. “Did you know dope means ‘very cool’ and ‘marijuana’?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Did you know it also means to smear or cover a surface with a thick liquid-like varnish?” I ask, with an exaggerated smile.

“I didnotknow that.”

“My title of Homographs Queen remains intact,” I say with an assertive nod. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too,” Amo Eli calls as I walk out the front door.

Fun. Not many homographs for that word, but tonight I plan to create my own version of it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Axel’s crumpled-up bike was still on display when I picked him up. I can’t help but wonder if he leaves it there to make me feel bad or to remind me how much I owe him. When I arrived, he basically ran into my car to avoid any conversations with his, according to him, “overbearing mother,” who waved pleasantly from the front door. We were running a bit late, so I didn’t have time to show him the contract, and the bus ride full of our classmates, including #bolivia, was definitely not the place to bust it out.

“Have you ever been here before?” Axel asks as the bus turns into the massive parking lot.

“No.” I shake my head and gawk out the window at all the colorful structures. “It’s on my Kill-It List though.”

“Kill-It List?”

I face him. “My list of goals. I told you about them. The tourist-trap dates.” My eyes dart to the back of the bus where Ben and Olivia are seated. I run my hands up and down my thighs. A little stimming never hurt anyone.

Axel shimmies himself closer. “What exactly is on this list?”

I sigh and sit back as the bus pulls up to the curb. “I wanted to go to an outdoor concert at Budweiser Stage and watch a hockey game at Scotiabank Arena. I wanted to kiss under the Rainbow Tunnel. Walk hand in hand at Ripley’s Aquarium. Pretend wewere highbrow at the ROM. Face my claustrophobia and fear of elevators with Ben by my side, at the CN Tower. Most of all, I wanted to make memories.”

Axel studies me but the eye contact is too intense, so I look down at my intertwined fingers on my lap, sore from all the rubbing and squeezing. I guess I’m a bit more nervous about tonight than I thought.

The bus doors open and the aisle fills up quickly. I remain seated, grinding my teeth, frozen in place.

“Well,” Axel says as he rises, extending his hand. “Let’s go make some memories.”

I exhale and take his hand, not for show but because I want to. Because in this moment I want to make memories with Axel. It also strangely puts me at ease and stops me from walking around with two tightly clenched fists.

We head inside the park, and Ms. Weaver and Mr. Pine, a couple of teachers well past retirement age, remind us to meet by the fountains at 10:50 p.m. and not a second later. Axel lifts my wrist to read the time.

“That gives us five hours,” he says. “What do you want to do first?”

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