Page 25 of The Fake Date Agreement

“She’s pushing Daniela to text me.” She denied it, but I got my stubbornness from somewhere, and it wasn’t my dad.

“No,” my little sister says firmly. “She isn’t. Daniela has been blowing up my phone, wanting to know what she can say to get back into your good books. Did she find out about the inheritance? Will she turn black widow and sneak you a bunch of Viagra to steal all your money before falling for the hot but mysteriously young doctor who tried and failed to save your life? Dun dun,duuun!”

Her dramatic excitement draws a smile to my lips. “You have to stop watching those telenovelas, little sister. They are rotting your brain.”

She stumbled on them by accident. Stuck in bed after she had her tonsils out, she was bored out of her mind and went looking for a distraction when she came across a random Latin American channel, and her obsession was born.

“They’re like crack. Each scene is like watching a car crash in slow motion, and if I miss an episode, I might miss something important.”

I snort, but she’s right. I lost an entire afternoon to them, and I was reaching for the remote the next day to click on before I knew what I was doing. It took more effort than it should have to turn the television off and walk away. “Daniela can’t be a doctor’s wife who goes to lunch if I’m dead.”

My sister is silent. “You know, she did once love you.”

And once, I loved her.

“She loved the idea of being a doctor’s wife more. I have to go.”

“Javi?” Her voice is small.

I’ve never been Javier. To her, I’m always Javi. My smile is bittersweet. Boston isn’t too far from Pennsylvania—two hours by plane. But sometimes, it feels like we’re on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean with how little we see each other.

I remember when Mom and Dad brought her home. She was like a squirming little red-faced alien. I swore I would hate her forever for consuming so much of my parents’ time.

She had me wrapped around her little finger before she was two.

My baby sister means the world to me, and it’s been far too long since I’ve seen her.

“What is it, ferret breath?” I ask, still smiling.

“That will never be funny,” she says, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

“Yes, it will. And so will the fact you have these two big front teeth like beavers who need them to gnaw on the wood?—”

“Shut up.” She takes a breath. “I miss you.”

I miss her too. But going home has become an endless battle I’ve spent the last three years fighting. I’m tired, and I’m fed up trying to convince the people I love to let me do the thing I love most in the world.

I go home for the big holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Vanessa’s birthday. It’s not fair to my seventeen-year-old sister to have to mediate the countless arguments I get into with my parents if I go much more than that. So I stay away, stay at college to get ahead on my assignments, or take a short trip to Mexico to unwind when I need a change of scenery.

“I miss you too. Did you speak to Mom and Dad about the game?” When she’s silent, I lose my smile. “They won’t let you come.”

They used to bring Nessa to my games when I was younger, and were supportive when they were sure it was just a hobby. As soon as they realized it was what I wanted to do as a career, they shut their minds to the fact that it could be.

To them, hockey isn’t a real career, not like being a doctor or a lawyer is. To them, any person on the street could do it,and I’m throwing away all my potential on something that isn’t worth it.

“I’m working on it, Javi.”

I smile, though she can’t see me. “Don’t push, Nessa. It’s me they’re pissed at. You’ll stop being the favorite child if you don’t.”

“I don’t care about being the favorite child.”

“But I do.”

I’ve told my parents that I’d go pick up Nessa myself. I offered to pay for a private plane for her to visit me—and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done that—but they torpedoed the idea every time. They don’t think a hockey game is the right environment for my little sister to be sitting alone, especially if I’m going to be on the ice.

She’s their little girl, and they’ve always been overprotective, more so after I stopped going home so much. They cling to her even harder, as if they suspect they’ve lost one child and can’t bear to lose another.

I have to choose.

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