Page 75 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
It’s probably a bad sign that I’m even entertaining the notion of losing.
After I catch up, Dad guides us behind a grilled cheese food truck, away from prying eyes.
“Well, that was unexpected,” he says once we’re out of earshot.
Maya takes a pack of safety pins from her backpack, handing one to each of us before working on pinning her badge to her T-shirt. “So long as they don’t get in our way, they can take all the pictures they want.”
The sound of a familiar cackle travels over to our hiding spot. Mr. Cooke slaps a hand on Liam’s shoulder, too wrapped up with pleasantries to notice our presence. But the others do. All three of them—Henry, Stella, and Julian—freeze at the sight of us.
I tell myself I’m not going to look at Julian, and shocker, I don’t listen.
It would hurt less if he wasn’t looking at me, too, if his eyes weren’t twice as stunning as I remembered. If I didn’t have the tools to take him down sitting at the bottom of my backpack.
Julian takes a step toward me, but I’m tugged away before he can make it any farther.
With a scowl at the Seo-Cookes, Dad ushers us off in the opposite direction, but not before Maya can flip them off while Dad isn’t watching. Andy quickly joins in, throwing in a stuck-out tongue for good measure. If my stomach wasn’t trying to come out through my mouth, I might have joined them.
The worst part is that Julian still haunts my thoughts. I ripped the lazy doodles of him out of my sketchbook and buried them beneath the banana peels and rotten vegetables in the kitchen garbage can. New Nostalgia is wiped from my Spotify. My nose piercing isn’t infected anymore, so the tea tree oil joined the sketches in the trash. I’ve severed everything that ties me to Julian, and yet I still don’t feel any better.
Just because the proof of what we had is gone doesn’t mean I’m ready to forget.
“All right, listen up,” Dad announces, clapping his hands together to get our attention. “You guys have trained hard for this. And I’m very proud of all the work you’ve put in, regardless of what happens. But you’ll have to make sure you stay alert.” He stares pointedly at me. “We know they’ve played dirty before. Don’t let any of them hurt you.”
An unsettling burn trickles down my neck, between my shoulder blades. Eyes boring into me. I check to see if Julian is still there, waiting for me to face him, but they’re gone. Even after all my efforts to forget him, I’m still searching for him in the crowd.
My jaw locks as I refocus, answering for the whole family.
“We won’t.”
Iwon’t. Never again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The thing no one tells you about the games is that 90 percent of it is waiting around. Waiting for your chance to compete. Waiting for the next event to start.
Waiting to see how Dad does in the long jump.
“¡Vamos!” Dad shouts, letting out a battle cry before lunging as far as he can across the sand pit.
We wince at the hard thump of his landing. He’s steady, but doubled over, muttering a string ofcarajos under his breath. One of the few rules of the games is keeping things family friendly—aka no swearing. But there’s no rule about cursing in Spanish.
Maya and I hold our breath as a volunteer scribbles down Dad’s score. Six feet exactly, putting us firmly in the lead.
“Not bad, viejo,” Isabel praises when Dad hobbles over to us, clutching his lower back.
“I’m getting too old for this.” He slowly straightens, his spine audibly cracking.
Andy shudders. “Gross.”
“That’s middle age for you, bud,” Dad replies with a wince.
With Dad upright again, we set our sights on the last contestant of the round—Mr. Cooke. He plays it calmer and cooler than Dad did, bouncing on the balls of his feet and exhaling sharply before he takes off. His leap through the air is smoother, more athletic.
The landing, though? Not so polished.
His ankle buckles under his weight before he’s fully hit the ground, sending him flying face-first into the sand.
Fighting the urge to laugh at the sight of him absolutely eating shit is the real challenge.
