Fake Skating(42)

“That was a pretty good argument,” she said, “but it’s the no-brainer. What’s next?”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“Okay, so number two… well, actually, who am I kidding, I only have two.”

“Wow,” she said. “Did you spend all of five seconds on this outline?”

“I spent a solid twenty minutes, if you must know,” I said, wondering if number two was going to piss her off or embarrass her. It was a gamble, but it was the only other reason I had.

“Give me number two, then,” she said.

“All right. So, I’ve never had to go to a new school, but I don’t imagine it’s fun. Being the new kid probably sucks, and you seem to be a little on the introverted side now. And I don’t mean that in a bad way; I just—”

“Get on with it,” she said, but she didn’t sound mad.

“Okay, so wouldn’t it be nice to be linked to someone who knows everyone? I could introduce you to everybody, and then you would have, like, a social cushion, right? You wouldn’t have to stress or be nervous, because you’d be withme.”

“All I hear is arrogance,” she said, but I could tell she was teasing.

The old Dani is still in there.

I explained, “It’s not arrogance; it’s just a fact. I’ve lived here my whole life, so of course I know everybody. Which means if you date me—”

“Fakedate you,” she corrected.

“Fake date me,” I said with a sigh, “you’re in. You can be confident and comfortable because you’ll be instantly part of the group. Surroundedby friends.”

“Okay, your number two is stupid, because the fake friends would be yours, not mine,” she said.

“Potato, potahtoe. And don’t you want to have a little bit of a social life?” I asked.

“Like you, the Bong King of the Twin Cities?”

“Not that you’d believe me,” I said, torn between wanting to laugh at her smart-assery and wanting to scream because I was never going to live down that photo, “but I was just holding that—”

“For a friend, right?” she said. “Also, I like the way you assume I will never have a social life without your help. It is possible that I will once I’m here for more than a minute.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And what exactly would this look like?” She sounded irritated again, like the idea of it was too much, and I knew I was losing her. “Not that I’m considering it at all, but in this scenario, would everyone think we were an item, including our families?”

“Hmm—I haven’t thought about that—this idea is new for me, too,” I said, picturing my mom; shit, she’d lose it if she thought I was seeing Dani. “My gut says yes, though, because letting people in on the secret seems like a bad idea, like a quick way for it to fail. If we were to do it, I think it’d be best for everyone except us to think it’s real. Do you disagree?”

“Um, no,” she said, “I think you’re right. Not that we’re doing this.”

“Of course not,” I said, smiling in spite of myself because she was flipping back and forth so fast it was hard to keep up.

“And how exactly does this work? How do two people pretend to date?”

“Come on, Collins, quit being all Harvard and overthinking things. How hard can it be?” I reached over and pulled open my nightstand drawer, rifling through junk papers with my hand as I felt around for that old Polaroid. “We just need to be seen together a couple times a week, looking like we like each other, and maybe go to, like… things together sometimes. I can get on Instagram and post pics of us being a couple. As long as the guys on the team see us—and the guys I play against—it’ll get back to the right people.”

“So you really don’t know,” she said.

“Well, I’ve never pretended to date anyone before.”

“Fair.”

Found it. I grabbed the picture and pulled it out. “All I know is that I need to do whatever it takes to convince the fucking world that I’m gaga for a good girl and have my shit together.”

“But, like,” she said quietly, suddenly sounding nervous, “won’t it be hard to pretend when we don’t even know each other?”

“Isn’t that what dating is, though—getting to know someone?”

I looked down at the faded snapshot between my fingers, the photo I’d looked at hundreds of times over the years, just as “Want Me” by Stephen Dawes came on.

And you’re too cool for me to be yours



It was Dani and me, soaking wet after a water-balloon fight in my backyard. I was pretty sure we’d been ten or eleven at the time. Our clothes were drenched—she was wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt and I’d been in my bro-tank phase where I cut the sleeves off of every shirt I owned to show off my (soft) biceps—and we were sporting matching rainbow sunglasses that we’d gotten for free at the Southview Days parade.

We looked like little idiots.

“So your plan would be for us to get to know each other while we’re pretending?”

Where the fuck had those kids gone? I wondered. How was it possible that they needed to get to know each other? I said, “I mean, why not?”