Fake Skating(5)

God, I’d completely forgotten about that day.

It was a couple of years ago, and we’d flown in so my mom could see Alec’s dad in the hospital after his car accident. We’d been days away from the move to Germany, so we literally only had a few hours to spend in the Twin Cities, and Benji had been on our flight from Minot.

I’d been horrified when he switched seats with a middle-aged guy so he could sit beside me, but after a few minutes we connected like the old friends we weren’t. Which was a total shock because Benji had always been such a tool to me and Alec when we were little.

But I was so lonely at the time that the mere fact he was kind to me was… well, nice, even if he was still a douchey rich kid (the guy showed me no less than fifty pictures of himself on his phone, doing things like riding a horse on the beach while shirtless in Bali). And Alec had disappeared from my life by then, which was why I opted not to join my mom at the hospital when we visited, because I was worried Alec didn’t want me there—for reasons I still wasn’t sure about. Benji was kind and warm and comforting. It was surprisingly wonderful.

I glanced over Benji’s shoulder and noticed the car that appeared to be idling at the end of my grandpa’s driveway.

“Wow, is that your car?”

I wasn’t into cars, but my dad was, so I definitely knew that was a Maserati Grecale.

Of courseBenji had a hundred-thousand-dollar SUV.

“It is,” he said with a smile so proud, you’d think he built the vehicle. “Want to go for a spin around the block? Warm yourself up on my heated seats?”

Gross. “Sorry, but I have this whole thing going on.”

And I pointed to the box he was holding.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a disappointed smile. “This goes inside?”

“Yep.”

“Excellent.” He nodded and started walking toward the house. “What isthe story with the boxes, by the way?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, grabbing a floor lamp as I followed him. “We’re kind of moving here.”

“What? Are you serious?” He said it like he couldn’t believe it, but in a good way. Like he was happy to hear the news. “You’re moving to Southview?”

“We are,” I said, reaching for the front-door handle and pushing it open for him. “My mom and I are moving in with my grandpa.”

“No way,” he said, walking into the house.

“Oh yes,” I said, my stomach sinking because I just hated moving so much. I knew from experience that I was about to hate the next couple of months of my life, and after that it was TBD. Might get better, might get way worse. “Apparently, this is home now.”

“Well, that is fantastic news,” Benji said, smiling with his whole face. “Staying with Dad just got a lot more interesting.”

I didn’t really know what he meant by that, and to be honest, I didn’t really care. When moving to a new place, I welcomed anyone who could be moved into the “ally” category, whether they were a harmless rich douchebag or not.

Too bad he went to a fancy academy, or I might’ve actually known someone at my school already.

“Thanks, and we’ll stay off your lawn, I promise,” I teased.

“Trust me, the last thing I’m worried about is my dad’s little yard,” he replied, his tone rich with condescension.

He’d always seemed to be embarrassed that his dad was a regular middle-class guy, which kind of made me wonder how his parents ever ended up together—even for the short term—in the first place.

“It was great seeing you,” he said, setting down the box. I’d been kind of hoping Benji might help a girl out with the moving in, but that went up in flames as I watched him unironically pop the collar on his jacket. “Welcome home.”

Ughhh, how is this home?

I just smiled and nodded too, because I didn’t really know what to say to this version of Benji—ahem, I mean Ben.

Please don’t linger.

How can your teeth be so white?

Is Titus still alive?

“Do you want my number?” he asked me, and I must’ve made a confused face because he quickly added, “In case you guys need anything, being new in town and all that.”

“Oh,” I said awkwardly. “Um—”

“That would be great.” My mom suddenly appeared from nowhere, shooting me a be nice look. “Wouldn’t it be great, Dani?”

“Yes,” I agreed, forcing a perky grin while pulling out my phone. “That would be great.”

He put his number in my contacts—Ben Worthington—and then he was out of there, saying he had to get to practice. I could almost hear Alec making a joke about what kind of loser activity little Benji would be practicing—crumpet dipping? speed neckerchief tying?—because the guy seemed way too fancy for any sport where one might be required to sweat.

“Benji boy got cute,” my mom said with a smirk. “And still looks just as smitten around you as he always did.”

“It’s Bennow, Mother, and I thought we agreed ‘smitten’ was a terrible word,” I corrected, not sure why Ben was funny, but it was.

It kind of made me want to call him Benji forever.

“We did—my apologies,” she said with a smirk, her gaze on the front window. “Dear God, is that a Maserati?”