Page 54 of The Girlfriend Goal
Rachel and I had developed a new dynamic—not dating, she insisted, but not just friends either. We studied together without pretense now. She came to my games wearing school colors. Not my jersey yet, but it was progress. I attended her matches and charity fundraisers. We grabbed coffee between classes and dinner when our schedules aligned.
It was everything I wanted and nothing I could define.
"You're overthinking again," Matt observed, hanging upside down off his bed in what had become his thinking position. "I can hear your brain grinding from here."
"How does hanging like that help you think?"
"Blood flow to the brain. Very scientific." He swung himself upright. "But deflection isn't going to work. What's the damage report today?"
"My father called the Rangers' head scout."
Matt's face darkened. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Wish I was." I spun my stick between my hands, needing the familiar motion. "Coach Stevens pulled me aside. Apparently, my father felt the need to share concerns about my 'mental fitness' for professional sports."
"That absolute—"
"Yeah." I'd spent an hour in Coach's office, explaining my dyslexia diagnosis, my coping strategies. All the things I'd hidden for years, laid bare because my father couldn't stand losing control. "Coach was cool about it. Said the Rangers guy laughed it off, told him half the league has learning differences."
"So it's fine?"
"It's out there now. Every scout, every team—they'll all know." The shame burned, even though logically I knew it shouldn't. "All because he couldn't handle Rachel defending me."
"That was epic, by the way. Jared's already writing the screenplay. He's calling it 'The Thanksgiving Massacre.'"
"Of course he is."
"Rachel Fox, defender of honor, destroyer of jerks." Matt grinned. "Seriously though, she was incredible. Never seen someone eviscerate a person so politely."
The memory of her standing up to my father, fierce and protective, made something in my chest go tight. Which brought me to the other thing I couldn't define.
"She was the one who kissed me this time," I said.
"Wait, you're not happy about this?"
"I'm confused. She kissed me, but then insisted nothing's changed. We're still 'just project partners,' who happen to spend all their free time together and hold hands sometimes."
"Oh my god, you're in a situationship."
"A what?"
"A situationship. More than friends, less than dating, maximum confusion for everyone involved." He lookeddelighted by my suffering. "This is amazing. Lance Fletcher, notorious commitment-phobe, trapped in emotional limbo."
"I'm not trapped. I'm just navigating."
"You're pining. You literally stared at your phone for twenty minutes yesterday waiting for her to text back." Matt's phone buzzed. His face lit up before he caught himself, trying for casual. "Jared wants to know if we're free for dinner. A group thing that’s very casual. Not a double date."
"Right. Because you two are definitely not dating."
"We're not!" But his protest lacked conviction. "We're just exploring compatibility through shared meals and extensive texting."
"So, a situationship."
"Shut up."
The community center that afternoon provided welcome distraction. Marcus had made incredible progress, his anger management improving enough that other kids sought him out for team activities. Watching him help a younger kid with skating technique filled me with pride I hadn't expected.
"He's doing well," Rachel said, appearing beside me with her clipboard.
