Page 40 of Quarterback Crush
“Something wrong?” Mom asked.
I shook my head which was hurting, just like my heart. He’d wanted me to be his lucky charm for the game, but it looked like he didn’t need me now.
Fake date me, he’d said, and I’d jumped in boots and all. But Sammy was right, wasn’t she? I’d played my part—poorly, it seemed—and I was the one who was about to get hurt.
But it was my fault totally—because I blurred the line between what’s fake and what’s real.
I POKED AT THE CHICKENpasta bake that Dad had made, eating one rigatoni at a time and without enthusiasm.
“What’s wrong with my cooking?” Dad asked.
“Nothing,” I muttered, “just lost my appetite.”
“We can’t have that. You need all the energy for Friday’s game.”
“Savannah will probably have me counting pom poms,” I said.
Dad quirked his eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
“Today she made me go and help the art club with the banner. She didn’t want me with the team.”
“Well, it’s important to get all the banners made. Owls are going big,” Dad said.
I looked at my phone, upside down on the table, playing dumb. Nothing from Oliver, though why would there be if he was with Savannah.
It was my job to clear the table and stack the dishwasher, and I did it without complaining, hoping that menial chores would keep me from thinking about Oliver and Savannah. I put all my focus into making sure the plates and bowls and cutlery were put in their proper places.
Across the kitchen counter, my phone pinged and my heart surged in the hope it was Oliver. But it was another photo in the Cheer Chat, one of half of Oliver by his car. The background looked like the Golf Club, where Savannah’s mother owned the restaurant. My heart sunk as it was labeled #Olivannah again. So, it was true that they were having dinner together. I felt sick to my stomach.
I grabbed the spray bottle and dishrag and wiped down the counter top and the fridge and the cabinet doors.
It was never meant to last, I knew that. In fact, it was laughable to think that it would. It was a temporary fake dating arrangement. I was supposed to enjoy it while it lasted, but dang it, I’d gotten swept up and fallen for real. Yeah, my bad.
And for that I would suffer the consequences—a broken heart.
“What are you doing?”
I eased myself up from my crouched position where I was wiping the lower cupboards to see Mom with her hands on herhips and a look of confusion on her face—like she’d entered a parallel dimension.
I shrugged, offering a weak, “Cleaning?”
And then my chin quivered. “Savannah and Oliver are back together,” I said. “She said you gave him an A on his assignment because he was dating me.”
“What?” Mom gasped and gaped. “Who said that?”
“Savannah,” I sniffled, rubbing my eyes, tears on the verge of trickling out.
“Well, there’s no truth to that,” Mom said with outrage. “I don’t grade on who you are or who you go out with. If Oliver got an A, he deserved it. It wasn’t because he asked you on a date!”
I sniffed again in an attempt to hold back the tears, but it was futile, my resolve cracking open. “We weren’t really dating,” I spluttered, “Oliver wanted to show Savannah that it was over between them. And I agreed to be his fake girlfriend.”
Mom was beside me, hand on my shoulder in comfort. “Oh, Maya,” she sympathized.
“But now I think he’s back with Savannah,” I cried, burying my face in her chest. “She’s posting photos of them together.”
“Ahh, sweetie, I know it can be hard,” Mom cooed, stroking the top of my head.
“But I like Oliver. For real. It’s not fake for me.” With every heart wrenching sob, I sunk deeper into Mom’s embrace. “Sammy said I shouldn’t, that I’d get hurt, but I couldn’t help it. I like him, Mom, I really do.”
