Page 17 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“I might throw myself in front of a moving train if she doesn’t murder me first,” I say, getting a laugh out of them.
“It’ll get easier. The two of you haven’t found your rhythm, and you have yet to apologize for what happened when you were both still doubles partners as kids,” Charlie says as if that would comfort me.
Also—
“What the fuck did I do? She’s the one who all of a sudden hated me without an explanation,” I reply, taking a step back tobreak the skin contact between us. It’s not Charlie’s fault, but I’m pissed now.
Their face turns all serious, their lips parting in surprise.
“I’m assuming you don’t know because that only makes you slightly stupid. If you know and are pretending it wasn’t your fault, then you’re not just an asshole but also the most emotionally incompetent person I’ve ever met.”
They don’t offer me another explanation, simply walk away like all of that made any sense to me.
Once I manage to catch my jaw off the floor, I start walking toward the court where Cata, Papá, and Charlie are. With her back toward me, I spot some writing on Cata’s shirt.
Santiago Castillo Hate Club
I almost burst into laughter.
“Where did you have that made?” I ask instead, poking Cata’s back where the writing is. She spins around to get my finger off her, scowling at me like she always does.
“I had shirts made for all the members of the club,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. I’m convinced it’s her way of shutting me out, closing herself off, and I find I hate it more and more every day.
“Even haters are fans. I’m glad I mean so much to you that you’d found a club in my name,” I reply with a smirk, loving the way she almost growls at me because I twisted her words.
“Let’s get on with this. What do your training habits look like?” she asks as she walks over to her bag to get some bands out.
“I work best with a reward system and lots of praise,” I tell her, still smiling because I know it pisses her off.
“What, you need a cookie every time you do a good job?” she asks, her fists moving onto her hips as she watches me with a confused look spreading across her features.
“Anything you want to give me will be the sweetest reward,mariquita.”
She scrunches her nose up in disgust at the insinuation of my words, but I finally understand what to do. I need to win her over, charm her, flirt with her. I need to be the perfect fake boyfriend to truly get on her nerves. She’s used to us bickering, thrives off it like a fire being fed with gasoline.
This? Me doing a complete one-eighty?
It might throw her off long enough to let her forget whatever made her hate me in the first place.
She shudders visibly, then says, “I will not be rewarding you,cabrón. And if you need to be praised for a job well done, call your mother,” she says right before she starts running around the length of the court to warm up.
Charlie and Papá are snickering, but my father tilts his head in Cata’s direction to get me to move my ass. With a groan, I start running, picking up my pace to catch up with her.
Cata and I jog in silence. Warming up our muscles by rotating our arms in circles. Running with our knees high, stretching after. Then, we start hitting balls back and forth, slowly and consistently.
Well, until I “accidentally” hit a ball too fast and too far placed in the corner of the court for her to reach.
Competition follows after that.
We’re playing as if it’s a game with points, both of us probably counting in our heads so we know the score and can remember it later.
“Alright, you two, enough! You’re supposed to be partners, not rivals. You’re acting like children, and I’m sick of it. We’re doing drills until you pass out. Let’s go,” Papá says, but Charlie just stands next to him with their arms crossed in front of their chest and a smile on their face. They will let us continue this until either Cata or I give up.
Which won’t happen until one of us drops dead.
Papá makes us run.
A lot.
