Page 51 of This Time It's Real
He raises an eyebrow while the others stare over at us with obvious curiosity. “What were you thinking about?”
“N-nothing. Just . . .” I panic and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Just—global warming.”
I’m met with a series of blank stares.Great, I think with rising despair as the silence stretches on.This is exactly why you don’t hang out with Caz’s friends. Now they’re going to wonder why he’s dating someone with the social skills of a potted plant or a potential kink for a severe climate crisis—
Then Daiki nods solemnly. “It’s a pressing issue, for sure.”
And somehow, the conversation turns to the latest environmental documentary Savannah watched and the new eco-friendly garbage-sorting system they’ve introduced in China and the fundraiser Caz took part in last spring, which then sends them on a tangent about Caz’s best partnerships (“I’m so glad you’re working with that big cosmetics brand again—they give out thebestfree lipstick”). They’re all so charming, soniceand fun,that it’s hard not to get a little swept up, like a peasant at a ball. To wonder if maybe things could be different at this school, with these people. If Caz’s friends might someday become my friends too.
Don’t be naive.I kill that thought before it can take root. I’ve hoped for similar things in the past, and it’s never worked out. My problem isn’t making friends, it’s keeping them. There’s no reason for that to change this time around.
“Eliza!” Savannah whips around toward me, her sharp eyeliner creasing as she smiles. “Should we get a photo of you and Caz together?”
I blink. “For . . . for what?”
But this must be one of those things all real couples just know to do, because she says, like the answer is obvious in the statement itself, “Well, for his birthday.”
“Oh! We should get that cake you made him in there too,” Nadia chimes in, dragging my very sad-looking birthday cake to the table’s center.
“That’s—You really don’t have to . . .”
But my awkward protests are lost in their loud, persistent enthusiasm, and next thing I know Savannah’s standing up on her chair in her tall platform boots (“Anything for the angle”) with her phone out and waving frantically for me and Caz to sit closer together.
I scoot my chair clumsily over, and after a moment’s deliberation, prop my elbow up on Caz’s shoulder.
Savannah lowers the phone a fraction and stares.
Nadia cackles into her palm. “Haven’t you two been going out for months already? Why are you acting like it’s your first date?”
They’re only teasing now, but with a creeping sense of foreboding, I realize that it could very well turn into suspicion if I don’t do something soon. Desperate, I climb out of my seat and perch myself on Caz’s knee instead, pulling his arms around my waist.
Even though I make an active effort not to feel or think anything during this whole mortifying, far-too-intimate process, the taut muscles of his stomach seem to tense for a second before he cooperates, draws me in closer, his chin resting gently against my shoulder.
“That’s better,” Savannah approves, holding up her phone again.
But I barely register the moment when our photo is taken; all I can focus on is my own thudding heartbeat and pray Caz Song can’t tell it has nothing to do with the performance itself, and everything to do with him.
This was never part of the plan.
No. I haven’t spent half my life carefully building up ten-foot-tall barricades around myself only for this vain, untrustworthy pretty-boy actor to come in and tear them all down. I need to get rid of this dumb crush—and fast.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Back home, hidden away in my bedroom, I create a brand-new PowerPoint titledA Step-by-Step Guide on Getting Over an Unwanted Crush.
I’ve spent the remaining school day compiling articles and advice columns and every resource out there on how to do this, scrapping all the bullshit tips like “just give it time” or “accept your feelings” and tailoring the information to my own situation. All I really need now is to follow through with it.
So, Step One: Look for Things to Hate about Him.
This should be easy enough. I crack my knuckles and spread my fingers over my keyboard.Things to hate . . .There are a number of anti-fan forums up and running, populated by people who absolutely loathe Caz Song: a perfect place to find inspiration. Still, I feel weirdly guilty going on them, as if I’m somehow engaging in an act of treason.
Then I read a few of the hate comments:
@fionaxia:Caz Song is so fake it creeps me out. You just know that it’s all a persona created by his company to win over brainless teenage girls. Does he even have an actual personality?
@phoebe_bear:let’s be real: if Caz Song weren’t born with a pretty face, he’d be a nobody. His acting is just okay. So many people are 1000x more deserving of what he has.
@stanxiaozhaninstead:A former fan here (don’t judge). Used to love him until he changed his hair. Wish he’d dye it again; now he looks too feminine.
