Page 15

MAYA

B y the fifth day, the swelling had subsided and a nice shade of purple surrounded my ankle. I’d ditched my crutches at school because they were such a nuisance, and with a pep rally everyday in preparation for the final, I was holding people up in the hallways. I’d learned on the first day back that kids did not like to be stuck behind someone limping along on crutches.

I was excused from Tuesday’s cheer practice because I had a physical therapy appointment, getting some exercises for recovery. It was all basic stuff of foot rotations and stretches for range of motion and flexibility. But on Wednesday, I was back, keen to join the squad. I knew my participation could only be a sideline role, but at least I could carry my pom poms and hold the banner and shout out the cheers.

Savannah was all business, thriving in her captaincy role. Twice she asked me to move, saying I was blocking her way and then she called me over.

“It might be better if you help with the banners. You’re kind of just a nuisance here,” she said, sounding sweet but her face was sour. “Miss Collins and the art club are doing them now. She’d be grateful for more hands.”

“Oh,” I muttered, unable to hide my disappointment of not being with the team.

“And if you’re thinking of waiting around for Oliver after training, don’t bother. He’s coming to my mom’s restaurant,” she said with a smug and supercilious smile. “And hey, wasn’t it nice that dating you got his grades up.”

“What?” My ears pricked at her totally absurd statement.

“You know your Mom gave him an A in his last assignment? I mean Ollie never gets an A in English.” Her breathy laugh was edged with malice. “That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

I was literally dumbstruck, Savannah’s allegation too insane for a response. I hobbled my way up to the art room where Miss Collins and a couple of students were painting the posters, and I went through the motions of slapping paint on paper, but completely caught up in my own head, reeling over the claim that Oliver had used me for his grades. Could that be possible? Was the fake dating only a ploy to cover the real reason? And was he really meeting Savannah tonight—because he certainly hadn’t made plans with me, or even messaged me.

When Miss Collins called it a day, I texted Mom that I’d meet her at the car. My phone pinged with messages in the Cheer Chat, Savannah posting photos of a pyramid—Emily, Rose and Anna holding up Kelsie. Yes, it sent a stab to my confused heart, knowing it should have been me and that I was going to miss the biggest game of the year. More photos came through of the training session, and then there was one of Savannah and Oliver, more pointedly, Oliver with his arm around Savannah in front of the goal post.

The caption read: A winning team! #Olivannah

If it was bad enough that Kelsie was replacing me as flyer, seeing Savannah and Oliver together made my heart plummet. Was everything she said true?

I knew this week was going to be a busy one for him—there were interviews with radio stations, podcasts and local newspapers—so I’d had low expectations that we’d get together, but I at least thought he’d talk to me today. Seems not.

“All good?” Mom asked brightly, flinging her satchel into the back of the car.

“I helped with painting the banner today,” I mumbled.

“Oh, I’m glad you weren’t on your feet,” she said. “How is the ankle?”

“It’s fine,” I said, sucking in a tight breath.

“You okay?” She looked over in concern.

I nodded, but my head was spinning. The whole fake dating scenario—the best two weeks of my life—was about to come to a crashing end. My phone pinged again—another photo, this time Savannah had her hand touching Oliver’s face, or more precisely, his lips. The caption read: Nothing fake about this! My blood froze in a heart-stopping moment. Obviously, our fake dating hadn’t fooled Savannah.

“Argggh,” I groaned, closing the app.

“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 CHICKEN pasta 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 her hips 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.”

Mom didn’t say anything, but her hug was all I needed, and I wanted to stay there forever, wrapped up in her arms.

“Ahem.” Dad’s fake cough caused me to lift my eyes. “Everything all right in here?”

“It will be,” Mom whispered, “it will be.”

Dad came and hugged us both, a safe cocoon where my ludicrous situation was forgotten, if only for a minute. Mom took the cleaning products and told me she’d run a nice warm bath. She didn’t say anything about my stupidity in fake dating Oliver, but as I limped off to my bedroom I could hear her and Dad murmuring.

As the bath filled, I tortured myself with one last look at Savannah’s photos before closing my eyes to stop more tears.

I’d send Oliver one last text and let Sammy gloat on how she’d been right all along.

I typed: So, that’s it, you got your A and we’re over?

Too harsh, so I deleted and retyped: It was fun while it lasted

Not harsh enough, so I deleted again and retyped: Good luck with #Olivannah

“Maya,” Mom called, “your bath is ready.”

“Coming,” I yelled back, quickly deleting that last text which was too sarcastic. Better just to leave it and try to forget the whole thing.

THE LAVENDER BATH SALTS—YES , another gift from my grandma—must have done the trick because I slept deeply and restfully, the first time in days. Or it could have been because my ankle wasn’t so sore anymore. Or that crying into my pillow had exhausted me.

Bleary-eyed, I grabbed my phone to check my texts and pretended not to be sad or disappointed that Oliver hadn’t messaged, not even a breakup text. Though did fake dating require a breakup? Well, duh, probably he’d been too busy reuniting with Savannah.

There were a bunch of messages from Rose though, but Mom was hollering from the kitchen to get a move on. I’d check them later.

“How are you?” Mom hugged me and handed me a smoothie in a travel mug. “You forgot I’ve got a department meeting this morning. We have to leave now.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll just grab my cheer bag and get my shoes. I mean, shoe.”

Mom nodded and headed out to the garage. In the car, I texted Sammy to meet me in the parking lot. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, but I preferred to do it in person than by phone. And I didn’t want to deny my best friend the privilege of saying, ‘I told you so’ straight to my face.

I used the time waiting for Sammy to apply my makeup, going all out with concealer, color corrector, primer, highlighter, mascara and liner to hide my puffy eyes.

“Wow, is it photos day for the cheer squad?” Sammy asked, pushing back Mom’s seat to allow room for her long legs.

I frowned, steadily applying a rose colored lip blush. “No, just making myself pretty so that when you say ‘I told you so’ I won’t be tempted to cry.”

Sammy’s jaw dropped. “What?” Then something must’ve clicked because she said, “I told you so? Does this mean the fake dating is over?”

I clamped my trembling lips together, annoyed that the tears hadn’t dried up yet. “Yep, you were right,” I said, my voice squeaky and shaky. “Savannah posted that #Olivannah is back on and put up photos of them together. And they were out at the Golf Club for dinner last night.”

“Awww, Maya, I’m sorry.” Sammy leaned across the console to give me a brief hug, difficult to do with my large makeup bag on my lap. I fluttered my eyelashes to blink back the tears. “They’re back together?”

I nodded, pulling out a tissue to blot my eyes.

“I didn’t see anything online.”

“She posted in the Cheer Chat.”

Sammy pouted. “I don’t want to say I told you so. ”

“Say it,” I commanded. “You deserve to. You told me and I didn’t listen. And now I’m a blubbering mess.” I laugh-cried, grabbing another tissue to dab my nose.

Sammy shook her head. “That really sucks. I thought he was adamant he and Savannah were over.”

I shrugged, my voice flat. “Yeah, and I’m the fool who believed him.”

“Hey, I’m sorry Maya. I really am. You don’t deserve this, bestie.” She squeezed my hand. “You know, when I saw him at your house on Sunday, I could have sworn he had it bad for you.”

“He was acting,” I said.

“Well, he’s definitely Oscar material then.”

My phone rang and picking it off my lap, I saw Mom’s name on screen. “Yeah?” I said, expecting she’d say she left a folder in the backseat and could I bring it to her office.

“Where are you?”

“In the car. With Sammy.”

“Okay, stay right there. I’m coming now.” There was an urgency to her tone, one that made my heart rate soar. My thoughts immediately raced to Dad and Lizzie.

“Why?” But she’d hung up already. “Mom’s coming,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?”

“I dunno. But she sounded stressed.” I flung my makeup back into its purse and zipped it up. “Something must be wrong. I hope it’s not Dad.” Dad was a roofer. Mom was always worried that one day he’d fall off a roof, even though he never compromised his safety standards.

“I hope not,” Sammy said, clutching my hands and offering up a quick prayer, “Please let Mr. Shelton be okay.”

As Mom came into view, my heart clenched. Her walking was definitely at a fast pace and she carried a tote bag over her shoulder. Visualizing that Dad was lying on the ground somewhere, I got out of the car, as did Sammy, and we met her on the curb. Only then did I realize that I hadn’t put my shoe on yet.

I was frantic. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is Dad okay?”

Mom nodded, greeting Sammy. “Your dad is fine. I just had a phone call from Mrs. Blackwell.” Her brief pause sent my mind into overdrive and in that millisecond I pictured an angry Mrs. Blackwell (who I’d only seen from a distance at football games) blaming me for coming between Savannah and Oliver. But then Mom said, “Oliver’s in hospital.”

“In hospital?” I parroted back.

“He had a car accident last night.”

“Is he hurt?” I said at the same time that Sammy asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details, but it was a collision near town. It seems a car went through the stop light without stopping.”

I gasped and my eyes brimmed with tears as I pictured Oliver injured and unable to play in the final. “Is he hurt bad?”

“He has a broken leg.”

I gasped again, covering my hand over my mouth. Oliver would definitely not be playing football on Friday night.

“Maya,” Mom said, placing her arm around my shoulder, “Mrs. Blackwell called to say that Oliver wants to see me.”

“Me?” My first thought was that he had amnesia. Perhaps he’d lost his memory and had forgotten that he was back with Savannah. “Why me?”

“I’ll take you,” Mom said calmly. “I’ve already signed you out.”

Sammy waved as Mom drove off and I held my knees together to stop them from shaking. “I don’t know why he wants to see me,” I rambled, once again fighting back tears. But now they were due to genuine anguish over Oliver’s condition. I didn’t want him to have a broken leg or amnesia or to be suffering in any way. “He’s going to be devastated he can’t play in the final. He’s worked so hard and he wants this for Coach Gregor and his dad. And I don’t know why he wants to see me. Where’s Savannah? Unless he wants to tell me our fake relationship is over. But he could just text me that.”

“Maya?” I turned to Mom. “Just shush,” she said with a small turned-up smile.

I pulled on my sneaker and as we walked through the main hospital doors, I lamented not having something for him. “I should buy him some candy,” I said, but Mom walked straight past the gift shop.

“Maybe later. I only signed you out for first period.”

“I should’ve brought my crutches back,” I said, “I’m not using them now.”

“Maybe Oliver will need them,” Mom said, walking with authority like she knew exactly where to go.

She tapped on the half open door of Room 16, and I could see Mrs. Blackwell rise from a chair.

“Come in. Hello Nicole. Maya.”

Oliver laid in bed, his left leg in a cast. Several bandages dotted his face, one on his forehead, another on his cheek and chin. But upon seeing me, he broke into a wide smile and adjusted his bed into an upright position.

“Oliver,” I breathed, barging through to his bedside, forgetting that he’d dumped me to go back to Savannah. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” he said, holding his hand up, indicating he wanted to hold mine.

“This is terrible. What happened?”

Mrs. Blackwell jumped in. “He was in town, on the corner of Third and Russett when a car went through a red light and smashed into him.”

“Oh no!” I cried.

“He had surgery last night, a metal rod was inserted into his tibia,” Mrs. Blackwell said, her tone turning into frustration. “It’s quite the blow. Jed is furious, naturally.”

“But at least you’re going to be all right,” I said, and Mom echoed my sentiments, gratitude that it wasn’t worse.

“Yeah, I’ll survive,” Oliver said, squeezing my hand. “I guess you and me will be watching the game from the sideline.”

I blinked in surprise. “You mean because we’re both injured?”

Mrs. Blackwell stepped in again, sounding a little accusatory. “I asked Oliver why he was even driving through town. He said he was on his way to see you, Maya.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, releasing my hand from his. “You were coming to tell me you’re back together with Savannah and it’s my fault you had an accident and now you’re going to miss the most important game of the season because of me. I’m sorry, truly I am.”

Mrs. Blackwell cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

“You should’ve just texted,” I said to Oliver, surprised at how clinical I sounded. Maybe I had cried out all my emotion last night. “I would have understood.”

“Wait! What are you talking about? Back together with Savannah? Who told you that?”

“It’s all over our Cheer Chat,” I said. “#Olivannah is back. She posted photos of you two together. And one having dinner at the Golf Club.”

“Let me see,” Oliver demanded.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up our group chat. Oliver snatched the phone from me. “What the heck? These were taken last week. Reece took them,” he said, trying but failing to restrain his anger. “And I was at the Golf Club for my senior project, not to see her.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Blackwell said, calmly removing the phone from Oliver’s grip so she could scroll. Anyone taking my phone into their possession would usually cause me great alarm, but I daren’t question Mrs. Blackwell. “Penny Adlam is Ollie’s mentor for his senior project.”

“Maya,” Oliver said, and the room fell quiet. “I was coming to see you...to tell you that...that I don’t want to fake date you anymore.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, trying to be the bigger person and showing maturity in front of Mrs. Blackwell. “It’s fine, I knew it was only temporary.”

“Maya,” he said, so loud that I clamped my mouth shut by biting down on my lower lip. “I don’t want to fake date you, I want to real date you. That’s why I was driving to your house.”

“Oh.” Wide-eyed, I turned to Mom and Mrs. Blackwell to see if they’d heard what I heard. Their gentle smiles confirmed it. I looked back at Oliver, his dark brown eyes drilling into me with an intensity that took my breath away.

“Yeah, somewhere along the way, this stopped being fake.” He paused. “But I’m sorry I put you through this. I shouldn’t have forced you to date me. That wasn’t fair to you.”

Okay, the tears were back. My chin crumpled and I could feel an ugly cry coming on. “Well, dating you wasn’t exactly horrible,” I blubbered, trying to pull myself together.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Oliver said with a grin, “but I know some stuff was being said and I didn’t like it.” He looked over my shoulder to Mom. “Mrs. Shelton, I swear my assignment was my own work. I did read one of my brother’s old assignments as a guide, but I wrote it all myself.”

“I appreciate you telling me that, Oliver, but I’ve been teaching long enough to know when someone’s work isn’t their own,” she said, winking at him. “Though I was a bit shocked to hear Savannah’s accusation that I was giving you an A because you were dating Maya.”

“Yeah, she was way out of line,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Coffee, Nicole?” I heard Mrs. Blackwell say.

“Coffee sounds good,” Mom answered, and with the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor, I dabbed my eyes before hopping up onto the side of Oliver’s bed, my heart pounding in my chest.

“It stopped being fake for me, too,” I whispered.

“Oh yeah?” Oliver dipped his head, giving me a close-up of his grazes and stitched forehead. “When was that?”

I rolled my eyes and teased, “Oh, you know, that first kiss.”

Oliver laughed. “You’re funny.” But his face straightened and his gaze held mine, eyes shining and bright and sparkling with clarity, despite the injuries. And he leaned closer and said, “Best decision I ever made was going to the library that day.”

I smiled, my chest swelling with warmth as I moved closer. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” I whispered before our lips joined in the sweetest of touches. No sprained ankle or broken leg or abrasions could hold us back as our true feelings unleashed, and I floated on cloud nine knowing he felt the same way about me.

“Okay,” I said, pulling back as I remembered he did indeed have a broken leg, “that’s probably enough for now. You need rest.”

“Hmphh! Spoilsport,” he grumbled.

I laughed, carefully standing and fussing over the sheet I’d rumpled and straightening the blanket over his cast. “Hey, I’m sorry you get to miss the final.”

“Yeah, I was looking forward to playing my last high school game,” Oliver said, looking pensive. “And my brothers were all coming to watch, so that kinda sucks. And of course Dad is cut up about the whole thing. But here’s the good part.” He flashed a smile. “You and me will be able to cheer the Owls on together.”

“Ah yeah, we’ll both hobble along on our crutches.”

“Actually I was thinking you could push me in a wheelchair,” he joked.

“Okay, we might need to talk about that,” I said sternly, “but right now, you need to rest.”