Page 12

Wes

“How’s it going on your catfishing project, Casanova?” Zeke asks. He bops me with the foam bat.

We are at the local park outside the apartment complex where Zeke lives with his mom and two sisters, practicing our moves.

Except for the occasional dogwalker who gives us the side-eye, we have the park to ourselves.

In the distance, children play at a public playground, the sounds of their laughter carrying across the air.

It’s a sunny summer day in Washington, absolutely beautiful and perfect for working out.

Too bad my mind isn’t anywhere near our practice.

“Awful. I’m not cut out for this.” I attack him with a quick one-two strike.

“Cut out for what? Making sweet verbal love to your lady?” He grins as he deflects my blows.

“Gross. Where do you come up with this stuff?” I shake my head.

“TikTok.”

“Ugh.”

Zeke shakes his fist and wheezes, “Kids and that darn social media.”

“Very funny.”

He bops me again. “Two points for me, bruh.”

“I’m distracted,” I grumble.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. En garde! ”

“That’s fencing, not Buhurt, doofus. And I’m distracted by the whole situation with Honor, not your poor attempts at humor. But frankly, I blame you in either case, as you got me into the mess in the first place.” I lunge at him.

He spins, surprising me. I try to regain my balance, but he kicks my leg and I sprawl to the ground. He stands over me, chuckling. “You better hope you get it together before the Midsommer Faire. You’re a mess.”

“You’re right,” I groan, rolling onto my knees. Zeke holds out a hand and I grasp it. Then, with a sly grin spreading across my face, I use the fact that he’s unbalanced to pull him to the ground. Leaping on top of him, I pummel his padded chest with my fists.

Zeke yells and struggles to knock me off.

“Who’s a mess now?” I cackle.

“Okay, okay!” Zeke finally cries, going limp under me. “I give up.”

I laugh as I flop to the ground next to him, breathing harder than I care to admit. The grass tickles my skin, and I take a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. “If I can’t beat a skinny fifteen-year-old who lives on mac-and-cheese and Fritos, I might as well quit now.”

“Hey, I’ve been drinking those protein shakes you recommended.” He raises an arm and flexes. “I think they’re working.”

“Sure. You’re practically Thor Odinson, God of Thunder. You should start competing in bodybuilding competitions.”

Zeke smirks. “You’re just bitter because even your alter ego has no game. Don’t take it out on me.”

I chuckle. “Okay, you may be right.” I run my hand over my face. “Argh, what am I going to do?”

“Okay, tell me, what are you so upset about?”

I debate the wisdom of confiding in a teenager. Perhaps it’s a sign of just how at rock bottom I am, but I’m at a loss. “I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not and lying to her. It kills me every time. I’m up at night worrying about what she’ll think when I finally tell her the truth.”

“Yeah,” Zeke says, drawing out the word. “Do you have to tell her the truth? Maybe you just let it slide. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. No harm, no foul.”

“Okay, that’s a terrible philosophy. Yes, I have to tell her.” I turn my head to look at Zeke. “I obviously need to intersperse my combat lessons with lessons on chivalry.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, bruh. I’m just saying that sometimes there are lies that don’t hurt anyone and stop people from actually being hurt.”

“All lies are bad, Zeke,” I say. “Not only has Honor been my best friend forever, but let’s say we do start a relationship, and she finds out later that I was messaging her on the app without telling her it was me–she’ll feel tricked and hurt. Wouldn’t you?”

“Me, I’d be flattered any girl wanted to talk to me that bad.” Zeke laughs.

“This is why I can’t take dating advice from fifteen-year-old boys,” I say. “Come on, get up, let’s go again.”

We get to our feet and start taking turns attacking each other, practicing our defenses and strategies. “You’re getting really good,” I say to him as I lean over, catching my breath after he winded me with an unexpected attack to my core.

“Thanks, I learned from the best,” he says with a wink.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” I say, proud of his fighting skills, but more appreciative of the relationship we had built.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” he says, grinning.

I groan and grab my phone to check my messages. There’s one from Honor. Opening it, I read, “Want to grab dinner at Gardner’s?”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

I thumbs-up react to her message. “Sure! Just let me know what time.”

I toss my phone down, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve never been to Gardner’s, but I know it’s a fancy sit down restaurant with white tablecloths and expensive meals.

Why would Honor choose that place? I could more easily picture her picking Chuck E. Cheese for us to eat than that place.

“What’s wrong?” Zeke asks.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at your phone like it’s personally wronged you.”

I shake my head. “Honor just invited me to dinner.”

“Cool,” he says, bobbing his head. Then, “Not cool?”

“I don’t know. Something is off about the place she picked. It’s not the kind of place you pick for a best friend.”

“What kind of place is it?”

I frown. “A fancy date place.”

Zeke shrugs. “Maybe she just felt like some fancy food.”

“Maybe.” But it doesn’t feel right. The Honor I know doesn’t care about fancy food. She’s more comfortable in a Chili’s than some gourmet foodie haven that charges thirty bucks a plate.

“Hey, I wouldn’t worry about it, bruh. You’re just overthinking.” He bops me with the foam bat. “Get your mind on other things, like the Midsommer Fest. How’s your planning going for Play It Forward Day?”

I engage him with some strikes. “Good, I think. I’ve got fighters lined up to work with the youth. I’ve put up flyers and posted on our local Facebook groups. Did you spread the word around your school?”

Zeke nods. “Should be a good turnout.”

“Great. My only issue right now is that I don’t have enough foam kits for everyone. I’m hoping some local businesses will donate money so we can get some new ones, but we will definitely have to pass around what we have.”

“Better bring your Lysol spray. Your kit’s gonna reek.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Look who’s talking. You could clear out a room with just your sneakers. Those are like weapons of mass destruction.”

“I’ll show you mass destruction,” Zeke says, lunging for me.

Laughing, I put my worries about Honor aside as I focus on demolishing the snarky teen.

Hours later, though, as I’m lying in my bed, I reread Honor’s message over and over.

Is it a joke? A trick? Is there a subtext I should be catching?

As long as I’ve known Honor, she’s never asked me to go to dinner with her at a fancy restaurant.

We go to Cup of Swords to play games or to El Sarape for happy hour chips and salsa or to Buffalo Wild Wings on the rare occasions I can get her to watch a sports game with me.

But never just a straight dinner invitation to an expensive restaurant.

Meanwhile, and perhaps even more worrisome, she’s gone silent on the app. She still hasn’t responded to my last message from WhiteKnight, which was two days ago. We had been sending multiple messages a day and now…nothing.

It hits me: she knows. My stomach clenches. She has somehow figured out that I’m WhiteKnight and she’s going to confront me.

Her lack of communication on the app, the strange choice of location, it all suddenly makes sense.

She’s going to call me out. She’s probably angry, and rightfully so.

My dinner tries to make a quick escape from my stomach, and I have to swallow it back down.

True, the anxiety of lying to her had eaten at me, so much so that this should be a relief.

But not like this. I wanted to tell her.

To be up front about it. To explain everything. I can only imagine what she’s thinking.

The fact that she hasn’t directly said anything makes it even worse. If Honor was mad at me, she had never had any qualms about letting me know in no uncertain terms. The fact that she’s silent …she must be absolutely furious. Honor must be at a loss for words, and she is never at a loss for words.

My fingers start to fly on my phone. “I’m sorry,” I start to type. “I wanted to show you…” My words taper off. Show her what? How insane I am?

I shake my head and delete what I have written. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I thought if I started an online profile and tried to talk to you without you knowing it was me…” Ugh, that does sound crazy. I delete everything again.

“Honor, I’ve been in love with you for twenty years.

And I tried to tell you countless times, but you never seemed to hear me.

So I thought that if I could get you to see me differently, you might realize that…

” Realize what? She’s not in love with WhiteKnight.

Nothing’s changed between us, only now I’m a catfishing creep.

I close my eyes. I can’t send her these messages. I just have to go to dinner tomorrow and face the music. And hope that she forgives me.