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  He’s tense, waiting for my verdict, or approval. He doesn’t know he already had it.

  “It’s beautiful.” He’s beautiful.

  I keep following the swirls of the waves, and he turns, so I can see his back and the blue dragon. It’s less intense than the red dragon. More peaceful and calm. Fire and water. Yin and yang.

  I could sit and look at him all day, but I feel bad ogling him.

  “You can put your shirt on if you want.” It seems like a weird thing to say, so I look away from him when I say it. He’s still gazing at me over his shoulder.

  After a beat of silence, he pulls his shirt back on and I say goodbye to the dragons and waves in my mind. Jett is very modest for a guy, or maybe he’s just trying to keep the Fake Dating boundaries clear. He’s better at it than I am.

  The boundaries, even though we wrote them down, are becoming increasingly blurry in my mind. I mean, we’ve pretty much thrown out the Rule about incidental contact, because we sleep together every night. And I like it when he calls me princess when we’re alone. There are a million other little Rule violations each and every day that I totally ignore because I don’t care anymore. I’m having too much fun being a Fake Girlfriend.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel like I should show you my tattoos, but I don’t have any.” He lies back down next to me, but on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

  “So tell me something. Something no one else knows.” I look away from his face and up at the ceiling. Well, there’s one thing I could tell him, but all my friends know about my virginity, so that actually doesn’t count. Thankfully.

  So what can I tell him? Not something embarrassing. Something that will make him think I’m adorable and might want to take off his shirt again. The first is possible, but the second probably isn’t. Ah, got it.

  “Okay, when I was seven, I was completely in love with Batman. I used to watch the cartoons and movies, even more than my brother.” I don’t think I’ve mentioned my brother to Jett yet. Oh well.

  “Okay, so I’m obsessed with Batman. I wanted, more than anything, a Batman shirt to wear with the Bat Signal on it. My brother had one, but he would hide it from me, and lord it over me and I was so jealous. So I begged my mom for it, but she told me that girls weren’t supposed to wear Batman shirts. Yeah, I know. There’s a reason I don’t talk to my parents. She bought me a Disney Princess shirt, which was fine, but I wanted a Batman shirt. So I decided that I was going to get one, no matter what. The next time my mom took me clothes shopping, I ended up hiding in a rack and waiting for her to get distracted so I could run to the boys’ department, grab a shirt, run to the bathroom, tear the tags off with my teeth, put it on under my other shirt and walk out like nothing had happened. They didn’t have those tags that would set off the alarms back then. Or maybe they just didn’t have it in this store. I wore that shirt under my other clothes for the next month. Every day. No one ever noticed, but I couldn’t put it in the wash, so I hid it at the back of my drawer. It’s probably still there.”

  It’s a stupid story, and not that great, but it’s one of those things that I think about sometimes that no one else knows.

  “So there. Now you know about my history as a Batman t-shirt klepto.” Jett grins wide and grabs my face and gives me a kiss.

  “You’re the sweetest klepto I’ve ever met. And I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, princess.”

  “Cross your heart?” I say.

  “Cross my heart,” he says, making an X on his chest. Right on the red dragon. Hopefully the dragon will also keep my secret.

  “To the halfway mark,” Jett says as we have lunch on the exact day it’s been two weeks. I thought I was the only one who was obsessively counting, so I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

  “To two weeks of successful Fake Dating. How’s it been for you?” I say, clinking my plastic glass with his.

  “I think it’s been great so far. Javier is off my back and your apartment is much nicer than mine. Plus, you’re also better at cooking.”

  “Not when it comes to nachos.”

  “That is true. I am really good at nachos.”

  “And art. You kick my ass at art. And folding paper. You’re the best at that too. And I think you’re a better liar than I am.” He’s definitely a better liar than I am. That’s been proven several times.

  “But you’re the best at waffles. And picking chairs. And stealing Batman shirts. Speaking of that, I have something for you as sort of an anniversary present.” He pulls something out of his bag. It’s a present wrapped in the school newspaper.

  “Sorry about the wrapping job. The only paper that I have is tiny origami paper that wouldn’t work. I was going to tape it together, but . . . Anyway. It was this or toilet paper. I figured you wouldn’t want toilet paper.”

  “You got that right.” I take the present from him and open it slowly. I don’t want to act like a kid and tear it open. Something black and soft emerges, and I realize what it is fairly quickly.

  “You are such a dork,” I say as I pull out the Batman t-shirt. It’s exactly my size. He must have either gone through my drawers, or he’s looked at the tags in my shirts.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t get me a present to celebrate our anniversary? Don’t chicks love that stuff?”

  I look up from the shirt and I can see that he’s joking. He’d better be.

  “I didn’t know we were doing presents. You should have informed me beforehand. I think we need to add that to the Rules. When presents are going to be given, the other should be informed so they can reciprocate.”

  “But that takes all the spontaneity out of giving presents. Besides, I don’t want anything.” That’s silly. Everyone loves presents. “And you got me a chair. That’s all I need.”

  That is true. I got him a chair. So maybe that makes up for the shirt.

  “Do you like it?” he says.

  “I freaking love it. I’m never taking it off.”

  “So you have a shirt that has Batman on it and you’re going to wear it under all your clothes?” I know he’s paraphrasing a quote from Mean Girls and I love it.

  “This one time, Batman punched me in the face. It was awesome.”

  We both laugh and I hug the shirt into my chest. I’m totally putting it on as soon as I get back to the apartment, and I’m sleeping in it tonight.

  “On a less fun note, I was thinking we should start talking about how we’re going to end this. I think it should be public, for maximum impact and finality. Don’t you think?” The topic shift leaves me with my head spinning.

  I don’t want to talk about the break-up. I want to wait until the last possible moment, but I know deep down that we have to plan this out. There’s no point in going through this whole charade if we can’t end it convincingly.

  “Yeah. That sounds great.” No. It sounds terrible. I hate confrontation. I avoid it at all costs, even if that means I get treated like crap. But this isn’t real. It’s Fake Fighting. I can handle that.

  “I’m thinking I could say something stupid, and you get upset and then we yell and then you get to be the one to end it. I want you to come out on top.” In the midst of my sudden depression about our Fake Break-up, I have another little moment of swoon. How can I say goodbye to him?

  “You don’t have to do that. I could say something awful. Blame it on PMS and then you could call me out on it, and then I still get to break up with you. Because of PMS.” This will actually work, cycle-wise.

  “No, I think it should be me who is the asshole. I want to give you plenty of things to bash about me when you get together with your friends. I probably should start being an asshole now, so it doesn’t come out of the blue. We should have at least one or two fights beforehand. You know, make it convincing.” He’s thought about this. A lot. I’ve been trying to avoid it as much as I can. I know he’s making sense, but I don’t want him to be making sense. I want him to be talking a
bout the Batman shirt, or his tattoos or anything else.

  “Sounds— sounds good,” I say, swallowing because my mouth is dry. “So when do you think our first fight should be?” We should schedule it now and make sure all our fights are in public. Should we write a script, or just let it flow? Or should we say normal things and just make it look like we’re fighting? I have no idea how to do this. I suck at Fake Dating. I’m that girl who gets to foster a puppy, and then can’t let it go when it’s time to give it back to its forever family.

  Except Jett is a lot sexier than a puppy. Puppies aren’t sexy. Well, they shouldn’t be if you’re a normal person. But there probably is some weirdo out there who’s into them—

  “Should we rehearse?” Jett says, bringing me back to what we’re supposed to be talking about.

  “Like, right now?” I don’t want to do this.

  “Yes, right now. Why do you always have to be so difficult?” He gives me a wink, even though his voice is loud and the tone is anything but playful. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I play along.

  “Why are you always trying to control things?” My voice echoes through the room, and a few people turn and stare.

  His voice rises. “I’m not trying to control everything, I just think we should talk about this in a calm and rational manner.” Wow, he’s good. If I didn’t know better, I would think we were really fighting.

  “Here we go again, you always treat me like I’m the crazy one.” I grab my tray and stomp off to the trashcans, making sure to separate out my silverware and my cup and leave them on my tray so they can get washed.

  Jett is right behind me.

  “Don’t you walk away from me!” he yells so loud that nearly all conversation ceases. Hearing Jett’s stern voice is a little scary.

  I whip around and decide that it’s go big or go home.

  “I’ll do whatever I want! You don’t own me!” With that, I storm back to the table, grab my bag, and storm out. It feels kind of good, even if it’s not real. I’ve never yelled at anyone in public before. It’s kind of empowering. I want to do a leap or something. So I do.

  “What was that?” Jett’s voice says behind me.

  “My leap of victory over finally giving my douchey boyfriend what he deserves. And in public, no less. That was a victory leap. I should have done the Breakfast Club fist pump.”

  “You should. He sounds like an asshole. I hope you’re going to dump him.” He leans against the front of the building.

  I nod seriously.

  “I plan to.” And then we both smile at the same time and burst out laughing.

  “I think we did pretty good, don’t you?” I say.

  “I’d give us an Oscar. Meryl who?”

  “Never heard of her,” I say. “But really, we shouldn’t diss Meryl. She’s awesome.”

  He agrees quickly, changing his tune. “I feel like it could send us to hell. I take it back Meryl!” he calls to the heavens. That gets me laughing again, and I only stop when Jett kisses me. Most of our kisses lately have been sweet, tame, timid. This, however, is not.

  Jett takes control of my mouth, his lips and tongue demanding more of me, all of me. Oh, well, this is new. And it’s over as soon as it starts. He pulls back as if he’s shocked about what he’s done. I’m . . . I don’t know what I am at the moment.

  “I should get to class,” he says, and then he’s gone and I’m left with burning lips and his taste in my mouth and a hell of a lot of confusion.

  Was that make up kissing? Could that be a thing?

  I really need to fight with him more often.

  I’m heading back to the parking lot to get my car when someone snags my arm. My first thought is that I should have listened during orientation when they talked about pepper spray and rape whistles.

  And then a voice says, “Hey, blondie. Let’s have a little chat,” and I come face to face with Javier.

  “Losing circulation,” I say, because I’m pretty sure he’s making my arm into a new shape with his grip. He looks down at his hand and releases my arm, but nods for me to follow him. I roll my eyes but follow him around the side of the building where there aren’t so many people.

  “Can I help you with something?” I say as he stops walking and faces me again. He pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket and lights up. I didn’t know he smoked. I’ve never seen him do it before.

  “I’ve tried to quit, but it won’t stick. Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you about Jett.” I cross my arms. I really don’t know where this is going.

  “What about him?” It’s not really his business, but maybe it’s a best friend thing. Hazel would probably do the same thing. In fact, I know she would.

  “I just thought we should have a talk, since you two are getting pretty serious now. Jett is . . . look, he’s been my best friend for years, and I’m always looking out for him. He might not be my biological brother, but he’s my brother. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

  “Is this some sort of weird threat?”

  “No, no. Not a threat. Just letting you know that I’m looking out for him, and if something happens, I’m taking his side. And just . . . be careful with him. He’s been through a lot and I would hate to see him get hurt.”

  Now that last part sounds a bit like a threat.

  “It’s not my intention to hurt him.” Oh, this is going to be bad. I’m definitely scared of Javier. He could crush my skull with two of his muscular fingers. This is probably why Jett wants to play it that it’s his fault that we break up. I’m not going to argue with him on that.

  “I can see that you mean that. Honestly, I’m glad he found someone like you, Shannon. You seem like a nice girl, and he’s been really happy.” He stubs out his cigarette in the bucket and then grabs some gum from his pocket.

  “Just don’t screw it up,” he says around his gum before patting me on the shoulder and walking away.

  I slump against the building. This is a fucking disaster.

  I stress out the entire time I’m at work that afternoon, and I don’t have Amelia to talk to about it. But when I leave, someone is waiting by my car, leaning on their car. Or what he refers to as a car. I think the jury is still out on it.

  “What are you doing here?” I say. I haven’t seen him since we “fought” and “made up” earlier. I also haven’t told him about the conversation I had with Javier. I’m not sure if I should tell him. I’ve been going back and forth about it. I mean, Javier didn’t tell me not to tell him, but it did seem like a thing that he might not want Jett to know.

  Ugh. Dilemma.

  “I thought I would take my Fake Girlfriend out for a real dinner. Come on,” he opens the door for me. He seems serious, which kind of scares me.

  “Wow, Batman t-shirt and taking me out to dinner. What did I do to deserve this?”

  He shrugs. “I just felt bad about the fight. Even if it was fake. I didn’t know it would feel that real.”

  “I know. It’s going to be really weird when we have to do it in front of everyone and it’s real.” Or . . . whatever.

  Jett turns on the radio and seems really quiet.

  “Something wrong?” I say, my stomach twisting. Between the talk with Javier and Jett being weird, I sense that something is up. But I don’t know if he’s going to tell me about it.

  “No, I just wanted to see you and I was hungry and figured we should go out. That’s all.” Not buying it.

  “Yeah, I would believe that if you weren’t acting so weird, and because Javier came and talked to me today about you.”

  Jett swerves a little, and I can tell that he didn’t know about Javier. Huh. There really was only one way to find out if he knew about it.

  “What did he say?”

  “He just told me that if I hurt you, he would find me, eviscerate me and feed me my own organs,” I say seriously.

  “Shannon, be serious. What did he say?” Great, I just ruined everything. I should have kept my mouth shut.
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  “He just said that he hoped I wouldn’t hurt you, and that you’d been through some stuff and that he was looking out for you.”

  “But he didn’t tell you anything specifically?” He’s freaking out. This whole thing has backfired.

  “No. He was very general.” Clearly, Jett has something that he doesn’t want me to know. Or maybe a few somethings he doesn’t want me to know, but that’s nothing new. I can’t be upset that he won’t open up to me, because I’m not his girlfriend. “It’s okay, Jett. I know you have things that are personal, but don’t worry about me. If you want to tell me, you tell me, if you don’t, you don’t. I’m not going to beat it out of you, or get pissed at you. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He sighs and pulls into a pizza place.

  “I’m sorry about everything.” I’m not sure what he’s sorry about. Keeping secrets? Javier? The “fight” earlier? He’s going to have to get specific.

  We go in and get a table and order drinks before Jett starts talking.

  “I know you don’t get along with your parents. Most people mention at least talking to theirs, but you never do.” Wait, now we’re talking about me? I’m lost, but I’ll go along with it.

  “No. I don’t get along with my parents. I mean, I love them, that’s a given, but I don’t like them all that much. We have next to nothing in common. They enjoy drinking beer and watching NASCAR and gossiping and starting stupid fights with other people who are old enough to know better.

  “Neither of them even graduated high school, and they used to make fun of me for doing my homework. My brother is the same, except he got into growing pot, which they weirdly encouraged. He lives in their basement, if you can believe that, and grows pot and watches a lot of Will Ferrell movies. None of them have any idea why you would want to go through more school than you have to, or even why anyone would read. I can’t deal with being around them, so I just don’t. As soon as I could get out, I did, and I only go back when I have to.”