Chapter 3 Public Display

• The morning after I sat at the main table, everyone knew my name.
• Not in the way I wanted, at first. Not because of my grades or my tutoring proposal. Because of Weston.
• I walked into school on Wednesday and the security guard at the front gate said, “Morning, Emma. How’s Weston?”
• I didn’t even know he knew who I was.
• In first period, my English teacher said, “I saw you and Weston at lunch yesterday. Cute couple.” She winked at me. I had never seen her wink at anyone before.
• By second period, someone had made an edit of us. It was a photo from the cafeteria where Weston had his arm behind my chair, and someone had added a heart filter and posted it on the school’s anonymous gossip account. The caption said “New couple alert?? Carter x Blackwood finally confirmed.”
• It had three hundred likes in an hour.
• Weston found me before third period. He looked tired.
• “Did you see it?” he asked.
• “The edit? Yes.”
• “My mom saw it,” he said. “She texted me. She said, who is Emma and why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?”
• “What did you say?”
• “I said we wanted to keep it private for a while. She said private doesn’t mean posting in the main cafeteria.”
• I laughed even though I was nervous. “Sorry about your mom.”
• “It’s fine. She likes you. She said you look smart. That’s her highest compliment.”
• We walked to third period together. That was part of the plan. Third to fourth hallway is the most crowded. We had talked about it in the library.
• We didn’t hold hands. We agreed we wouldn’t, not unless we had to. But we walked close. Close enough that people could see we were together. Weston kept slowing down when I slowed down, like he was matching my pace.
• A group of girls from the volleyball team stopped us.
• “Are you guys official official?” one of them asked.
• Weston looked at me and smiled. It was a good smile. Convincing.
• “Yeah,” he said. “We are.”
• “How long?” the girl asked me.
• “A little while,” I said. “We kept it quiet at first.”
• “That’s so cute,” she said. “You two are so different but it works.”
• When they left, Weston whispered, “Different how?”
• “I think she means I’m not your usual type,” I said.
• “You are not,” he said. “My usual type is… I don’t actually have a usual type. I’ve never had a real girlfriend before. Remember?”
• “Right. We are both bad at this.”
• “But we are getting better,” he said.
• Lunch was easier the second day. I sat at the main table again without feeling like I was going to throw up. Jonah moved over to make space for me. Maya asked me about my English essay. Even a couple of teachers walking by smiled at us.
• Weston bought me a cookie from the lunch line. He didn’t ask if I wanted it, he just put it on my tray.
• “What’s this for?” I asked.
• “Couples buy each other stuff,” he said. “I saw it in a movie.”
• “You’re learning from movies now?”
• “I’m learning from everywhere. My sister is giving me tips. She said I should carry your books.”
• “You are not carrying my books.”
• “Why not? Boyfriends carry books.”
• “Fake boyfriends don’t have to.”
• “Fake boyfriends who want to be believable do,” he said. He grabbed my chemistry textbook anyway and carried it to fourth period. People stared. A few people took pictures.
• That afternoon, Mrs. Albright stopped me in the hallway.
• “Emma, do you have a second?”
• “Yes,” I said.
• She looked at Weston, who was still holding my book.
• “Weston, can I borrow Emma for a minute?”
• “Of course,” he said. He handed me my book and walked a few steps away, but not too far. Close enough that it still looked like we were together.
• Mrs. Albright smiled. “I wanted to say, I loved how you handled yourself yesterday. In the cafeteria. Very confident.”
• “Thank you,” I said, confused.
• “And I wanted to let you know, the foundation is hosting a small mixer on Friday. For scholarship candidates and their guests. It’s usually just for finalists, but we would like you to come. Bring Weston, if you’d like.”
• My mouth went dry.
• “The mixer? For finalists?”
• “It’s informal,” she said. “Just to see how candidates interact outside the interview room. Influence, you know. How you carry yourself in social settings.”
• Influence. That word again.
• “I would love to come,” I said quickly.
• “Great. I’ll send you the details.” She looked over at Weston. “You two seem very happy.”
• “We are,” I said. The lie came easier now.
• When she left, Weston walked back over.
• “What was that?” he asked.
• “She invited me to the finalists mixer on Friday. She said to bring you.”
• His eyes widened. “The mixer? That’s only for the top five. You made top five?”
• “I guess so. Because of… this.” I gestured between us.
• “Wow,” he said. “Okay. So it’s working.”
• “It’s working,” I repeated. It was working. Two days of fake dating and I was already invited to something that had never invited me before.
• “Friday then,” Weston said. “We will go together. Do you have a dress?”
• “I have one dress. From my cousin’s wedding.”
• “That will be perfect.”
• On Thursday, Duke tried to ruin it.
• It was during assembly. The whole senior year was in the auditorium. Duke was on stage because he is student council president and he always gives a speech about school spirit before events.
• He was talking about the upcoming charity run. Then in the middle, he looked straight at me in the third row.
• “Speaking of charity,” he said, smiling into the microphone. “I want to shout out Emma Blackwood for her tutoring proposal. I think it’s great that she wants to help junior students, even though she is so busy with her new relationship. It’s inspiring to see how quickly someone can become… influential.”
• He said influential like it was a joke.
• A few people laughed. Not a lot, but enough. Enough that I felt my face get hot.
• I looked down at my lap.
• Weston was sitting two seats away from me because boys and girls are separated by class during assembly. He stood up.
• He actually stood up in the middle of assembly.
• “Can I say something?” he said loudly.
• The principal, who was sitting on stage, looked surprised. “Weston, we are in the middle of—”
• “I just want to say that Emma’s proposal is really good,” Weston said. His voice carried. “She has fifteen volunteers already and she did it without any help from student council. That’s real leadership. Not just talking about charity runs, but actually doing something.”
• The auditorium went completely silent.
• Duke’s smile froze.
• Weston sat back down.
• The principal cleared his throat. “Thank you, Weston. Thank you, Duke. Let’s continue.”
• After assembly, the hallway was chaos.
• People kept coming up to me.
• “Did you hear what Weston said?”
• “Oh my god, he totally defended you.”
• “Duke looked so mad.”
• I found Weston at his locker. He was shoving books in quickly.
• “Are you crazy?” I said, but I was smiling. I couldn’t help it.
• “Maybe,” he said. “But he was being a jerk. I told you I would talk first before quitting, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t stand up for you.”
• “You stood up to Duke in front of the whole school.”
• “He started it.”
• “He is going to hate us now.”
• “He already hated us,” Weston said. “Now he just knows we don’t care.”
• He closed his locker. “Are you okay? What he said on stage—”
• “I’m fine,” I said. And for once, I actually was. Because for the first time, someone with influence had said I had leadership in front of everyone. And it wasn’t just anyone. It was Weston.
• “Good,” he said. “Because on Friday we have to be even more convincing. My sister said couples at mixers hold hands.”
• “We are not holding hands.”
• “We might have to,” he said. “Just for Friday.”
• “We will see,” I said.
• He walked me to my next class, and I could feel people watching us, but this time it didn’t feel bad. It felt like armor.
• That night, I was doing homework at my desk when my phone buzzed.
• It was a message from an unknown number. No name, no profile picture.
• I opened it.
• One line.
• “Keep dating him.”
• I stared at it.
• My heart started beating fast.
• I checked the number. No area code I recognized. No way to tell who it was.
• I typed back, “Who is this?”
• No answer. The message stayed on delivered.
• I took a screenshot and sent it to Weston.
• Me: “Did you get this?”
• Weston: “Get what?”
• Me:[screenshot]
• Weston: “What? No. I didn’t get anything. Who sent that?”
• Me: “I don’t know. Unknown number.”
• Weston: “That’s creepy.”
• Me: “What does it mean? Keep dating him?”
• Weston: “Maybe someone likes us together?”
• Me: “Or someone is watching us.”
• There was a long pause. Then Weston typed:
• Weston: “Don’t worry about it tonight. We have the mixer tomorrow. We can talk there. Are you okay?”
• Me: “I’m okay. Just weird.”
• Weston: “Keep your doors locked. I’m serious.”
• Me: “It’s a text, not a stalker.”
• Weston: “Still.”
• I put my phone down and looked out my window. Our street is quiet at night. My mom’s car was in the driveway. Everything looked normal.
• But the message was still on my screen.
• Keep dating him.
• Not “I like you guys” or “You look cute together.” It was an instruction. Like an order.
• I thought about Mrs. Albright inviting me to the mixer. I thought about the edit with three hundred likes. I thought about Weston defending me on stage.
• We had only been fake dating for four days.
• And someone was already telling me not to stop.
• I locked my phone and went back to homework, but I couldn’t focus.
• For the first time since Weston and I signed that contract, I wondered if we were the only ones who knew about our plan.
• And I wondered if someone else wanted us together more than we did.