Chapter 5 The Perfect Couple

• We didn’t break up.
• That was the headline by second period.
• The confession account posted an update: “UPDATE: They are STILL TOGETHER. Spotted holding hands after contract leak. Is this real love or damage control?? Vote in comments.”
• People voted. Seven hundred votes in an hour. Sixty percent said damage control. Forty percent said real love.
• By lunch, it was ninety percent real love.
• Because we were good.
• We sat at the main table again. Weston pulled out my chair. I laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones. He stole a fry off my plate and I pretended to be annoyed. It was all acting, but it looked real. Maybe because part of it was starting to feel real, or maybe because we were just getting good at pretending.
• Maya came up to me after lunch.
• “Okay, so you are still together?” she asked. She was carrying her lunch tray and looking at Weston, who was talking to Jonah a few feet away.
• “We are,” I said.
• “So the contract thing… was that real?”
• I hesitated. Rule five was still in my head, even though the whole school had seen the contract. No telling anyone.
• “It was real,” I said quietly. “We wrote it. But it was stupid. We were nervous. We thought if we made rules it would be less scary.”
• “So you do like him?” she asked.
• I looked at Weston. He was laughing at something Jonah said, his head thrown back. He looked happy.
• “I do,” I said. And I realized I wasn’t sure if that was part of the act anymore.
• Maya smiled. “Good. Because he really defended you yesterday. That was hot.”
• “Maya!”
• “What? It was. Duke looked like he wanted to die.”
• That afternoon, Mrs. Albright found me again. This time she was with Mr. Chen from the foundation. He is the one who wears expensive suits and never smiles.
• “Emma,” Mrs. Albright said. “We wanted to confirm you are still coming tonight? To the mixer?”
• “Yes,” I said. “With Weston.”
• Mr. Chen looked at his tablet. “We saw the online posts this morning. About the contract.”
• My stomach dropped.
• “Yes,” I said. “That was… that was private. Someone leaked it.”
• “We understand,” Mrs. Albright said quickly. “These things happen. Teenagers and social media.”
• Mr. Chen didn’t look like he understood. He looked like he was studying me.
• “Young relationships are often dramatic,” he said. “The foundation appreciates authenticity. We appreciate students who can handle public scrutiny. It’s part of leadership.”
• “So… am I still invited?” I asked.
• “Of course,” Mrs. Albright said. “In fact, we would like you to speak for two minutes about your tutoring proposal. Just a short introduction. Many sponsors will be there.”
• Sponsors. She had never said sponsors would be there before.
• “Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”
• “Great. Seven PM. Dress is semi-formal.”
• When they left, I texted Weston.
• Me: “I’m still invited. They want me to speak.”
• Weston: “See? I told you. Bad attention is still attention.”
• Me: “They said sponsors will be there.”
• Weston: “Sponsors? Like money sponsors?”
• Me: “I think so.”
• Weston: “Crazy. My coach just texted me. He said a local sports brand wants to feature me in their campaign. They saw the posts about us. They said we are a ‘power couple’.”
• Me: “We are not a power couple. We are two people who wrote a contract in the library.”
• Weston: “Tell that to the sports brand. They want to pay me.”
• I stared at my phone.
• A sports brand wanted to pay Weston because he was dating me.
• A foundation that had almost rejected me now wanted me to speak because I was dating him.
• This was working too well.
• The mixer was at the foundation building downtown. It’s a glass building with a lot of lights and a fountain in front. I had only seen it from the outside before.
• My mom drove me. She wore her good blouse.
• “Emma, are you sure about this boy?” she asked in the car. She had seen the confession post too. My aunt had sent it to her.
• “It’s complicated, Mom,” I said.
• “Complicated how?”
• “We like each other. The contract was just… we were nervous.”
• My mom looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Emma Blackwood, you have never been nervous about anything in your life. You gave a presentation to two hundred people in eighth grade without shaking.”
• “People change,” I said.
• She sighed. “Just don’t let a boy distract you from the scholarship. That’s all I ask.”
• “I won’t.”
• Weston was waiting outside the building. He was wearing a black shirt and black pants. He looked older than usual. He saw us and waved.
• My mom rolled down the window.
• “You must be Weston,” she said.
• “Yes, Mrs. Blackwood,” he said. He was polite. He shook her hand through the window.
• “Take care of my daughter,” my mom said.
• “I will,” Weston said.
• My mom drove away, looking worried.
• “You look nice,” Weston said to me.
• “Thanks,” I said. I was wearing my cousin’s wedding dress, which is dark blue and a little too long. “You look nice too.”
• “You look nervous,” he said.
• “I am nervous. There are sponsors inside.”
• “There are free samosas inside,” he said. “I checked the menu. Let’s focus on the samosas.”
• We walked in together.
• Inside, it was all adults in suits and a few students I recognized from the top ten. Duke was there, of course, standing next to Mr. Chen and laughing.
• He saw us and his eyes narrowed.
• Mrs. Albright came over.
• “Emma, Weston, so glad you made it. Emma, you are speaking after Duke. Just two minutes.”
• “Okay,” I said.
• Weston squeezed my hand. We had agreed to hold hands tonight. For the sponsors. For the performance.
• Duke finished his speech. It was about leadership and legacy and his family’s donation to the library. Everyone clapped.
• Then it was my turn.
• I walked to the small stage. My hands were shaking.
• I looked out. I saw Weston in the front row, giving me a small nod. I saw Mr. Chen watching. I saw Duke with his arms crossed.
• I talked about my tutoring proposal. Free tutoring, fifteen volunteers, helping junior students. I kept it short, like they asked.
• When I finished, people clapped. More than they clapped for Duke, I think. Or maybe I imagined it.
• After, a woman in a red blazer came up to me.
• “Emma Blackwood? I’m with Bright Future Tutors, one of the foundation sponsors. We would love to support your program. Could we schedule a meeting?”
• “Yes,” I said, surprised. “Yes, of course.”
• “We saw your story online,” she said, smiling. “You and Weston are very popular. That helps with visibility for our brand.”
• My story online. She meant the contract leak.
• She walked away and gave me her card.
• Weston came over.
• “Did you just get a sponsor?” he asked.
• “I think so,” I said.
• “This is crazy,” he said. “My coach said the sports brand wants us both. They want a photo shoot. A couple’s photo shoot. For their back-to-school campaign.”
• “A photo shoot?”
• “They pay three hundred dollars each,” he said.
• Three hundred dollars. That is half my mom’s monthly grocery budget.
• “For a photo?” I asked.
• “For pretending to be in love for a photo,” Weston said. “Which we are already doing for free, so…”
• We both laughed, but it felt weird.
• That night, after the mixer, Weston walked me to the bus stop. We were still holding hands because we didn’t know when to let go.
• “Today was good,” he said.
• “Today was strange,” I said.
• “Strange good?”
• “Strange strange,” I said. “Did you notice? Last week, before we started dating, no one cared about my proposal. Now a sponsor wants to fund it. Before, no brand wanted you. Now they want both of us.”
• “That’s influence,” Weston said. “That’s what Duke said matters. Maybe he was right about that part.”
• “But it only happens when we are together,” I said. “Think about it. When we argued yesterday morning about the leak, Mrs. Albright almost uninvited me. Then when we held hands and walked to class, she invited me again. When you defended me, you got the sports brand offer. It’s like… it’s like someone is rewarding us for staying together.”
• Weston frowned. “You think someone is controlling the sponsors?”
• “I don’t know. It feels like every time we almost break up, an opportunity disappears. And every time we act like a perfect couple, another one appears.”
• “That’s just how popularity works,” Weston said. But he didn’t sound sure.
• We got on the bus. We sat together. People looked.
• When I got home, I couldn’t sleep. I opened Instagram and searched.
• I searched for an account that had posted about us from the beginning. Not the confession account, but another one. A small account with no profile picture that had commented on the first edit of us. It had said, “They look good together. Hope they last.”
• I clicked on it. The account had only posted about us. Every day since Monday, when Weston and I first sat together at lunch.
• Monday: Photo of us walking in the hallway. Caption: “New couple in town?”
• Tuesday: Photo of us at lunch. Caption: “Main table official.”
• Wednesday: Photo of Weston defending me in assembly, blurry but recognizable. Caption: “He stands up for her.”
• Thursday: Photo of our contract. Caption: “FAKE?”
• And today, Friday: Photo of us at the mixer, holding hands in front of the glass building. I hadn’t seen anyone take that photo. We had just arrived.
• Caption: “Still together. Good.”
• My blood went cold.
• This account had been tracking us since day one. Since before anyone else knew we were dating. Since the first lunch.
• It had photos that no one else had. Private moments. Hallway moments. It had the contract before the confession account posted it.
• I sent the account to Weston.
• Me: “Look at this. This account has been following us since Monday.”
• Weston: “What? How?”
• Me: “It has a photo of us at the mixer tonight. I didn’t see anyone take it. Did you?”
• Weston: “No.”
• Me: “Someone has been tracking our relationship from the first day.”
• Weston didn’t answer for a long time. Then:
• Weston: “Emma, lock your doors. I’m serious this time.”
• I looked out my window. The street was dark.
• Someone was watching us. Not just online. In real life. Taking photos.
• And they wanted us to stay together.
• The question was why.