Out of My League: A Fake Relationship Romance Read online

  “Pretty please with a cherry on top?” Edith asked again, pressing her palms together. “I need my motivator. You can help me talk to boys.”

  Ah, yes. She said boys plural, but I knew there was a certain boy in particular on her mind. Edith had been crushing on the same guy since the sixth grade. Zach Balker. You’d think after all these years of crushing on him, something would’ve happened, but nope. Their relationship never strayed out of the platonic zone, not that it ever discouraged Edith.

  “I’m not sure I’m up for being a motivator tonight,” I told her, finally twisting the dial on my lock, popping my locker open. A bare metal box greeted me, devoid of any stickers and mirrors and textbooks from when I’d cleared it out earlier in the week. Only my tan backpack hung on the hook, and I had no journal to pack into it. Heartbreaking. “Maybe we can just do something tomorrow?”

  “Have you broken the news to you-know-who yet?” she asked me, leaning her hip along the lockers.

  I knew exactly what news she meant, and exactly who I was supposed to break what to. But the mere idea of doing so made everything in me tie up in knots. “Not yet.”

  “Sophia.” The word was a scolding. “You deserve better. You know you do.”

  “I’ve never broken up with anyone before,” I told her almost desperately, willing her to drop it before anyone overheard. “I’ll get to it.”

  Really, I’d been thinking about breaking up with my boyfriend, Scott, for a few weeks now, but wanted to hold off. Wanted to wait and see if the spark I’d felt at the beginning of our relationship would relight.

  I’d also been putting it off because I had no idea how Scott would take it. I’d never broken up with someone before—I needed to have a boyfriend first to be able to break up with them. How did one break up with their first boyfriend? I had no clue.

  So, of course, I just put it on the back burner, pretending things would resolve themselves. Good strategy, I think.

  Before Edith had a chance to respond, no doubt saying something to encourage me further down Breakup Avenue, a shadow fell over my locker, a low voice quick on its heels. “There you are. I was starting to think you decided to stay in class all summer.”

  Looking over, I locked eyes with Scott, my boyfriend of nearly two months now. He leaned up against the locker beside mine. After hearing Walsh Hunter’s voice right in my ear, looking at Scott was a nice contrast to the perfection of the baseball captain. Safe brown eyes, straight black hair. Scott had been trying to grow a mustache for the last month, though it resulted in nothing but a patchy line above his lip.

  Normal and simple, not stuck-up and self-absorbed.

  “I was talking to Mrs. Gao,” I told him. “We…we were just talking about the article.” And about when we’re hosting a funeral for it.

  I already missed the familiar weight of my journal, naked without it. I wanted to tell Scott about what happened, but as short-stop on the baseball team, I doubted he’d be too brokenhearted to hear where the funding had been wired.

  And quite honestly, I wasn’t sure he’d really listen.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Edith said, shooting Scott a glare from the side of her eye, already beginning to back away.

  I frowned after her for a moment. “How was your last day, Scott?”

  “I should’ve just skipped like I planned to do. But my girlfriend talked me out of it.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his pouty tone. “Hey, you didn’t have to listen to me. You can take your own risks.”

  “Risks,” he huffed. “What’s risky about skipping the last day of school? You’re just a goody-two-shoes.”

  “Being a goody-two-shoes is better than having to come back in the summer for detention.”

  Scott brushed off my words with a scoff, one that I got so often.

  Don’t fight with him, I told myself while gritting my teeth, shutting the locker door gently. I didn’t want to fight with him, but the urge came so easily lately. Scott had a massive tendency to be a Negative Nelly, and I didn’t even think he meant to. It was just a personality trait of his. Normal, simple, negative.

  “Are you going to come over before your game tonight?” I asked him.

  “Will your parents be home?”

  I held in a sigh, already knowing his answer. “Probably.”

  “Then no thanks. You know I don’t like to be around them.”

  Scott’s dislike of my parents was no secret, but I guess I couldn’t really fault him for that.

  He had yet to shake the sour expression. “Why did you wear your glasses today?”

  This time, I couldn’t hold my sigh in. “My eyes were really dry this morning.” To punctuate this fact, I slipped my finger underneath my glasses, rubbing.

  “Did you use eye drops? You should’ve used eye drops.” He didn’t wait for me to answer—which was probably a good thing, because I was seriously about to snap at him. “I’ve got to talk to Ryan about tonight. Walsh is throwing a party, and I have to know if I’m supposed to bring chips or something.”

  Jeez, again with this stupid party. But his tone was different than Edith’s. Scott’s voice turned acidic when he spoke, like he tasted something bitter.

  Scott held animosity for everything around him, and Walsh was no exception. In the two months since we started dating, I heard it all: how Walsh got to be captain instead of Scott, how Walsh started turning all the other boys on the baseball team against him, how Walsh was just evil incarnate. I wasn’t sure I agreed with Scott to that extent, but it was a little refreshing to find someone else who did not bow down to Mr. Perfect.

  Scott said, “I’ll see you…”

  “Later.” It was the noncommittal way Scott usually finished that sentence, and today, I found that I didn’t care. After a load of crap-tastic news, I just wanted to be by myself.

  Scott brushed past me, not offering a kiss or hug goodbye, but that was our usual. PDA was strictly off-limits, and for me, that was totally fine.

  My eyes followed his back, watching as he walked up to the gaggle of baseball players at the far end of the hall. Seven or eight of them stood around, spending their first day of summer in the halls of the school, laughing about something that couldn’t possibly be that funny.

  Walsh stood in the middle, and I didn’t miss that everyone’s eyes pointed in his direction.

  I glared toward them, at the people and their stupid leader. People like them—they were all just so…so…entitled. Selfish. Stuck-up and shallow, and they ate my newspaper funding without even batting an eye. Sure, other people’s dreams and passions were sucked dry, but at least the baseball team got new stuff.

  It made me want to scream.

  Just then, the universe, for whatever reason, had Walsh lift his eyes straight to mine as if he’d heard my angry thoughts. How did a guy like him get everything he wanted, everything handed to him, every single time? Was he in league with the devil or something?

  Walsh still watched me from across the hallway, probably wondering why I was staring at him like I wanted to commit murder.

  There was nothing I could do. The school freaking idolized the baseball team. Baseball in this school—in this county—was worshipped. Why else would the county division agree to extend their baseball games until the middle of July? Why else would the town dedicate an entire park to the Bayview Royals?

  Heck, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Coach Glassmore got nominated as mayor next election term.

  Why could no one else see how conceited those players were? Did everyone turn a blind eye?

  If we still had a school newspaper, I might’ve written an article about the unfairness of it all. Honestly, I was surprised I never had before. I’d point out the biased treatment they got from the teachers—positive biased treatment, of course—the unfair funding they received, all the parties, all the drinking, all the rottenness that the players tried to hide with their pretty smiles.

  An article displaying all the dirty littl
e secrets of the baseball team. I could’ve exposed it all. Now that would’ve been a home run for sure.

  The thought sat in my mind for a moment, festering, until it finally clicked. Without wasting another second, I hurried down the hallway, praying that my breakthrough hadn’t come too late.

  Chapter Two

  Mrs. Gao was already locking up her classroom door when I got to her, probably wanting to jumpstart her summer vacation as well. She had to have heard my tennis shoes slapping the ground, echoing through the now empty hallway as I got close.

  “Sophia.” Her eyes widened. “Are you all right?”

  “Let me write the article,” I gasped, my lungs heaving. A sharp pressure in my side sent me doubling over, leveling my forearms against my knees. I so needed to workout more. “The Back to School newsletter—let me write it.”

  Mrs. Gao blinked. “Um, there isn’t going to be a Back to School newsletter.”

  “I’ll write it anyway. I’ll write an amazing article, we’ll present it to the board, and then they’ll realize how important it is to have a school newspaper.” Several strands of my auburn hair caught in my face and I frantically tucked them back, peering up at her with a puppy-dog gaze. “It’ll knock their socks off and they’ll have to reinstate it. It’ll work, Mrs. Gao.”

  Okay, sure, maybe it was a long shot. The school board finalized their decision. But if I had a chance to reverse their totally bogus ruling, I had to try. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let the newspaper slip from my fingers without a fight. I’d beat myself up for the rest of summer—heck, maybe even the rest of my life.

  One last chance to stop my dreams from going down the drain.

  “Sophia,” she said gently, grasping for words. “I know you’re dedicated and passionate about this. I do. But do you have any ideas that would knock their socks off? Something other than the horrors of non-recyclable straws, I’m afraid.”

  See, even she understood my dilemma. “I know, I know. I can find a good topic, I swear.” And I might even already have one. It just needed a bit more fleshing out, and I didn’t want to risk telling her the details, just in case she tried to talk me out of it. “It might not work, and the school board might not listen, but it’s a chance, Mrs. Gao.”

  “You’re confident, Sophia. You have been writing these articles for the past three years—if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s telling a story. I can understand why you want to try one last time. for your love of writing.”

  Or, you know, to prevent my life from ending. Same thing.

  “If you can get me the article by the last Sunday of July, I can present it at the board meeting that Monday. If anything, we can see about publishing it on the first day of school. But I can’t promise anything.”

  The deadline was so easy-peasy. My recyclable straw article took me less than two weeks to gather information and compose. And I already knew my topic: exposing the bias for the baseball team. If the school board hoped that no one noticed the unfairness before, too bad. When I was done, everyone would finally open their eyes to the truth of Bayview baseball. “All I need is a chance.”

  Mrs. Gao reached into her tote bag and withdrew my writer’s notebook, corners well-loved and stickers dotting the cover. The mere sight of it made the world feel right again, like everything would end up okay. Color burst into my black and white world, making me feel alive again.

  “Tap into your genius, Sophia,” she told me. “You’ll need it.”

  When I went into the 9th grade, the family dynamic in my household shifted drastically. My parents bought me a bicycle for my birthday, a coral one with a white woven basket, and told me the world was my oyster.

  At the time, I didn’t realize what they really meant was that the world was I was on my own.

  That birthday was a milestone for us all. Mom and Dad started treating me less like a child and more like an adult. Like a friend. Like a roommate, living in the same house but interacting on the minimum. Me being on my own gave them more time to focus on each other. They starred in their own version of a soap opera, playing different parts and creating drama where it wasn’t warranted.

  I liked to call it The Old and the Angry. They’d have a full-on argument over who left a dirty cereal bowl in the sink, kiss in the living room, and threaten to break up with each other. All in the span of ten minutes.

  It was exhausting to keep up, so I tried not to.

  Not that they didn’t love me. My parents weren’t bad parents. They didn’t neglect me. They still cleaned around the house, they gave me an allowance each week, they paid the bills on time. There were even certain days where they’d cook dinner.

  And independence had its perks. Like being able to come home from Edith’s house at two in the morning, or being able to sneak Scott up into my room to watch a movie with the door closed.

  Okay, fine, the perks were bogus, but that was my fault. I wasn’t an interesting person.

  At eight o’clock, I hurried downstairs in a clatter of flip-flops, freezing on the bottom step when I saw Mom. She was perched on the edge of the sofa but wasn’t really watching the TV. She just stared at the wall like she was willing it to change color. Her auburn hair, which matched mine almost identically, was still up in its bun, her workout clothes still on.

  I cleared my throat, shoving my notebook into my purse. “I’m heading out.”

  Mom startled, turning in her seat. Her makeup had rubbed off from the day, creating rings around her eyes. “Oh, Sophia, I didn’t hear you come in. Are you just getting home from school?” Mom didn’t even hesitate a second before pressing a hand to her forehead. “Not school. It’s after six, isn’t it?”

  “It’s after eight. And I’ve been home.”

  I had the strangest urge to mention the Back to School article to her, ask her if she had any tips or thoughts about it. Maybe because she mentioned school.

  I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. “I’m actually going out.”

  Mom nodded at me, moving to actually sit down on the couch rather than rest precariously on its arm. “Have fun.”

  The hardest part about my wide berth of independence was I could still remember a time when things were different. Like when Dad used to take me on boat rides down on the bay. Or when Mom and I used to go on overnight trips out of town, no boys allowed. I could remember family dinners, movie nights, happy times.

  And now it was all different. Quieter. Lonelier.

  “I’ll be out late,” I said, trying in vain to get a reaction.

  Mom didn’t even say anything this time; she merely gave me a thumbs up.

  I clenched my jaw together as she turned up the volume of her TV show, making it too loud to talk around. Drawing in a deep breath, I shook off the heaviness weighing on my shoulders. No need to be disappointed. This was just the way things were.

  I didn’t glance back as I headed outside, yanking the zipper on my purse closed.

  Chapter Three

  I had my game face on. I was tapping into my inner genius. How was a girl like me, no social life whatsoever, going to dig up information on the highly-worshipped baseball team? Well, I had a plan. I had somewhat of an informant already, if I could find a way to trick insider information out of Scott.

  Obviously, if he knew why I was asking him so many questions about baseball, he wouldn’t tell me anything. But if I could find a way for him to confess, he would be invaluable.

  I’d just need to ask him questions that weren’t too obvious.

  Honestly, it should be easy enough. Once he talked about himself or about baseball, it was hard to get him to stop.

  And since he would not come to me, I guess I’d just have to go to him.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” Edith said, reaching over and patting my knee. She pulled her seat all the way up to the steering wheel, her legs stretched straight to reach the pedals. “You know I feel a lot more confident with you around. Too bad we’re not one person.”

  “What
are friends for?” I returned with a smile, gazing out the passenger’s side window.

  Trees and foliage surrounded Walsh’s long driveway, bright and alive, the colors of summer clinging to the leaves. The setting sun sifted through the tree limbs, orange rays filtering through the branches. It wouldn’t be long until darkness won out.

  Edith, bracelets jingling, twisted the steering wheel around the last bend of the driveway, letting out a whistle as the trees parted and exposed the house.

  And I seriously had to redefine my idea of what a house was because this giant fortress was no house. With the mix of gray siding and a sandy-colored brick, it almost looked like something from a fairytale, set on a steep, grassy hill. It glowed like a giant jack-o-lantern, each window lit from the inside. Jeez, I didn’t even want to know what the electric bill looked like.

  The parties that Edith and I went to were usually thrown by Zach or a guy in Greenville, and their houses, though not tiny, were nothing compared to this. Walsh had never hosted a party before, but given how massive his property was, he totally should’ve.

  And, okay, did Walsh live in Bayview or some other world entirely? I never even knew there was a corner of Bayview that looked like this.

  I slouched in my seat, glaring at the structure. “You didn’t tell me Walsh lived in a freaking castle.”

  “Why do you think I’d know what his house looks like?”

  “You know everything.”

  She seemed satisfied with my response. “I knew he lived on the edge of the higher-end part of town, not like this.”

  Oh, not in the middle of the forest in a castle with bay access in the back. I could see the dark water beyond the edges of his house. It was like someone took a slice of every perfect view and gifted it to him.

  Perfect, perfect, perfect.

  Edith eased behind a shiny SUV, getting as close as she possibly could without kissing the bumper.

  “So do we want to split up when we go in?” I asked Edith as I undid my seatbelt, shrugging on my game face. “I’ll find Scott, you find a cute boy, and we’ll meet up in a bit?”