05

WHEN I SLIDE into my seat, I can feel the weight of a gaze on me.

I glance up to see Chase staring at me from across the class. My cheeks heat and I immediately look away, remembering what I have to ask of him today.

How will it look that I shot him down for tutoring sessions but will crawl back to ask for him to fake date me? Probably really pathetic.

Mr. Wilson enters the class and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. I haven't gotten over the fact that he was the reason Chase and I met in the first place.

Though, if Chase agrees to my horrible plan, maybe that won't have been such a bad thing.

I try my best not to get under Mr. Wilson's skin the entire class. Even when he pronounces a word completely wrong I keep my mouth shut like the rest of my classmates.

I can't afford getting sent to the front office twice in a week. Nor can I afford butchering the only time I have to speak to Chase.

Ever since the beginning of this year, I would correct him on a few things—whether it be his spelling, or his grammar, or his inaccurate historical facts—I couldn't help myself, and eventually he got pretty sick of it.

Which is why he hates me so much. I should be offended, but I cant bring myself to be. If anything, his temperament brings me entertainment.

I'm sure Mr. Wilson can tell I'm holding myself back because he has a smug look on his face each time he asks a question. I really want to punch it off his face.

But I think I've had my fair share of punching this week.

By the time class is finished, I gather my things and watch as Chase exits the room with a red-headed boy walking with him.

I curse under my breath and trail behind them, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. I don't want to have an audience when I embarrassed myself in front of Chase.

I wait for the red-head to leave and once he finally does I'm taking quick steps toward Chase. Just as I'm about to reach him though, his friends—who I always see him with—reach him first, the dark-skinned boy giving him a slap on the back.

I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and blow out a breath. Should I just go up to him? I'm not usually one to hide in the corner.

I like being bold—most of the time. I like saying whatever I'm thinking. But something about going up to Chase Rhodes in the middle of the hallway makes my stomach roll. And I hate that it does.

Just as I'm working up the courage to walk up to him, Chase turns and catches sight of me. Jesus. I probably look like a stalker.

His brows furrow and he whispers something to his friends before detaching from them and walking toward me.

My eyes widen and I begin to panic. This is ten times worse than going up to him. People will definitely get the wrong idea. But...isn't that the whole plan?

I don't know anymore.

All I know is that I'm not doing this in the hallway.

When Chase reaches me, I grab his arm quickly and throw him into the closest classroom before he can even utter a word.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it for support, my heartbeat starting to calm down.

"Is everything okay...?" Chase trails off, looking extremely suspicious. I don't blame him. "You're not going to punch me again are you?"

I roll my eyes. You punch a guy one time and suddenly you're a criminal. "No," I respond curtly.

He looks skeptical. "Then what is it? A kick?"

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and bite my lip in thought. How the hell do I explain this to him?

"Okay..." I say. "This is going to sound weird—"

"You're scaring me a little, Matthews," Chase says, raising his brows.

I begin to pace out of nervousness and cast a quick homage in his direction. "Remember when you asked me to tutor you?"

"You mean yesterday? Yes, I remember yesterday. I also remember you declining my request."

I clench my jaw, "No one likes a smart-ass," I say flatly.

He snorts at that, "Says you."

I ignore that comment and wrong my fingers out. I should just do it, right? You only live once. "Yes, well, I've been thinking about your request and I've changed my mind—"

He straightens, his face noticeable brightening. "Really?"

"Yes," I assure. "But—I, um...I need something in return."

He nods his head, "Anything."

Anything. This can't go that horrible, can it? "I need you to...how do I say this?" I groan, running a hand through my hair frustratedly, purposefully ignoring Chase's eyes. "Ineedyoutodateme." I rush out, my chest flooding with relief.

"Sorry, what? Can you say that again?"

I bite my lip. "I need you to date me."

That wasn't so bad, I think. But then I see Chase's face and I want to dig myself a hole and die in it.

"You need me to—date you?" He says, confusion weighing heavily on his eyebrows.

"Don't sound so repulsed by it," I say narrowing my eyes at him.

"I just...I don't understand—how did tutoring get to that?"

I shake my head. "It's a long story, okay? And before you ask, no, I don't have any other options—trust me, I've checked. And it'll only be for a month—or as long as your tutoring sessions last—and it'll be minimal efforts. I promise." I'm fully aware that I'm rambling right now, but I can't seem to stop. "Trust me, if I did have another option I wouldn't even bother asking you—but as you can see—I'm desperate."

Chase is now sitting on top of one of the desks, a curious look plastered onto his face. "So let me get this straight," he says. "In order for you to tutor me, I have to pretend to date you?"

I nod my head. "Yes."

"And it'll only be for a month?"

I nod again.

"And it'll be minimal effort?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes."

"Alrighty, then," he says, his voice now twinged with a faux British accent. "I'll help you poor lad out."

My brows furrow. "Did you just do a British accent?"

He rears his face back, tsking. "No, definitely not."

"Yeah, you did—just then. I heard it," I say with an accusatory tone.

His ears tinge pink and he look sheepish as he says, "So I do a British accent when I'm nervous? Sue me."

I can't help it. I laugh. Then I slap a hand over my mouth to cover the sound. What does Chase Rhodes have to be nervous about?

"Why are you nervous?" I snap.

He rubs the back of his head—something I find myself seeing him do often. I wonder if it's another nervous habit. "I don't know if you've noticed—but you're not the easiest person to work with."

I push my shoulders back in defense. "I can be easygoing when I want to be, thank you very much."

He smirks, raising a knowing brow. "We'll see about that, shall we?" He slaps a hand over his mouth too. "Sorry. I'll stop with the British accent."

"You'd better," I say, wiggling my fingers at him. "Or people might find out Lila Matthews makes The Chase Rhodes nervous."

"You're not why I'm nervous, Matthews," he says, lifting his chin.

I'm almost disappointed to hear that. "No?"

"No," he sighs. "What if someone finds out about our..." he lifts a hand and gestures between us. "Our ruse."

I think about it for a moment. That is something that can never happen. No one can know. Not even when we inevitably break up in a month's time.

"Then we don't."

"We don't what?"

I roll my eyes. "We don't let people find out."

"I feel like that is way easier said than done, Matthews," he scoffs.

"All we have to do is pretend for a month, then have a very public break-up, then wait two weeks without talking—at least not in public—and then show everyone we're better as friends. Easey-peasey."

"And what happens if someone does find out?"

I tilt my head, "Are you asking because you suck at keeping secrets?"

He looks taken aback. "What? No. I'm great at keeping secrets. Phenomenal. People tell me secrets all the time," I raise my brows as he finishes, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.

"Slow your roll, Hannah Montana, I was just asking."

"Well, it was a dumb question. And, Matthews?"

I raise a brow, waiting for him to continue.

"When does this whole thing start? I feel like I need to be prepared."

I tap my chin thoughtfully, purposefully drawing out my answer. "I guess we can come up with the details tonight, right? Unless—you don't think so?"

He shakes his head, and slides off the desk. "No, no. Tonight is good."

I nod my head, feeling the air suddenly growing awkward. "Alright. Meet you in the parking lot after school, then."

I'm about to head toward the door when he puts an arm out to stop me.

"Thanks, Matthews," he smiles at me. "And don't you worry, I'll be the best fake boyfriend anyone can ask for."

"Lucky me," I grind out. I slip away from him and out of the class, a new confidence rising in me. Part of me can't believe he said yes. And the other part of me is beyond grateful he did.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Maybe.