Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

desk and place the frame inside, and then take my lucky Seahawks hat and throw it away as well. I spend the next ten minutes gathering the last few items she gave to me and toss them away as well. I don’t regret my past, and I don’t want to forget the lessons I learned while dating Candace. I just don’t need these items anymore because they were from when I was a different person, inspired by dreams of money and fame, and Poppy helped me recognize that this game is so much more than that and she is so much more than any relationship I’ve ever had.

33

Poppy

I lie in my childhood bed, staring at the wall. I’m supposed to be getting on a plane in thirty minutes with Rae to head to Vegas … and see Paxton. I have been struggling to know how to react and how to feel, and what to say since last night when my life took a nosedive. Nothing seems to have survived the wreckage, including my pride or our relationship. I asked him for space, and he gave it to me.

I hate that he listened.

I hate that I asked for it.

I peel back my covers and get ready to attend class. My enthusiasm is at an all-time low, especially since I hadn’t planned on going to classes today, but I need distract myself, so I grapple with my routine and manage to brush my teeth, make my bed, get dressed, and leave.

I arrive too early because I didn’t waste time doing my makeup or hair or worrying about what I was going to wear or messaging anyone. It’s too cold to wait outside, and my car is too quiet, so I walk across the street to a small coffee shop. My thoughts venture from Pax to how today will go. Mike claimed all of Brighton heard Candace announce my relationship was a farce, which left my bruised ego worried that people would heckle and tease me. After all, I’ve seen firsthand how awful people can be when it comes to rumors. Christmas lights twinkle in the window, and there’s a tree set up, lined with gold and peacock-blue ornaments. I kind of love it as untraditional as it is.

The line is long, but I have time to spare. As I wait, my gaze wanders across the small shop, noticing Santa’s hidden like Easter eggs, all of them unconventional like the tree. Santa wearing cowboy boots and a red bandana by a register. Santa wearing flippers and a scuba mask behind the counter. Santa in a tux near the door. I’m inspecting disco Santa when I feel the heavy stare of someone, pulling my attention to them. Maddie.

Her eyes are rimmed red, and she looks angry and heartbroken. Guilt fills me, drowning my own self-pity as regrets and fears float to the surface. I’d really like to hide and pretend I don’t see her. Get my coffee and head back to campus and shiver outside until it’s an acceptable time to wait inside the classroom. But my heart aches for her, knowing a fraction of what she’s feeling. I duck out of line and approach her, my smile as fragile as the friendship she kept extending to me and I continued to decline.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

My question seems to open the gates on her tears. They stream down her face in thick rivulets, raining on my stomach like drops of acid. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “You guys made me look like a complete idiot. I thought you were his friend, and I invited you to hang out and tried to get to know you, and all along, you were his ex?”

I don’t know what all Mike’s told her, which makes this expedition of honesty and truths even more terrifying. “I’m really sorry, Maddie. I don’t know what Mike has told you, but I’m an open book. I’ll tell you anything. Whatever you want.”

She laughs, and it’s hard and sardonic and so un-Maddie-like. “Now, you’ll tell me everything? Now that I look like the town idiot.”

I shake my head. “You don’t look like an idiot. No one thinks that, Maddie. This wasn’t your fault. And I’m really, truly sorry. I don’t know if I can say anything to make you feel better, but I’d really like to try because I feel terrible, and I know I’m responsible for this to some degree. I should have clarified. I should have drawn lines…”

Her breath is a harsh gasp. “You guys probably laughed behind my back. I tried to be your friend, and you guys were hanging out without me knowing.”

I shake my head. “No, Maddie, it’s not like that. I don’t like Mike. Not like that.”

She looks at me with bloodshot eyes that are eerily similar to my reflection this morning. I don’t want to throw Mike under the bus.

“I can’t speak for Mike, but this entire situation really blindsided me,” I tell her. “I loved him for two years, and then he left. He was gone,” I snap my fingers, “just like that. He didn’t call or text or anything, and it seemed like he was being an adult about the situation, and I was being childish because it hurt and it was confusing, and it left all of these stupid what-if questions to form over the past year and a half. I hadn’t seen or heard from Mike until the day I met you, and I was still trying to figure out my feelings and his presence and everything in between, and then he introduced me to you, and it was like a curveball that hit me between the eyes. I didn’t know what to say or do, and when he introduced me as his friend, I assumed it was for your benefit, not mine.”

Maddie brushes at her face, wiping away tears that stain her cheeks. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

“I think there was a