Amy’s POV
I stared at him like he had just grown a second head. His words echoed in my ears like some weird, delayed joke I wasn’t sure how to process.
“With you?” I repeated slowly, raising both eyebrows. “What, like therapy sessions and yoga or something?”
James grinned as he scooped another spoonful of vanilla ice cream from the tiny McDonald’s cup and licked it like we were talking about the weather. “Nah,” he said casually. “Fake dating. Public. Petty. Perfect.”
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
It took a second before the absurdity of what he said hit me fully, and to my own surprise, I let out a laugh. A real one. It tumbled out of me, cracked and messy, but real. My chest shook with it, and I covered my mouth, afraid the whole restaurant might hear.
“You’re joking,” I said once I caught my breath. “You have to be joking.”
James leaned back in the booth, resting one arm along the seat and looking at me with that cocky little smirk that I was beginning to think never really left his face. “Nope,” he said. “Dead serious. You get your power back, and I get to piss off your ex. Win-win.”
Our schools are rivals because it’s been that way forever. It all started with this one huge sports season, and ever since, we’ve been competing for everything—who’s got the better team, the better athletes, you name it. It’s like we can’t help but go at each other, always trying to one-up the other school.
I stared at him, stunned. I had never met someone so bold. So weirdly confident. He wasn’t just joking around—he meant it. He was actually suggesting we fake date each other. Me. Amy Garcia. Miss predictable. Miss good girl. Miss background pretty.
“And you’d really do that?” I asked, trying to find the catch.
James shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Let’s just say…”—he paused, and his eyes danced with something teasing and maybe even a little dangerous—“…I have a thing for pretty girls with messy lives.”
My heart skipped.
Literally skipped.
I hated that it did, but it did. James Carter was bold, wild, and the complete opposite of everything I thought I wanted in a guy. And yet, there was something magnetic about him. Something that made it hard to look away.
He didn’t try to fix me. He didn’t tell me I was overreacting. He didn’t say “you’ll get over it” or “they’re not worth it”like everyone else probably would. Instead, he just showed up in a black Jeep, nearly ran me over, and offered ice cream and revenge.
And now he was offering this. A plan. A new identity. A chance to rewrite the ending to my summer.
I looked down at the remains of my fries, cold and soggy now, and tried to picture what life would look like if I actually said yes. If I walked through school with James Carter beside me, if I smiled for photos and held his hand just to watch Charlie squirm. If I stopped playing the role everyone expected and did something reckless for once in my life.
It didn’t sound awful.
It actually sounded… kind of amazing.
After a while, we left the booth, tossing our trash in the bin near the exit. The sky had grown darker outside, stars scattered across it like glitter on black velvet. The parking lot was mostly empty now, the glow from the streetlights casting long shadows as we walked back to his Jeep.
The silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of quiet that felt full of something waiting to happen.
When we reached my house, he pulled up to the curb and left the engine running. The porch light was on, and I could see the curtains in the living room window twitch slightly. Mom was probably peeking through, wondering where I had gone after storming out.
I unbuckled my seatbelt slowly, not ready for this weird night to end.
Before I could open the door, James spoke again.
“Let me pick you up tomorrow,” he said, his voice softer now but still confident. “We’ll make it official. Operation: Reinvent Amy.”
I froze with my hand on the door handle. My heart beat a little faster.
Operation: Reinvent Amy.
It sounded ridiculous.
It sounded like something out of a movie.
But maybe that was what I needed.
Not a boyfriend. Not more tears. Not more explanations.
Just something new. Something mine.
I turned to look at him one last time, studying the curve of his smile and the way his curls framed his face in the dim light.
Then I opened the door, one foot hitting the pavement. I paused, staring up at my front porch, and then back at him.
I hesitated.
Then smiled.
“Fine,” I said, the corners of my lips lifting into something I hadn’t felt all day.
“Tomorrow. Let’s fake-date the hell out of this summer.”