Rome rested his palms on the table behind him, eyes narrowing like he was scrolling through a private mental file labeled "Stuff I Hate For Reasons Unknown."
"Alright," he said. "Rome Riley's official list of icks."
Elaina braced. "This should be enlightening."
"It will be," he said confidently. "Prepare your heart."
She did not prepare her heart.
"First," he said, "I cannot stand people who take themselves way too seriously. Like life is a documentary about their personal suffering. They forget homework and suddenly they're reciting Shakespeare in the hallway."
Elaina nodded, amused. "So… anti-theatrics."
Rome scoffed. "No, I love theatrics. I just hate people who think they're deep because they sighed once."
She snorted.
"And if I make a joke," he continued, "don't correct me with facts. That's violence. Actual violence."
Elaina raised an eyebrow. "So if you say the sun is a planet—"
"It is," he said, immediately.
"It's not."
He gasped. "See? Violence."
She shook her head, smiling before she could stop herself.
"And I don't do surprise therapy sessions," he went on. "If someone hits me with a 'let's unpack that,' I will literally leave my body."
Elaina gave him a look. "You just asked me to unpack my entire personality for the last ten minutes."
"That was strategy," he said.
"That was vulnerability."
"Stop," he whispered. "You're going to curse me."
She rolled her eyes.
"And I hate when people try to fix me," Rome added. "I'm not a DIY project. I'm barely a working appliance."
"That one I believe," she said.
"Don't guide me. Don't improve me. Don't give me inspirational quotes."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good. Relationship saved."
He shifted, swinging one foot. "And clingy people? Immediate ick. Anyone who needs seventeen updates an hour? No."
Elaina crossed her arms. "And if I text you something important—?"
"That's different," he said. "You don't send twenty 'hi' messages in different fonts. I've lived through horrors you can't imagine."
She stared at him. "Moving on."
"And no public drama," he said. "Crying, screaming, emotional flash mobs—miss me with that. If the chaos isn't recreational, I refuse."
She blinked. "You refuse."
"Yes."
"Okay."
"And," he said, dead serious, "I will not be part of some performative couple posting about destiny and soulmates. If I ever call you 'my whole world' online, assume I've been kidnapped."
"Noted."
"And I don't do… change," he added. "If someone tries to put me on a self-improvement arc, I'm throwing myself into traffic."
She sighed. "Wanting you to pass English is not an arc."
"It involves character development," he said. "It is absolutely an arc."
Elaina shook her head, biting back another smile.
"Oh—and jealousy?" Rome said. "Not cute. Not mine. Not theirs. I'm not doing rivalry cosplay."
"I promise I won't be jealous," she said.
He put a hand to his heart. "That means so much."
She groaned.
"And fake people," he finished. "If someone pretends to be chill but they're secretly boiling water? No. Give me the boiling water upfront."
She tilted her head. "You think I'm boiling water?"
"Not right now," he said. "More like simmering. I respect it."
He leaned back, satisfied. "And the big one: don't expect consistency. Stability is not in my skill set."
Elaina looked at him for a second—tired, amused, resigned.
"Good thing this is fake then," she said.
Rome grinned. "Exactly. Perfect for me. I can vibe irresponsibly."
She shook her head.
But she smiled too.
Elaina pushed off the table first.
No dramatic exit, no huff, no flustered scramble.
Just a quiet, decisive stand like she'd reached her internal quota for Rome Riley–related vulnerability.
Rome straightened a little, surprised. "That's it?"
She nodded, smoothing her sleeve. "Yeah. That's… enough for today."
He studied her—really studied her—as if trying to figure out which part of the conversation made her hit the eject button. But he didn't joke. Didn't stop her. Didn't do anything Rome-ish to derail the moment.
"Alright," he said finally, accepting it with a shrug that looked lighter than it felt. "Go do your, uh… responsible-person things."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm going to Jordyn's car," she said instead. "They're waiting."
Rome lifted two fingers in a small salute. "Try not to speak of me like a goblin."
"Don't worry," she said over her shoulder. "I won't."
But she hesitated at the edge of the courtyard—one second, barely a flicker—before walking away.
Rome watched her go with that tilted, unreadable half-grin, like he'd just witnessed something interesting and wasn't sure if he was supposed to touch it.
Elaina didn't look back.
She felt like if she did, she'd undo the clean exit she'd fought for.
The air changed when she reached Jordyn's car.
The noise of her friends filled her ears before the door even opened.
And she exhaled for real this time.
Elaina crossed the courtyard and headed for Jordyn's car. The windows were down, the engine off, and all three girls sat inside like they'd been waiting for her on purpose.
They had.
Jordyn leaned over and popped the lock. "Get in."
Elaina slid into the backseat.
For a beat, no one said anything.
Then Mariah turned halfway around in her chair. "What did he say?"
Tessa added, "You guys were sitting there forever."
Elaina buckled her seatbelt, slow and deliberate. "We talked. That's it."
Jordyn stared. "Rome Riley talked. With words. For more than thirty seconds."
Elaina sighed. "He wanted to go over boundaries."
All three of them stared, perfectly still, as if she'd spoken in a foreign language.
"…Come again?" Tessa said.
"Boundaries," Elaina repeated. "Like—what I'm okay with. What I'm not."
Mariah frowned, confused. "Since when does he care about that?"
"He doesn't," Elaina said. "Not normally. But he said if we're doing this, he doesn't want me thinking he's actually… whatever people say he is."
A small silence followed.
Jordyn let out a low whistle. "Huh."
Elaina rolled her eyes. "Don't start. It wasn't deep. He did it like—like he was checking boxes. Practical."
Tessa studied her. "And you're… okay? You don't look freaked out."
"I'm fine," Elaina said. "It was just a conversation."
Mariah nodded slowly. "Right. Okay. So what'd you tell him?"
Elaina looked out the window. "The normal stuff. No PDA. No yelling across hallways. No weird performance-games. And he agreed."
Jordyn tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Well… that's good."
"It's neutral," Elaina corrected. "He's Rome. I'm not expecting consistency."
Tessa huffed a quiet laugh. "Fair."
Mariah leaned back into her seat. "So that's it? No weird vibes? No weird… Rome-isms?"
Elaina opened her mouth, closed it, then said, "Nothing new."
Because it was Rome.
Unpredictable.
Annoying.
Sincere in the wrong places.
But nothing she didn't expect.
Jordyn finally turned the key in the ignition.
"Alright," she said. "Then let's go. We'll figure out the rest later."
Jordyn shifted the gear into reverse, glanced over her shoulder—
—and froze.
"Of course," she muttered.
Elaina followed her gaze out the window.
Rome had just come out of the main doors with two of his friends — Nate and Zeke. They were all laughing about something, loud enough that the sound carried across the lot. Rome shoved Nate's shoulder, Nate shoved him back, Zeke doubled over like he couldn't breathe. Normal. Effortless. Like the last twenty minutes hadn't even happened.
He walked like a guy with zero weight on him.
Jordyn's car idled.
Mariah twisted to look too. "Did he… say anything to them? About this?"
Elaina's stomach tightened in a way she didn't want to examine.
"I don't know," she said, watching the three boys head toward their cars. Rome swung his keys around his finger, still grinning at whatever joke he'd just heard.
Tessa frowned. "Would he?"
"Probably not," Jordyn said. "He doesn't gossip. He is the gossip."
Mariah hummed. "Still. Look at him."
They all did.
Rome said something that made Zeke practically fold in half again. Nate slapped the roof of his car because he was laughing too hard to stay upright.
Elaina sighed slowly. "If he told them, he didn't look nervous about it."
"Does he ever look nervous?" Tessa said.
"No," Elaina admitted.
Mariah glanced between Elaina and Rome's group. "Would it bother you? If he told them?"
Elaina opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "It's… fake. But it's mine. And I don't want it turning into a game for other people."
Jordyn nodded once, decisive. "If he did tell them, we'll shut it down. But he probably didn't. Rome Riley doesn't share plot twists for free."
Elaina looked out the window again.
Rome had finally reached his car. He leaned against the door, still talking, still smiling that reckless, unbothered smile.
He didn't look over.
He didn't even know she was watching.
"Let's just go," Elaina said quietly.
Jordyn pulled out of the spot.
Elaina didn't even bother turning on her bedroom light. She tossed her backpack into the vague direction of her desk, shut the door with her foot, and stood there a second — long enough for everything she'd been holding off to finally catch up.
Not the emotions.
The logic.
The brutal, simple, terrible logic.
She fake-agreed to fake-date Rome Riley.
She sat on the edge of her bed. Her brain tried, and failed, to line up the facts in a way that didn't make her want to bury herself under her comforter.
Rome hadn't been serious in the courtyard. Not really. He'd just… toned himself down. Like turning the volume from 100 to 70 and suddenly everyone mistook it for sincerity.
He was still Rome — joking mid-sentence, making faces, shifting around like he was allergic to sitting still. The "boundary conversation" wasn't heartfelt. It wasn't deep. It was just Rome being Rome with a little less static.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because if that was his chill mode, this entire plan was already doomed.
Elaina leaned back until she flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling like the plaster might give her answers.
He wasn't going to try.
Of course he wasn't.
He didn't try at school, in class, with people, with anything.
He'd probably forget half her boundaries by lunch tomorrow.
He'd probably turn the whole thing into a joke before the end of the week.
And she'd be standing there like an idiot who thought she could make chaos follow rules.
This was going to crash.
Hard.
Spectacularly.
Possibly in public.
The thought made her groan and drag a pillow over her face.
Elaina shoved the pillow off her face and sat up, elbows on her knees, hands in her hair.
God.
She didn't even want this.
Not really.
Not the fake part.
Not the Rome part.
Not the spotlight part.
She said yes because Jordyn was excited, and Tessa was hopeful, and Mariah was already mapping out how this could fix things. They'd looked at her like she had a shot at clawing her way out of rumor hell — and she wanted that. She wanted out so badly she could taste it.
And then Rome went along with it like it was nothing. Like it was easy. Like she was being dramatic for hesitating.
So she said yes.
She didn't choose.
She agreed.
There's a difference.
Elaina pressed her palms over her eyes, annoyed at herself.
She knew better.
She always knew better.
She was supposed to be decisive, controlled, sensible — the one who didn't get swept up in other people's enthusiasm.
But the truth settled in her chest, heavy and frustrating:
She was a pushover.
Not in the big ways. Not in the "give me your lunch money" ways.
In the soft ways.
The "everyone means well" ways.
The "don't make things harder for the people you care about" ways.
Her friends wanted to help.
She let them.
Even when she didn't want what the help looked like.
And now she was tethered to Rome Riley — the human embodiment of a fire drill — because she didn't want to disappoint anyone.
She cursed under her breath.
Once.
Then again softer.
This was so stupid.
She didn't trust him.
She didn't trust herself around him.
She didn't trust this entire situation.
Rome would do whatever he wanted.
Her friends would think this was a great idea.
And she'd be stuck in the middle, trying to hold the walls up while pretending she wasn't already bracing for impact.
She lay back again, staring up like the ceiling might finally have something helpful to say.
It didn't.
It just sat there, smug and blank and silent.
"Perfect," she muttered. "Fantastic. Amazing."
And somewhere under all the irritation and dread was the small, infuriating truth:
She should've said no.
She wanted to say no.
She just… didn't.
And that was on her.
Her phone vibrated once.
ROME RILEY (1 message)
Elaina opened it.
It was a brick of text.
One long, wandering paragraph that had no business existing.
Rome: Okay so I was walking to my car and this squirrel just stopped in front of me like it had something important to say, right, like life-or-death squirrel business, and I'm thinking maybe it wants food or maybe it's one of those emotional support squirrels you hear about, but then it just stared at me like it knew my secrets, which is concerning because I didn't even know my secrets, and anyway it wouldn't move so I stepped over it which felt rude but also what was I supposed to do, negotiate, and then it chased me for like ten whole seconds with murder in its eyes and now I'm wondering if I committed some kind of squirrel crime without knowing, Elaina Hayes?
Elaina blinked at the screen.
…What?
She blinked again, as if the message might rearrange itself into something that made sense.
It did not.
She whispered to the empty room, "What is wrong with him?"
Then she typed.
Elaina: Why are you telling me this?
She watched the "Delivered" tick turn blue.
Her screen lit again almost instantly.
Rome: Just checking you didn't give me a fake number. Wanted to confirm you're a real Elaina Hayes and not, like… a 47-year-old plumber in Ohio.
Elaina stared at that.
Of course.
Of course that was his logic.
She typed back, slow, resigned:
Elaina: I'm real.
A three-dot bubble popped up.
Paused.
Disappeared.
Came back.
Rome: Okay good. The squirrel story was a test. Only the real you would react with pure confusion.
She dragged a hand down her face.
"Unbelievable."
And somehow… entirely believable.
She wasn't sure when the world had gone quiet, only that it snapped back fast when her mom's voice floated up the stairs.
"Elaina! You've been up there for hours. Come downstairs, sweetheart!"
Hours?
She hadn't even heard her mom come home. Hadn't heard the garage. The front door. Anything. She'd gone upstairs after school and… apparently stayed there long enough to lose track of everything.
Great. Exactly the kind of mental stability you want on the day you accidentally agree to fake date Rome Riley.
She swung her legs off the bed, rubbing her face like that might clear the fog from her brain, and headed downstairs.
Her mom was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, casual but watchful.
That gentle, practiced mom-look that meant I'm not worried, but also I am absolutely worried.
"There you are," her mom said. "I was starting to think you'd fused with your mattress up there."
Elaina forced a smile. "Lost track of time."
Her mom raised an eyebrow that translated to: That's not like you.
"Tired?" her mom asked.
"Yeah. School stuff."
Her mom didn't push, but she didn't drop the thread either. "You hungry? Pasta's on the stove."
Elaina shook her head. "I ate at Jordyn's."
"Okay." She paused, and her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. "Everything alright?"
Elaina hesitated.
Inside her head, the truth spun up fast.
No. Not really. I agreed to something I didn't want, with someone unpredictable, because I couldn't say no and because my friends meant well and because I'm apparently allergic to confrontation. And now the quiet hum of anxiety had become the soundtrack to a farce of her own making.
But she swallowed all of that down.
"I'm fine," she said.
Her mom watched her for a second longer before deciding not to press. She reached out and brushed a hand through Elaina's hair, soft and brief.
"You've been in your room all afternoon," she murmured. "Try not to overthink whatever it is, okay?"
"You've been in your room all afternoon," her mom murmured. "Try not to overthink whatever it is, okay?"
Before Elaina could answer, her phone buzzed in her hand. Loud. Sharp. Like it knew exactly how to pick the worst possible moment.
She didn't even glance at it.
Her mom did — just a flick of her eyes to the phone, then back to Elaina, easy and unbothered.
"Your friends?" she guessed.
"Probably," Elaina said, keeping her voice steady even as her pulse kicked once, hard. Because she knew exactly who it was. There was only one person who texted like a fire alarm going off.
"Well." Her mom gave her a soft, knowing smile. "Don't let them drag you into anything stressful tonight. You look tired."
Elaina nodded, grateful for the out. "I'll try."
She started up the stairs again, the phone buzzing a second time — insistent, obnoxious, absolutely Rome — and she still didn't check it until she was halfway up.
Her mom called after her, cheerful and unsuspecting, "Tell the girls I said hi!"
Elaina didn't say anything back.
The moment she reached the top step, she finally looked down at the screen.
Group chat.
Three new messages in a row.
Jordyn: u alive or did u crawl into a stress coma
Tessa: we're not judging if u regret it btw. just say the word.
Mariah: yeah. any second thoughts??
Elaina let her head fall back against the wall.
Of course they were checking in. Of course they were worried. Of course they wanted to make sure she wasn't spiraling, even though — fine — maybe she was spiraling a little.
She typed nothing.
Not because she didn't trust them.
Not because she didn't want to answer.
But because she didn't even know what her answer was.
Did she have second thoughts?
Only about ten thousand.
Half her thoughts were just:
Why didn't I say no?
And the other half:
Why am I always like this? Why do I fold the second people expect something from me?
It wasn't that saying yes felt impossible to take back — it was that backing out now would be a whole thing. More explaining. More attention. More disappointment. More questions she didn't want to answer.
And she hated how much that mattered.
She hated that it felt easier to go along with a ridiculous plan than to tell her friends she didn't actually want to be part of it.
She wasn't thinking about Rome.
She was thinking about herself — and the fact that she'd let the situation happen instead of steering it.
And that's what made the back of her neck ache.
Not the fake dating.
The fact that she hadn't chosen it.
She'd just… let it happen.