Chapter 3
The dress wasn’t even fancy.
It was just a black tank dress with silver threads running through the fabric, subtle enough that it shimmered when the light hit. Gwen had tried on four others before settling on this one. Not because it was the best. But because it made her feel the least like she was trying.
Still, she stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem and checking her eyeliner like it mattered more than it ever had.
Her phone lit up. Not a message. Just the time.
8:17 p.m.
The party started at 8.
She’d said come by whenever.
No pressure.
No expectations.
And yet.
Her hair was curled just enough.
Her boots were polished.
She’d even stolen her dad’s cologne—not perfume—because it made her feel cooler than vanilla-scented body spray ever could.
And still… no text.
No Miles.
“Stop acting like he’s supposed to come,” she muttered at her reflection. “It was just a maybe.”
But her stomach didn’t agree. It was doing that slow, fluttery drop—the one that comes when you care more than you’re supposed to.
Downstairs, she could hear music drifting in from Gloria’s house across the street. The party was already underway. Laughter. A speaker bass thump. Car doors slamming as more people arrived. Her friends were probably already there.
She hadn’t texted them. Didn’t want the questions. The teasing.
Didn’t want to show up and still be alone.
She checked the time again.
8:22.
Not that late.
But late enough to notice.
She looked back at the mirror. Her lips pressed together. The edges of her eyeliner smudged a little. She grabbed a tissue and wiped it away. Her hands were shaking more than she wanted to admit.
And then—
Knock-knock.
It wasn’t her door.
It was the front one.
Her heart did something weird—skipped or sank or maybe flipped over entirely.
She tried to play it cool as she padded downstairs. Her dad had already opened it, standing just behind the frame.
“Hi, sir. I’m here for Gwen.”
Miles.
He came.
She wanted to smile. Wanted to exhale.
Instead, she hovered at the top step, watching from the shadows.
He was wearing a bomber jacket over a fitted hoodie, clean sneakers, hands in his pockets. Hair still slightly damp, like he’d just stepped out of a rushed shower. There was a red scratch peeking out from under his jaw, fading, but fresh.
Late. Slightly out of breath. But here.
“You’re… Miles, right?” her dad asked, eyeing him.
“Yes, sir.”
“You go to school with Gwen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Quiet one, huh.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her dad gave a grunt, and then—miraculously—stepped aside. “She’s upstairs. You got her home by midnight.”
“Absolutely.”
Gwen took that as her cue and walked down like she hadn’t been hiding. She ignored the way her dad watched them both like a hawk. Miles didn’t say anything right away—just gave her a nod.
“You look good,” he said finally. Simple. Direct.
She blinked. “Thanks. You’re late.”
“I know. Sorry. Got caught up.”
She didn’t press. She didn’t ask why. But something in his posture looked worn—like he’d sprinted here on instinct alone.
“You still wanna go?” he asked.
Gwen hesitated. Looked out the door. Then at him.
She smiled, just a little. “Yeah.”
And they stepped out into the night.
They didn’t rush.
The party was only a few blocks away, but neither of them seemed in a hurry to get there. They walked side by side, a couple feet of space between them, like the lie hadn’t quite worn off yet—but hadn’t quite become something real either.
The city was loud in the background. Sirens far off. Someone shouting on another block. A car horn. But in their little bubble of sidewalk and streetlamp light, it felt oddly quiet.
“You didn’t have to come,” Gwen said finally, kicking a loose rock along the concrete.
Miles shrugged. “I wanted to.”
That caught her off guard.
She glanced over. “Even after… y’know. Me being weird?”
He smiled at that, soft and a little crooked. “You think you’re the weird one?”
“I know I’m the weird one.”
“I just figured we were both weird,” he said. “Equal playing field.”
She laughed under her breath. “That’s generous.”
They walked a few more steps in silence. She could feel the warmth of him next to her even through the space between their arms. It wasn’t tense. Just careful. Like both of them were trying not to step too hard in any direction.
“You said you got caught up,” Gwen said. “Before. What was that?”
Miles didn’t answer right away.
She expected a lie. Some excuse. He didn’t give one.
“Just… stuff,” he said. “Family. Errands. The city.”
He paused.
“Nothing bad,” he added, a little quickly.
She nodded. Didn’t push. But something about the way he said the city made her glance at the scrape on his jaw again. It looked worse up close. Like it’d been cleaned, but not covered.
So she mentioned it.
“You’re bleeding.”
Miles touched his jaw, felt the scratch. “It’s nothing.”
“Looks like something.”
“Looks worse than it is.”
There was something in his tone—deflection mixed with… habit. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d brushed off an injury.
“You get into fights or something?”
He smirked. “Or something.”
Gwen looked at him.
He wasn’t trying to impress her. Wasn’t showing off or hiding behind bravado. He was just… present. A little guarded, sure. But honest, in his own way.
That made her chest tighten.
Not a crush.
Not exactly.
More like a curiosity that refused to shrink back.
“So why’d you say yes?” she asked.
He raised a brow. “To what?”
“The party. Me. This whole fake thing.”
“You asked me,” he said simply.
“That’s not a real answer.”
Miles hesitated. Then let out a breath, like it was easier to say than to hold in.
“People already believed it,” he said. “Felt easier to let it roll than try and explain it away.”
She waited.
“And then you looked like you needed it.”
That stung. Not in a mean way. Just in that way where someone sees something in you that you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet.
“Was it that obvious?”
He gave a half-smile. “Only to me, I think.”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t know how.
The music from the party was closer now—bass thumping loud enough to feel in her shoes. Laughter echoing off fences. Flashing lights through living room windows.
But she wasn’t ready to step in yet.
Neither was he.
“You don’t have to stay the whole time,” Gwen said, quietly.
“I know.”
“But you’re gonna?”
He glanced over at her.
And then he said the first real thing since they left her porch.
“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
Gwen swallowed.
“Okay.”
The door swung open before they even knocked.
“Gwen!” Gloria grinned, already half-drunk on cider and glittery eye shadow. “Oh my God, you came! And—” Her eyes flicked to Miles. “You really came.”
Gwen tried to smile like it wasn’t weird. Like this wasn’t her first time bringing anyone to anything. Like she wasn’t faking it and he wasn’t doing her a massive favor.
Miles just nodded at Gloria like he belonged. Easy. Casual. Way better at this than Gwen had expected.
They stepped inside.
The house was packed. Music pulsed through the floor, sticky cups cluttered every flat surface, and someone was trying to DJ off a laptop that was overheating on top of a shoebox.
Gwen’s friends were huddled by the kitchen island—MJ, Betty, and Glory—laughing too loud, talking over each other. And, of course, Peter was there now too. Standing behind MJ, hand on her back like it lived there.
Gwen’s gut twisted just a little.
She used to be the one next to him. Not like that, but… close. Now there was space where her friendship had been. Not a bad space, just an empty one.
“Drinks are in the fridge,” Gloria shouted over the music. “And we have to dance later!”
She disappeared into the crowd before Gwen could respond.
Miles looked around, taking it all in.
“You okay?” he asked her, quietly.
Gwen nodded. “Yeah. Just… loud.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Like a war zone with glitter.”
She huffed a laugh. It helped.
They stood there awkwardly for a second—just enough time for people to notice.
And they did notice.
Eyes flicked toward them like moths to a rumor. Some people whispered. One guy gave a half-nod to Miles, like respect. Another girl—Luna, from bio—raised her brows at Gwen with a not-so-subtle smirk.
“You wanna blend in or stand out?” Miles asked, still casual, like this was no big deal to him.
“I don’t know,” Gwen muttered. “Can we do both?”
“Always.”
He leaned slightly closer, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. Just once. Just long enough to make her skin light up under the dress.
Then he stepped away again, cool as ever.
“Let’s get a drink,” he said. “Pretend like we belong here.”
They moved toward the kitchen. Gwen noticed the way people parted a little for Miles—how he didn’t even have to try. He wasn’t loud. Wasn’t cocky. But he walked like he knew where he was going, and people responded to that.
He grabbed two sodas and handed her one, then nodded toward the back patio.
They stepped out.
Cool air. Slightly quieter. Fewer people.
Miles leaned against the railing and looked out over the streetlights.
“You ever feel like… everyone knows what they’re doing except you?” Gwen asked, half-laughing at herself.
“All the time,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure they’re all faking it too.”
She sipped her drink. “You fake it pretty well.”
“Thanks. It’s my specialty.”
He looked at her again.
“You don’t have to prove anything, y’know,” he said. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”
Gwen blinked.
The words hit harder than they should’ve.
“I know,” she said, but her voice was softer now. Less sure.
They stood in silence, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door.
“You ever wonder what happens when this whole fake dating thing ends?” she asked.
Miles tilted his head. “Is it ending already?”
She glanced at him, unsure.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Is it?”
His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
“Guess that depends,” he said. “You done faking it?”
Gwen didn’t answer.
But she didn’t look away either.