Page 40 of Strange Love

As another away game looms in the upcoming week, I can’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy. These trips are thrilling and freeing, a chance to escape from everyday life and immerse myself in hockey with my friends and teammates. But now, as I sit on the bus watching the familiar scenery pass by, I miss home more than ever. And let’s be honest, what I miss is Ivy. She’s been slowly opening up, finding her voice and standing up for herself, and seeing that light in her eyes is gratifying.

Despite her newfound confidence and tough demeanor, Ivy still carries a sense of unease when it comes to meeting new people. After everything she’s faced, it’s no surprise that she’s cautious and guarded, but she seems to relax a bit when others are genuinely kind to her without ulterior motives. It’s a small comfort in comparison to what she has endured. The Vipers seem to have backed off, at least for now. They haven’t invited her into their group but haven’t been outwardly hostile. I think that’s a win for Ivy and how she prefers it anyway.

When I called her the other night, I was wracked with nerves, which doesn’t happen to me often outside of anticipating the first puck dropping. Her little sister answered, and her high-pitched giggles filled my ear before she passed the phone to Ivy. We chatted for a few minutes, and it dawned on me that I should take Ivy on a proper date, including meeting her family. Our relationship may still be classified as fake, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give her authentic experiences she may have missed out on. So far, our time together has been dictated by my interests, partly because I’m not sure what Ivy wants to do. I’ve never asked. Wow. I’m a shitty boyfriend, fake or otherwise.

The fourth-period bell echoes through the halls, and I dart to Ivy’s locker, eagerly waiting for her. But she’s nowhere to be found. My impatience grows, so I search for any areas I think she may be in. I finally spot her in the library, her head bent over a notebook, pen scribbling furiously across the page. When she looks up and sees me, her face lights up like a Christmas tree, and I can’t help but grin back at her. She stands up from her chair and greets me with a warm hug, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. We’ve come a long way in just a few short weeks.

I sit across from her as she fiddles with her books, tidying up the space.

“How have the last few days been?” I ask.

She sighs, stacking her books on top of one another. “Pretty good, I guess,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing too exciting is happening. Oh, but we’re almost done with our English project.”

“That’s good,” I offer.

“I’m still not a fan of the whole group project thing,” she huffs.

“Can I take you out on Friday night?” I blurt out, surprising her. She peeks up, looking both weary and shocked.

“Take me where?” she asked, her innocence making me chuckle.

“On a proper date,” I reply confidently.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “For real?”

“Yes, Ivy. For real,” I confirm.

I watch her bite her bottom lip anxiously, her eyes scanning the room as she tries to devise a plan for our date. “Where do you want to go?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she admits, shaking her head. “I can’t decide.”

“Well, let’s think about it together,” I suggest, hoping to ease her nerves. “Tell me what you like to do, and we’ll figure it out.”

Her face scrunches up in thought as she gnaws on her bottom lip, “Will we be going anywhere where people will see us?”

“Why would you ask that?” My brows furrow in confusion.

“I just don’t know why you want to go on a proper date if no one is going to see it,” she explains. “What will I tell my parents?”

“This isn’t about that fake dating pact, Ivy,” I reassure her. “I genuinely want to take you out and do something fun. That’s what you tell your parents.”

She considers for a moment before speaking up again. “I love movies,” she says, a glint of excitement in her eye.

“Great,” I reply eagerly. “What else do you enjoy?”

A small smile forms on her lips as she thinks. “Ice cream,” she whispers.

“So, ice cream and the movies it is,” I declare with a grin, thrilled that we’re finally progressing. “Pick the movie and let me know,” I suggest.

“Can I pick Dirty Dancing or Mannequin?” she asks cheekily, the excitement on her face.

“Sure.” I shrug. “I love that stuff. I used to watch soap operas with my mom all of the time.”

“Me, too!” she shouts, then laughs at her overreaction.

“I’m up for anything, but I’d like to come to your house, pick you up, and say hello to your family.” Before she argues, I add, “That’s part of a proper date.”

Suddenly, her demeanor changes, and she bites her lip nervously. “There’s something you should know about my parents,” she says.