Todos los capítulos de My Fake Boyfriend Is My Biggest Rival: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

By the time the last parent drove away, the clinic looked as though thirty children had made a coordinated effort to leave something behind. Training cones were scattered across both pitches, empty bottles had rolled beneath the benches, two footballs were sitting near the fence, and somebody had abandoned one shin guard in the middle of the grass without its partner. Most of the volunteers had already gone inside to put away the registration tables, leaving Luca and me with the equipment. I didn't mind. My shoes were muddy beyond saving, my hair had been tied up and retied so many times that I had stopped caring what it looked like, and my arms hurt from carrying boxes, but I had enjoyed the afternoon more than I expected. There was something satisfying about cleaning up after a day that had been properly busy. Every bottle and muddy bib belonged to something that had actually happened, rather than another school rumour or anonymous post I was supposed to pretend didn't bother me.Lu

I told myself the empty seat meant nothing, which would have been more convincing if I hadn't looked at it at least four times in the photograph. The championship results had been announced hours ago. I had advanced with one of the highest scores in my group, my mother had already called half our relatives, and Mr. Ferris had spent breakfast discussing the next stage as though I might forget I'd qualified if he stopped reminding me. There were plenty of things I should have been thinking about. Instead, while everyone else packed for the trip back to Westbrook, I sat on the edge of the hotel bed looking at the picture from the auditorium. I knew Luca couldn't have been there. His game had started while I was competing, scouts had come specifically to watch him, and his father had planned his entire weekend around recruitment. I had known all of that before leaving home. Still, my eyes kept returning to that chair near the aisle.My roommate noticed I had been staring at my phone for t

Luca's injury turned out to be less serious than everyone feared and serious enough to make pretending it didn't matter impossible. The scan showed no major tear, which his mother announced in our family group chat with enough exclamation marks to suggest she'd personally repaired his knee. The physiotherapist was less enthusiastic. Luca needed rest, treatment and a gradual return to training. He would miss at least one game, possibly more depending on how his knee responded, and nobody was willing to promise when he'd be ready for full contact again. His father immediately started rearranging scout visits. Luca started pretending the rearranging didn't bother him. I knew better because I'd seen his face before he remembered to smile.I went to his house on Sunday with my laptop, two championship practice packets and the intention of getting actual work done. Luca's mother let me in and told me he was downstairs in the den because he was tired of being trapped in his bedroom. I found

I avoided Luca for most of Tuesday, which would have been easier if he hadn't spent years learning exactly where to find me. I changed where I ate lunch, and he appeared ten minutes later carrying his tray. I left chemistry through the side door and found him near the stairs. After academic practice, I waited until nearly everyone else had gone before leaving the library, only to spot him across the courtyard talking to one of his teammates. None of it was deliberate on his part, which somehow made it worse. Westbrook wasn't big enough to avoid someone who occupied half my usual routine. The problem wasn't Luca anyway. The problem was what I'd heard his mother say. His father had given him an easy way out, and Luca had refused to take it.I kept trying to decide why that bothered me so much. He could have admitted our relationship started as an arrangement. His father would probably have been furious about the lie, but at least I would have stopped being one of the reasons he thought

Adrian waited until Monday afternoon to say anything, which meant I spent the entire weekend wondering what he'd figured out. He hadn't texted me, and during the first half of academic practice he behaved normally enough that I started thinking I'd imagined the strange look he'd given Luca and me on Friday. We worked through two timed sections, argued briefly over an answer Mr Ferris eventually confirmed I was right about, and compared notes for the next competition. By the time the other students began leaving, I'd almost convinced myself there was nothing to worry about. Then Adrian closed his notebook, looked across the table at me and asked why I still called my relationship with Luca fake.My pencil stopped halfway into my bag. I looked around the library automatically, but most of the tables were empty. Mr Ferris had gone to the office near the front desk, and the only students left were packing several rows away. I asked Adrian what he meant even though the question had been pa