Chapter 1

"Big game, babe. It would mean a lot."

That was how Caleb had guilted me into being here. Instead of having a quiet night, I sat in row thirty-one of a roaring stadium.

Down on the field, my boyfriend captained our team against Westbrook, our oldest rival, in the Cup quarterfinal. I casually watched him clash with number eleven, Mateo Duarte—the guy Caleb hated more than anyone on earth.

At halftime, the cheerleaders spilled onto the track. My half-sister, Brielle, was right at the front. She had moved into our house two years ago and had made a habit of "borrowing" my things ever since.

Then the giant screen flickered. KISS CAM.

The camera drifted over the crowd before sliding toward the sideline tunnel and stopping.

Caleb. Brielle. Her fists were knotted in his jersey, and his hand rested low on her waist, like it belonged there.

The stadium went dead silent. Then, a collective gasp rippled through the stands, and every head turned to find me.

My legs carried me down thirty-one rows before my brain even approved it.

By the time I reached the rail, the screen had cut away, but it was too late. Caleb jogged over, Brielle trailing behind him, wiping her lipstick with her thumb.

"Lena," he said. "It's not what it looks like."

"It was on a screen the size of a building. It's exactly what it looks like."

Brielle's eyes filled with tears, perfectly timed. "We didn't want you to find out this way."

"You weren't supposed to look up," Caleb muttered, to her, not me.

"Everyone's staring, Lena," Brielle whispered.

"I noticed."

My heart pounded so hard I thought the front row could hear it. I could cry. I could be the girl everyone pitied, replaced by her own sister. I'd get sympathy and casseroles, and I'd hate every second of it.

So I smiled.

"It's okay," I said.

Caleb frowned. "What?"

"Really. It's okay. I'm cheating too."

Silence. Then Caleb laughed. Brielle joined him, then the row behind them, then the whole section, until the sound crashed over me like cold water.

"You?" He wiped his eyes. "With who? The library cat?"

"Oh, Lena." Brielle pressed a hand to her heart. "You don't have to make things up. It's sad."

"The nerd can't accept being dumped!" someone yelled.

"Who would cheat with her?" called another voice, and the stands howled.

Phones rose around me like candles at a vigil. One was aimed straight at my face, its red light blinking.

I didn't even have a name for the man I'd invented. The lie had no face and no history. I only knew that the second I walked away, someone would ask who.

I climbed back up with my spine straight and my cheeks on fire. I did not cry. I had decided that much.

The second half passed in a blur of noise. Behind me, two girls whispered, "Imagine thinking anyone would..." I opened my book and read the same sentence six times.

In the final minute, the score was still tied. Then number eleven stole the ball at midfield and cut through our defenders as if they were cones.

Westbrook won, 2–1. Our Cup run was over.

Half the stadium groaned. The other half poured onto the pitch.

And I stood up.

I'm not impulsive. I make lists. I check my work twice. But a lie is only a lie until someone proves it, and I needed proof. Public, visible, undeniable.

I shoved through the crowd, past flags, elbows, and a man crying about destiny. In the middle of the celebration, I found him with his shirt damp, his chest heaving, and teammates thumping his back.

"Duarte!" someone shouted. "Best goal of the season!"

"Mateo!" I called.

He turned. Dark eyes, furrowed brow. His expression said, Who are you?

I grabbed the front of his jersey and kissed him.

For one heartbeat, he went completely still. His lips were warm, and he tasted like salt and victory. His hand hovered in the air as if he didn't know where it was supposed to go.

Around us, his teammates whooped. Phones swung our way like sunflowers following the sun.

Somewhere behind me, Caleb shouted my name.

I pulled back an inch, my fingers still curled in the fabric. Mateo's gaze searched mine, stunned and sharp, and I realized I'd probably just ruined the last of my dignity.

"Please," I whispered, barely breathing. "Just go with it."

He stared at me. One second. Two. Three. Long enough for me to start composing my apology.

Then his hand settled at the small of my back, and he pulled me closer.

Flashes went off. A reporter from the campus channel pushed through. "Mateo! Is she your girlfriend?"

Mateo's mouth curved. "Ask her."

Over his shoulder, I saw Caleb frozen at the edge of the crowd, and Brielle's smile finally went away.