Archive of Our Own

Maysilee's been pacing back and forth on the fuzzy, circular rug in the center of her room for a solid ten minutes before her sister throws a decorative pillow at her. It hits her square in the chest, and she stops.

"Just grow up and tell me what you're so worried about, already," Merrilee flops back down onto Maysilee's bed, swinging her feet in the air.

Maysilee still stands there, fuming, almost to the point of being unable to speak. Taking a deep breath, she asks: "Do you think I'm unlikable?" Her voice comes out more pathetic than she'd hoped.

"Of course I do. You're my twin sister," Merrilee snorts, but upon seeing the hurt look on Maysilee's face, corrects herself: "I mean, not any more unlikable than the average sibling. I'd say you're just fine."

"Just fine," Maysilee repeats. She almost feels like she's going crazy, but Plutarch's words struck something deep within her. He'd always said he could turn Maysilee into a big star someday. She may not have wanted that, but that didn't mean she wanted to be hated.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" Merrilee sits up and stops moving her feet.

"Plutarch says I need to start dating someone to become likable," says Maysilee. "I thought it sounded kind of stupid, but the more I think about it, he might be onto something. They really do try and pry into your personal life like that."

"God, I'm so beyond happy Ma let me quit," Merrilee laughs. "That sounds like a nightmare."

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I had crippling stage fright." It was a half-truth. If Maysilee were being completely honest, she wouldn't be envious of Merrilee, nor her public, on-stage meltdown that their parents never let her forget about. They couldn't have been older than thirteen when it happened, and their mother still held it over Merrilee's head whenever she wanted something. An utter embarrassment to the family, she'd said.

And now Maysilee was, what, about to pimp herself out just so she could maybe place higher in a beauty pageant? It wasn't like she was any more dignified than her sister. If she were to quit now, though, her parents would be even madder: so much time, money, and effort had already been poured into Maysilee's success. Besides, Maysilee was their mother's only hope at living out the fantasy of what she could've been when she was their age. It didn't matter that she'd never cared for them; at least, except for the fashion, but the clothes didn't matter so much as the girls wearing them.

"Where do you think you're gonna get a date, then?" Merrilee asks. "Can't be too hard. Everyone knows who you are."

"That might not be a good thing," Maysilee points out. "I don't know. I can't think of anyone."

"You could always fake it."

"What do you mean?" Maysilee's eyebrows shoot up.

"Just pick someone," Merrilee shrugs and starts rearranging the pillows on the bed, absentmindedly. "A friend. Maybe not even a friend, just someone you tolerate. You don't have to like them, just offer to pay them to pretend to be going out with you. Boom, no real commitment, no fear, plus you get what you want out of the deal."

Maysilee could count the number of people she tolerated on one hand. "That's not a bad idea, I guess…"

"I know it's not," Merrilee grins. "Now sit down and make a list of potential suitors."

"I don't think I can name a single person I'd be willing to even pretend to go out with," Maysilee says bluntly.

"That can't be true. Let's see, what about Haymitch?"

"Gross. Absolutely not," Maysilee makes a fake-sick face. "I'd rather kiss a mangy stray dog."

"Asterid?"

"She wouldn't agree to it. She's got that whole thing with Burdock, I think," Maysilee rolls her eyes. She can't believe she didn't think of Asterid first, but it would never work. They couldn't make it convincing, no matter how hard they tried; Asterid was almost painfully straight.

That has Merrilee stumped for a while. After a few minutes of thinking, she pipes back up: "What do you think about Wyatt Callow?"

That takes Maysilee off guard. She didn't even know Merrilee knew who Wyatt was; Maysilee herself didn't even know him that well. Throat dry, she asks for clarification: "Wyatt?"

"Yeah, I mean, you talk to him, don't you?" Merrilee pries. "Like, in the hallways and stuff."

"Only a few times," Maysilee worries her bottom lip between her teeth. In reality, it was probably a little more than that. "He was really good at photography and I wasn't, so I asked him for advice. I don't really know anything about him other than that."

"Do you dislike him?"

"No." In hindsight, he had been really helpful.

"Then what better choice do you have?" Merrilee points out. "Besides, who could say no to a bunch of money and a couple dates with a pretty girl?"

Merrilee drove a hard bargain. Wyatt seemed smart, quiet enough to not draw too much attention, and, admittedly, he was easy on the eyes. The only problem Maysilee could think of is getting him to agree in the first place.

"Don't think I've forgotten we're identical. You're just tooting your own horn," Maysilee grumbles, but she's managed a small smile. "I think you're right, though. He'd be good, I just have to find the right way to ask."

"Well, do you have his number?"

Maysilee had completely forgotten. She had gotten Wyatt's number last year, in case she had any last-minute questions about their class. She'd never needed to use it, though, and doubted he even had her contact saved. "Shit, yeah, I think so."

"Ask him to grab coffee," Merrilee offers. "And pay for it, of course. It's the least you can do to make up for the torture you're about to put this poor guy through."

"If he says yes," Maysilee corrects, pulling out her phone. "I'm not forcing him to pretend to date me."

After a few minutes of scrolling through her contacts, she finds his number, and pulls up a new message. But she doesn't know how to start it. Did he even remember her name? Surely, Maysilee was unique enough that she was the only one he knew. Regardless, she specifies: Hey, this is Maysilee from Photography III. I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch sometime this week, I have a few questions for you.

A bit ominous, maybe, but simple. She has Merrilee verify its appropriateness before hitting the send button. Almost immediately, the three dots designating Wyatt's typing appear. He types for a while before it disappears for a minute. Maysilee almost fears she's lost him when the bubble shows up again, almost taunting her with its presence.

"Must be a slow typer," Merrilee murmurs from over her shoulder. "You sure you can fake-date that?"

"I can overlook it," Maysilee scoffs. Her phone buzzes, and she scrambles to read his message.

Hi, Maysilee! I'd love to. Just let me know when and where to meet you.

"It took him five minutes to type that?" Merrilee asks with a brisk laugh as Maysilee stares down at her phone awkwardly, unsure how to reply. A small part of her— one she was ashamed to admit— was afraid Wyatt would turn her down, even though he'd given her no reason to think he would.

Maysilee ignores her sister's comment. "What do I say?"

"I don't know, I can't do everything for you," says Merrilee. "And who cares? You've already got yourself a date."

A date, Maysilee thinks. No, it wasn't like that. She wanted to view it as more of a meeting. A business arrangement, really, since that was how Plutarch seemed to view the situation. It was all just marketing, smoke and mirrors.

Wyatt Callow already seems to know Maysilee better than she thought he did. He shows up to their not-date (as Merrilee insisted on referring to it as) dressed better than she's ever seen him dressed before; not that he wasn't well-dressed before, but the clean, fresh press of his linen shirt sticks out, as does the way his straight black hair is neatly combed into place. It's shinier than normal, probably gelled, and would feel crunchy if Maysilee were to touch it.

Come to think of it, Maysilee probably preferred the way he normally wore his hair, when it was slightly messy and fell into his eyes. But he clearly put a lot of effort into his appearance, and she could never begrudge anyone for that.

From a distance, Maysilee notices that he already has a cup of coffee sitting in front of him, so she goes up to the counter to place her own order. It was odd, though; had he been waiting on her? Maysilee checks her watch, and it's 12:25. They'd agreed to meet at 12:30. She was early.

When she goes to sit across from him, his head shoots up and a hesitant, closed-lipped smile spreads across his face. He looks almost anxious, drumming the tips of his fingers against his ceramic coffee mug, but his nails are too short to make any sound.

"Hey," Maysilee smiles back when she realizes he's waiting on her to greet him first. She loops her cross-body bag off her shoulder and sets it on the back of her chair.

"Hey," Wyatt replies. As always, his voice is quiet, but it still seems like he has a lot to say. "What do you need? Is it AP Stats? I know a lot of people say it's hard, but you've just gotta look at it from a different perspective. It's no biggie, just a lot of work. I can give you all of my notes from last year, if you'd like. If you're in Calc AB instead, though, I might not be able to help you. Calculus was never my strong suit, and—"

"Woah, calm down. I don't need any homework help from you," Maysilee cuts him off, holding up her hands defensively.

Wyatt stops, looking confused. "Oh, sorry, I just assume, well, since that's usually the reason people want to talk to me…"

At this, Maysilee feels a pang of guilt. Of course, she had asked Wyatt for help in the past, but that didn't mean she didn't like him. It didn't help that he didn't seem too interested in making friends, either. Maysilee could relate: her list of friends consisted of her twin sister and the girl next door who she'd known for as long as she could remember. She didn't need more than that, and assumed anyone who wanted to talk to her had ulterior motives. She knew Wyatt had brothers, but did he have anyone else?

Wyatt's admission made her feel even more guilty once she realized that she was asking him a favor. A favor that was, arguably, a lot bigger of an ask than just math homework. She isn't even sure how to ask the question.

Deciding that there was no normal way to have this conversation, Maysilee says: "Wyatt, are you dating anyone?"

Wyatt's eyebrows shoot up so high they almost reach his hairline. He almost laughs when he says, "Uh, no."

Maysilee hadn't prepared a response to that. He gave her the expected response, but she still didn't know how to continue from there. Does she jump right into it? Wyatt is still staring at her, expecting a follow-up, so Maysilee has to think quickly. "Oh, good."

Wyatt stares at her, narrowing his eyes a little. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Maysilee hesitates, uncertain of the best way to phrase things. "My manager told me that I'm too unlikable, and that a fake partner might help increase my chances of winning. Desirability, or something like that. I was wondering if you were willing to pretend to date me. For payment, of course."

"Me?" Wyatt looks shocked. "Why not one of your friends?"

"They weren't available," Maysilee replies, ignoring the reason being that she didn't have many friends to begin with. She wasn't sure what bothered her more: that, or the implication that Wyatt didn't consider her a friend. She settles on the latter.

A server brings a coffee to their table for her, and she hesitantly takes a sip of it, waiting for Wyatt's response.

"Oh," Wyatt deflates, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not sure you'd want to fake-date me, then, either."

"Why not?" Maysilee cocks her head to the side.

"Wouldn't it be bad for, I don't know, your look? People don't like my folks," Wyatt shrugs, "and I can be kind of a lot. I don't know."

"Me, too," says Maysilee. "Listen, you're a decent enough guy, but if you don't want to do this, I totally get it."

"Wait, who said I didn't want to?"

Maysilee blinks. "Oh, it just sounded like—"

Wyatt interrupts her, frowning. "Like what? Because, to me, it sounds like you're jumping to conclusions. I was giving you a reason why you wouldn't want to associate with me. I didn't say anything about you."

Maysilee furrows her eyebrows. She didn't know much about Wyatt's family, but the chances were Plutarch did. If what Wyatt was saying was true, she could both satisfy Plutarch and piss him off. That was good enough for her.

Before she can come up with a response, Wyatt continues: "Actually, I would consider it an honor to be your fake boyfriend. I don't know a lot about what you do, but I'd have to agree that romance sells. I'd say giving the judges a story to invest in would increase your chances by a good thirty-three percent. Well, it could be as high as forty-five, depending on how we play our cards. All I'm saying is that if your focus is on image, I might not be your best bet."

An honor? Maysilee would never go that far. At best, pretending to be her boyfriend would garner him a bit of attention, but he seemed fine coasting under the radar. And at worst, Wyatt would come off just as unlikable as Maysilee apparently did. What could he possibly get out of it?

"Are you sure?" Maysilee asks, her voice cracking on you.

"Positive," says Wyatt with a nod. "I'd be happy to help. What do I even have to do?"

"It'll only be for a few months," Maysilee takes a sip of her coffee to clear her throat, suddenly feeling awkward. "Until December 19th. The event is from the 16th to the 18th, and you should probably come to the public events. But, uh, other than that, it's just keeping up appearances on social media. Maybe a few formals and galas here and there. Hopefully nothing big, I wouldn't want to be too much of a thorn in your side."

Still, Wyatt looks white as a sheet, made even more obvious by the way his hair's pushed out of his eyes. Maysilee can even make out a few beads of sweat along his brow. "What's a formal?"

"Oh, just, like, a dance," says Maysilee. "People usually bring their friends, boyfriends, or family. Don't worry about it, I'll help coach you."

"Okay," Wyatt says slowly, but Maysilee can tell what he's thinking. Why not ask someone more experienced?

It wasn't like Maysilee didn't know any guys in the industry. But Wyatt had a certain charm to him that no one who was hyper-trained to perform could replicate. He was genuine. Ironically, Maysilee thinks, his public attraction to her wouldn't be.

She studies him for a moment, from his dark brown eyes to the shape of his Cupid's bow. To the way his navy slacks cling to his hips, accentuating the way his shirt puffs out from the waistband. His clothes are a little big on him— an older brother's hand-me-downs, maybe?— but he really does look good. When Maysilee looks at him, all she can see is untapped potential.

"Say," she smiles at him, leaning back in her seat. "How do you look in purple?"

As it turns out, Wyatt looked fantastic in purple. However, while Maysilee gravitated more towards pastels and lighter colors, Wyatt preferred jewel tones, and he was right for it. They suited him much better.

Maysilee could work with that.

When she picks him up on a chilly Saturday afternoon, one of the first things she realizes is that he lets her get away with entirely too much.

"You can't be serious," he mumbles as she presses a lavender cashmere sweater up against his chest.

Maysilee tilts her head, taking on a more critical eye. "No, you're right. It totally washes you out."

Wyatt furrows his eyebrows and scoffs. "Not just that, I look like an Easter egg."

"Don't be like that," Maysilee tuts, but she can't hide her smile. She sets the Easter egg sweater on a discard rack nearby. "It's expensive. You look classy, it's just not your shade."

Wyatt sighs loudly, but allows her to tug him toward the fitting rooms anyway, a garment bag draped over one arm and three full outfits balanced precariously against her hip. It's a tough battle getting there. The department store's buzzing with early winter shoppers weaving through the racks and fighting over the expensive stuff; looking around for the holidays, no doubt. Maysilee knew she had to work quickly, or there wouldn't be anything good left for Wyatt.

Despite the atmosphere, Maysilee felt oddly at ease. She hardly got to dress anyone but herself, and even still, her mother had the final say. Wyatt seemed willing enough to listen, at least; Maysilee was buying, and who would say no to free clothes?

"Here, try these on," she urges, handing him her armful of hangers.

He stares at it for a moment, expression blank. "I'm guessing you like purple."

Maysilee hadn't realized that all the shirts she'd picked out were monochromatic, and formed a gradient in Wyatt's hands.

"Very funny. I'm just trying to figure out your palette," she says as Wyatt makes his way into a dressing room and shuts the curtain behind him. "But yes, I do like purple. Got a problem with that?"

"None at all," Wyatt mumbles, but Maysilee can hear the smile in his voice. "I like purple, too."

Maysilee waits outside, leaning against the mirrored wall. She checks her compact absentmindedly, smoothing her lipstick while making a mental list of things she wants Wyatt to try on. She still can't figure out what vibe she wants him to go for. What kind of person would want to date someone like her?

An academic, maybe? Wyatt could pull that off. He was smart, anyone could see it. But that might only serve to make Maysilee seem even more stuck-up. Boy-next-door might work, too. Or a combination of the two. Wyatt looked fine in most things, mostly sweaters and boots and slacks. Maybe she could get him into jewelry, too. Rings? A necklace to match her own stack? A charm bracelet?

When the curtain rustles, Maysilee snaps out of her thoughts. She needs to stop thinking about accessorizing him like he's a doll.

"Well?" Wyatt steps out, the rings of the curtain screeching against its rod.

The button-up he's wearing fits snugly across his shoulders, a deep plum against his skin, and his sleeves are rolled up neatly over his forearms. He’d tucked the front loosely into a pair of charcoal trousers, and together the outfit makes him look distinguished, despite his messy hair.

Maysilee takes note of it in her head. She approves, of course, but forgets to tell him that.

"Is it bad?" Wyatt bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his boots awkwardly on the carpeted flooring.

"No," Maysilee says. "I'm just thinking. Do you like it?"

Wyatt checks himself out in the mirror for a moment, bringing a finger up to his chin. "Yeah, I really do."

Maysilee circles him twice, getting close enough to adjust the collar of his shirt before stepping back. "That's better."

"Right," Wyatt exhales. "Well, there's still so much left in my dressing room…"

"Only try the dark colors," Maysilee instructs. "It'll save us a little time. Besides, you only need a few casual outfits. I'm more focused on finding you some nice formalwear."

She wouldn't have time to design and make something for him by the time he needed it, and she wouldn't be caught dead dating a man in a boring black tux. Fortunately, she knew a place a few blocks down that had just what she was looking for, but she might as well get the easy task of daily wear out of the way first. Preferably, they'd still be matching in any pictures she uploaded to her Instagram.

"This is casual?" Wyatt asks incredulously, stepping back into his room. "I wear stuff like this when I'm trying to impress my pa's work friends. Seems fancy-like to me."

Maysilee had a few guesses to what Wyatt's pa's work friends were like, and dismissed it with a wave she knew he couldn't see. "Yup. Just wait until I get you some cufflinks."

"Oh, boy," Wyatt grins at her. She knows he's making an attempt to be sarcastic, but his rare flash of teeth make it feel all-too genuine. "I can't wait."