The Trouble with Faking

by Rachel Morgan

  Friends are supposed to tell each other what’s going on in their lives, Andi, and I thought you and I were friends.

  I thought we were too, which means I should have told her what was going on with Damien. Why didn’t I tell her? Why didn’t I realise that something BIG DEAL, like the guy I’ve loved for what feels like forever, should be shared with her?

  My thoughts tumble back and forth as my eyes scan the same paragraph over and over, seeing the words but taking in nothing. Eventually, Carmen walks over and places a hand on Tania’s shoulder. “You doing okay?” she asks.

  Tania raises her head from her arms, and I notice her red eyes. “I hate hospitals so much,” she says. “They always make me think of—” sniff “—Tyrone and Ferry.”

  “I know,” Carmen says gently, rubbing Tania’s shoulder. “Do you mind if I sit here so I can talk to Andi? Your mom’s over there. I think she got you something to eat.” Tania wipes her face, sniffs again, and stands. Carmen collapses into the chair, running a hand over her frizzy hair. “Her twin brother was in a car accident a few years ago,” she says, watching Tania walk away. “He didn’t make it.”

  “Hectic,” I murmur. I have no idea what to say to something like that. I’ve never dealt with death before.

  “Yeah. Anyway, thanks for waiting,” Carmen says, rubbing her eyes. “No one lives near campus, so no one really wants to drive me back there. I appreciate you helping me out after … you know. My unreasonable bitchiness.”

  “Hey, this is big deal stuff. Of course I’m gonna help you out.” I lock my phone and return it to my bag. “How’s your grandfather doing? Have you seen him?”

  “No, but the nurses say he’s stable, which I suppose is as good as it gets after a heart attack. I have to come back tomorrow during visiting hours if I want to see him, so that means we can head back now.”

  “Oh, are you sure? You don’t need to stay for anything else?”

  She shakes her head and yawns. “My parents are gonna stay a bit longer, and maybe some of my aunts and uncles, but if we’re not allowed to see Grandpa, then …” She shrugs. “I guess there’s no point in staying. And I feel a bit better now that I’ve been here and heard everything the nurses and doctors have to say. It’s still horrible, and I keep praying he doesn’t die even though I know he’s old and it could be his time to go, but I just … I’m glad I came. Thanks for bringing me.”

  I nod. We stand up, and I take a slow walk to the elevators while Carmen says goodbye to everyone. Once we’re back on the road, silence fills the car like a tangible presence. I’ve got a lot to say, but I’m waiting until we reach the highway before I launch into everything. “Okay,” I say once we’re on the highway and I’ve got no more turns to worry about. “I thought about a lot of stuff while I was sitting in that waiting room, and I realised I haven’t been nearly as open with you as I could have been.”

  “Andi, it’s fine, really. Like you said, we haven’t known each other long. I shouldn’t have expected you to spill everything going on in your life.”

  “Well, no, not everything, but I should have told you about Damien. I think the problem is that I’m used to keeping things to myself. I had girlfriends at school, of course, but somehow I never confided in them about anything major. Not even when I found out about my mom’s affair with a married man—”

  “What? Really?”

  “Yes. A guy who turned out to be my dad. And I’ve been head over heels for Damien for years, but I didn’t tell my friends that either in case it got back to him, which would have totally ruined things between us. And now that those friends are scattered all over the country, the friendships I had with them are just … drifting away. And I think it’s because I never shared anything about myself. If any major issues came up, I generally ended up sharing them with Damien and no one else. So I’m starting to think that maybe the picture my friends had of me wasn’t the real one. It was happy and problem-free and … fake.”

  “I’m guessing Damien knows the real you, though.”

  “Yes,” I say with a sigh. “Or maybe not. Maybe he also only sees the things I want him to see, and none of the deep-down, horrible stuff. But while we’re on the subject of Damien …” I take a deep breath and tap the steering wheel with my fingers. It’s time to lay it all out there. I can’t have a real friendship with Carmen while keeping something like this from her. “There’s something you should know about our relationship. It isn’t … actually … real.” I remove my eyes from the road for a moment to check her response. She’s watching me closely, her eyebrows raised. I return my eyes to the road, rushing into the rest of my explanation, filling her in on every detail.

  When I get to the end, she says, “Eish, now I kinda wish you were lying to me.”

  “So … you don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  “It’s a terrible idea, Andi! It’s like you’re asking to have your heart broken.”

  “I know, I know. There’s that risk. But if it works out, it’ll be worth it. I think he’s starting to see me differently already.”

  “Really? Or are you just trying to convince yourself of that?”

  “I … I don’t know. Anyway, the more important thing here is whether you believe me or if you still think everything I say is a lie.”

  I look at her again, and she smiles. “I believe you.”

  “You do? What convinced you? I mean, you seemed quite certain earlier when you were calling me a compulsive liar.”

  “Um …” She leans her head back. “I thought I had evidence that you and Damien were together last year, and then you totally flipped your lid earlier, which I’ve never seen you do, and it made me think about that evidence I thought I had, and I realised it was actually nothing to do with you.”

  “Evidence? What are you talking about?”

  She sighs. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “If it’s Charlotte’s friends saying they saw me with Damien last year, well, that is true. We were together—as in, sitting next to each other—but we weren’t together.”

  Carmen starts playing with the buttons on my radio. “I know.”

  “But you still don’t think we should be doing this fake relationship thing.”

  “I think …” She sighs, leaves the radio on a channel playing classical music, and leans back. “I really think we should tell people the things we need to tell them before it’s too late. Grandpa and my dad have been angry with each other for years because of some disagreement about my mom, and now all my dad can feel is guilt because it might be too late to work things out. My cousin Tania still hates herself because the last thing she and her brother did before his car accident was fight. She alternates between wanting to kill Ferry, the guy her brother was with who survived the accident, and wanting to kill herself.”

  “Jeepers.”

  “Yeah. Life sucks sometimes. There are a lot of things we can’t control, but we can at least control what we say to people. It’s better than leaving it until it’s too late.”

  I nod slowly, my thoughts swirling in every direction, darting past pros, cons, dreams, hopes, regrets, consequences, and finally coming to a single undeniable conclusion.

  I have to tell Damien the truth.

  Carmen and I only get to bed around midnight, which means I feel like a zombie when my alarm goes off at 6:30 am the next morning. How do people survive on less than eight hours of sleep? I convince myself to sit up, but I can’t keep my eyes open, so I stay in that position for a while, slouched over, eyes closed, half conscious.

  A door slams on the landing upstairs, startling me from my lethargy. I push myself to the edge of the bed and drop my legs over the side. One step closer to being up. I reach for my phone and turn it over. When I see all the missed calls and text messages, I realise I haven’t looked at my phone since Noah and I left Truth yesterday. The first message is from Mom—I know you don’t want to talk, but just let me know you’re okay please—which I reply to quickly before she does somethi
ng embarrassing like calling the Fuller warden to track me down. The remaining alerts are from Damien. Two texts—one apologising for bailing on me yesterday afternoon, and one asking where I am—and three missed calls.

  I touch the call button and bring the phone to my ear. He answers after three rings. “Hello, Andi?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I just saw all your calls now. Is something wrong?”

  “No, no.” He hesitates. “Are you … mad at me?”

  “What? No. Why?”

  “It’s just that you normally reply to messages and return calls pretty quickly. When I didn’t hear from you or see you in the dining hall last night, I got worried.”

  He was worried about me! How sweet. I guess I do reply to his messages far too quickly. I need to practise restraint. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was with Noah.”

  “Noah?”

  “Yes, he came with me to Truth, and then we had dinner at his family’s house.”

  “You … had dinner with his family? I didn’t realise you guys were so friendly.”

  “Um …” I rub my eyes with the heel of my free hand. “I don’t know. I guess we are. He had to fix his gran’s TV. Then Carmen’s grandfather had a heart attack so I drove her to the hospital. We got back late. I guess I was so tired I forgot to check my phone. I’m really sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I’m glad you’re okay. I need to get going, so I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  ***

  I spend a large portion of my lectures replaying the phone call in my head—in between yawning, which I also do a lot of—and trying to figure out if Damien was upset about something. He said I shouldn’t be sorry, but he sounded a bit odd when he said he needed to go. When I’m done contemplating the phone call, I try to convince myself that I’m brave enough to tell Damien how I really feel about him. I start writing down what I should say, but I end up crossing most of it out. Nothing sounds quite right.

  I don’t see Damien in the dining hall during dinner, so I type a message reiterating how sorry I am for making him worry about me. Then I remember I’m supposed to be restraining myself when it comes to texting Damien so I don’t appear too desperate for his attention. Then I wonder if I should simply be typing ‘We need to talk’ so that next time I see him I’ll be forced to tell him the truth. In the end, I delete what I’ve written and send nothing.

  Carmen’s staying at home for the next few days so it’s easy for her to get to and from the hospital with her family. No Damien and no Carmen means I’m eating dinner alone. Not the most pleasant of experiences, even for someone like me who doesn’t care too much what other people think. After this happens two nights in a row—with little more than a ‘Sorry, I’m REALLY busy’ message from Damien—I pack my dinner into a container and head back to my room to eat it there. Before I reach F flat, Charlotte steps out of H flat and stands in front of me.

  Oh great. This again. “Don’t bother,” I say, holding my hand up before she can get a word out. “We both know how this exchange is going to go. You’ll tell me that my clothes are weird or that red hair is ugly or that Damien and I are doomed to fail because we’re both cheaters. Then I’ll inform you that I actually love both my clothes and my hair colour and remind you once again that Damien never cheated on you. So let’s just skip to the end, shall we?”

  She frowns at me, somehow managing to remain annoyingly pretty while doing so. “What are you talking about? Your hair isn’t red. Nobody’s natural hair colour is actual, real red.”

  “I see. Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ll be on my way.”

  “What I was going to say,” she adds before I can step past her, “is that I noticed you’re now keeping company with both cheaters and drunks.”

  “Oh, is Damien a drunk now as well?”

  “Not Damien, you idiot. Noah Ferreira. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Well I certainly don’t know everything, but I do know that Noah doesn’t drink.”

  An irritated sound comes from her throat. “You really don’t know anything, do you.”

  “I guess not.” I walk around her and continue on my way. No way am I going to ask Charlotte what she’s talking about. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

  I eat dinner while sitting cross-legged on my floor and examining my pile of unread books, trying to decide which one to pick next. Then, since I’ve got neither Damien nor Carmen to hang out with, and no assignments, tutorials or Etsy orders to finish, I decide to get a head start on next week’s book review video.

  I set up my camera beside my desk and pick up The Italian Hoax from my book shelf. I finished reading it yesterday morning just before I had to rush to lectures. I’m about to start recording myself and the book when someone knocks on my door. I drop the book onto my chair, cross the room, and open the door.

  “Hey, Andi,” Noah says.

  “Oh, hi. What’s up?”

  “Just looking for Damien. Thought he might be here.”

  “No, sorry, I haven’t seen him today.”

  “Oh, okay.” His gaze slides over my shoulder. “Sheesh. Do you like cushions, by any chance?”

  I turn around and consider my bed. “Yes. Apparently I’m a cushion hoarder.”

  “Where exactly do you sleep? On the floor?”

  “Look, I’ll admit it’s a challenge at times, but somehow my cushions and I manage to share the same space.”

  “And what if there was a person hoping to share with you?” His cheeky grin surfaces.

  “Well, that person would have a problem, because no matter how many cushions I remove, it won’t change the fact that residence beds are possibly the narrowest beds in creation. I think they rival prison beds.”

  “Probably.” He looks over my other shoulder. “So. I see the camera’s all set up. Are you getting ready to gush over a book?”

  “Yes, which is why you need to leave now.”

  “Oh come on. Let me stay. I want to watch.”

  “No. Way.”

  “Okay, let me be in it then. I bet your subscribers will love me.”

  “No.”

  He walks past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. “Is this the book?” he asks, picking up The Italian Hoax from my chair. “Cool. Let’s do this.”

  I cross my arms. “You haven’t read the book. How are you going to talk about it?”

  “Well, you can give a review based on the content, and I’ll talk about the cover.”

  I give in with a sigh and close the door. “Fine. But if it’s terrible, I’m reshooting the video when you’re not around.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I swing the tripod around until the camera faces the bed so Noah and I can both sit down. I reach for the camera’s remote control. “Okay, I’ll start off and you can … I don’t know. Add in your two cents whenever you feel like it.”

  “Awesome.”

  I start the recording and place the remote on the bed beside me. “Hey, everyone.” I wave at the camera, and after a second’s pause, Noah does too. “I’m Andi and this is Noah, and today we’re talking about The Italian Hoax.” I hold the book up for the camera to see.

  Noah points to the cover and says, “Check it out, ladies. There’s a hot guy for you. If the story gets boring, you can stare at him instead.”

  “I can assure you, though,” I say quickly, “that you won’t be getting bored. After having to wait almost two years, our favourite paranormal investigator Becky is back, and—”

  “Woohoo!” Noah’s shout startles me. I stare at him with wide eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “Inappropriate response?”

  “No, entirely appropriate, actually.” I turn back to the camera with a smile. “We fell in love with Becky in book one, our hearts broke when we read what happened to her in book two, and now that she’s back and just as badass as ever, you’ll have to work hard not to cheer out loud when she kicks this villain’s ass. Or—” I lean forward and lower my
voice slightly “—if you’re like me, and you know you simply can’t contain yourself, make sure to read this book in private so you don’t startle strangers with your sudden exclamations of excitement.”

  Noah regards me with raised eyebrows. “I wish I’d been around for that.”

  “No you don’t. I might have accidentally hit you when punching the air and shouting ‘yeah.’”

  Noah considers that. “Sounds like a risk I would have been willing to take.”

  “Aaand back to the book,” I say, looking at the camera once more. “Mystery abounds, a new twist will shock you at every corner, and the romantic tension is delicious.”

  “Plus there’s a sexy girl on the cover,” Noah adds, “just in case mystery, twists and romance aren’t your thing.”

  “But they will be. Trust me. You should read this book.”

  “You should look at this book,” Noah says. “I’m about to start drooling over it, that’s how amazing the cover is.”

  I look at him. “Please don’t drool on my book. That’s gross.”

  “Well, not real drool. Like figurative drool.”

  “Figurative drool?”

  And then we’re both laughing, and instead of picking up the remote I manage to knock it onto the floor and have to crawl under my bed to fetch it, during which time Noah says, “Is she like this all the time? This is really unprofessional. Crawling under beds. Honestly. I thought we were all serious book lovers here, but—”

  I jump up and push him off the bed. “And that’s all we have time for today,” I say with a wide grin while Noah shouts from the floor, “Help! The cushions are attacking me!”

  I stop the recording, then toss a few more cushions on top of Noah, laughing the whole time. “I knew there was a reason I kept so many cushions on my bed.”

  “Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun.” He pushes all the cushions away and sits up. “Now what? Do you edit the video or something? Cut the embarrassing bits? Because I happen to feel that that video is perfect just the way it is.”