The Trouble with Faking

by Rachel Morgan

  “You know what? I think I actually agree with you.” I remove the memory card from the camera and slide it into my laptop. “I do still need to add some stuff to it, though. I’ve got this little intro video with a jingle and my photo and the words ‘Andi’s Book Reviews.’ So that needs to go at the beginning. And there’s also a thing I put at the end of all my videos that has the URLs to my Twitter, Facebook, blog and Etsy store.”

  “Cool. Well, you’ll have to change the intro video to say ‘Andi and Noah’s Book Reviews.’”

  “Oh will I?”

  “Of course.” Noah sits on the edge of my bed. “You know this isn’t going to be a once-off thing, Andi. The fans will love me, and they’ll be demanding more videos featuring me. You may as well make an intro that features both of us.”

  I shake my head, but I’m smiling, thinking to myself, Why not? This was the most fun I’ve had with a book review in a long time, so I’m probably going to ask him to help with another one. May as well make a new intro video now. “Fine. Okay, I need a picture of you.” I raise my phone and snap a picture of him just as he pulls a weird face. “Fantastic. This will do perfectly.”

  “Wait, wait.” He stands and looks at the picture over my shoulder. “I think I should pose. Maybe take my shirt off. What’s the point in having all these muscles if I can’t show them off to the world wide web?”

  I push him back onto the bed. “You’re on Facebook, aren’t you? You can show your muscles off there. I don’t have space for them in my videos. The only hot guys featured on my channel are the ones on book covers.”

  “Well, well, well.” He leans back on his elbows. “Did Andrea Clark just call me hot?”

  “Oops. Looks like I just did that thing where my mouth says words without letting my brain process them first. Hang on a sec.” I pause as I look over at him. “Yeah, sorry, now that my brain’s caught up, I can see you’re actually not that hot.”

  “Oh well.” He stands up and pulls the old armchair across the room so it’s next to my desk. “I guess Book Cover Model isn’t in my future after all.”

  “Guess not,” I say, being careful to keep my real opinion to myself this time. I haven’t seen Noah without a shirt, but I’m guessing he’d make an excellent model for the kinds of books that feature manly, muscular chests on the front.

  I spend the rest of the evening making a new intro video—with a lot of unhelpful advice from Noah—and then adding it to the beginning of the book review we filmed. “Cool,” I say when it’s done. “I’ll upload it next Tuesday and send you the link. What’s your email address?” I create a new contact on my phone, filling in Noah’s email address and phone number and adding the picture I took of him earlier.

  “Okay, that,” Noah says, “I have to watch.”

  I look up from my phone and find him pointing to the thumbnail of one of my videos from last year. In it, I’m wearing an orange feather boa, a witch’s hat, and vampire teeth. Last year’s Halloween book review. “Yeah, um … no you don’t.”

  “I do. I definitely need to watch that.” He clicks the video.

  “No, wait, it’s not really—”

  “Look, I’m gonna watch it anyway, whether now or later on my phone. Your videos aren’t exactly private, Andi.”

  I groan and flop onto the bed, waiting for the part where I start dancing around and chanting from the ghostly paranormal book I read for Halloween last year. Noah just about kills himself laughing, and then he watches another one of my videos. And then a few more.

  “Okay, that’s definitely enough,” I say, standing up and snapping my laptop lid shut after Noah’s been through at least ten of my videos. “I think you need to leave now, or I’ll—Oh, crap.” I squint at my phone. “Noah!”

  “What?”

  “It’s after midnight.”

  “So?”

  “So you can’t be in here. You were supposed to leave—” I check my phone again “—fifty minutes ago. Why didn’t we hear the warning beeps through the intercom?”

  “Perhaps because we were laughing at you embarrassing yourself on YouTube?”

  “Ugh, this is a disaster.” I tug at my hair and pace the floor.

  “Why? I’ll just leave now.”

  “NO!” I push him back into the chair as he attempts to stand. “You can’t leave now. If someone sees you, I’ll be in trouble.”

  “I’ll leave on my own then. No one will know I was here visiting you. I came in during dinner, so it’s not like I had to sign in or anything.”

  “You can’t leave on your own, dumbass. I have to swipe you out. The main door will be closed now.”

  “Dumbass. Jeez.” Noah pretends to be shocked. “Such language.”

  “You are not helping. Now you have to stay here all night, and what if there’s a fire drill?”

  “Look, when there’s a fire drill at Smuts, there are often more girls who run outside than guys. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Maybe not for Smuts, but it’s a big deal here. What if I have to have a disciplinary hearing or something?”

  “Okay, so what’s your plan?”

  “Um … you can …” I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this. “You’ll have to stay here. But you must be quiet.”

  “Andi.” Noah sits back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “If you wanted me to stay the night, you should have just asked.”

  “Oh, shut up. You’re getting a pile of cushions on the floor, and that’s it.”

  “Five star service,” Noah says. “Just the way I like it.”

  I throw a pillow and a whole load of cushions at him and leave him to arrange them on the floor while I tiptoe to the bathroom to change into my pyjamas. When I return, his shoes are off, but he’s still wearing his tracksuit pants and T-shirt. Thank goodness. I was afraid he might strip down to boxers and nothing else. That’s if he even wears boxers. He could be a briefs kinda guy.

  Oh my gosh, Andi. Stop thinking about his underwear!

  The cushions are laid out in a rectangle on the floor, but he’s eyeing them doubtfully. I can’t say I blame him. There’s no way those cushions are going to stay together. “Here, put a blanket over them.” I open my cupboard and pull my largest blanket down from the top shelf. “You can tuck it underneath to keep the cushions together.”

  I perch on the edge of my bed, putting off the inevitable awkward moment where we’ll both be lying down. In the same room. Trying to sleep. Because despite the fact that it’s late—very, very late—sleep isn’t going to come easily to me AT ALL knowing there’s a guy lying on my floor.

  Noah picks up The Italian Hoax and lies down on his lumpy DIY mattress.

  “Uh, what are you doing with that?” I ask.

  “Well, I have to read it now.”

  “Seriously? You’re gonna read that book?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You told eight hundred plus subscribers how amazing it is.”

  “Yes. It is amazing. If it’s your thing.”

  “And you don’t think it’s my thing?”

  “Oh come on. Look at you.” I gesture towards him. “You probably gym five hours a day while listening to rap music before jumping onto your motorbike and riding past pretty girls to show off your toned arms. Now you’re telling me you want to read a paranormal mystery romance?”

  He rolls onto his side and raises himself up on one elbow. “How quick you are to place me in a box. I’m offended.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Fine. I’m not. But I’m still reading the book.” He lies on his back and turns to the first page. I climb beneath my duvet and lie down. “And by the way,” he adds without looking up, “I don’t listen to rap music. Well, I listen to some of it, but I listen to a whole lot of other stuff too.”

  I smile to myself. I turn off my lamp, but leave the fairy lights on so he can keep reading.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “You can turn off the lights. I’ll read by the romantic lighting of my cell phone.”


  “Oh, are you sure? I don’t mind leaving them on.”

  “I’m sure. Unless you’d rather have them on.” He looks up at me. “Are you afraid of the dark, Andi?”

  I lean down and yank the fairy light plug out of the extension cord under my bed. “No. I am not afraid of the dark.”

  His cell phone light appears as he chuckles. “Good night, Andi.”

  “Night, Noah.” I turn over and face the wall. I adjust my pillow. I tug the duvet up, pull it over me, and wiggle around until I’m comfortable. I close my eyes. And then I spend a long time listening to the quiet turning of pages before I eventually fall asleep.

  “Andi? Andi!” Livi snaps her fingers in front of my face.

  I blink. “I’m sorry, what? Were you saying something?”

  “No, you were saying something.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired. I got to bed waaaaay too late last night.” And I was woken way too early when a cushion flew across the room and hit my face. Well, it was after 8 am, but it felt way too early. Noah had already put the blanket away and piled the cushions onto the armchair. He said goodbye and left—with The Italian Hoax under his arm—and I lay in bed for a while in a half-asleep zombie state.

  Then I woke up fifteen minutes before I was supposed to meet Livi, and my car wouldn’t start, and Damien wouldn’t answer his phone, and I ended up asking Noah for a lift—because I forgot that he doesn’t have a car. He has a motorbike. And that wasn’t awkward AT ALL.

  Not.

  I sat with my arms around his waist and my chest pressed against his back, trying not to cling too tightly to his muscled form every time we swerved around a bend. “Got a good grip there, hey?” he joked as we stopped at a traffic light. I could do nothing but laugh breathlessly and tell myself to imagine Damien instead. Damien, Damien, Damien. After all, he’s the one I want to wrap my arms around, right?

  “Andi?” Livi waves her hand in front of me. “I think you’re doing it again.”

  I yawn and mumble, “I’m sorry.” I look around Caffeen, the coffee shop I finished videoing just now, and wave to the nearest waitress. I need coffee. Immediately.

  The waitress hurries over, and I ask her to get me the biggest, strongest mug of coffee she can find. She smiles and tells me she’ll do her best to fulfil the mission.

  “I, on the other hand,” Livi says, “don’t like coffee. What do you recommend?”

  “I really like the milkshakes,” the waitress says.

  “Great. Um …” Livi examines the menu. “That one please,” she says, pointing. With a nod, the waitress leaves. Livi turns back to me. “So, what were you saying?”

  “Um, I was saying …” What was I saying before my mind drifted back to that motorbike ride? “Oh, I was saying that I have to tell Noah how I really feel about him.”

  Livi frowns. “Who’s Noah?”

  “Noah? Sorry, I mean Damien.” I shake my head as embarrassment heats my face. “You see? I shouldn’t open my mouth until I’ve got caffeine in my system.”

  “Oh, yay, you’re going to tell him!” Livi claps her hands together. “That’s so exciting.”

  “Yes. I just keep thinking, what if I don’t, and something happens, and then it’s too late?”

  “You mean liiiiike … maybe he elopes with a random girl he meets because he thinks you’ll never love him, and only after he’s married, he finds out that you do?”

  “Well, probably not like that, but that sort of idea.”

  “You know what else falls into that sort of idea?”

  “What?”

  She hesitates, then says, “Not talking to your mom, and then maybe one day it’s too late.”

  I sigh. “You know I don’t want to talk about my—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I just keep trying in case maybe one day you do.”

  “Okay.” I smack my hands on the table. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell him tonight.”

  “Woohoo!”

  “Yes!” I pump my fist in the air, trying to get my excitement level to match Livi’s. Somehow, though—probably because I’m overtired—I can’t.

  ***

  After a nap on Saturday afternoon, I’m ready to tell Damien. At least, I think I am. I’m supposed to be walking to Smuts just now to see him, but I’m so nervous I think I might throw up. Imagine that. Damien, I need to tell you I’ve always—Oh! Bring a bucket! Quickly!

  I open my cupboard and examine my appearance once more. I’m wearing a white and grey patterned dress over sky blue tights with green gumboots. The gumboots are new, and I’ve been waiting for a rainy day to try them out. I’ll have to put a raincoat over my dress, but that’s okay. I’ve got a really cute one with blue and green polka dots that will be perfect for this outfit. The finishing touches are my earrings, which each have a tiny book dangling from them, and the i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) pendant around my neck.

  Damien likes my quirky style, so I bet he’ll love this outfit.

  Okay. Time to do this. I pull on the raincoat, grab my keys, and open the door. Just outside, I find Noah with his hand raised as if about to knock. “Hey.” He holds up The Italian Hoax. “Just wanted to return your book.”

  “Oh.” An image of him lying on my bedroom floor reading flashes across my mind. I blink it away. “You finished it already?”

  “Yip. You can get a lot of reading done when you only need about four hours of sleep a night. Just imagine the possibilities, Andi.” He walks in and leaves the book on my desk.

  “Oh, I have. I’ve even tried it a few times. Always winds up with me walking around like a grumpy zombie the next day.” A little bit like today, actually. I hang my keys on the doorknob. “What did you think of the book?” I ask, grasping at the opportunity to put off my terrifying little speech for another few minutes.

  “It was pretty good,” Noah says, nodding. “I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Even the romantic tension, which was almost as delicious as you said it would be.” He winks.

  “Yes, well, I’m a girl. I enjoyed that part.”

  “I found the love triangle quite interesting,” he adds, leaning against my desk.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. Now, I missed the first two books, so I just want to check something. The heroine spends most of all three books wanting to be with her investigator partner dude, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And finally, near the end of book three, she realises she’s been chasing an idea rather than a person.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was never the right guy for her.”

  “Correct.”

  “So essentially … this heroine is you.”

  “W-what?” My hand slips off the doorknob.

  “Well, you’ve been chasing after Damien for years, haven’t you? Whatever it is that you liked about him back when you were, I don’t know, ten, probably doesn’t make sense anymore.”

  “But … that …” How dare he come in here and tell me my life and motivations can be summed up as easily as a character’s in a book? Especially when I’m about to go and bare my soul to Damien. I cross my arms tightly over my colourful raincoat. “That doesn’t make sense, Noah. I’m still me and he’s still Damien, so why would it matter that we’re older now? And what gives you the right to say he’s not the one for me? What the hell do you know?”

  Noah raises his hands. “I’m not trying to make you angry, Andi. I’m trying to get you to see the truth.”

  “What truth? There’s no hidden truth here. I love Damien and want to be with him. It’s as simple as that.”

  “No you don’t. You love the idea that he can give you the perfect life your mother never gave you.”

  A match strikes. Fire comes to life. “Don’t you dare bring my mother into this. You don’t know anything about our situation.”

  “I may not know everything, but I know enough from your bitter comments and all the things you won’t say.”
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br />   I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. My limited hours of sleep are catching up to me, bringing on a headache made worse by the angry throb of blood through my veins.

  “I know you don’t like talking about her,” Noah says, his voice gentler now, “but it isn’t healthy to keep everything bottled—”

  “Not healthy?” I drop my hand. “You know what’s not healthy? Knowing that you were never wanted by either of your parents. Knowing that your father’s spent his life trying to hide your existence. Knowing that your mother tried to use you as a bargaining chip to get a married man to leave his family, and when it didn’t work, she almost got rid of you.”

  Noah’s expression changes. “She …”

  “Yes,” I say, blinking tears away. “How’s that for healthy? Knowing your life was almost ended before it even began.”

  “But that didn’t happen. You’re here, Andi.”

  “Only because she was too much of a coward to go through with an abortion!” I shout. “And you know what else isn’t healthy, Noah? Growing up without a dad. Without siblings. With a mom who went out with a different guy every weekend because none of them could ever match up to that one guy she couldn’t have. Being this small, lonely, half family. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “I know.”

  “And I am not going to end up like her.” I swipe angrily at a tear that managed to escape. “She messed up. She didn’t get anything she wanted out of life, and now she’s on her own. I don’t want that. I want …” Dammit, tears, GO AWAY! “I want what Damien’s parents have. They’re always happy. I can see how much they love each other. Whenever I visit them, I feel safe. Secure. They have what I’ve always wanted. The perfect family.”

  “Andi,” Noah says gently, “there is no perfect family. If that’s the only side of them you ever see, then they’re hiding the bad stuff.”

  “What bad stuff? Why do you have to be so negative?”

  “I don’t mean bad stuff, I mean …” He pushes away from the desk, sighing in frustration. “Everyone loses their temper. Everyone gets angry. Everyone makes mistakes. At some point, everyone you love will hurt you or let you down. Will they do it intentionally? Probably not. Does it mean they don’t love you? No. It just means they’re human. And that’s okay. That’s what I’m trying to say, Andi. Life isn’t perfect, and that’s okay.”