The Trouble with Faking

by Rachel Morgan

  ***

  Fairy lights glow like stars above us, and beneath us, the polished dance floor gleams. My feet ache from dancing so much, but right here in Noah’s arms is exactly where I want to be. So I unlace my boots, toss them to the side of the dance floor, and skip back to Noah on my stockinged feet.

  “Steampunk pixie,” he says into my ear before spinning me around again.

  “Steampunk hunk,” I say with a laugh after the spinning ends and he catches me.

  It’s been a fun evening, with several people complimenting my outfit, and only one person making a rude comment to my face. He suggested I got lost on the way to a theme party, but Noah simply said, “Hey, remember when you fell out of a window?” and the guy backed off pretty quickly.

  The music slows, and Noah pulls me closer. I link my arms around his neck. Over his shoulder, I see Damien. He’s with a girl whom I assume is his new girlfriend. I wonder for a moment if she’s the girl he wrote the letter to. The letter he may or may not have sent. I find, though, that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Maybe he lied and maybe he didn’t, but I’ve moved on.

  I rest my cheek against Noah’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me. We sway slowly, and I rub my thumb gently up and down the back of his neck.

  “This is perfect,” Noah murmurs.

  I lift my head so I can look at him. “I thought you said there’s no such thing as perfect.”

  “There isn’t. At least, there aren’t any perfect people. But there’s a footnote to that statement.” He leans his forehead against mine. “Two imperfect people can make a perfect moment.”

  I close my eyes. It is a perfect moment. Even though the music is cheesy and the food wasn’t all that amazing and the hotel ballroom has a musty smell and the stars twinkling above us aren’t real, it’s still perfect. Because I’m with him.

  “Hey, guys!” I wave at the camera. “Sorry to make you wait a WHOLE TWO WEEKS for this announcement, but after our last book review, Noah went away for four days—”

  “And Andi was too busy missing me to think about replying to your comments,” Noah says.

  “And then the Thursday coffee shop video went live because it was already done and uploaded, and most of you DISLIKED that video because it wasn’t about Noah and me—”

  “Not cool, guys. Not cool.” Noah shakes his head, showing the camera his mock-serious face.

  “And then the next Tuesday book review day came around and …” I look at Noah. He looks at me. He winks, and I grin stupidly at the memory of last Tuesday’s make-out session. “… and, well, we were otherwise occupied,” I say, facing the camera once more. “Fast forward through another automatic coffee shop video, which was bombarded by #CrossOutTheNot comments, and here we are.”

  “Thanking ourselves for never making our residential addresses public,” Noah adds, “because at least half of you would have hunted us down by now if we had.”

  “Right. Anyway. Back to that announcement we were talking about.”

  “Oh yes,” Noah says. We look at one another and each reach for the zips of the jackets we’re wearing. I take a deep breath and face the camera again. I whip my zip down, revealing my He is not my boyfriend T-shirt, at the same time as Noah whips his down, revealing his—naked chest?

  “Noah!” I look around for his T-shirt and spot it on my desk chair.

  “Oh, jeez, am I supposed to be wearing something under here?” Noah says, giving the camera a confused look. “This is embarrassing. I obviously didn’t get the mem—” His balled-up T-shirt hits the side of his head. “Oh, is this what I’m supposed to be wearing?” He pulls off his jacket, giving me—and, before long, the whole of YouTube—an excellent view of his dark, muscular chest and arms. He pulls the T-shirt on, then stands and walks closer to the camera until only the T-shirt is visible. “How about that, ladies and gentlemen? The NOT has officially been CROSSED.”

  “Woohoo!” I shout from behind him. I grab the T-shirt and pull him back onto the bed. He rolls over and pins me down, out of view of the camera, and places kisses along my neck in a hurried, ticklish trail that makes me giggle uncontrollably.

  “Don’t mind us,” Noah says loudly between kisses. “We’re just gonna be busy down here for a little bit.”

  I push him off me and manage to sit up. I smooth my hands over my hair. “Sorry about that. So, the book we’re talking about today is—”

  “Seriously?” Noah sits up. “You’re actually going to review a book?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s interested in hearing about books today.”

  “Possibly not, but when you record yourself removing articles of clothing and making out with someone, it no longer qualifies as a book review. In fact, I think it goes in an entirely different category. So just to be safe, I’m going to briefly talk about a book.” I reach for Shifting Stone and hold it up. “Not my favourite book by this author, but still a great read. In fact, it has what could possibly be the best kissing scene I’ve read this—”

  My back hits the cushions, and I find myself looking up at Noah’s mischievous grin. “That’s enough book reviewing for today,” he says, pointing the remote at the camera and turning off the recording. “But tell me more about this kissing scene.”

  I take the remote from him and toss it somewhere amongst the cushions behind him. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. “Well, there’s a hot guy.”

  “Okay.” He touches his lips to my palm.

  “And the girl he’s been dying to kiss since about page ten.”

  “Mm hmm.” His lips graze the crook of my elbow.

  “And there’s an elevator and water and a collapsing building and a terrifying sphinx-type monster.”

  “Huh. Sounds just like us, doesn’t it?”

  I laugh until his lips find mine, and then he kisses me, and the rest of the world melts away.

  THE END

  Turn the page for bonus content!

  South Africanisms

  Those who’ve never spent any time in South Africa may be wondering what the following word means:

  eish (pronounced AYSH) – an interjection used to express exasperation, shock, surprise, excitement, disbelief, and a range of other emotions.

  1. ‘Eish, this heat is killing me.’

  2. ‘You failed Chemistry? Eish. Not good.’

  3. ‘Girl: I’m pregnant.

  Boy: Eish.’

  And in case you were wondering, colour, rumour, apologise, defence and pretence are not spelling mistakes. Here in South Africa, we spell words the same way the British do!

  ‘Visit’ The Places Mentioned In This Book

  Fuller Hall

  Smuts Hall

  The Salty Sea Dog

  Truth Coffee

  Origin Coffee

  Deluxe Coffeeworks

  Kirstenbosch National Botanical Gardens

  What Were They Really Saying?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With Afrikaans

  Carmen shakes her head. “Ek’s jammer, maar ek praat nie verder met daai ou totdat hy onverskoning vra dat hy my met goed in my gesig gegooi het nie.”

  Noah bows his head forwards until it’s touching the table. “I sincerely apologise.”

  With English Translations

  Carmen shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not making conversation with that guy until he apologises for throwing stuff at my face.”

  Noah bows his head forwards until it’s touching the table. “I sincerely apologise.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  With Afrikaans

  “Sounds about right,” Noah says, stepping up to the front door and giving the woman a brief hug. He turns back to me. “Andi, Auntie Shaylene. Auntie Shaylene, Andi.”

  I greet Noah’s aunt and follow the two of them inside. A small boy runs past us, shouting, “Ek kon dit nie daar kry nie.” An answering shout of “Kyk harder!” comes from upstairs, just as an older man�
��s voice yells, “Stop shouting!”

  Noah glances at me and shrugs. “It’s like this a lot.”

  We head down a passage, past a kitchen and several closed doors, and into a room with an unmade bed, a dressing table covered in old perfume bottles, jewellery, and medication, and an ancient TV in one corner. In front of the TV, sitting in a wheelchair, is a grumpy, grey-haired woman.

  “Hey, Grammy,” Noah says cheerfully. “How’s everything going?”

  Instead of answering, Grammy looks past Noah and frowns at me. With slow, slurred words, she says, “Wie’s daai wit meisie?” Her shaky right hand tugs at Shaylene’s sleeve. “Vir wat is sy hier?”

  Shaylene gives me an apologetic look, then mutters, “Ma, moenie onbeskof wees nie.”

  “Sorry,” Noah says quietly to me. “I should have warned you about Grammy. She had a stroke two years ago and lost the use of her left side and, apparently, her filter. She pretty much says whatever comes to mind. So don’t be offended.”

  “Well, I am the palest person I know,” I say, raising my arms in front of me, “so I shouldn’t really be offended by the label ‘white,’ should I?”

  Noah grins. “You are very white, aren’t you?” He crosses the room to the TV, pulls it away from the wall on its wheeled trolley, and slides behind it. “So, you’re having TV troubles again, Grammy?”

  “Dom masjien,” she grumbles, waving the remote control at it.

  Shaylene rolls her eyes and walks back to where I’m standing in the doorway. “Come on. You don’t have to stay here and listen to the old lady cursing her TV. You can meet everyone else.” She takes me around the house and introduces me to Noah’s father in his study, Cousin Number One, Number Two, and Number Three who are arguing over TV channels in the lounge, and Noah’s mother as she arrives home from work. I remember Noah mentioning a sister, but she doesn’t seem to be around.

  “All fixed,” Noah announces, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen just as I’ve finished giving Shaylene and Noah’s mom the edited version of my life story. “Hey, Ma,” he adds. “Is it cool if we stay for dinner?”

  “Of course. You’ve seen the size of the curry pot, right?” She points to the stove where a pot bigger than any I’ve seen before sits. “You know Shaylene always makes enough to feed an army.”

  “Ah, but did she make enough to feed Andi?” Noah says, throwing me a teasing smile. “This tiny girl over here eats a deceptively large amount. You should have seen the size of the cake she had at Truth.”

  “Hey, I offered you some of that cake and you weren’t interested,” I remind him.

  “Because it had carrot in it. Vegetables have no business being anywhere near a cake.”

  “Carrot cake is the best cake in the world,” I tell him authoritatively.

  “Agreed, Andi,” Shaylene says.

  “You guys are crazy,” Noah says as his phone rings in his pocket. “French toast is the way forward.”

  “Nie vir middag tee nie, silly,” Shaylene says, flicking him with a dish towel as he removes his phone from his pocket. I see a picture of a pretty girl on the screen before he steps out of the room to answer it. Half a minute later he returns, saying, “Lolly said she’ll be here in half an hour.”

  With English Translations

  “Sounds about right,” Noah says, stepping up to the front door and giving the woman a brief hug. He turns back to me. “Andi, Auntie Shaylene. Auntie Shaylene, Andi.”

  I greet Noah’s aunt and follow the two of them inside. A small boy runs past us, shouting, “I couldn’t find it there.” An answering shout of “Look harder!” comes from upstairs, just as an older man’s voice yells, “Stop shouting!”

  Noah glances at me and shrugs. “It’s like this a lot.”

  We head down a passage, past a kitchen and several closed doors, and into a room with an unmade bed, a dressing table covered in old perfume bottles, jewellery, and medication, and an ancient TV in one corner. In front of the TV, sitting in a wheelchair, is a grumpy, grey-haired woman.

  “Hey, Grammy,” Noah says cheerfully. “How’s everything going?”

  Instead of answering, Grammy looks past Noah and frowns at me. With slow, slurred words, she says, “Who’s that white girl?” Her shaky right hand tugs at Shaylene’s sleeve. “Why is she here?”

  Shaylene gives me an apologetic look and mutters, “Ma, don’t be rude.”

  “Sorry,” Noah says quietly to me. “I should have warned you about Grammy. She had a stroke two years ago and lost the use of her left side and, apparently, her filter. She pretty much says whatever comes to mind. So don’t be offended.”

  “Well, I am the palest person I know,” I say, raising my arms in front of me, “so I shouldn’t really be offended by the label ‘white,’ should I?”

  Noah grins. “You are very white, aren’t you?” He crosses the room to the TV, pulls it away from the wall on its wheeled trolley, and slides behind it. “So, you’re having TV troubles again, Grammy?”

  “Stupid machine,” she grumbles, waving the remote control at it.

  Shaylene rolls her eyes and walks back to where I’m standing in the doorway. “Come on. You don’t have to stay here and listen to the old lady cursing her TV. You can meet everyone else.” She takes me around the house and introduces me to Noah’s father in his study, Cousin Number One, Number Two, and Number Three who are arguing over TV channels in the lounge, and Noah’s mother as she arrives home from work. I remember Noah mentioning a sister, but she doesn’t seem to be around.

  “All fixed,” Noah announces, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen just as I’ve finished giving Shaylene and Noah’s mom the edited version of my life story. “Hey, Ma,” he adds. “Is it cool if we stay for dinner?”

  “Of course. You’ve seen the size of the curry pot, right?” She points to the stove where a pot bigger than any I’ve seen before sits. “You know Shaylene always makes enough to feed an army.”

  “Ah, but did she make enough to feed Andi?” Noah says, throwing me a teasing smile. “This tiny girl over here eats a deceptively large amount. You should have seen the size of the cake she had at Truth.”

  “Hey, I offered you some of that cake and you weren’t interested,” I remind him.

  “Because it had carrot in it. Vegetables have no business being anywhere near a cake.”

  “Carrot cake is the best cake in the world,” I tell him authoritatively.

  “Agreed, Andi,” Shaylene says.

  “You guys are crazy,” Noah says as his phone rings in his pocket. “French toast is the way forward.”

  “Not for afternoon tea, silly,” Shaylene says, flicking him with a dish towel as he removes his phone from his pocket. I see a picture of a pretty girl on the screen before he steps out of the room to answer it. Half a minute later he returns, saying, “Lolly said she’ll be here in half an hour.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  With Afrikaans

  “Tania, I’m sorry,” Noah says, slowly walking past me onto the landing. “I didn’t know Carmen was your cousin. I’m not here to upset you, and I’m really sorry about your grandfather—”

  “Moenie waag om oor my oupa te praat nie,” Tania yells. “Jy het sy kleinseun van hom af weggeneem. Jy’t sy hart gebreek nes jy myne gebreek het en almal in ons familie s’n.”

  “Tania,” Noah says, raising his hands slightly, “dit was ’n ongeluk.”

  “Nee!” She rushes at him and starts beating her fists against his chest. “Dit was jou skuld en ek haat jou. Ek haat jou want jy het hom van ons af weggeneem!”

  Carmen pulls Tania away from Noah and wraps her arms around her. “Get the hell out of here,” she growls at Noah.

  “I’m sorry,” he mutters, then walks past them, his head down, towards the stairs.

  With English Translations

  “Tania, I’m sorry,” Noah says, slowly walking past me onto the landing. “I didn’t know Carmen was your cousin. I’m not here to upset you, and I’m r
eally sorry about your grandfather—”

  “Don’t you dare talk about Grandpa,” Tania yells. “You took his grandson from him. You broke his heart like you broke mine and everyone else’s in our family.”

  “Tania,” Noah says, raising his hands slightly, “it was an accident.”

  “No!” She rushes at him and starts beating her fists against his chest. “It was your fault and I hate you. I hate you for taking him away from us!”

  Carmen pulls Tania away from Noah and wraps her arms around her. “Get the hell out of here,” she growls at Noah.

  “I’m sorry,” he mutters, then walks past them, his head down, towards the stairs.

  Andi’s Photo Journal

  View Andi’s photo journal online.

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for reading The Trouble with Faking! Whether you liked it, didn’t like it, or just want to tell me who your favourite booktuber is or what you think of Andi’s quirky fashion sense, I’d love to know your thoughts. Please leave a review somewhere online! Reviews don’t have to be lengthy or intellectual or fancy—they’re simply what you thought and felt about the story. Reviews help readers to find new books, and authors appreciate every single one.

  Thank you!

  Next in the Trouble Series

  With exam stress, family wedding craziness, and a spiralling relationship with her boyfriend, Sophie finds herself sucked further and further into the darkness of depression. The only thing making her remotely happy these days is her art—and the guy on the other side of the Internet who seems to really get her. But is that enough to keep her from falling off the edge entirely?

  Look out for

  THE TROUBLE WITH FALLING