“A little stiff.”
“Sure you won’t see Alan?”
“I’ll be okay,” I say. “But I need you to stop that and braid my hair for me.”
“What?” She releases a long exhale and lowers her arms again.
“My hair? Would you make a braid across the top of my head like this?” I motion in a headband way across the top of my head, and she smiles.
She steps over and cuts the music off, then I sit at her feet while she pulls out a brush and starts parting my hair. She’s really good with things like braids and crafts and stuff like that, and I like having her help me. It gives us an opportunity to chat alone for once. In a good way.
“So Ricky’s taking your clients this morning?” I ask.
“Yep, and I’ve got some of the ladies coming here.” Then she laughs. “They were all more than willing to have Ricky cover for me if I needed him to.”
“He’s a rock star all right,” I say.
“He’s a sweet boy.”
Ricky might have the hots for my mom, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Last night when I got back with dinner, her shirt was inside out. Her hair was swept high in a pony tail, and around the temples it looked a little damp. She was elbow-deep in dish water singing a Peter Frampton tune off-key, and my dad was back in his study reading his book about issues in the church. He looked undisturbed, but something had happened while I was gone. I can always tell by the way they grin at each other when they think I’m not looking. It’s reassuring, but at the same time, I don’t want to picture what or where.
“Is it ever weird that he has a crush on you?” I ask, scratching polish off the skin beside my freshly manicured nail.
“What?” She frowns.
“Ricky? Mr. Hot for Teacher?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, sliding a tiny row of my hair back from my face.
“C’mon, Mom,” I groan. “It’s so totally obvious.”
She stops braiding for a second. “Harley. Ricky does not have a crush on me.”
“If you say so,” I sing-song.
“I know so. And I’m disappointed. You’re being very stereotypical.”
“I’m just saying how it looks.” My head’s resting on her lap, and I can smell the fresh eucalyptus lotion she uses after her bath. It reminds me of being outside in the springtime.
“Well, looks can be deceiving.” She continues braiding, so I try another way.
“Don’t you ever worry that people might… talk?”
I hear the frown in her voice. “Has someone said something to you?”
“No. I’m just thinking. Like what about Mrs. Perkins?”
Mrs. Perkins is the wife of one of the elders at our church, and I’m pretty sure she hates my mom, un-Christlike or not. The rumor is her husband applied for the pastor’s job back when my dad was hired, and she never got over it. Then she met my mom and nearly lost her religion.
She openly states that massage therapy is unseemly work for the wife of a pastor. Unseemly, she likes to say. Mom just dismisses Mrs. Perkins’s not-so-subtle insults as jealousy and ignorance, but I know that woman bugs the crap out of Mom.
“Harley.” Mom’s voice is firm. “You know I have no control over the students who’re assigned to me. Are you saying I should give up my job because occasionally one of them might be… better-looking than the others? Is that fair?”
So she admits Ricky’s better-looking than the others. “I guess not,” I say.
“Well, I would hope not.” Then she starts talking under her breath. “You can’t live your life worrying about small-minded people with big imaginations.”
“But the appearance… you know. Like Dad says.” I try reminding her one of his favorite sermon texts.
Mom braids a few seconds in silence. “Harley, do you know what stereotypes are?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. Here we go. Stereotypes are one of my mom’s pet peeves. The other’s eavesdropping. Oh, and gossip. But Mom has a lot of wild ideas about how people should act and what they should believe.
“They’re tools ignorant people use to make sense of the world,” she continues.
“I know.”
“They’re perpetuated by fear and a reluctance to learn and grow—”
“I know, I know!” I interrupt. Jeez, now I’ve done it.
“People see a young man like Ricky under my instruction, and immediately they assume the most stereotypical thing in the world,” she continues.
“I was just saying—” I try interrupting again.
“Is it so hard to believe that I could actually teach him something?” Her voice is angry, and she’s pulling my braid too tight.
“I wanted you to do my hair like this for a guy!” I blurt.
“What?”
Lecture effectively derailed. “There’s this guy at school? Trent? I’m hoping he asks me out today.”
Mom smiles and pulls my head toward her as she ties off the end of my braid. “Any boy would be lucky to go out with you.” Her voice is warm now.
“So I gotta go,” I say. “And I think it’s wonderful that a nice young man like Ricky has such a smart, professional woman to instruct him in massage therapy.”
She shakes her head and smiles, and I run back to my room to slip on the dress I bought yesterday, right before the collision.
Three
The bell signals the end of second period, and I realize I’ve forgotten my notebook in my locker. Precious seconds are passing as I stop to get it, and I’m so flustered, my hands are shaking. It’s all been building to this. Operation Luau—the weeks of meeting him after class with warm smiles and encouraging hellos, the getting up early so Mom could give me Greek goddess braids, the dress I bought. And now Shelly tells me he asked Brian what I was like in August! Of course, that was a whole semester ago. Before Stephanie…
My fingers are trembling so hard, I can barely dial my combination, and my heart’s just thumping. Right then, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Harley Davidson!” Jason.
“Hey,” I breathe, jerking the door open. I push my other books out of the way and grab my notebook. I can feel the seconds ticking away.
“I think I’ll just call you H.D.,” he continues.
“Whatever. Bye, Jason.” I slam my locker and take off toward Mrs. Gipson’s room, glancing at the large clocks suspended throughout the hall as I run. Seconds make all the difference when we only have eight minutes between classes.
I dash around the corner just in time to see Trent walking toward the door, then I hop back and smooth my dress. I catch my breath and try to look cool as I walk casually toward our classroom.
“Oh!” I say as I almost bump into him. Accidentally, of course.
“Oh,” he smiles. My heart does a little flutter. He really does have the sweetest smile. “Hey, Harley.”
“Hey,” I breathe. He always dresses like a model. Today, he’s wearing cuffed khakis and a long-sleeved navy polo, and his hair’s styled in a short, retro cut. Stupid Stephanie Miller.
We stand for a second in front of each other. I look around and try to figure out how to get us on the subject of the luau. I’ve daydreamed this moment a million times, and now I’m completely blanking.
“How’s it going?” I stall.
“Okay,” he says. “Basketball season’s starting. Heads up!”
“Right,” I laugh a little, seriously wishing he’d forget that part of our close encounter at the gym. How humiliating. “So did you have a fun weekend?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Me, too.” I smile thinking… thinking… Then I look up and see a poster for the luau. Yes!
“Oh, look,” I say pointing to it. “The luau’s Friday.”
His eyes literally brighten. “Yeah,” he says. “I was thinking about that—”
But at that moment, a loud voice comes up behind me. “You know, it’s not cool to walk off when someone’s talking.” I freeze. It’s Ja
son again.
“Oh, hey. Trent?” he says, like he’s trying to remember.
“Jason, right? Hey, man,” Trent says. They give each other a fist bump.
“You two… know each other?” I look from one to the other.
“Met at the park Saturday,” Jason says. Then he points at Trent. “Ultimate Frisbee.”
“Yeah,” Trent smiles. Then he motions to me and Jason. “Do you two know each other?”
“Oh, well…” I stumble, trying to think of a neutral response.
“Saved her life yesterday,” Jason says, draping his arm across my shoulders. My eyes widen. “Now it’s my job to keep her safe.”
Trent frowns. “What? Another accident?” I’m about to die.
“It wasn’t really that big a deal,” I say, trying to slip out from under Jason’s arm. What is he doing?
“It was,” Jason argues. “And now, I have to keep my eye on you.”
“What—”
“Ancient Chinese tradition,” he interrupts me. “You save somebody’s life, you become responsible for it.”
At that Trent grins, clearly thinking Teen Menace is a great guy. “Oh, sure. I’ve heard of that.” Then he starts moving away from us. “Well, I’d better take off. Class.”
I panic. I’ve got to stop him, but my throat’s constricted.
“Later,” Jason says to Trent. Then he turns to me. “So you’ve got to go to the luau with me Friday. How else can I ensure your safety?”
I shake my head as I watch Trent leaving. My brain’s spinning, and I’m grasping for anything to make him stop walking away.
“Wait… Trent…” is all I come up with.
He looks back and smiles, and I know he’s conceding to Jason. But then…
“Oh, Harley.” He stops and takes a step back toward me as if suddenly remembering something. My heart rises… “Does Shelly have a date to the luau?”
“Shelly?” Oh. My. God.
“Yeah. I was thinking I’d… well,” he glances at Jason. “Maybe she’d like to go to the luau with me?”
“Go for it, Big T!” Jason is so encouraging, I can’t wait to hit him over the head with my books.
“I don’t think she has a date.” I think I might cry.
“Okay.” Trent gives me a small smile. Yes. Definitely cry. “Maybe you could put in a good word for me?”
“I’d love to…” I start, but I can’t finish.
I’d been planning to say, “I’d love to go with you to the luau,” but it’s all wrong. He smiles and says something about being late as he does a little wave and walks away. I do a little wave back and turn slowly toward algebra, shoulders drooping.
“Are you in here next period?” Jason asks. I nod, unable to speak. My whole plan. Out the window.
“That’s awesome! So am I.”
“Awesome,” I mumble.
He laughs. “Somehow, I don’t think you mean it. What’s the matter?”
I look up at him standing there all smiling and happy, and for some reason that does it. “You just ruined everything!”
“What?”
“You ruined it. All of it!” I storm through the door, Jason right behind me.
“I don’t get you, H.D.”
“I was trying to get Trent to ask me to the luau,” I lower my voice. “And you just big fat came up and ruined everything!”
His smile disappears. “You wanted Trent to ask you to the luau?”
“You might be fascinated to learn that I had a life before you rammed me with your car yesterday.”
“I figured that—”
“And you didn’t save my life, you nearly took it,” I continue, irritation surging through me. “I feel like taking yours.”
He smiles and leans forward. “I love feisty women.”
My lips clench and I try to shove him, but my bag strap falls and I trip over his stupid foot instead. He catches me. Strong arms. I quickly push away and sink into my chair.
“Just leave me alone.” I drop my elbows on the desk and my face in my hands.
“Look,” Jason’s tone softens and he takes the seat right beside me. “I’ll talk to Trent and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Tell him to ask you to the luau… or something.”
I think about that. Then I drop my hands and shake my head. “That would just make me look pathetic. Or desperate. Or not good enough for you of all people.”
“I’d never say any of that about you,” Jason smiles, glancing at my hair and dress. “You clean up real nice.”
My eyes narrow. “Just let me think about it. I’ll figure out something.”
The bell rings, and Mrs. Gipson calls class to order. But I can’t concentrate on algebra. I can’t concentrate on anything but how Jason just wrecked everything again, and now I have to figure out how to fix this, to salvage my plan.
I plot out several different scenarios as I watch the second-hand tick. Somehow I have to go to the luau with Jason and appear to be having a super-fun time without also seeming like I like him too much. I watch Mrs. Gipson scribble out a formula she says we should memorize for the SATs, and it hits me. Stephanie dumped Trent because she’s going away to college in California. She doesn’t want a long-distance boyfriend, so she callously broke his heart. What if my heart is callously broken in the same way? It’ll give Trent and me something in common, and since he’s so wonderful, he’ll naturally want to comfort me!
I take a deep breath as a smile spreads across my face. It’s the perfect plan. I can’t wait for the bell to ring.
Lunch follows third period, and of course, Jason and I have the same lunch shift. Sadly, Trent and I do not. But today it doesn’t matter because we need to strategize.
“How great is it that we have lunch together?” Jason asks as we walk toward the cafeteria.
“It’s a fluke,” I say. My plan is awesome, but I’m still annoyed with him for making it necessary.
He ignores my tone. “So what have you decided about Friday?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” I say as he holds the cafeteria door for me. “I’ve got an idea for how you can help me.”
“Let’s hear it.”
He hands me a tray as I stop and swipe my lunch card, then I walk over to the salad bar while Jason grabs a bowl of chicken nuggets.
“OK,” I say, once he’s beside me again. I glance around to make sure no one’s listening. “Here’s the plan. We’ll go to the luau together, then pretend-date for a few days, and then you’ll dump me.”
Jason snorts. “What?”
“You want to pay me back for nearly killing me—which is idiotic, by the way—you can help me get Trent.”
“I saved your life,” Jason corrects. “And how is dumping you going to help you get Trent?”
“Because,” I motion with the salad tongs. “It’ll put us in the same boat. I’m all broken hearted, he’s all broken hearted, we turn to each other for comfort. It’s perfect!”
“But why would I dump you?” Jason smiles as he watches me, and I mentally concede that he is cute. But that just makes it easier for me to pretend we’re dating.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re going back to New Mexico once we graduate or something. You don’t want any long-distance relationships.”
“But I’m just a junior. And I kind of like it here.” He follows me to the drink station.
“It doesn’t have to be true!” I lower my voice again and get close to him. “You can change your mind later. It’s just so Trent’ll ask me out.”
He looks down at me, and that silly smile returns. “I don’t like it.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Well, what if dating you’s fun? I mean, you might not be so bad to go out with.”
“You’re joking, right? I’m great to go out with, but more importantly, we are not dating. It’s all fake.”
“But what if you change your mind? I mean, I’ve heard I’m pretty great to go out with, too.”
I see Robi
n waving at me from the cheerleaders’ table in the center of the room. I always sit with them at lunch, but I can’t today. I gesture towards Jason. Thank goodness he sees what I’m doing and steers me in the opposite direction. Robin’s eyebrows pull together, but I shrug and follow him.
“OK. So fill in the blanks,” he says. “How long are we dating?”
“Fake dating, and I don’t know.” I look around and spot an empty table in a far corner where no one’ll overhear us. “Look, we can sit there.”
We go to the table and put our trays down. Jason pulls up a chair, and I scoot close to him. He smiles again, and I notice he’s wearing cologne that smells kind-of woodsy and a little citrusey.
“You smell nice,” I say, opening my water. Then I notice he’s wearing better jeans and a light-brown polo. His hair’s also neater. It’s like he planned to look cute today or something.
“Thanks,” he says, but his voice breaks my distraction. It’s too loud.
“Talk low. I don’t want this getting out.”
A sly look enters his eyes. “You spiked the Kool-aid?”
“What?”
“Sorry. I thought we’d moved on to the next harebrained scheme.”
“Would you focus? This is all your fault, you know.”
“How so?” He stabs a nugget with his fork.
“I’ve been working for weeks to get Trent to ask me out, and then you ruined it all in two seconds.”
“I’m fast. But why the wait? Why didn’t you just ask him to the luau yourself?”
“I had to wait because he’d just broken up with Stephanie Miller.” I stab at my salad, remembering those miserable days. I could still see Trent holding her hand, her smiling blissfully back at him. Ugh.
“And anyway, I don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Ask guys out.”
“Why not?”
“Not relevant.”
Then he leans back in his chair, studying me. “Is this one of those ‘nice girls don’t ask guys out’ things?”
I point my fork at him. “That’s very stereotypical.”
“Says the person doing it.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m breaking the cycle.” That makes me think of Shelly. And Trent asking her to the luau. Ugh! again.
The Truth About Faking Page 3
