False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  Carrie turned volcanic red and backed up, fleeing for the stairs. "I'm tired! Sleeping!"

  "I'm not done talking to you, young lady!" Tristan called out as he followed his sister, taking the steps two at a time.

  Sammy was left standing in the foyer. Her head was still bent, but her lips quirked slightly in a small, wistful smile. Vincent liking me? Even if that was possible, it certainly isn't the case now. Her eyes prickled with tears and her breath caught as she remembered Vincent's icy grey eyes. We're not okay anymore, are we? She rubbed her bruised shoulder and refused to cry.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The New Year came and went. Before long, Sammy found herself back at Creston High but this time, everything had completely changed. Returning to school with Tristan and Caine, as soon as she had stepped out of the car, furious whispers swept across the entire student body. Gleaming eyes appraised her everywhere, speculative murmurs following her each step. No one was certain what exactly had happened over the break but they did know one thing: Sam was suddenly with Vincent's "enemy". Tension crackled like electricity as people began edging away back to their dorm rooms as if to hide out until the storm had passed. With Vincent's volatile temper, there was no telling just what will happen.

  * * *

  Sammy bit her lower lip, unnerved by all the eyes that were on her. Dragging her suitcase beside her, she trudged through the hallways besides Tristan and Caine. She kept her eyes on the ground, unable to meet the rampant curiosity in her fellow classmates' eyes.

  Caine caught her attention by slinging his arm around her shoulders. With a silky smile, he asked, "Say, Sammy, isn't that a bit heavy for you? Want me to take it to your room and, uh, help you get comfortable?" He threw her a roguish wink before Tristan hauled him away from Sammy.

  Tristan spoke briskly, "Caine, you are to remain more than five feet away from Sammy at all times."

  Caine frowned, "Well, I don't think that's very gentlemanly. I mean now that she knows that I know, then I don't really see a problem anymore with me hanging out with her. Besides, she might need protection."

  Sammy opened her mouth, but Tristan beat her to it. Calmly shooting Caine a nasty look, he responded, "Yeah, well, that's the problem. Who's going to protect her from you?"

  "No one because I will treat her with the utmost care and –"

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

  "I resent that!"

  "Uh huh . . . okay. Sammy, just remember to run away as fast as you can whenever you see him coming near you with a weird look on his face."

  Before Sammy could respond, Caine protested indignantly, "What weird face? My face is always in impeccable shape –"

  "That weird face."

  "What? Sammy, don't listen to him. I don't have a weird face!" The blonde haired boy paused before giving her a puppy dog face. "Do I?"

  "Errr . . ."

  "Sammy, forget it. If he even comes near you, just put your training skills to use. Jab right, then uppercut."

  "What?" Caine exclaimed.

  Tristan ignored him and continued, "If he still persists, just hurl your pre-calculus textbook at his head. Even if you miss, it might still crush his foot and trip him."

  "What?"

  * * *

  Sammy finally made a turn to head to her room and left the two guys bickering away. Her footsteps slowed down more and more until she was lifting her foot agonizingly slow before placing it on the ground as if afraid she'd kill some ants. Still, the pathway was too short to drag out and she soon found herself staring at her door.

  Tucking her red hair behind her ears, she could feel her heart threatening to split out of her ribcage. Taking a quivering deep breath, she raised her shaking hand to grasp the doorknob. Is Vincent back? Is he still angry? What do I say? How do I face him? I . . . I . . . I miss him. Clenching her teeth tightly, she dropped her hand to her side and tried to calm herself down. Leaning her forehead against the wooden door, she furrowed her eyebrows in frustration and fear. I can't do this. I can't. Why did I ever have such a bad idea about dressing up as a guy and coming here? WHY? I hate myself. Such a pathetic, stupid idea –

  Of course, Sammy has always had a history with coming up with bad ideas - and at this moment, she quickly learned that leaning on doors are never, ever good ideas.

  The door had swung open so quickly, Sammy immediately lost her balance. Snapshot images flashed through her head and she felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. Even while falling forward, her mind dimly registered in some numb, irrational part of her brain that this was how she had first met Vincent. Of course, she always cursed herself for not having a quicker and more efficient brain that would allow her to at least right herself after falling instead of having these useless pop up images . . . but at this moment in time, she was too busy remembering. Vincent's firm chest she had crashed against. Vincent's grunt of surprise. Vincent's warm arms encircling her. Vincent's faint distinct clean smell of soap and masculinity. Vincent's amused eyes the color of dusk.

  All of these memories quickly became reality as she slammed into Vincent firsthand. Everything was the same . . . and yet, not. Looking up in embarrassment, Sammy resisted the urge to blanch as she met his eyes. They were the same color, but there was no warmth, no humor, nothing. Coolly boring down at her, they were like glacial ice chips.

  She stammered, "Vincent! I – I – I –"

  With a smooth movement, he tightened his arms around her slim frame, lifted her up, and swung her around. Her heartbeat quickened at the sudden embrace and she stared down at him in shock … but something was wrong. He was still looking at her like she was a complete stranger and his movements were strangely mechanical like he was a complete robot.

  Vincent made a stiff 360 degrees turn and set her down back on her feet. It wasn't a sudden drop one would give to a sack of potatoes, but nor was it a tender, carefree placement that one would allot to something fragile. It was simply a perfunctory act and after he was done, he did an abrupt about face again before leaving the room. Not one word to her. He had simply ... moved her out of his way. Like she was some petty rock in his path.

  She stared at the back of his head as he walked away and she felt her heart breaking once again. Somehow, for some peculiar reason, she had the absurd notion that she'd prefer a red faced, screaming Vincent vastly to this cold, robotic one that had greeted her. Speechless, she stumbled to her bed and sank down in it, utterly devastated.

  * * *

  Vincent might have perfected his stony demeanor enough to please his dragon of a mother, but he was ready to double over from the inner turmoil that was wreaking havoc among his stupid blood pumping organ and his stomach. As he walked away from his room, he had to take deep breaths and clench his fists tightly at his side in order to prevent himself from running back into the room and begging Sam for forgiveness.

  Forgiveness for what? He's the one who's at wrong here!

  Still, when he had opened the door and Sam fell face first against him, his first thoughts were too busy obscured by a dizzying spell of happiness. You know, the kind that makes you want to float up and spin around in a double axel like those ice skaters on TV. Yep. Complete with the twirling arms and a big goofy grin. He had come back. That was all he kept thinking. He had come back.

  During the whole ride back to school, his heart felt like something was gnawing at it, scraping its teeth against the exterior. Throughout the ride, he kept thinking what if Sam had lived up to his word and chose to leave Creston High? Had chosen to leave forever? And their last words consisted of a scream fest over lies, champagne in mansions, and contracting STDs. And oh yeah, can't forget the thoughtful bruising.

  So of course, Vincent was happy . . . but he could tell Sam wasn't. The boy had been near panic and as he looked up at him, Vincent could see the fear and anxiety in his eyes. Fear and anxiety. He was in lo– he liked the kid and Sam was actually afraid of him. Great. Just great. I guess we can't ever be friends again . . . Once again, that stupid gnawing se
nsation on his heart. He really should go to the doctor and have it checked out or something. Might suddenly get cardiac syncope or something. I guess . . . I have to stay away from him – Stop gnawing at me! We should go our separate ways, graduate, and that's that. He nodded firmly before rubbing his chest, curling his fingers over his heart absentmindedly.

  * * *

  Dark eyes slanted over at the prospective victims. Inwardly, evil cackles erupted and the world turned dark and somber. They were so very naïve, so stupid. Still babbling together in what they thought were a very secretive way, they were oblivious to the imminent danger. Closer . . . closer . . . they had no time to run now . . .

  With a loud snarl, Vincent slammed his hands on the table in front of his friends and they jumped in response. "What are you two whispering about?"

  Will and Jack looked momentarily guilty before they quickly smoothed their expressions over with a sickening façade of innocence. Batting his eyelashes no slower than a hummingbird's wings, Will bared his teeth in a toothy smile, "Whatever do you mean, Vincie dear?"

  Vincent shot him a lethal glare powerful enough to take down a herd of elephants. "Don't give me that crap. You've been whispering together throughout the whole ride back and now, you're still yapping away. What are you two conspiring?"

  "Nothing," they responded all too quickly.

  He narrowed his grey eyes piercingly. "Oh jeez, don't tell me you two are a couple now?"

  Jack blanched with a visible shudder. "OH GOD, NO!"

  Will pouted. "You didn't have to react that way, Jack." He sniffed in disdain. "No one appreciates me."

  Vincent stared at them suspiciously before taking a seat across from them. Pulling out a notebook, he started to scribble something inside when he noticed that they had reverted to murmuring to each other again. His head snapped up so quickly, he could have sworn he heard the crack of his neck. He glared darkly.

  "What are you talking about now?"

  "Errr . . . lunch."

  " . . . lunch?"

  "Yes, we're so hungry. We're discussing the many possibilities the lunch ladies might serve. For example, pizza, cheeseburgers, lasagna –"

  "You weren't talking about lunch."

  "Yes, we were. We were –"

  "I'm not stupid, Will!"

  "Well . . . we don't know about that . . ." his friends mumbled underneath their breaths.

  "What?"

  * * *

  For the next two weeks, Vincent nearly tore his hair out at his friends' "secret discussions" while Sammy shuffled around the school in an awkward daze. Whenever she went to class with Tristan, she couldn't bring herself to meet Vincent's eyes, afraid that she'd see stinging accusation or bitter hurt and resentment or, even worse, the cold unfeeling indifference she'd seen before.

  It was even worse when they were alone in their dorm. The silence was deafening and for some reason, the room suddenly seemed too small as if the school had undergone construction over the break and had compacted each living quarters. It suddenly felt like Sammy was bumping into Vincent each time she turned around or took a step, but it wasn't like the results were any different.

  Sammy looks up anxiously. Vincent looks down unperturbed. Sammy bites her lip. Vincent lifts her up. Sammy gets heart attack (false alarm). Vincent rotates around. Sammy blinks rapidly. Vincent sets Sammy down. Both go away on separate paths.

  Sammy was near the point of breakdown. She felt like a complete nuisance to Vincent and Vincent, well, asides from being able to build up his arm muscles by lifting her up like some dumbbells, was probably ready to boot her out on her behind.

  Thus, it was perfectly natural for her to trudge blindly to Will's door one day before falling into the boy's arms and dragging him to his bed. Prostrating herself onto the soft mattress, she looked up beguilingly at the bewildered boy before proceeding to hiccup loudly and ask glumly, "Do you have any ice cream?" Then she burrowed herself underneath his covers and all but passed out from exhaustion. She had barely gotten a wink of sleep in the last few days, too busy being miserable while staring at Vincent's back across the room.

  * * *

  Sammy yawned lazily as she slowly woke up. Will immediately plopped down on the bed with a flourish and grinned down at her, "Hiya, Sleeping Cross dresser. Feel better after passing out for so long?"

  She blinked blearily up at the ever cheerful boy and blushed when she realized that she had practically barged in, staked her claim and took over Will's bed. Then she was thankful that he had not chosen to take advantage of her while she was barging, staking, and taking. She croaked, "How long was I, er, passed out?"

  Will pursed his lips in thought, "Mmm . . . not long. Just six hours."

  "Six hours? I wasn't even planning on a nap. Thank goodness we don't have class tomorrow." She lay there momentarily, blinking up at the ceilings. Abruptly, she sat up and absentmindedly mumbled, "Got to go back. Vincent might be worried."

  She started to slide out of bed when Will "fell" against her and pinned her down with his back. "Will!"

  "Sorry, I slipped," Will responded cheerfully. He made no move to get up though.

  Lying on her side, her left arm started to feel crushed as she struggled to get free. Will merely folded his arms and rested his head on her shoulder while enjoying his view of the ceiling. She protested loudly, "Will! You're killing me!"

  "What? Are you implying that I'm fat?"

  "Will!"

  He ignored her. "Is Vincent bothering you?"

  She stopped moving and laid there on her right side, defeated. Staring at the table across the bed from her, she was completely motionless until Will prodded her side with his finger. She jerked involuntarily and frowned sideways up at him. He asked, "Good. I thought I had really killed you. So is he?"

  When she still didn't make a noise, he held out his index finger threatening. With a loud sigh, she answered, "It's not so much as he's bothering me but . . . that's just the problem. He's not doing anything. It's like I don't even exist to him."

  Will didn't answer for a minute. Then he asked, "Want some champagne?"

  "WHAT?"

  "You asked me for ice cream before, but I don't any here." He sniffed. "I'm trying to watch my weight because I don't want to crush anybody, of course."

  She couldn't help but smile, "Alright, I'm sorry. It's okay. I'll be your makeshift pillow any day, Will."

  She could hear the smile in his voice, "Much better, Sammy. But don't worry, you're much too precious to be flattened. I'm going to save that for Jack."

  He lifted himself off the bed lazily before crossing the room in three steps. Rummaging through his fridge, he pulled out a bottle of champagne and waved it at her with a waggle of his eyebrows. "I swiped it from Vincent's party. Want?"

  She stared at him disapprovingly.

  "What? It's not like they're going to drink it all. They had, like, five hundred crates of these things."

  She continued to frown.

  "Oh . . . you worried about getting drunk? Please, it's champagne! Could hardly be called real alcohol anyway. Besides, look at all the pretty bubbles. Oooh! So what do you say, huh? Huh?"

  She broke out into a grin and shook her head in resignation. "You're such a bad influence but fine, I give in to your peer pressure. However, if I do wind up drunk, you have the responsibility of dragging me to my room."

  Will nodded cheerfully. "Of course but really, even if we downed the whole bottle, I doubt we'd even get a little buzz."

  * * *

  Half a bottle later, Will was knocked out on the floor, snoring away and Sammy had a pleasant fluffy feeling in her body. Hiccupping slightly, she jabbed him in the side a couple of times. All he did was snort and roll over. Frowning exaggeratedly, she wagged her finger down at him, "And you said that we won't even get a buzz. Liar. We did get a buzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." She giggled before she hiccupped again. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she slowly righted herself. The room immediately spun around her and she blinked
a few times, trying to find the door.

  "There you are!" She pointed her finger at the wooden door in accusation. "Where have you been hiding? Bad door." Stumbling over, she turned around once to wave at Will. "Bye bye, Will. I have to go find Vincie now. I'll come to free you later. Yes. I'll come back to free Willy." Nodding firmly, she bobbed her head down a few times before opening the door and stepping out.

  As the door closed on the room, Will slowly opened his eyes and propped himself up with his right arm. Smiling lazily, he shook his head, "Poor Sammy. She really can't hold her alcohol, can she?" He sprawled down on his back again and folded his hands behind his head with a satisfied smile. "Oh well. Lucky we have Vinnie to take care of her." He cackled to himself loudly. "Now where did I hide my ice cream? Cherry Garcia, here I come!"

  * * *

  Of course, Will's simple irrationality left no room for the little errors in his way of thinking such as Sammy getting caught by a teacher, Sammy stumbling into the wrong room, Sammy passing out in the hallway, etc. Nope, he held quite a lot of faith in the works of serendipity. And tonight, it deigned to acquiesce with the meddling boy's desires.

  Sammy managed to find herself in front of her door without much difficulties and with for a while, she stared up at the number with a goofy grin. Vincie is just behind the door. Ah, Vincie. While searching languidly for her key, a spout of dizziness overtook her and she fell face-forward into the door. Ow. Whoa, I just head butted the door.

  * * *

  Vincent kept casting his eyes over at the clock. Sam was missing. Lights were supposed to have been out in the rooms an hour ago and Vincent now sat in the darkness, tenser than he had ever been before. Clenching his fists tightly, he tried to calm himself down while pounding them into his pillow. Did Sam finally run away? It was while he was beating the life out of his poor pillow that he heard a distinct thud against the door.