The Fine Art of Pretending

by Rachel Harris

  Justin laughs as he says it, so I know he’s joking, but I still feel like crap. It’s not that I thought he was bad; I just knew he earned his reputation for a reason. But apparently, Mr. Big, Bad Player Man has an unexpected sweet side, too. We stand there for a moment—him smiling, me gaping—before Chase grabs his arm. “We’re gonna miss the movie!”

  I snap out of the trance and giggle. “Sorry, bud, but don’t worry. You have plenty of time. The previews haven’t even started yet.”

  Justin lets go of my hand and takes out his wallet. Pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” At my perplexed look, he laughs. “Your house? The party?” He holds up his cell phone, proving just how fast word spreads. Technology is a scary beast.

  “Right, of course.” I hand him his change, praying I’ll stop being such a freak by then. “I’m glad you can come.”

  They head toward theater number five, where Trolls doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, and Barbara sidles up to me.

  “T-r-o-u-b-l-e,” she mutters, handing me a stack of large cups.

  “What?” I ask, snapping my gaze away from Justin’s retreating backside.

  She points in his direction and shakes a long, weathered finger. “That boy is what. I know trouble, and that was it.”

  My smile returns, and I say, “You know, Barb, you’re right. Justin is nothing but trouble.”

  And a perfect distraction.

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4TH

  4 weeks until Homecoming

  BRANDON

  LONESTAR THEATRES, 5:25 p.m.

  “You missed a hell of a night, man. Only one fight went to a judge’s decision.” I climb out of Justin’s Jeep Wrangler and shake my head. “It was a nonstop, brutal ass-kicking.”

  Drew and Carlos hop out the back and meet us in the crowded parking lot. Last night I hosted our annual fight night: beer, chicken wings, and UFC pay-per-view. Since freshman year, the tradition has gone on without fail. But this year Justin bailed.

  “Something came up last minute.”

  Or someone. Whenever Justin is vague with the details, I know a girl is involved.

  “But next one’s on me,” he says, slapping my shoulder. “Fight, wings, I’ll even class things up with some Crown, all right?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” I nod in acknowledgment, trying to shake off my shitty mood. It’s been a long-ass day. Our team won their match this morning, but standing on the sideline with Aly was awkward as hell. Her practice ran late so we didn’t get a chance to talk beforehand, and she ran out after like her car was on fire. Mom was stressed about bills, work was violently hot, and Justin was being straight-up weird. When Earl called it a day at the carwash, I knew I couldn’t just sit around waiting for Aly’s party tonight. I needed to see her again. Right now, a smile to show that we’re okay would mean everything.

  We get our tickets, and the four of us enter the lobby. Immediately my eyes find Aly. She’s across the room handing an elderly couple their change, and as they walk away, her gaze shifts in our direction. Time seems to stop. But then her adorable face lights up in a smile and a tiny dimple pops in her right cheek.

  It’s the first time in over a week she’s looked at me like that. My neck muscles relax, and I let go of tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  Things are getting back to normal.

  We cross the room, and I crack my knuckles, racking my brain for something to say. As I do, Justin edges in front of me.

  Aly shakes her head and that smile widens. “Can I help you?”

  His hands on the glass case, Justin peers down at the candy choices with a stupid frown. “I don’t know. Got anything good here?”

  She giggles. “You oughta know. You’re starting to become one of our regulars.”

  I look between them and ask the ever-brilliant, “Huh?”

  Justin looks up as if he forgot I was there. Right. Aly gnaws on her lip. “Justin was here last night,” she explains. “He brought his little brother Chase to see Trolls.”

  “Is that right?” I ask, smiling tightly.

  The concept of “family time” isn’t in Justin’s vocabulary. Since I’ve known him, the only things he’s done with his parents were when he absolutely had to. As for Chase, Justin’s a decent brother, but he acts in his own interests. He had motives for the impromptu sibling bonding.

  I knew he bailed on us for a girl. I just hadn’t expected that girl to be Aly.

  Justin won’t look me in the eyes. Behind me, I can feel Drew going Dr. Phil on me in his touchyfeely head. I don’t need to talk about my feelings. I know what they are. Pissed. Confused. Hurt for no reason. And, more than anything, fucking jealous.

  The same fire that had me stalking across the gym floor last Friday scorches my veins as Justin and Aly gawk at each other. My mind flashes to Polo-Boy and my desire to put the guy’s head through the wall. I eye the glass case in front of Justin and tighten my fists.

  I know I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what Aly wanted all along. But Justin doesn’t deserve her.

  The lovebirds continue with their banter, and like a glutton for punishment, I stand there.

  “I’ll have a small Coke,” he says, leaning against the counter.

  “You know, for only a quarter more you can get the medium.”

  I’ve heard Aly’s sales pitch hundreds of times, but it never sounded so flirty before.

  “Sold.” Justin grins as he digs in his back pocket for his wallet. “I see those negotiation skills are improving.”

  Drew puts his hand on my arm. “Carlos and I will meet you inside.” Annoyed at the pity in his eyes, I brush his hand away. He takes a step back and nods at Aly. “See you at the party.”

  Left as the third wheel, I decide I may as well eat. “Give me a—”

  “Small popcorn, extra butter, medium Dr. Pepper, extra ice, lots of napkins.” As she rattles off my order, her flirty smile shifts into a sad one. She fills the cup with ice and says, “I called Kaitie on my break, and she was still bouncing off the walls over our win.”

  I want to be witty. I want to be flirty and knock Justin down a peg. Hell, I’d settle for being boring and comfortable—but nothing comes out. For the first time in our friendship, I am completely without words.

  Aly gets the rest of my order together, pulling a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and scurrying to the butter station. Justin stands beside me, slurping on his Coke.

  After collecting my change, I take out my phone and make a production out of checking the time. “Movie’s gonna start, so we should get going.” I grasp Justin’s shoulder and push. “Coming?”

  “Right behind you, man,” he says, shaking me off.

  Justin drums on the counter, waiting for me to leave, but I plant my feet.

  I can stand here all day.

  His eyes dart from me to Aly, who watches us both in confusion. Finally, he gives her a tight-lipped smile. “See you tonight, Aly.”

  Justin’s Jeep is parked in my driveway. We’ve been sitting here in silence for going on three minutes. Three minutes doesn’t seem like much—a commercial break, the average length of a song—but sitting for that long, waiting for Justin to man up about making a move on Aly, feels like an eternity.

  Wanting to speed things along so I can get the hell out of here, I throw off my seatbelt and put my hand on the door handle.

  “Hey, Brandon, can we talk for a second?”

  I sigh and lean back in the seat.

  Justin fingers the Mardi Gras garter belt hanging on his rearview mirror. “Why did you break up with Aly?”

  “You know why,” I answer, narrowing my eyes. If he knows something about our deal, he better spill it. “We decided we were better off as friends.”

  He nods, as if that was what he expected. “So you don’t have feelings for her then?”

  I shift in my seat and drag my hand over my face, trying to decide how best to answer. But I shouldn’t have bothered.
<
br />   “Because I want to ask her out,” he admits. “But if you have a problem with that, I won’t.”

  I squeeze the back of my neck to keep myself from saying what I’d like to. Because the truth is, Aly isn’t mine anymore. She damn sure isn’t my fake girlfriend, and lately it doesn’t even feel like she’s my friend. She made it clear she thinks being with Justin and getting her heart broken is what she needs to do. She’ll have to learn the hard way.

  “Do whatever you want, Justin. I don’t care who Aly dates.”

  Drew would’ve called me on my B.S.immediately, but Justin grins. “Thanks, man.”

  With a nod, I throw open the door.

  ALY

  ALY’S HOUSE, 9:45 p.m.

  The party is raging. A steady stream of partygoers started arriving a half hour ago with no end in sight. People are everywhere. They’re in the kitchen, attacking what’s left of the party spread. They’re crowded on sofas, clustered on counters, and standing in groups around the pool. Even more are dancing in the halls.

  Music pounds the walls of my living room, almost eclipsing the sound of the couple getting hot and heavy on the loveseat next to where I’m standing—not hiding, exactly—in the back corner.

  A plastic cup floats before my eyes a second before a whiff of spicy aftershave tickles my nose. “Hiding out, huh?”

  I sigh at the familiar voice behind me. Accepting the cup, I toss the liquid back and let the bitter taste of beer douse my parched throat. “I’m not hiding, Adam. More like, observing from a distance.”

  He chuckles. “Ah, I see the distinction. Seriously, Aly, what are you doing tucked in the shadows next to the soft porn?” He tilts his head toward the couple getting it on next to me and wrinkles his nose. Despite the hurt that still lingers from our breakup, I laugh.

  “I don’t know,” I say, deciding to confide a little. When we were together, Adam was a good friend. And an excellent listener. “It’s just—I’m sure you’ve noticed the, ahem, improvements to my wardrobe since we dated last year?”

  He smirks. “Now that you mention it.”

  I sweep my hand down my current outfit, the sleeveless-white-top-and-belt/skirt ensemble. “Kara’s handiwork, if you couldn’t tell.”

  Adam leans back to appraise the outfit. “Can I ask what was wrong with the old Aly?”

  I bite back my first response: Wouldn’t you know? Instead I ask, “The truth?” He nods, and I take a breath. “I got tired being that girl. You know, the one everyone thinks of as a friend and whose own boyfriend ends up feeling the same way.” I shoot him a look, and Adam winces. “I guess I wanted to see how the other half lives for once. Be popular, have adventures, get noticed. Surge with confidence.”

  His kind eyes study my hunched shoulders plastered against the wall. “And how’s that working?”

  “It’s not.” I roll my eyes and release a breath. “I mean, sure, I’m not invisible anymore. I nearly flashed the entire senior class fifteen minutes ago in the belt of a skirt Kara insisted I wear. If that and feeling completely awkward and uncomfortable in your own living room while people size you up like a slab of beef counts, then yeah. I’m rocking this.” I hang my head and pretend-sob. “Do I not look as though I’m surging with confidence?”

  The soft smile on his face says no for him. “Listen, I know I’m the last person you want to hear this from—” Someone turns up the music, and Adam leans in. “—but there was nothing wrong with the old Aly.”

  My chest grows tight, and a knot twists in my stomach. Chelsea is dancing with a group of girls a few feet away. She looks back and smiles at us, clearly not worried or jealous that her boyfriend is talking with me. And why should she be? He chose

  her.

  “I know I hurt you,” he says. “And I hate myself for that. But I liked the girl I dated. I even fell for her a little.” I look at him in shock, and Adam shrugs. “It didn’t stop me from falling for Chelsea, but that had nothing to do with you. We just weren’t meant to be.”

  I nod, my throat too thick to talk. He’s right. After the last month with Brandon, I realize my relationship with Adam didn’t even come close. And that had been pretend.

  Adam nudges my shoulder. “If it helps any, what you’re doing is working. Guys are definitely talking.”

  I smile halfheartedly as I take another sip of beer, my hungry eyes following the latest wave of people to arrive. Guys may be talking, but there’s one who still sees me, will always see me, as the same old Aly.

  Or, at least, the same Aly with a better wardrobe.

  Brandon joins a group of guys huddled around the keg Kara got Daniel to bring in the kitchen, and Lauren follows in his wake. My stomach twists.

  Did they come together?

  Adam waves a hand in front of my face. “You okay there, Ace?”

  Plastering a smile across my face, I nod. “I’m great.” I drain my cup and set it down in the planter in the corner. “Adam, would you like to dance?”

  BRANDON

  ALY’S HOUSE, 10:00 p.m.

  I brush off hands and walk past people trying to get my attention. I’m sure I look like a dick, but I’m a man on a mission. A masochistic one.

  Justin was walking up Aly’s driveway when I parked down the road, so I know he’s in here somewhere. Whether he went straight to making his move or stopped to hit on a few girls along the way is the only question. I edge through a crowd cheering on some idiot with a beer bong and push my way into the living room. Bodies dance on top of each other and it’s hard to pick anyone out, but I quickly find Aly.

  She’s in the middle of the floor dancing with Adam. He whispers something in her ear, and her eyes close as she laughs. A warmth hits my chest. Strands of hair stick to her flushed cheeks, and as she gathers her hair in a ponytail off her neck, I wonder how we’ll ever get our friendship back if I can’t stop wanting more every time I see her.

  I finally find Justin on the outskirts of the room, eyes tracking Aly as fiercely as my own, waiting to make his move.

  What will she say?

  The questions have been driving me crazy all afternoon. Of course she’ll say yes. That was the point of this whole thing. Will she call me to talk about it? As much as I want our friendship back on track, I don’t think I can stomach that conversation.

  The song ends and another begins. Justin stalks across the room. My jaw clenches as he clasps Adam on the shoulder, leaning in to speak with him. Adam nods, hugs Aly, and disappears into the crowd.

  Aly’s hands are behind her back, and she fidgets with the ring on her finger as she bounces on her toes. Justin lowers his head to whisper in her ear, and then they start dancing. Even from here, I can see her blue eyes sparkle.

  She looks happy. Like a jackass, it makes my gut tighten because I’m not the one putting that look in her eyes.

  As much as I’d love to, I know I can’t go break them up. But I also need to know what happens. I look for a place to sit so I’m not just standing around gawking like a loser, then head for the sofa. A tortilla chip crunches under my heel, crumbling into Aly’s carpet, and I park my ass on the arm of the large sectional sofa.

  “Hey there, handsome.”

  I look down and see Lauren on the sofa beside me, straightening her back to display her cleavage to better advantage. The smile on her face says she knows exactly what she is doing. I turn back to the dance floor, and she yells over the music, “Wanna dance?”

  “Nah, I’m just chilling,” I say, squinting in an attempt to read Aly’s lips.

  “Cool.” Lauren inches closer on the sofa. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

  “Not really.” Did Aly just say yes? To what?

  “Maybe a drink would cool me down.” She bumps my knee with her empty cup, and I glance down. Actually, that may help.

  “Sure,” I tell her, taking the hint and the cup. “I’ll be right back.”

  I take the long way around the room, creeping closer toward Aly and Justin, but the music makes it i
mpossible to eavesdrop. He’s probably asking her out right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I failed. Failed to redirect her from Justin, failed to convince her she’s a Commitment, and failed to keep our friendship from falling apart.

  I grab the vodka and two-liter of Sprite off the kitchen counter and bring them to the island, my eyes never straying from the disaster unfolding on the dance floor. As I pour the drink into an empty cup, Justin speaks in Aly’s ear again. She glances up and meets my gaze.

  ALY

  ALY’S HOUSE, 10:14 p.m.

  “I hope it’s not too soon,” Justin screams into my ear, “but I’d like to take you out some time.”

  Wrenching my eyes away from Brandon’s, I focus on the guy in front of me.

  Did Justin Carter just ask me out?

  “Seriously?” I ask, my voice breaking in disbelief.

  He nods slowly, looking almost worried. “Friday night?”

  My feet stop moving. I lose the connection between my mouth and brain. Someone bumps me from behind, but I continue staring in confusion. When the left side of his mouth kicks up in a lopsided grin, I realize he’s waiting for an answer.

  “Y-yeah,” I stammer. “That would be great.”

  “Good.” He pulls me closer and adjusts his steps to the slower beat now playing on the stereo. He lifts my chin to look into my eyes. “I really like you, Aly.”

  Holy cannoli.

  I lay my head on Justin’s chest and breathe in his minty scent. Across the room, Kara points a finger between us, and when I nod, answering her unspoken question, she does a happy dance.

  “Gabi! Picture!” Kara’s voice travels over the music as she flags down Gabi like an air-traffic controller to where Justin and I stand.

  Gabi pushes people out of her way, not-accidently bumping into Lauren’s lap in the process. Lauren sneers, and Gabi leans in to tell her something, ending with a pointed finger right at my waist, which is wearing Justin’s arm like a belt.

  Lauren’s eyes narrow and she turns her head away—but not before mouthing the word slut.