The Fine Art of Pretending

by Rachel Harris

  When I notice him biting off a smile, I wrench my hand back.

  “You’re laughing at me,” I accuse through clenched teeth.

  He schools his features. “Aly, I’m sorry, but you should’ve seen yourself.” He pauses to cough, an obvious attempt to subdue further laughter at my expense, and says, “You looked like you were performing some type of tribal war dance or something.”

  Sulking, I nurse my injuries as balls continue to fly past our faces. Then my vivid imagination takes over, conjuring up a possible vision of my “performance,” and a graceful snort escapes. Justin looks up in relief.

  “It still hurts,” I tell him, “and you should’ve done a better job hiding your pleasure in my pain—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “T-t-t. Shh, I’m speaking,” I say with a begrudging grin. “But I can see where it may have been a little comical to witness. Although, I assure you, there was nothing funny in the actual experience.”

  “I’d think not.” He straightens my arm and lightly runs his finger along the growing red welt across my palm.

  “Please tell me that burnt-rubber smell is not my hand.” I sniff the air, looking for another possible source, and Justin rolls his eyes.

  “That smell is the hot rubber from the wheels on the pitching machine, you goofball,” he says with a shake of his head.

  At the front of the cage, the red light turns off and the yellow light clicks on, indicating the end of the turn. Justin stands, dusts the back of his jeans, and grabs his bat. I begin pulling myself up, and he leans down again.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he carries me across the threshold of the cage as if it’s our honeymoon.

  “You’re injured,” he says, breathing easily as he walks past the trophy case. “I’m taking care of you.”

  “My legs aren’t injured, you idiot.” I cast an embarrassed glance around, taking in the amused onlookers, and bury my head in the crook of his neck.

  “We’ve gotta pick better pet names than ‘goofball’ and ‘idiot’ if this relationship is going to work,” he says, ignoring my struggling attempts to climb out of his arms.

  Relationship?

  A sinking feeling creeps into my stomach, and the silly, lighthearted feeling I’d grasped so tenuously slips away.

  He nods at the portly gentleman holding the front door open. “Thank you.”

  We arrive at the Jeep, but instead of putting me down as he jiggles the keys out of his pocket, he simply leans back and shifts the additional weight to his chest. He then opens the passenger door, carefully sets me down, and proceeds to buckle me in.

  “I’m not completely helpless, you know,” I tell him, thrown by his surprising tender side. Where’s the legendary player I bargained for?

  “I’m nothing if not thorough.” He meets my eyes and gently presses a kiss against the raw flesh of my palm. When he attempts to mimic the gesture on my lips, I keep my mouth pressed tight and make an awkward smacking sound.

  Justin leans back and gazes into my eyes. I’m sure he’s never had a Casual do that on a date before. At least I’m memorable. “Sorry, I’m just not feeling well.”

  “I understand.” He gives me a small, tight-lipped smile, then closes my door, and I throw my head against the doorjamb.

  Three weeks. Homecoming is in three weeks. Ever since Brandon told me about the Casuals and Commitments, my goal has been to get Justin interested and then ask me to the dance. It’s finally within my grasp, and I’m screwing it all up.

  Brandon was only supposed to be an assist—not the target. If I give everything up now just because I realized I’m in love with a boy who will never love me back, not only will I be an idiot, but I’ll be an idiot who threw our friendship away for nothing. There’s no way we can come back from the damage I’ve done. The only thing I can do is stick to the game plan and somehow find a way to get over Brandon.

  Tonight, Justin proved he can be more than just a goal in a crazy scheme. Buried deep down inside his player exterior is actually a surprisingly great guy who can maybe even make a good boyfriend. Maybe it’s been him all along that I’m meant to be with, the guy to break my curse and prove that I’m a Casual.

  My brain has everything figured out. Now I just need my heart to get with the program.

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 12TH

  2 weeks and 6 days until Homecoming

  BRANDON

  BRANDON’S HOUSE, 11:30 a.m.

  Eminem blares out of the speakers, urging me on as I pound the heavy bag, sending it swinging on its chains. I draw a ragged breath and deliver a right cross, slamming the bag into the wall of the garage. The metal shelf shakes, and I reach out to save a box of Christmas decorations from smashing onto the concrete floor. I put them on the ground, then turn back to land a roundhouse.

  My workouts have certainly improved the past two weeks.

  I ran out here as soon as church ended, desperate for an outlet. We sat with Aly’s family again, but she wouldn’t even look at me. When the service ended, I heard our moms whispering about some date and looking at me in concern. Fuck that.

  My cell phone vibrates on the toolbox, shaking the nuts and bolts together with a metallic clink. I lean over to read the display, hope burning out the exhaustion in my chest. But it’s Lauren.

  I press ignore, sending her to voicemail. Then I turn back and plow into the bag again. I go until my chest burns with the need for oxygen, and then I go a little more.

  Justin fell for the game, just like Aly expected. And he wasted no time in making his play, my history with her and our friendship be damned.

  If he hurts her…

  My vibrating phone sets off another round of metallic clinking. Sweat pours off me and I peel off my shirt, using it to sop up the mixture of sweat, dirt, and dust clinging to my body. I throw off my gloves, chugging my water bottle with a shaking hand as I silence the buzz. This time, I know it’s not Aly. What I don’t know is if it ever will be her again.

  Holding the phone, I consider texting Aly myself, getting it out in the open and fighting for our friendship. But I can’t. My head’s too messed up, jealous about her date with Justin and terrified that I’m not just falling for her, but that I’ve already fallen. Aly can’t know those things. They don’t change anything.

  The house alarm’s beep beep breaks into my inner-tirade, and Mom leans against the laundry room door. Frowning, she turns off the music. “My walls were shaking so hard I thought they discovered another fault line in Texas.” She reaches back inside for a towel and throws it at me. “Want to talk about anything?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’m okay,” I tell her, breathing heavy. “Thanks, though.”

  Her pinched eyes say she’s still worried, and she walks over and kisses the top of my head. “Well, if you’re not gonna talk, then go take a shower. You stink.”

  Swatting her thigh with the towel, I laugh. “Glad to see you putting the Parenting with Self-Esteem training to use.”

  “Boy, if I thought you had a self-esteem problem, we’d be having a whole other conversation.” She steps back inside the laundry room and says, “Now, hurry up, we’re going out for lunch. I’m in the mood for something spicy.”

  The door closes and my phone goes off again. I read Lauren’s X-rated text, and, realizing what I have to do, I reply.

  ALY

  ALY’S HOUSE, 1:45 p.m.

  “And then what happened?” Gabi asks, digging a spoon into the pint of Chunky Monkey between us. We’re in the middle of my queen-size bed rehashing my date. Between practice, our rec game, and then a slammed day at work, I was too wiped to give any details yesterday, so my friends took matters into their own hands, showing up with calorie-laden goodness.

  “Justin took me to his house, made an icepack for my hand, and cooked us omelets for dinner.” I lick my spoon as I replay the night in my mind. “He’s completely different than I expected.”

  Kara opens her bag of veggies, picks out a celery stick, an
d takes a healthy, tasteless bite. “Did you get to meet his stinking rich parents?”

  “No, they weren’t home.” Their eyes widen, and I shake my head. “Nothing happened. I’m telling y’all, he’s not as bad as people say.”

  What I don’t tell them is that when I wasn’t trying to distract him from making out in the empty house, I got him to talk about why it was empty. Looking around his enormous living room, it didn’t just look like no one was home; it looked like no one even lived there. After gentle prodding, Justin admitted his dad pretty much lives out of a suitcase, traveling for work, and his stepmom is more concerned with spa treatments and social events than playing homemaker. From the way he describes it, I gather any scrap of maternal instinct she does possess goes straight to his stepbrother Chase.

  Seeing Justin in his house, getting a look behind the curtain, added another layer to the mystery. I can’t imagine what it would be like growing up without my parents constantly in my life, wanting to know every detail and planning ridiculous family-bonding nights.

  “If nothing happened,” Kara says with a look implying she doesn’t believe that at all, “what did you do all night?”

  “I didn’t say nothing happened. I said nothing much happened.” It’s not my place to spread Justin’s dirty family laundry, and it’s not as if we only talked. I wrinkle my nose at their eager expressions. “We kissed.”

  Gabi folds her pillow in half and shoves it under her chin. “Why do I get the feeling it wasn’t all stardust and moonbeams?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. Justin’s great. But something just felt…off.” I bite my lip and twist the silky fabric of my throw pillow, waging an inner battle over how much I can tell my friends. The weight of dishonesty is oppressive, but if I come clean now, they’ll hate me.

  I’ve already lost Brandon. I can’t lose Gabi and Kara, too.

  But I also can’t ignore the clawing in my throat and chest anymore. I desperately need to talk to my friends, to hear them say these feelings for Brandon will go away. That the pieces of my heart will one day glue back together and someday we can even be friends again. That one day I will actually be able to breathe when I think about him. Or talk over the lump in my throat when his name comes up, or I imagine him with some other girl.

  The decorative ruffle on the pillow rips, and I stare at the jagged fabric in my hands. The least I can do is be honest about how I feel. Sitting up, I tuck my legs under me and admit, “I need help.”

  Their eyes widen at the tears in my eyes. Gabi and Kara lean forward simultaneously in support, and guilt tears through me, making me feel even smaller, even weaker. How amazing would it feel to be completely honest, to let them know how badly I messed everything up and how much I lost?

  “When Justin kissed me,” I say, preemptively wincing at what I’m about to reveal, “I couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon.”

  Kara blinks. “Yikes. Sucks to be Justin.”

  Gabi reaches over and smacks the back of her head. “Way to go, Ms. Sensitivity. We’re supposed to be supporting Aly right now.”

  “No, she’s right.” I groan and fall back against the bed, digging my hands into my eyes. “That about sums it up. What is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing,” Gabi assures me, wiggling my foot. “You’re just confused.”

  “No, I completely suck as a human being,” I mumble, reaching for the pint of ice cream. “Who goes out with the hottest guy in school and freaking fantasizes about being with someone else?”

  “Um, not to be obtuse again, but Brandon’s pretty hot, too,” Kara cuts in.

  Gabi shoots her a glare. “Aly, I’m sure—”

  “And it’s not like the person I’m fantasizing about is wasting any time pining for me,” I continue, digging a heart-shaped trench through the center with my spoon. “I doubt my face floats in Brandon’s mind when he’s off sucking face with his flavor of the week.”

  Gabi pries my hand away from the carton. “Have you even seen him with anyone lately? I don’t recall a single girl draped on his arm since before y’all hooked up. Maybe he is thinking about you. ”

  Kara sprawls beside me and runs her fingers through my hair. “Are you really this upset just because you thought about Brandon? I mean, everyone fantasizes and plays the what-if game, Aly. It’s perfectly normal behavior.”

  “But that’s not fair to Justin,” I say wearily. “He’s been so sweet and understanding. He deserves better than to have me thinking of some other dude whenever he kisses me.”

  “What about the other, non-kissing stuff?” Gabi asks. “Does that feel off, too?”

  I lift a shoulder. “He makes me laugh. And he definitely has the 411 on what girls like to hear. He’s almost too smooth to be honest.” I pause. “But, even though he opened up about some family stuff, we don’t really talk or have a lot in common.”

  Not like Brandon and me.

  “Talking’s overrated.” Kara looks up from braiding my hair and points at me with narrowed eyes. “And I’m still not buying that’s what made you all leaky-eyed. Spill it.”

  I shift under the scrutiny and throw Gabi a look, but she joins in with her own intent stare. I huff and sink further into the pillows. “Well, it’s not just that I thought about him during our date. I kinda realized something huge after Justin kissed me.”

  Gabi nods, a smug smile creeping onto her face, and Kara’s fingers stop braiding.

  “I’m in love with Brandon.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  Gabi rolls her eyes. “I said duh. As in, ‘no duh.’ An expression meant to convey the sentiment of Where the hell have you been? and Are you seriously just figuring this out?”

  I look at Kara, who shrugs in response. “Wait, I knew y’all thought we were hot for each other, but there’s a huge difference between that and me being in love with the guy.”

  “Well, yeah,” Kara admits. “But once you got together, the love part was pretty obvious.”

  I gape at them incredulously. “And no one thought they should clue me in?”

  “Sweetie, don’t even.” Gabi pushes up on her elbows. “Every time we’ve brought up our thoughts on the Brandon situation, you’ve bitten our heads off. Besides, we thought you knew. Like Kara said, it was pretty obvious.”

  Awesome. If it was so obvious, then Brandon must know, too. No wonder he wanted out.

  Kara scoots up and grabs my hand. “So what are you going to do?”

  I sigh and lay my head on her bony shoulder. “What can I do? Brandon broke up with me. This earth-shattering news doesn’t change that. But it’s probably not fair to keep dating Justin, right? When I’m in love with someone else?”

  Gabi digs out a heaping spoon of ice cream and hands it to me. “Not to fall bias to gender stereotypes, but I honestly don’t think Justin will care if you use him. I doubt he’s out looking for a serious relationship here. You’ve seen the girls he usually dates.”

  I lick my spoon and think about Lauren.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with just having fun sometimes.” Kara bumps my shoulder. “Live a little. Flirt, loosen up, have an adventure. Do something completely un-Aly-like for once.”

  I almost laugh aloud. Kara just described the exact type of girl I have been trying to become. A Casual.

  “Kara, you’re right. I probably should just shut up and enjoy it.” I take a deep breath. “But I’m starting to think maybe I’m just not built that way.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a long time.

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 13TH

  2 weeks and 5 days until Homecoming

  ALY

  FAIRFIELD ACADEMY, 12:00 p.m.

  The cafeteria hierarchy established itself the first day of ninth grade. It’s wrong on so many levels, just like the guys’ chauvinistic ranking system, but it exists. And for the last three years, it’s been comfortable. Lunch used to be the one period I coul
d count on in the school day not to cause anxiety. That was before I started dating Justin.

  As I slide my bright orange tray along the stainless steel rails in the kitchen, inhaling the aroma of greasy pizza and fries, I think about the mess I’ve made. My first two weeks eating with the Beautiful People were fine. Even though Brandon and I were just pretending, sitting beside him felt right. As though I belonged, even though I didn’t.

  But sitting next to Justin—whom I’m legitimately dating—while staring across the table at Brandon—whom I actually love—is nothing short of awkward.

  Justin reaches across me for my tray and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Please curb the PDA until I have something in my stomach,” Gabi grumbles behind us. “I’d rather not dry heave today.”

  He smiles and nods for me to walk ahead of him. “You’re funny, Gabi. How did I not know that?”

  She shrugs. “Could it be you were too busy sucking face with a bunch of skanks to notice the brilliant females around you?”

  I shoot her a murderous look, but Justin just flings his head back and laughs.

  If I survive the next forty minutes, it’ll be a miracle.

  Grabbing my plastic carton of milk, I wait as Justin pays. Posters for the upcoming dance and talent show decorate the path to our table. As I sit down, feeling the squish of dropped French fries under my ballet flats, I realize Justin hasn’t mentioned Homecoming yet. And time is ticking.

  “Anyone thinking about entering the talent show?” I ask the table at large, hoping I can steer the conversation to include the dance the following weekend.

  Gabi dusts crumbs off her seat and plops down next to me. “Y’all know the whole thing was Aly’s idea.” She nudges me with an elbow, then folds her huge slice of pizza and shoves it into her mouth.

  “Not the whole thing,” I clarify. “It was Lauren’s idea to make the talent show a fundraiser and move it later in the day.”