Mia texts her driver and tells him he doesn’t need to pick her up after school cuz she’s riding with me, and I’m kind of bummed that I offered to drive her home. I should’ve ridden with her, instead. How cool would it be to have your own personal chauffeur?
“So, does he pick you up in a limo?” I tease.
“Only when we’re going to events and stuff. He uses the Lincoln around town.” Holy shit, they really do have a limo. I mean, why wouldn’t they? Her parents are like Hollywood royalty.
My Jeep, which I used to think was the coolest, is now kind of embarrassing. Mia doesn’t snub her nose at it, though, and I like that about her. She seems… real. Not fake like a celebrity or even most of the people I usually hang around with. Pretty much everyone I know is a poser, trying to keep up a certain image. I guess I’m kind of like that, too.
But Mia just is what she is — a little dorky, maybe, but funny, and smart. Sassy. She’s cute, too. Not gorgeous like Chloe, but just pretty in a simple way, and she doesn’t seem to care about trying to impress people with designer clothes or tons of makeup. I like that about her, too.
When we get in the Jeep, she’s twisting her fingers and playing with the zipper on her bag like she’s nervous, so I try to make small talk.
“What’s your family like? Your dad’s a movie director, right? Have you ever been on set with him?”
“Once in a while. More when I was younger.”
“I bet you’ve met lots of celebrities, huh?”
“I guess so.” She keeps her eyes on her book bag.
“Anyone really cool?”
She shrugs. “They’re just people.” I guess she’s not too into celebrities. She must see the disappointment in my face, though, because she throws me a bone.
“Chris Hemsworth came over for dinner a few weeks ago. My dad’s working on his latest movie.”
“Really? That’s so awesome. What was he like?”
“Big,” is all she says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“So, have you ever had a part in one of your dad’s movies?”
“No.” She smashes her lips together and shakes her head. I want to ask why — she was really good in the play, but I can tell it’s a sore subject, so I don’t push it, even though I’m really curious now.
“But my sister has a small part in his next one. The one with Hemsworth,” she says, and I think she’s trying to distract me.
“Oh yeah? I didn’t know your sister was an actress. What else has she been in?”
“This is her first part, but she’s done some modeling. You’ve probably seen her picture before.” Her voice gets flat like she doesn’t like that topic any better.
“Does she look like you?” I ask, and that was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Mia tenses up.
“No, she looks like my mom.”
Her mom’s fame was a little before my time, but I know what she looks like, and it’s nothing like Mia. Is Mia sensitive about her looks? Maybe I should change the subject.
“Do you have any other siblings?”
Mia glances at me, and the look on her face tells me that topic isn’t any better. Damn, I’m usually a lot better with girls than this.
She sighs and says, “I have a brother. Evan Black.”
The name sounds familiar, and I wrack my brain for a minute, trying to figure out how I know it. Suddenly, I see that name on the back of a jersey. “Wait a minute, is that the same Evan who plays—”
“For the Lakers.” She fills in the blank.
My jaw drops open. “Oh wow! Holy shit, Mia. Your family really is famous.” She cringes.
“Sorry. I guess you probably get sick of all the crazed fans. I promise I’m not like that.” At least, I’ll try not to be, but her family is freakin’ awesome.
“What about you? What’s your family like?” she asks, and it’s my turn to be embarrassed. My family is just plain and boring middle class, nothing as exciting as hers.
“Nothing special. My dad’s a lawyer, my mom works with him at the firm, and I have a younger brother and sister in elementary school. Just regular people.”
Finally, something that makes her smile. “I like regular people.”
“Well, maybe next time I’ll take you to my house, then.” That earns me another smile.
I turn on the radio, and my favorite band is playing. “I love this song!” we both say at the same time.
“You like Twenty One Pilots?” I turn it down a notch so I can talk over it.
“Yeah, they’re awesome. Their sound is unique, you know? Not like all the other pop artists out there. And they make it look cool to be geeky. Which one of their songs is your favorite?”
“Probably ‘Heathens,’ from the movie—”
“Suicide Squad!” she says at the same time as me.
I tilt my head and cock an eyebrow at her. “You like Suicide Squad?”
“Yeah, it was great, I love snarky superhero movies. Deadpool was even better, though.”
I shake my head, grinning, happy we finally found something to talk about that didn’t make her squirm. Who would’ve guessed we’d have that in common? We talk about movies for a while and it turns out we have a lot of the same favorites.
“Why do you go to a school so far away from where you live?” I suddenly realize we’ve been driving for more than 30 minutes. We go to a charter school, but it’s not like it’s anything special. I’m sure there are ones just as good that are a lot closer to her. I’m pretty sure her brother didn’t go to our school, either. Or her sister.
Her face crinkles, and I realize the answer embarrasses her, but she still tells me. “I didn’t want to go to school with a bunch of celebrity kids and rich people. I was hoping I’d fit in better at a normal school. It didn’t really work, but at least I had anonymity. Until yesterday, that is.” She sighs and fiddles with her bag, a plain, black backpack. She’s right. I don’t think anybody at our school knew who she was, or who her family was until the story came out at the play. Looking at her, you’d never guess her family is rich and famous.
Chloe always has to wear designer labels and flaunt her status, but Mia is the opposite, and it’s kind of refreshing. But it’s almost like she’s trying too hard not to stand out. So why does she want me to pretend to be her boyfriend? If people knew who she was, they probably would’ve been jumping to get in with her. So, why does she think she needs me to boost her reputation? I’m happy to play along, though. The whole thing works out good for me, too.
Mia directs me to her house, or should I say mansion, and has me park in front of the main entrance, behind a spraying water fountain. The driveway is wide enough for at least three cars, so I guess I won’t be in the way here.
We climb the marble steps up to a set of wide, fancy, wood doors made out of wrought iron and glass. There’s a camera above us, and I almost expect the door to open on its own, but instead, Mia punches a code into a keypad.
She swings the door open into a foyer that looks like the set of her mother’s soap opera, all marble flooring and high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a huge staircase that curls up to the second level. Okay, there’s no way I’m taking her to my place, now. I thought our house was nice, but it looks like a slum compared to this place. I gasp and throw my head back to take it all in. I’m gawking, I know, and I try to get a hold of myself when Mia glances at me.
“Nice place,” I mutter, and she giggles at me.
A plump, gray-haired woman in a maid’s uniform comes out to investigate our entrance. “Good afternoon, Miss Mia and…” She raises an eyebrow at me like I don’t belong here.
“Hey Berta, this is Austin. He’s… I’m… we’re… going upstairs. To do homework.” Mia’s cheeks turn red, and she flaps her hands towards the staircase.
Berta nods at me. Am I supposed to shake her hand, say, “nice to meet you,” or something? Or do you not do that with staff? I just nod back and hope that’s appropriate.
The maid turns her ju
dgmental eyebrow towards Mia. “Will your friend be staying for dinner? Shall I alert Chef Cummings?” They have their own chef? Of course they do.
Mia turns to look at me, and I shake my head. There’s no way I’m staying for dinner. I’d probably make a total fool of myself in front of everyone. Even Mia’s staff is higher class than me. “No, I’ve got… a thing… later… that I have to be at.”
Mia smirks at me, and she probably sees right through me, but I don’t think she’s looking down on me. She’s not pretentious like that. I mean, sure, she might think I’m an arrogant jerk, but she’s probably right about that. If anything, she thinks I’m better than her because of my popularity, but now that I know where she comes from, that doesn’t make much sense.
“I’m gonna get a snack. You hungry?” She starts walking towards the back of the house, passing elegant rooms full of antique furniture that look like nobody ever uses them.
“Uh, sure.” It’s just a snack, right? I hope it won’t be anything too weird that I won’t know how to eat.
I follow her into an enormous kitchen, half the size of my house, with miles of shiny, granite countertops and industrial-size appliances. It smells amazing, like warm bread, fresh herbs, and some kind of chicken soup that’s simmering on the stovetop, and I wish I hadn’t been so quick to turn down dinner. The chef must be taking a break, because nobody’s in here.
Mia opens the door to a pantry as big as my bedroom filled with all kinds of fancy, imported snacks I don’t recognize. She points out some options. “Rosemary kale chips? Seaweed sesame grain bars? Wasabi licorice sticks?” My face freezes, and Mia laughs and jabs me with her elbow then grabs a bag of Doritos and some BBQ chips, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Just teasing. No normal person wants that crap. Cheesy, or BBQ-y?”
“I’ll take cheesy.” I point to the Doritos.
“Oh, you like cheesy things, huh? I guess you’ll like my jokes, then.” She cackles and hands me the chips, and its ridiculous and hilarious, and so different from all the other girls I’ve been with, and I think I’m gonna like hanging out with this girl.
She grabs some sodas from the fridge and tosses me one, but her aim is terrible, and I leap to catch it before it hits the ground.
“Mia! A little warning might help!”
“Sorry, I thought you could catch better than that.” She smirks and chuckles then heads towards the stairs, popping the tab on her soda and guzzling it.
When we get to her room, I think we’re in the wrong place because it’s nothing like I expected. I mean, it looks exactly like the rest of the house, full of antique furniture and expensive fabrics, but it looks nothing like Mia.
“This is your room?” I finger the wallpaper; it’s textured in some fancy, swirly pattern. Everything is some shade of cream or ivory.
“Yeah, I didn’t get much choice in the decor.” She shrugs and dumps her backpack on the bed, messing up the silky bedspread that was stretched perfectly smooth like a maid in a hotel made it, not a teenager. I guess Berta probably did.
Mia flops down on the bed and kicks off her boots with a dramatic groan then throws an arm over her face. “Ugh. Those shoes were killing me.”
“Then why did you wear them?” I chuckle, leaning against her desk.
She pulls the arm away and sits up. “I thought they looked better than tennis shoes.”
I quirk my lips, conceding the point. She’s right, but I’m glad guys aren’t expected to wear painful shoes just to look sexier.
“So, what do you want to work on first?” She shoves a couple chips in her mouth and crunches.
All of a sudden, humiliation douses my pride like a bucket of water poured on my head, and I’m too embarrassed to admit I need help with everything. Algebra is probably my worst subject, but I don’t want her to know how completely clueless I am. I stare at my feet for a minute instead of answering her.
She stands up and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Austin? It’s okay. I’m not gonna tell anybody. We made a deal, remember? You pretend I’m cool enough to be your girlfriend, and I pretend I’m dating you, not tutoring you. What class are you doing the worst in? Let’s start there.”
I grimace and wipe my face with my hands, sighing. “I’m totally lost in algebra.”
She smiles. “Okay, no problem. I happen to be great at algebra. Get out your stuff.”
I pull out the homework that stumped me yesterday and show it to Mia, and she walks me step by step through most of the problems till I finally start to understand what I’m doing. She doesn’t complain or act like I’m stupid when I need her to explain the same thing over and over again.
My biology homework is a little easier, and Mia teaches me how she uses the section headings to narrow down the search for answers then reads just the first sentence of each paragraph till she finds the right one. It’s a cool trick, especially since I usually forget what I read five seconds later when I’m reading a textbook.
Eventually, we move on to history, and I tell her about the project I’m supposed to do — make a timeline about the rise and fall of world powers.
“Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard. You just have to Google a bunch of dates and stuff. What have you got so far?”
I cringe and run a hand through my hair then pull on my lip. “Uh, nothing?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. It all seems so hard, and with football and basketball and Chloe and my friends all wanting my time, I guess I just got overwhelmed and stopped trying.”
She puts her hands on her hips, pushing out her chest, and I try to focus on her words and not her boobs. “Austin, if you want to pass your classes, you have to at least try to do the assignments. I’m sure you can handle most of them if you just make the effort. You might have to skip a party or two, but if you want to keep playing, you have to put your schoolwork first.”
I shake my head. “I know, but I’m too far behind, Mia. I’ll never get them all done.” I haven’t even told her about the research paper yet.
“Maybe not, but let’s do the most important things first. This history project is probably worth a lot of points, and it won’t take that long once you get started. I’m gonna go use the bathroom and get some blank paper from the office. We can tape it together to make a timeline. There should be some sticky notes in that drawer we can use to write down the events, then we can put them in order.”
Huh. That’s a pretty good idea. I never would’ve thought of that. I probably would’ve just started writing stuff and then had to erase everything when I missed something important and didn’t have room to squeeze it in.
Mia walks out of the room, and I pull open the top drawer of her desk, looking for the Post-Its. I see pens and pencils, highlighters and paperclips, but no sticky notes. They’re not in the next drawer I try, either, so I open a different one, feeling a little bit like a snoop.
They’re not in the third drawer, either, and I’m just about to give up when something catches my eye — a thick, yellow folder that says 11th grade Tests and Papers across the front in her girly handwriting, and others beneath it that say 9th and 10th grade. I open one up out of curiosity and see that she’s been saving her work from the last few years.
I flip through the papers, feeling a nauseating mix of amazement and humiliation. Every paper has an A, every test a 100%. Did she really get a perfect score on everything she’s ever turned in, or does she only keep the best ones? Either way, there are dozens of papers in here, so she has a long track record of awesomeness. I feel like such an idiot compared to her.
Suddenly, I realize that some of these tests are from classes I’m in now, and all the answers are right. There’s even a research paper on Emily Dickinson. My heart starts revving as an idea pops in my head. I flip the folder closed to look at the front. It’s the 9th grade one. She probably doesn’t get into this one much anymore. Would she even notice if a few things went missing?
I hear
footsteps outside the door, and I quickly shove the 9th grade folder in my book bag and put the other folders back in the drawer. I see the Post-It notes in the back of the drawer and grab them, closing the drawer right before Mia walks in. My heart is pounding, my hands sweating, and I’m sure I have a guilty look on my face, but amazingly, Mia doesn’t seem to notice.
She’s got a small stack of copy paper and a roll of tape, and she plunks them down on the desk. “Oh good, you found the stickies.” She smiles at me, and I force a smile back.
Chapter Ten
Mia
“Hunky boyfriend alert at 6 o’clock.” Kerri’s face lights up and she wiggles her eyebrows.
I whip around to see Austin heading my way. He’s wearing a big smile, faded, low-slung jeans that hang just right off his hips, and a shirt that clings to his chest like someone poured caramel sauce over him. Yum. I’d lick that.
“Hey Mia.” He props an arm up on the locker next to me and leans against it. “We’ve got an audience. Want to give ‘em a show?”
I’m not even sure what he means, but I start to nod involuntarily, and Austin slides his other arm around my waist and pulls me into him. His lips meet mine, and the fantasy is complete because he tastes like a caramel macchiato. He nips and sucks my lip, and I try to keep up with him, and my pounding heart is cheering me on. I can hear Kerri groaning in the background, or maybe that’s me, or maybe even Austin, but either way, kissing him is better than the most delicious dessert. As soon as he pulls away, I want another taste.
“Whoa, that was… convincing.” Kerri puts a hand on my back to keep me from swooning.
“You must be Kerri.” Austin gives her one of his killer smiles, and now Kerri’s holding on to me for support.
“The one and only. Mia’s bestie. Conveniently single if you’ve got any eligible friends. I know all about your deal, so you don’t have to pretend around me—” She jabbers, and I ram an elbow into her stomach to shut her up, but Austin just grins.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
My Fake Valentine Page 6
