What would my mom have said if she were here? Just thinking about it made my stomach churn. Maybe Mia had come around at the right time.
Mom would’ve liked her.
As I waited for Mia to finish her notes, I saw her look up from her scribbling and blink hard. Something at the end of the hallway had caught her attention. She stared at it, horror filling her eyes. “Wait. What’s he doing here?”
I followed her gaze to a man stumbling through the school doors. He had to be about my dad’s age, with dark brown hair, a thick five o’clock shadow, and a slightly wrinkled shirt. He was greeting people walking in the opposite direction, talking loud enough to attract some concerned glances.
“Who is that?” I asked.
I couldn’t help myself. It didn’t seem possible that a girl like Mia could know someone like that. The slurred way he spoke made it obvious that he’d been drinking and probably had a bit too much. He wasn’t a teacher, and I’d never seen him at any of the games before now.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and her nostrils flared. “I don’t want to say.”
Now she was making me nervous. I had to know.
“Mia, who is that?”
Her eyes opened, and shame washed over her face. “That’s…my dad. He must’ve walked here from the bar.”
It took me a second to comprehend what she’d said. My gaze flicked back and forth between the girl who I knew to be so in control of everything around her, to the man who was currently tripping on his own shoes and leaning against the wall for support. The two didn’t add up. That couldn’t be Mia’s dad. It just wasn’t possible.
But the deadly pale color of Mia’s face declared it was the truth. For the first time since we’d met, she looked small and fragile to me. Gone was strong Warrior Mia, who could put anyone in their place. The shame of seeing her dad like this at school was making her shrink.
I hated seeing her like that. Something had to be done. Mia shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.
“Don’t worry,” I said, giving her a serious frown. “I’ll take care of this.”
I left Mia standing in the hallway, her hand half-covering her face. Mr. Jackson had managed to prop himself up on a water fountain. He smiled at me as I approached, his eyes blurry.
“Hello, young man.”
“Hi, Mr. Jackson.” I ran a hand over my head and then offered it to him in greeting. “I’m Jimmy. I’m a friend of Mia’s.”
He beamed at me, his cheeks rosy. “My darling Mia. She’s such a good girl. You know she wants to be a writer, just like her daddy?”
“Actually, I did know that.” I gently put my arm over his shoulder and helped him lean against me. He was a nice man, even with the sloppiness. “I think Mia is expecting you back at home. Can I help you get a ride?”
“That would be wonderful.” He put his arm over me, and the rank scent of beer breath hit my nostrils. “Such a nice young man. Mia knows how to pick them, doesn’t she?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re the preacher’s kid, right? She likes you, you know.” He hiccupped and then fixed me with a blurry stare. “She’s been so happy. Not like before. I like to see my Mia happy.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Mia, still standing where I left her. She was watching us make our way to the back door, shame and worry still evident on her face. But as our eyes met, something passed between us. It was an emotion so strong that it almost took my breath away. Whatever it was, it seemed to snap her out of her funk. Straightening her spine, her expression neutral, she approached us and went to her dad’s other side to help stabilize him.
“My truck’s on the other side of the lot,” she said, pointing in the direction of her red pick-up. “I’m just going to take him home.”
It took a bit of effort to get Mr. Jackson there. He was easily distracted by the twinkling stars in the navy blue sky above and the cars we had to walk past. But eventually, I got him loaded in the bench seat of the truck and buckled in, where he immediately fell asleep and began to snore loudly. If it hadn’t been for the pained and tired expression on Mia’s face, I would’ve laughed at all of it.
“I’m so, so sorry for all of this.” Mia wrung her hands together and looked up at me, her eyes locking on mine. “He isn’t usually this bad. And he’s never come to school like this before. He always keeps it at the bar or at home.”
My chest tightened with sympathy for her as I softly closed the passenger door. “Does your mom know about this? About his drinking?”
She looked away, her lower lip quivering. “No.”
I had the sudden urge to kiss her, to chase away the sadness, but I held myself back. I couldn’t help it. She looked so depressed. Three weeks together, and I had no idea this kind of thing was going on at home for Mia. How had I missed it?
Suddenly, some of the things she’d said to me started to make sense. She’d made a big deal out of my dad making ice cream shakes for us. It seemed like even though her dad was still here, he was really gone. And her mom worked hours away. She had no one at home. It killed me to know that.
“Why haven’t you said anything to your mom? It sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s been out of control around you.”
Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes began to fill with tears, but she blinked them back. “If I tell her, she won’t let me live with him anymore. And I don’t think he’d survive if I left him, too. It’d destroy him. It would destroy me.”
My gut twinged with guilt so strong that I felt sick. I’d never imagined Mia was dealing with something like this in her personal life. I’d really never looked deeper than the surface.
She was strong. Far stronger than me. I don’t think I could’ve kept things together like she had for so long. It was no wonder she held everything else in her life with an iron grip.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said, pulling her into a hug. There was no more fighting it. I had to pull her in, to feel her close to me. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
At first, she stiffened against my chest. But a second later, her face pressed into my shirt, and she clung to me as if she’d needed this for a long time. I leaned my chin on the top of her head, once again breathing in the scent of coconut and soap.
And in that moment, I didn’t fight the flutters in my stomach or the strange light-headedness I got when she sighed contently. I allowed myself to just be there for her, in a way I’d never done for anyone before.
“Thank you.” Mia pushed off my chest and wiped away a tear that had trailed down her cheek. She smiled guiltily up at me and chuckled sadly. “Sorry if I ruined your shirt.”
I wouldn’t have cared if she’d splashed a bucket of acid on my t-shirt. Mia could cry on me any time she needed. It felt good to be useful to her—other than as a fake boyfriend. This was real. Maybe she didn’t have the same feelings I had for her, but she hadn’t faked that. She’d needed someone to hold her, and that person had been me. If nothing else, that counted for something.
“Text me if you need anything,” I said, helping her up into the driver’s seat.
Her lips quirked in a little smile as she leaned out the open window. She stared at me for a moment, emotions whirling in her eyes and making my stomach warm. The desire to kiss her flared inside me again, more powerful than ever, along with the need to ask her if there was any chance that things between us could become real. I almost did it, too. My body propelled me forward, but then she blinked and swallowed, leaning back into her seat.
“Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow at the Snow Ball?”
“Oh yeah. The ball. Can’t wait.” I managed to give her a half-hearted smile, even as disappointment kicked me square in the stomach. Another night of faking it. Joy. “’Night, Mia.”
“Goodnight, Jimmy.”
As I watched her drive away, there was only one conclusion I could come to: I was in
trouble—in a big way. Mia might not have felt anything for me, but that didn’t seem to stop my heart from falling.
I was setting myself up for some major pain.
15
Mia
Saturday morning felt like a dream. After I’d gotten my dad back home and safely tucked into bed last night, I’d been able to think about nothing else except for Jimmy and the Snow Ball tonight.
Wonderful, selfless Jimmy, who’d jumped into action the moment I needed him.
He could’ve mocked me when he saw my dad drunk at the basketball game. He could’ve walked away. But no, he helped me walk my dad to my truck and comforted me. I couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at me, as if he really cared. The feel of his arms around me as I’d cried into his shirt still stayed with me.
I’d been so wrong about that boy.
But we were still in a fake relationship. And my future at The Prowler still relied on keeping that fake relationship going. I’d never been so conflicted. If I gave Jimmy his freedom, would all of this be over? Could I give up my guaranteed spot on the newspaper? What about my goals and aspirations?
Those questions and more clouded my head until I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to be done. Dad was still sleeping off last night’s bender, so I headed for the one place where I knew I could get some clarity.
Some girls baked. Some sang songs to clear their heads like they were in some fairytale romance. But I was no princess. There was one thing I knew how to do in a moment like this, and that was to write.
The girls had been begging me for a new post on the Dear Mia blog anyway. This seemed like the perfect way to get my thoughts flowing.
It may have been super early on a Saturday morning, but Mrs. Drake was already in her classroom. She’d told us she’d be grading papers and would have her room open in case any of us wanted to stop by and put last-minute touches on next week’s paper. I was almost there, when something in the hallway stopped me in my tracks.
Sniffles were coming from the girls’ bathroom on my right. Someone was definitely crying in there. It was such a sad noise. I lingered near the doorway, wondering what the best course of action would be. My short time as Dear Mia had kind of appointed me as the official go-to for girls like this. I was constantly getting pulled to the side after class by girls asking for advice. So if anyone needed to handle this, it was probably me.
“Hello?” I asked softly, knocking on the wooden frame. “Mind if I come in?”
There was no answer, so I tightened my jaw and pushed forward. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind me did I realize my epic mistake. Lindsey stood at the far mirror, her hands gripping the sides of the porcelain sink. Her pert little nose was red, and mascara streaked down her face. She sniffed as I walked in, rushing to wipe the marks from her face.
“Lindsey?” I froze in place, unsure whether I should run away before she could attack me with her claws. “Are you…okay?”
She made a face and grabbed a paper towel to dab beneath her eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just allergies.”
Allergies. In the middle of December. Right.
I’d never seen her like this before. Lindsey was always so put-together. But instead of her usual designer clothes, today she’d dressed in a long-sleeved tee and yoga pants. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she’d even worn sneakers. It was almost hard to recognize her.
I took a step toward her. It was obvious this was a cry for help. “Is this about Dale?”
Seeing them fight at the basketball game yesterday had been eye-opening. I guess Sweet Mountain High’s power couple wasn’t doing so hot.
“You think you know a guy,” she said, tossing the paper towel in the trashcan with a little more effort than usual. “You think he’s in love with you, but then he says he wants to break up before summer so that he can keep his options open. Well, I’ll tell him what he can do with his options. He can take his options and stick them up his—”
I winced as she went into a tirade that would’ve burned the ears off a nun. She insulted everything about him, including his track skills. And when she was done, she looked over at me and blinked as if she’d forgotten I’d been standing there.
“You.” She pointed at me with one fuchsia-colored nail. “You.”
I took a step back. It seemed that Lindsey had moved on from the grieving stage. There was violence in her eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tore a sink from the wall and threw it at me.
“You think you’re so perfect.” She spat out the words with hatred punctuating each syllable. “You and your little relationship column. You and Jimmy Alston. That’s not the truth. They’re lies. All lies. I know your little secret.”
Panic gripped me around the throat. How could Lindsey have found out about Jimmy and me? It just wasn’t possible. Only three people in the world knew about that, and none of us had told a soul.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned and reached for the door handle. It was best to make an early exit before Lindsey got any ideas involving torture or maiming.
“Your dad.”
My hand froze on the handle, and my shoulders tensed. Turning around to look at her, I pressed my lips together and mentally dared her to finish her thought. “What about my dad?”
“I saw him at school Friday night.” Her laughter was tinged with cruelty. “He’s a stinking drunk. He’s an embarrassment to the Sweet Mountain community. I honestly don’t know how you live with yourself.”
Pain so excruciatingly sharp that I thought I’d throw up burrowed into my abdomen. I curled my hands into fists and glared at Lindsey. So what if her parents owned a successful joint practice and could buy her everything her little heart desired? It didn’t mean she could say things like that.
“You can insult me all you want,” I said, my voice trembling with rage, “but this time, you’ve gone too far. No one talks about my dad like that. Take it back.”
She snorted. “Not happening.”
“Take. It. Back.”
Tossing her hair, she did one last check in the mirror before sauntering past me. It took every ounce of my self-control not to grab her by her unnaturally blonde locks and throw her to the ground.
“Just remember this moment,” she said, pausing at the door with a fake smile, “whenever you start thinking you’re better than me. You’re not. You come from trash. You’ll always be trash. And you will never be a real journalist.”
It took a good minute after she’d left for me to start breathing again. And when the oxygen began to work its way back into my extremities, rage came with it. Anger so white-hot that all I could do was glare at myself in the mirror. I’d always thought Lindsey was evil, but I’d never imagined that she’d lower herself to that level. She was a miserable excuse for a human being. I wanted her to pay. I wanted to make her sorry for every little insult she’d hurled my way.
Suddenly, my feet were moving of their own volition. I pushed through the bathroom door and continued on my way to Mrs. Drake’s classroom. She greeted me as I walked in, and I could only spare her a grunting reply that I was here to make the finishing touches on my article. Immediately, I sat down at one of the computers and pulled up the Dear Mia blog.
Words flowed from my fingertips. I wrote about Lindsey. About Dale mercilessly dumping her and how she couldn’t keep a man. About her insecurities and how she was nothing more than a vain, cruel little girl who manipulated everyone around her. I wrote until my wrists felt like they were going to fall off, and then I typed the last few words. Sitting back in my chair, my eyes darted over the screen, taking in what I’d just written. Lindsey would feel my wrath to the bottom of her pedicured toes when she read this.
It was brilliant.
It was scathing.
It could never be published.
I cradled my head in my hands as I leaned on the desk in front of me. Maybe every single word in this article was true, but that didn’t mean I could put it out there. Typing
it out had helped ease the pain of her insults, and that was as far as it could go. I was better than that. I was better than Lindsey.
“Mia, I’m calling it,” Mrs. Drake said behind me as she rose from her desk. She stretched her hands high above her head and yawned. “My papers are graded, and I need to get home to my husband. Plus, you’ve got a dance to get ready for.”
Oh, right. The Snow Ball—with Jimmy. The thing that had me so excited I could hardly breathe this morning.
“Okay, Mrs. Drake,” I said over my shoulder. “Just let me close out of here, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Did you get a blog post finished for today? I really enjoyed what you sent me on Friday to proof. I didn’t realize I was so ignorant about the importance of first-date outfits.” She giggled to herself.
“Yep.” I nodded, staring at the screen. “It was totally inspired.”
I hovered the mouse over the blog post. This was definitely not the blog post Mrs. Drake had assigned. That one still lingered in my mailbox, waiting to be completed.
No, this one would make Mrs. Drake fall over backward in her chair if I sent it to her. While I would never publish it, something like this couldn’t just be deleted. It was a masterpiece that deserved to be read over and over again whenever Lindsey made me angry. There was no doubt she’d make me fuming mad a million times more before the end of the school year.
Nobody would find the article there. Mrs. Drake had full access across the blog, but she never went on it. For being a millennial, she was oddly terrible with computers. So I selected draft and saved the blog post to print for myself later.
With that therapy session complete, I could go back to dreaming about Jimmy’s arms surrounding me and the manly scent of his t-shirt. If I had needed a hug last night, it was nothing compared to now.
But soon enough, we’d be in each other’s arms again. With the Snow Ball tonight, I could keep my chin up. Because no matter what happened with Lindsey, at least I had Jimmy.
And I thought I had found the perfect way to thank him.
My Fake Boyfriend Page 9