Fake

by Donna Cooner

  JESSE: NO BUT MY DREAM IS TO PLAY A HORN LIKE HIM SOMEDAY.

  SIENNA: DO YOU PLAY TROMBONE?

  JESSE: NO, JUST TRUMPET.

  SIENNA: IN THE BAND?

  JESSE: I WISH.

  SIENNA: ???

  JESSE: FOOTBALL PLAYERS CAN’T BE IN THE BAND.

  SIENNA: WHY NOT?

  JESSE: HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SOMEONE AT HALFTIME MARCHING WITH THE BAND IN A FOOTBALL UNIFORM? NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

  SIENNA: YOU COULD BE THE FIRST.

  JESSE: MAYBE. PROBABLY NOT. TOO CHICKEN TO GO THERE WITH THE COACH. WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO? FAVORITE SONG?

  SIENNA: YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD IT. I’M INTO SOME VINTAGE STUFF.

  JESSE: TRY ME. I’M A BIG FAN OF THE OLD STUFF.

  SIENNA: AT LAST BY ETTA JAMES—ONE OF MY FAVS.

  JESSE: WOW. DID NOT EXPECT THAT.

  SIENNA: I’M FULL OF SURPRISES.

  I sit on the aisle, four rows back from the front of the auditorium. When I came in, I saw Jesse sitting in the back row with a group of his football buddies. I’m still processing what I learned last night—that Jesse Santos plays the trumpet, and sort of wants to be a band geek. It’s shocking, really. I assumed all he cared about was football.

  The stage is empty except for a huge screen and one wooden chair positioned off to one side. On the chair is a handheld microphone. I squirm nervously, swallowing so loud I can hear it above the chatter of the rapidly filling auditorium. Sarah Bodington, sitting in the third row, shoots me a look over her shoulder. I give her a smile and she turns back to the stage like she wouldn’t be caught dead smiling at me.

  Dezirea walks down the aisle with Graham. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her neck. She squeals as he begins to tickle her, oblivious to a whole auditorium full of people watching them. I wipe my sweaty hands on the tops of my jeans and press my lips together tight, trying to ignore them. Camila and Bella push past Dezirea and Graham impatiently and take their seats. Bella pulls a pink notebook from her huge wine-colored Marc Jacobs bag and rummages around loudly for a pen, until finally Camila hands her one.

  “I heard the special guest is going to be Wade Brown,” Camila tells Bella. “He just got drafted to the Denver Broncos.”

  Bella shakes her head slightly, frowning. “I don’t think so.”

  Grace and Owen appear and slide into the seats beside me. “Everybody ready for this?” Grace asks brightly.

  Before I can respond, Principal Buckton enters from stage right and walks to the chair. She picks up the microphone, goes to center stage, and waits expectantly for the chatter to die down. She taps on the microphone. With each beat, I feel my heart pound back an excited response. One. Two. Three.

  “Good morning, everyone. First, let’s welcome our senior class president, Divinity Gates.”

  There is a smattering of applause as Divinity walks up and takes the microphone, flipping her thick black hair over one thin shoulder. Divinity is smart and poised—a formidable combination that demands respect from even this rowdy crowd. She gets right to the point.

  “Hi, guys. As you know, homecoming is in two and a half weeks and it will be epic. Not only will we be playing our crosstown rivals, Rocky Mountain High School …” She pauses and the crowd obliges her by filling in the space with enthusiastic boos. “But it is also the fiftieth anniversary of our school!”

  Cheers erupt on cue. Grace applauds enthusiastically and Owen and I smirk at each other. Hooray.

  “Besides all the usual festivities—like the parade, the game, and the dance—we’re adding something really special to our celebration.” Divinity looks over at the principal and smiles broadly. “Now I’ll turn it over to Principal Buckton to share the details and welcome our surprise guest.”

  Please be Lexi. Please be Lexi.

  Principal Buckton nods and accepts the microphone back from Divinity. “As part of our homecoming weekend,” our principal announces, “we’re going to welcome back one of our most successful graduates. I know you are all excited to help me say hello to our guest today.” She turns to look at the screen. “Lexi, are you there?”

  I suck my breath in and hold it.

  Suddenly there she is, my hero, her face projected larger than life onto the screen. Beaming in all the way from Los Angeles. Her features are so familiar to me—heart-shaped face, brown skin, thick black hair, brown energetic eyes. Her bright red lipstick and eyeglasses that almost match are super cool: definitely a look I’ll try to imitate in the future. I would love to be able to see more of her shirt, which looks like it has tiny red dachshunds printed all over a dark blue background. Behind her are messy shelves full of books and awards.

  She looks brilliant. Approachable. And completely, absolutely amazing.

  Lexi holds up a hand and waves. “Hey, everybody.”

  “Told you!” Grace whispers, nudging me, and Owen gives me a thumbs-up. I’m too giddy to answer. There’s an excited rumble from the gathered students. Everyone knows who Lexi Singh is. People might not be as obsessed with her as I am, but she’s definitely famous enough to merit a big response.

  “Welcome to Fort Collins High School.” Principal Buckton’s voice is enthusiastic.

  Grinning, Lexi says, “Thanks. It’s great to be back.”

  “So, what have you been up to these days?” Principal Buckton asks, settling back into the chair and holding the microphone close to her mouth.

  “Nothing special.” Lexi smiles and laughter spreads throughout the room. It’s a huge understatement.

  “You call having the hottest show on Netflix nothing special?” Principal Buckton asks incredulously.

  Lexi shrugs modestly in a completely genuine way and another round of laughter ripples through the crowd.

  “We are all so proud of your accomplishments and can’t wait to have you back for our homecoming week,” Principal Buckton continues. The audience breaks out in claps and cheers. “I know how busy you are these days and that you have some exciting news to share with us, so let’s get right to it.”

  “Absolutely,” Lexi says, sitting up straight. “My vision for Nosy Parker was formed by my life in Fort Collins. I realize people recognize a lot of the images and references. It’s not a coincidence that the town of Mountainview looks familiar. That’s why coming home will be such a treat.”

  “And the rumor is you’re going to give a few students the opportunity to meet you?” Principal Buckton asks.

  Oh my God.

  “No longer a rumor,” Lexi says, smiling like she’s revealing a wonderful secret. “I’ve had some amazing mentors over the years and I’d love to pay it forward and give some advice to young people today.” She pauses for a beat and adds, “I will be attending the homecoming dance this year! And while I’m there, I will set aside time to meet with some of you.”

  An excited cheer goes up in the crowd. I clap as hard as I can, my heart pounding. It’s really happening. Lexi is going to be here. And I could meet her.

  “What type of things could someone talk to you about?” Principal Buckton asks.

  Art. Drawing. Comics.

  “Oh. I don’t know. Pretty much anything,” Lexi says. “Living in Hollywood. Working in the entertainment industry. Getting through high school. Whatever.”

  This time the excited cheers are even louder. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the armrests digging into my hips. I realize the competition pool has just expanded to include practically every person in this room. Not just the comic geeks.

  “So if someone was interested in meeting you while you’re here and having some one-on-one mentoring, how would they do it?” Principal Buckton asks.

  “I only have time to meet with a few students individually,” Lexi replies, “so there will be an application process. Make a short live video explaining why you want to meet me. Simple. Then post your video on ChitChat with the hashtag #homecomingwithlexi.” Lexi’s rectangular crimson eyeglasses slip down her pert nose and sh
e pushes them back up again, her brown eyes glowing. “I’ve already blocked out the time in my schedule and I will personally review all applications.”

  I suddenly feel like I’m choking. The thought of talking directly to Lexi on a video fills me with dread. I try to avoid pictures of myself unless they are carefully staged and filtered. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. A live video with no editing? No. A million times no.

  “All videos should be posted between the hours of five p.m. and eight p.m. next Wednesday after school,” Principal Buckton announces. “I have the permission slips right here, and they explain the rules.” She holds up a sheaf of papers. “Just remember you have to have a parent or guardian signature in order to participate.”

  Bella pushes her glossy hair off her shoulder and scribbles furiously in her notebook. She leans over and whispers urgently in Dezirea’s ear. I’m sure they’re already planning their video masterpieces.

  “So if you snooze, you lose.” Principal Buckton laughs. Seriously? She is such a geek and not in a good way.

  “Absolutely.” Lexi nods. “And remember: Just look into the camera and introduce yourself. Tell me who you are and what you enjoy doing.”

  Principal Buckton faces the audience. “Easy peasy, right?”

  Hardly. I feel completely overwhelmed. If only there were some way I could get Sienna in the video instead of me. But of course that’s impossible. Sienna isn’t real.

  It has to be me, and somehow I have to get Lexi’s attention. It’s the only way I’m going to get a chance to meet her. I get one shot, and one shot only, to get it right.

  After school, I wait for Owen on the Thinking Bench. Owen just decided to try out for the soccer team, which was a major surprise since Owen has never been into team sports before. He’s super fast and soccer was one of his favorite self-study topics last year, so I didn’t discourage him. But I can’t help feeling antsy about how it will turn out.

  I slide out my sketchpad and put some last-minute strokes on the final words of a strip I’ve been working on. I draw a big thought bubble in the next square. It’s blank like my brain when it comes to ideas for the Lexi Singh video application. What am I supposed to say to Lexi to make her choose me?

  I think about something I read once: that writing a graphic novel is about storytelling; it’s just that 50 percent of the story comes from words and the other half comes from the art. Maybe that’s where I start? My video clip needs both parts of the story—words and art. Both parts have to be perfect.

  “Hey.” Owen stands in front of me, flushed and smiling. Soccer must have gone well. He looks happy. “What are you doing?”

  “Just drawing.”

  He settles onto the bench beside me. His hair is all damp and curly on the ends. He crosses his arms and settles back against the bench.

  “How did it go?” I ask, glancing down at my notebook.

  “I made the team.” I can hear the pride in his voice. I look up from my notebook and see it shining in his eyes. “I guess all that practice I did this summer paid off.”

  “Congratulations,” I say, smiling back, even though my stomach feels that now-familiar twinge at all these new things in Owen’s life. Am I really that possessive or … whatever? I don’t even know what to call it.

  “What are you working on?” Owen asks.

  For once, I don’t hide the sheet of paper. I feel Owen’s concentrated gaze, but I need to get used to people looking.

  “Who is that?” He points to the blank face in the middle of the page.

  “She’s my main character.”

  “But who is she?”

  If I say it out loud, then it will be real. But I need to. I’m the hero of my own stories. Right?

  “It’s me,” I say quietly.

  “Why don’t you have a face?”

  Every hero in a comic book has an origin story, and so does every villain. My origin story started in middle school. There were no secret societies, or magical insects that bit me and turned me into a special creature with extraordinary powers. Instead, I slowly morphed into what I am now with every pound gained and every mean comment. It was the perfect combination for a young girl’s transformation in the shadows. When I hit thirty pounds overweight, the world made its mind up about me. I was fat. I would be fat. And that’s all I would be. Category obtained. Match made. Face forever unimportant.

  I shrug, then lift my eyes to meet his. “It’s hard,” I say. “I can draw you.” I flip over a few pages and show Owen a picture of him as a shape-shifting porcupine.

  He studies the drawing seriously, and slowly a smile builds across his face until he looks up to meet my eyes. “I like it.”

  “Me too,” I say. “And I can draw Grace.”

  I flip over to a recent Froot Loops strip. In this one, Grace overhears two girls bullying a younger girl about her hairstyle in the school bathroom. I drew Grace changing into a yellow Labrador retriever with soft fur and a face that has to make you smile. When the older girls leave, laughing at their mean words, Grace noses open the bathroom stall. The last picture in the strip is the younger girl sitting on her book bag, her face buried deep in the fur of the comforting Lab.

  I watch Owen’s eyes as he tracks the story frame by frame. My heart thuds, waiting for his reaction. At the end, he laughs and it feels like someone just awarded me a prize. “Everybody in high school needs a shape-shifting Labrador retriever for a friend,” Owen says.

  I laugh, too. “Exactly.”

  “These are really amazing, Maisie,” Owen adds, and all my anxiety about sharing my drawings with him slips away. “I always knew you were a great artist, but I had no idea you could do …” He gestures at the drawings in my lap. “This.”

  His words make me feel like I matter. And now I want to tell Owen something I haven’t told anyone out loud yet.

  “I want to meet Lexi and show her my sketches,” I say.

  He nods like it all makes sense to him. “Epic.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Then he is full of questions because he is Owen. “What are you going to do in your video? What drawings are you going to show her if you meet her?”

  I shut my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, and it’s making me crazy.”

  “Can I help?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t think so, but I’ll keep you posted.”

  He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it all out.”

  But what if I don’t?

  That night, my parents go to bed early. I walk around the house, but I can’t settle. I turn on the television and turn it off again. I open the fridge and stare inside. Finally, I take out a container of strawberry yogurt and bring it up to my room.

  I sit down on my bed with my sketches. Katy Purry rubs her head against my hand, demanding I scratch her under her chin just where she likes it. When I don’t respond, she looks up at me with intense green eyes and waits, staring. Finally, I give in and pat her head. My touch isn’t right. Evidently, I don’t do it like Veronica. But then, I don’t do anything like Veronica. The cat gives me an impatient glare, then rolls over on her back.

  “I’m busy,” I tell her.

  Cats don’t understand busy. She twists and turns, paws waving in the air, shedding black fur across my bedspread. I reach out and rub her soft, furry stomach. Definitely not what she wanted. My kindness is rewarded with a swipe of one white paw.

  “Ouch!” I yell, shaking my hand. It now features two angry scratches across the back. Katy Purry jumps off the bed and stalks across the room, to lick wildly at her fur as though my brief tummy pat was incredibly rude. My relationship with Katy Purry continues to be rocky.

  I give up on building cat relations and spread some of my sketches across my bed like tiles on a floor. What did Lexi say? Look into the camera and introduce yourself. Tell me who you are and what you enjoy doing.

  What do I say? I stare down at the images of dragons, werewolves,
monsters, dogs, porcupines, ravens, and masked superheroes, but there is no me anywhere in any of these pictures. How does an invisible person create a video of themselves? I sweep the papers off the bed in frustration, then reach for my computer.

  I log on to Sienna’s account, staring at her profile picture for a long time. This is a mask I can hide behind. Is this how Clark Kent feels just before he runs into the phone booth to change into Superman?

  There is still one problem with Sienna. My eyes lock onto the little number 0 icon in the right-hand corner of her profile. No popular ChitChat girl is going to have absolutely no friends. She may look perfect, but I need more to make Jesse believe she’s a real person. I have to fix that and fast, but Sienna’s friends also need to be as special as she is. I need the right people. And I have to find photos of these right people—people I don’t know—and post them to ChitChat, give them fake names, and connect them all to each other with an elaborate series of messages about their various activities together. Simple, right?

  I spend the next hour creating two friends for Sienna—her besties. I name the first one Brittany, because it’s a pretty common name. I know of at least three Brittanys in our school. Finding “Brittany’s” picture is a little harder. Finally, I settle on a girl I see in a pop-up ad for a miracle face wash that promises to be an “oily skin game changer.” I use the “before” picture with a few blemishes for Brittany’s profile pic, thinking she looks more realistic that way as a regular high school girl. It’s important for her to look good—just not as good as Sienna. Sort of a Robin to Sienna’s Batman.

  Brittany is on the swim team and her profile quote says, “Just keep swimming.” She also loves K-pop bands and cat videos. The pictures and videos she posts are mostly of her brightly painted toenails in front of beaches and swimming pools. I decide it’s her thing because I don’t have any more pictures of her face. Sienna leaves a comment under Brittany’s picture:

  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE GOING TO BARBADOS FOR THANKSGIVING! I’M SO SO SO JEALOUS!

  It makes me nervous to see how few pictures I have on Brittany’s profile. One picture of a face model is not realistic. So for the second bestie—I name her Kira—I return to the profile of the “real” Sienna: Claire. I pick one of her actual friends: a skinny, dark-eyed girl. This way, I can post photos of the two of them together, and it’s much easier to create a more believable friendship. In my world, Kira is a huge fan of fantasy novels, loves pop culture, and is active in student government. Sienna posts a comment on Kira’s page: