Fake

by Donna Cooner

  I roll my eyes. “Any girl who turns you down is a complete idiot,” I say. “I hope you realize that.”

  He gives me a smile, his green eyes crinkling at the corners, and his face transforms. I think Owen and I are friends because of his smiles. Grace is a very lucky girl. I hope she knows that.

  “I have a feeling you don’t have to worry,” I add, because who could possibly turn down the opportunity to have those smiles around all the time?

  He changes the subject. “I think you should definitely submit an application video to meet Lexi.”

  “I was thinking about it, but …” My voice trails off, full of all my doubts and uncertainties.

  “It’s your big break. You can’t pass up an opportunity like that!”

  I mull this over a minute, then nod slowly. “It could work. But it’s statistically improbable. There are going to be so many people like Dezirea and Camila trying to get in to meet her. I’m not sure I can put myself out there like that. And if I do somehow get to meet her, can I really show her my drawings?” I shudder.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Owen asks.

  We both know what could happen. Ridicule. Humiliation. Rejection.

  “I know it’s a long shot, but you can do it,” Owen says firmly. He truly believes it. I can tell. Strangely, it makes me feel calmer about the whole thing.

  “It’s a crazy idea,” I say, then take another sip from my mug.

  He smiles. “Crazy awesome,” he agrees.

  A movement at the window makes both of us look over. The woman with the baby carriage is outside looking in with a hand cupped around her face to block the glare.

  “Move oolong,” Owen says quietly. “Nothing to tea here.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  Leaving the tea shop, I realize an idea for the video has started to form in my mind. I practically run toward my car, a new sense of confidence straightening my shoulders and filling my brain. I pass the mother again. The little boy holding her hand is about three, with blond curls and a wide smile. He looks at me, then starts singing loudly to his own made-up tune, “Big fat girl …”

  The words sink in and stab me. Just by walking outside, by existing, I invite rude comments. This shell I wear makes me a target for the world to say rude things. How could I have forgotten? His mother grabs him by the shoulders. “Shush,” she says urgently. She mumbles “Sorry” as they pass by.

  My heart thudding in my chest, I stand, frozen, the heat rising up my neck like flames. They walk away, hand in hand. My high-waist skinny jeans with shredded rips seemed so fashionable a few hours before. They now feel like a tent. I tug my elephant shirt down over my thighs.

  I’m not angry at the child. Or the mom. I’m angry at myself. On my best day, when I walk out of the house feeling my hair is perfect and my outfit is incredibly cool, I am still fat. The photos and videos and comments live to remind me. People feel like they have to tell me. Over and over again. Like I could possibly forget.

  I’ve been fooling myself. Maybe Sienna isn’t my superhero alter ego.

  She is my escape.

  CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE

  JESSE: HOW YA DOIN?

  SIENNA: UGH. I’M IN A BAD MOOD.

  JESSE: WHY?

  SIENNA: MY BEST GUY FRIEND HAS A NEW GIRLFRIEND.

  JESSE: IS THAT GOOD OR BAD?

  SIENNA: IT’S GOOD. TOTALLY GOOD. I THINK IT’S GOOD.

  JESSE: WHY DO I THINK YOU’RE NOT TOO SURE ABOUT THIS?

  SIENNA: JUST BEING SELFISH.

  JESSE: WHY?

  SIENNA: I WILL MISS HIM.

  JESSE: HE’S NOT GOING AWAY. EVERYBODY GETS NEW FRIENDS. DOESN’T MEAN THEY LEAVE THE OLD ONES HANGING.

  SIENNA: I GUESS.

  JESSE: DO YOU LIKE HER?

  SIENNA: SHE’S NICE.

  JESSE: “NICE” IS NOT A GREAT COMPLIMENT.

  SIENNA: DO YOU HAVE A BEST FRIEND?

  JESSE: I HAVE LOTS OF THEM.

  SIENNA: THAT’S NOT HOW *BEST* FRIENDS WORK.

  JESSE: THEN I’M DOING IT WRONG. TELL ME HOW TO BE A BEST FRIEND.

  SIENNA: BEST FRIENDS KNOW YOUR BIGGEST DREAMS AND YOUR WORST FEARS.

  JESSE: WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST DREAM? *PRACTICING TO BECOME A BEST FRIEND*

  SIENNA: …

  JESSE: *WAITING.* BEST FRIENDS ARE VERY PATIENT.

  SIENNA: I WANT TO BE A SUPERHERO.

  JESSE: HA! NO, SERIOUSLY.

  SIENNA: I AM SERIOUS.

  JESSE: YOU ARE FREAKING WEIRD *IN A TOTALLY COOL WAY*

  SIENNA: WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT’S UR BIG DREAM???

  JESSE: TO PLAY MY OWN MUSIC FOR PEOPLE.

  SIENNA: LOTS OF PEOPLE?

  JESSE: I’D SETTLE FOR JUST ONE PERSON.

  SIENNA: WHY DON’T YOU DO IT?

  JESSE: HARD. SCARY. MIGHT SUCK BIG-TIME. MIGHT BE BAD. REALLY BAD.

  SIENNA: THAT’S YOUR WORST FEAR, TOO?

  JESSE: YEAH. YOU?

  SIENNA: DISAPPEARING.

  JESSE: SRSLY? LOOKING AT YOU, I’M PRETTY SURE PEOPLE WOULD NOTICE IF YOU WERE GONE.

  SIENNA: ARE YOU OKAY IF WE ARE JUST FRIENDS ON HERE?

  JESSE: TOTALLY.

  SIENNA: I LIKE IT.

  JESSE: ME TOO

  JESSE: BUT I COULD BE AN EVEN BETTER BEST FRIEND IN REAL LIFE!!

  On Wednesday, everyone is talking about the Lexi Singh auditions. It’s like a wildfire flickering down the halls and slipping up the walls. In every corner, in every hallway, at every locker, at every lunch table—someone is discussing what they are going to do for their ChitChat video. If they are lucky, a friend is listening to them practice their spiel aloud. Over and over again. Sure the video is supposed to look natural and unrehearsed, but no one is going to be crazy enough to actually freestyle it.

  The electricity builds as the hours tick down to the beginning of the ChitChat air time. At five o’clock tonight it goes live. At eight o’clock it will be all over, and the window to Lexi will slam shut. The suspense is killing all of us.

  Something of Sienna still lingers in my mind from my last exchange with Jesse. Or maybe it was reading the Wonder Woman book late into the night. Either way, I feel more confident and bolder than usual. I survived the elephant shirt, so now I’m ready to kick it up a notch. Everyone knows big girls aren’t supposed to wear horizontal stripes or prints or bright colors, but today I wear what I want: a flowy chiffon maxi dress covered in pale pink flowers. I balance out all the pink with a black moto jacket and black, high-heeled ankle booties. My long dark hair is up in a messy bun at the nape of my neck and I wear a pair of sunglasses that, according to the CurvyFashionista ChitChat account I follow, go with the outfit perfectly.

  Of course, I know the classroom rules, and the sunglasses will go in my backpack when the tardy bell rings. But for now, they are my favorite accessory—giving me a little dark distance from the surrounding judgment and helping me feel like a superhero in disguise as I walk down the hall toward chemistry and Jesse Santos.

  Owen and Grace stand by the vending machines, waiting for me.

  “Cool outfit,” Grace says enthusiastically. Owen just raises his eyebrows.

  Bella walks by wearing a tiny Mango buttoned denim skirt and a ribbed wool sweater that accentuates her curves. She glances toward me, her eyes widening, and then she does a double take. And not in a good way. I so wanted to believe Teen Vogue when they tweeted, “Stop following the rules about what big girls aren’t supposed to wear and feel free to experiment with different looks.” Only right now it feels like really terrible advice. Then I think, what would happen if I actually didn’t care?

  If I can’t hide, I might as well give them something to stare at.

  In chemistry, Jesse glances at my outfit, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. I put the too-small lab apron on over my dress, but leave the ties dangling at my sides. Then I read the directions on the latest handout from Mr. Vance. “We’re supposed to purify this mixture.”

  Jesse inspects
the beaker. “It just looks like dirty water to me.”

  “There are four different elements in that water,” I tell him. “And we need to describe how we’re going to separate it into the four different components.”

  He tosses his goggles up in the air and then catches them, grinning at me. “No problem. I got this.”

  I don’t smile back. He hasn’t even looked at the directions. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do.”

  “I think you don’t.”

  The smile disappears from his face and his eyes narrow. “Let me explain it to you in terms you can understand.”

  “I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

  “Wait. Just listen.” Jesse waves his hands. “This whole school is a mixture, but you can definitely separate the whole into individuals by knowing more about them.”

  My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Okay. Dezirea is pretty popular, right?”

  “Yeah.” Understatement.

  “And her whole crowd of friends is, too?”

  I nod. Including you. “You’re making it sound like popularity is a virtue.”

  “Who said virtue?” Jesse asks, shaking his head. “I didn’t say it was a good thing.”

  “Fine,” I huff. “Go on with your analogy.”

  Jesse nods. “So let’s say Dezirea’s crowd is iron. The next hottest thing will attract them just like a magnet.”

  “And they all stick together.” I smile in spite of myself. “So if someone waved …” I think about the ChitChats of Dezirea’s party. “Waved a party over them, all the iron would go out of the mixture?” I ask.

  “Bam. Out of the mix,” he agrees.

  “Got it.” I pick up the magnet and pull out the bits of iron from the mixture. Jesse supervises closely. “Okay,” I say. “What … or who … is next?”

  “Those little things floating on the top.” He points.

  I pick up a handheld magnifying glass and peer down at the beaker. “I think those are poppy seeds.”

  He nods. “Those are the super-smart kids. The innovators. The ones who float above all the high school drama and stay true to who they are.”

  I’m impressed. Who knew he’d be able to come up with something like that after looking at soggy seeds?

  Jesse adds, “We need them.”

  But no one wants to be them.

  Jesse points toward Owen with his thumb. “Take Froot Loop over there. He’s going to change the world someday.”

  I’m surprised. That’s how he thinks of Owen?

  I take a sieve and scoop out all the poppy seeds until there is nothing left floating in the mixture. It definitely looks less interesting.

  Jesse picks up the beaker and holds it up to the light. “There’s definitely still something in there.” He swirls the liquid around a little more. “Maybe … salt?”

  “How would we remove the salt from the mixture?” I’m testing him, but he knows the answer.

  “We boil it out.”

  I turn on the hot plate and put the beaker on top, then ask, “So who in this mixed-up world of yours is salt?”

  He gives me a one-shoulder shrug. Is Jesse Santos blushing? “There’s a girl I talk to on ChitChat sometimes. She reminds me of salt. She adds flavor and interest to everything. Spices it up.”

  My head feels suddenly light and my heart starts hammering.

  “Really?” I ask, trying hard to keep my face blank.

  Something in Jesse’s eyes shifts. He looks … happy. “Yeah. Just the little bit I know her makes things … better.”

  “Who is she?” I make myself ask.

  “Actually, I haven’t met her. She lives in Denver.”

  He’s talking about me … Sienna. It feels like a fist to my stomach. The plan is working. I should feel a lot better about this than I do.

  I change the subject.

  “So we’re still meeting on Sunday, right?” I know my voice sounds weird, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Yep.” He leans over the water and watches carefully as it begins to boil.

  The Jesse/Sienna business distracts me from the Lexi Singh video for a short while, but now I’m in history class and the attention has shifted back to the most popular topic in school.

  “What are you going to say in your video?” Camila asks Dezirea before class starts.

  I pretend not to listen, focusing instead on Owen sitting at the desk in front of me. My pencil moves across the page, sketching quickly the lines of his shirt collar.

  “I’m just going to introduce myself and talk about my interests,” Dezirea says, shrugging.

  I draw the way Owen’s hair curls when it hits the nape of his neck.

  Camila shrugs. “Okay. Whatever. I’m sure you will look great.”

  No, I think. You will look fantastic.

  “You better believe it,” Dezirea says. “We’re stars in the making.”

  Camila laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  I glance down at my desk and my eyes land on my own hand holding the pencil. I freeze, blinking, seeing myself with the same attention to detail as I was giving to my drawing. My fingers are short and stubby. I can’t make myself look at my arm. I look back over at Dezirea and Camila.

  “Okay, babe.” Dezirea laughs. “You and me are set to totally crush this thing.”

  They high-five each other and my heart drops. How am I supposed to make a video of myself when I can’t even look at my own arm? But I have to go through with this tonight. Even if it means going up against the popular crowd on ChitChat.

  As soon as I get home from school, I practice my ChitChat video in front of the mirror and make myself watch it. My hair is a mess, so I brush it. My hands shake, so I sit on one to still it. My eyes are good, intense and full of passion. I focus on that. I feel the clock ticking down to five p.m. along with my pulse. Sort of like an explosive device counting down the seconds until detonation. Katy Purry sits on my bed looking at me with her usual bored expression. I realize she could destroy a live video, so it takes me almost ten minutes to catch her and put her outside in the hall. Now, when I don’t want her around, she is suddenly my best friend.

  I spend thirty minutes styling my hair. Curls? No curls? Up? Down? My makeup takes another half hour, with extra attention paid to a natural eye shadow palette and layered coats of mascara. Then, after a long time of staring at my closet, I finally decide on a sunflower print, Brigitte Bardot–inspired off-the-shoulder dress that @CurvyFashionista said would make anyone feel like a 1950s screen goddess.

  A final quick look in the mirror, then it’s time. I log in to ChitChat. Lexi’s people were smart enough to turn off the ability to comment on the live video feed, to try to prevent online trolls. With ChitChat live, it is impossible to know how many people actually view a video before it disappears into the vast blue internet.

  Dezirea’s video is live right now. She looks beautiful. Not surprising. I am surprised that she is wearing a simple black leotard and tights.

  “My name is Dezirea Davis and I enjoy dancing, and hanging out with my friends. I am a huge fan and I would love the opportunity to meet you.”

  She backs away from the camera until her whole body is in frame. Then she spins ever so slowly, her leg extended and bent behind her and one arm held high. This is a totally different dancer than the Dezirea-as-cheerleader everyone knows. The one we’ve seen on the football field sidelines, shaking pom-poms to the fight song. Her athletic build is toned, definitely not the traditional ballerina body. I watch, mesmerized, and marvel at how strong she must be. Yet every movement, every turn, looks so easy and graceful. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she stops and does a deep curtsy, head bowed.

  I’m proud of her for showing this side of herself to the world. Maybe we’re not that different. We both have sides we keep hidden from view, afraid others might crush our precious dreams. If things had turned out differently,
maybe we would have encouraged each other more.

  Camila is up next.

  “Hi, I’m Camila. I’m experienced in front of the camera and have been a model in SCENE magazine. I’d love to meet you and hear how I can become an actor in Hollywood.”

  Oh, yeah. I forgot Camila was featured last year in an ad eating an ice-cream cone from Ben and Jerry’s on the square. Now, in her ChitChat video for Lexi, she announces different emotions and then peers into the camera with that expression supposedly on her face. One is surprised. One, angry. One, madly in love. Honestly, I can’t really tell the difference.

  While more of my classmates pop up on the screen, I set my computer up and check the angles on the camera. It’s as good as it’s going to get. Deep breath. My hands tremble. I hit record.

  “Hi,” I say quickly. “I’m Maisie.”

  Almost immediately, I hold up a card that covers my face.

  You are my hero, Lexi. I flip the card.

  My dream is to be a graphic artist. I flip to the next card.

  Just like you. I flip to the final card.

  Will you check out my drawings?

  Then I hold up the final card, which shows a strip from The Froot Loops—the scene where Grace morphs into a golden Lab in the bathroom to comfort the girl.

  And just like that it’s over. All my anxiety and worry and planning and preparation. Done. Off the video goes.

  Showing that drawing to the world on ChitChat—even if the video will eventually disappear—took every ounce of courage I could muster. Now there’s nothing to do but wait and see what Lexi thinks.

  To take my mind off the whole thing, I log in to Sienna’s account and send a message to Dezirea.

  SIENNA: WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND YOUR AWESOMENESS? YOUR VIDEO WAS AMAZEBALLS!!!! HONESTLY CANNOT HANDLE THE TALENT!

  DEZIREA: THANKS. YOU REALLY THOUGHT SO?

  SIENNA: YES!!!

  DEZIREA: MOOD

  SIENNA: WHY?? YOU WERE FANTASTIC!

  DEZIREA: I WISH I COULD DANCE MORE. I’D LOVE TO BE A BALLERINA. BUT IT’S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

  SIENNA: DON’T SAY NEVER