by Judy Corry
She'd never be my mom.
MysteryGirl: Do you think we should meet in the Chem lab? I'd love to talk to you in person about something.
She wanted to meet? I paced around the playground as I tried to figure out what to do.
There was only one thing I could think of that Ashlyn would want to talk to British Boy about, something that she couldn't discuss through our instant messages. She wanted to talk about her feelings. It had to be that. But if I was ever going to get British Boy off her radar the way that I wanted to, he needed to disappear. And even though it would be so much easier to have British Boy just ghost her and not meet with her tomorrow, she deserved to have it done in person. British Boy would remain a gentleman and handle this delicate situation the best he could.
He was going to move back to England. That was the only way for a clean break. If he was an ocean away, there was no chance of anything happening between them and Ashlyn would eventually realize that they weren't meant to be after all.
It wasn't the most honest thing in the world, but it was the only way possible to keep both versions of me from losing her. And I couldn't lose Ashlyn. She was my lifeline to sanity.
So I messaged her back before my conscience could talk myself out of it.
BritishBoy: Tomorrow at lunch?
MysteryGirl: Yes. Meet me there.
Hopefully this whole mess would be over with by tomorrow at twelve thirty-nine.
I was both nervous and excited all the next morning. Excited that I was almost done with my double life. But nervous that something would go wrong. Something seemed to always go wrong these days.
I left my second period class a few minutes early just so I could make it to the Chemistry lab before Ashlyn. If this was going to work, she could not see my face. I waited by the doors for the bell to ring since the lab was occupied that period. As soon as it was empty and Mr. Sawyer had turned out the lights, I snuck into the room. In all my thoughts about what might happen today in the lab, I decided I needed to be physically differently than the other times we'd been together. If she were to give British Boy a goodbye hug or something, I couldn't have her recognizing anything familiar about me. So I grabbed the hoodie I'd borrowed from my dad's closet out of my backpack and pulled it over my head. I had also made sure not to wear my usual cologne—instead I'd sprayed some of my dad's cologne on his hoodie this morning just in case she was the type to notice that.
I only had to wait a couple of minutes for Ashlyn to walk in the door wearing her scarf. I probably would have laughed if I hadn't been so nervous.
"Are you in here?" her voice cut through the silence once the door had shut behind her.
I blinked my eyes and focused on my British accent. I hated doing this to her, but it was the only way I could see out of this mess that I'd made. I just needed to make a clean break.
"I'm over here," I called to her.
Her footsteps clacked on the tile floor. She was probably wearing heels. She looked good in heels.
I shook my head. I wasn't here to think about how she might look today. I was here to get her to move on and forget about the version of me that she'd elevated in her head.
Her footsteps stopped a few feet away from me. "Say something again so I can find you."
"I'm straight ahead. I'm guessing just a few steps away." It was so dark in here. Which was good.
Her footsteps sounded again, and a second later, one of her hands brushed along my chest.
"Is that you?" she asked. She sounded almost breathless, like she was so excited to finally be close to British Boy again.
"You found me," I said, my heart pounding fast. She was too close. I wanted to step away from her and pull her closer at the same time, but that might give away that something was up. So I stood tall and drew in a deep calming breath as quietly as I could.
She stepped beside me and leaned against the counter behind us. She smelled amazing. Better than I'd ever noticed before.
Which probably could only mean one thing—she had a special perfume for guys she was interested in. I didn't want to think about why she'd never worn it around me before.
"It's so good to hear your voice again," she whispered. "It seems like it's been forever."
"Why are you whispering?" I asked.
She laughed loudly, her shoulder knocking against my arm as she did so. "I don't know. I guess I'm just nervous."
"Don't be. It's just me."
"Which is exactly why I'm nervous."
"I'm just a normal guy."
"I'll have to take your word for it. You still look like Quasimodo in my mind."
"Well, if that's what floats your boat, then imagine away." I laughed. "But for the record, I don't look like him. Not even close."
"You do seem taller, I suppose. And…"
Suddenly her hand was on my back, feeling along my spine. I stiffened. I hadn't expected her to be so comfortable in touching me. Good thing I'd had the foresight to wear a hoodie.
"Yep, no hunchback either. How tall are you anyway?"
Would telling her my height give too much away? It shouldn't. There were a few other guys at school my height, her ex-boyfriend being one of them.
"I'm six-three. So yeah, pretty tall."
"Tall is my favorite kind of guy," she said in a flirtatious tone.
"Along with brown hair and brown eyes?" I hoped by reminding her of what she'd told British Boy before that she'd somehow picture me in her head instead of some made-up fantasy. I should be the last guy she'd hung out with who met that description.
"Yep. Which you told me you have as well."
I nodded before remembering she couldn't see me. I cleared my throat. "Yep." Okay, Luke. Enough with the ice-breaking. Time to break something else.
But before I could tell her I was moving, she spoke.
"You're probably wondering what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Very curious."
She sighed, and there was a lot of emotion in that one sigh. "I wanted to talk about us."
"Us?" I asked. Yeah, I definitely should have gone first.
"You had to have noticed that I've been thinking of you in more than the secret pen pal sort of way, right?"
"Nope. Never crossed my mind."
"It didn't?" She sounded so disappointed, and I immediately wanted to take the words back. I didn't want to hurt her. Just redirect her.
"Okay, so maybe it did once or twice. But I'm—"
"Good," she said before I could add that I was moving. "I'm so glad we're on the same page."
"And what page is that?" I asked, cautiously.
"I'd like to think that we're moving toward something great."
"Oh, about that…" I swallowed, trying to muster the courage to move forward with my plan. Just spit the words out, Luke. You can do it. Freedom is just on the other side of this conversation.
"Have you ever thought about us dating?" she asked excitedly, before I could get my lies out.
"Honestly?"
"Of course."
"Not really." The lie tasted yucky on my tongue.
She was quiet for a moment, and again, I wanted to take the words back. But there was no way British Boy could be thinking about them dating if he was moving out of the country that weekend.
"Why wouldn't you want to date me? Is it because of your good friend?"
Okay, just run with this, Luke. Maybe this was the universe jumping in and guiding the conversation in the direction it was meant to go.
"Yes, I mean no…" I floundered as I tried to get control of my tongue. I breathed in a deep breath. "I think you're great. I just don't know if you're my type."
That sounded nice enough, right?
"Why am I not your type? Please don't say it's because you think I'm ugly. Because we can totally turn on the lights and let you decide from there."
"No!" I nearly shouted. "It's not that. It's just that I, uh, tend to like really high-maintenance girls. You know, girls who keep me guessing. I li
ke their unpredictable moods. There's something thrilling about it that draws me in. You're just so nice. I want a girl who’ll fight with me and maybe sometimes be a little rude. I love having a lot of drama in my relationships. A good challenge is preferred, and I think things would just be too easy between us."
Wow, who knew I was so good at spewing a bunch of garbage under pressure?
"That makes, like, no sense." Her elbow bumped against me as if she was crossing her arms. "You pretty much just said that things would be perfect between us. Why would you want things to be hard?"
"I, um," I fumbled. "I think I'm messed up in the brain. I like to make things difficult for myself. You probably wouldn't be interested in someone like that, would you?"
"Are you being serious?" She sounded so confused. "Because I can be mean, if you really wanted me to be. Though I don't think that's a healthy way to have a relationship. Maybe you should talk to a psychologist about that."
What? "Are you saying that because you really meant it? Or are you saying that to be mean to me because you thought it would make me like you more?"
She laughed. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see. Maybe you shouldn't write me off too quickly."
Okay, so that idea had crashed and burned. The universe actually wasn't very helpful after all. Time for take two on getting British Boy off Ashlyn's mind.
"I didn't mean that. I actually think you're great. The thing is…"
"Yes?" she asked when I paused, her voice full of anticipation.
My stomach twisted with guilt. How could I do this to her? Maybe I should just tell her the truth. If she hated me afterwards, it would be because I deserved it. This "getting Ashlyn to fall for a fake guy" prank had turned out to be the worst idea in the history of mankind.
But instead of manning up and telling her the truth, I let another lie slip out. "I'm moving back to England."
19
Ashlyn
British Boy was moving back to England?
"But you just moved here. Why are you going back?" I asked in disbelief, trying not to collapse to the floor.
How could this be true? Things were finally moving forward between us. I was actually standing inches away from him instead of sending messages to him through the air.
"My dad just got offered a raise with his old company. And we miss our family back home."
I shook my head, not wanting to believe it. "How long until you go?"
"Next week. It happened rather fast." He added that last part as if it was an afterthought.
"So this is like a final thing, then? You're really going to be moving all the way across the ocean?"
"Yes. That's why you can't feel anything for me. There has to be someone else at the school you like more than me. It's not like you're going to be brokenhearted when I leave, right?"
"Of course there's no one else."
"What about that guy you were hanging out with on Saturday? Didn't you say you might possibly want to be more than friends with him someday?" I never should've told him about Luke.
"We're just friends. I don't think of him that way."
"Why not?" He sounded disappointed that I wasn't falling for Luke? I thought he'd been just joking around with me earlier when he said I wasn't his type. But maybe he really didn't feel anything for me at all. The thought of that made me so sad. How could I feel so much for him and he feel nothing? It wasn't right.
But he was moving anyway. So I guess it didn't really matter how much I'd just embarrassed myself in front of him. In fact, I might as well put everything out there since there was no hope for any sort of future between us.
"I don't have feelings for anyone else because I can't stop thinking about you." There, I'd said it. I'd told British Boy exactly how I felt about him. There was nothing else I could say to be any clearer.
"But you can't have feelings for me. We haven't even seen each other."
"I know it doesn't make sense." I sighed. "But you can't tell me that you don't feel something. I'm not even touching you, and yet, I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before."
I reached down and found his hand; it was rough and callused and strong. It felt amazing, like he didn't mind hard work. His fingers twitched, and I knew he felt something too. That was what encouraged me to hold onto his hand a little more, slipping my fingers until they interlocked with his.
"Do you still feel nothing?" I asked in a soft voice.
His hand tightened around mine for a split second before relaxing again.
"It feels nice. But I don't know if I'd say it's any different than holding someone else's hand."
How could that be possible? My whole arm felt lit up with electrodes. How could he not feel what I was feeling?
I stepped closer so I was leaning against his side.
"What about now? You have any reaction to being this close to me?
The quickness of his breathing told me that he was feeling something from this.
"No. Nothing."
He was lying. Why would he want to lie about this?
I pushed away from the counter and stepped to where I thought I was facing him. I let go of his hand and just stood there in front of him. I felt his minty breath on my hair and knew our faces were only inches away from each other.
"Still nothing?"
He sighed. "Not a thing."
"You're lying. There's no way you're telling me the truth right now.” I reached up and moved my hands up his arms until my right hand rested over his heart. "Your heart is racing as fast as mine. Why won't you just admit that you feel something for me?"
"Because I'm not supposed to. I'm not supposed to get into a relationship with you." This was the most sincere he'd sounded in our whole conversation.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because…" He sighed. "Because it will make this that much harder when I move away. You won't be able to forget me. I need you to forget me." His voice was shaky.
"Why would you ever want me to forget you?"
"I can't explain."
What was going on with him? The air was charged with emotion, and I could feel that he liked me as much as I like him. He was just holding back because he was moving and didn't want to start something that had no chance of a future. But I knew I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't kiss him right now. I needed that. We deserved it. A stolen kiss in the dark would be the only way I could say goodbye to my sweet British Boy.
I lifted my hand from where it still rested over his heart and tentatively gripped his shoulders, pulling myself closer to him so my cheek rested against his. He sucked in a breath as if my touch both surprised and overwhelmed him.
"I know you're leaving, and there's nothing I can do about that," I whispered, my lips next to where I imagined his ear would be. "But you've made me feel things these past few weeks that I've never felt before. I just want one more experience with you."
And before he could push me away, or run out the door, I took his face in my hands and pulled his lips to mine.
He stood frozen at first, like he was shocked that I would kiss him, but then a moment later, his soft lips were moving gently and carefully with mine. I didn't know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't this. British Boy's kiss wasn't hurried and rushed like the other guys I'd kissed in the past. His hands didn't try wandering to places I didn't want them to go. Instead, he made me feel like I was special, like we had all the time in the world to get to know each other better. Like we had more than just today to kiss. And suddenly, I knew these few minutes wouldn't be nearly long enough.
My lips became hungry at the thought that they were standing on borrowed time. They wanted more. I pushed my fingers into his hair, which was softer and shorter than I'd imagined. He wrapped his arms tightly around me until there was no space left between us.
My heart hammered so hard in my chest I was sure he could feel it through my ribs. I had never had a first kiss like this, never had a last kiss like this either. It was like I'd been tr
ansported into another world and only he and I were there. We were all that mattered. Kissing British Boy was all there was.
But he was moving away. This was his last week at school.
My hands stopped combing through his hair. I couldn't do this. I wouldn't let myself enjoy this kiss any longer. It had seemed like a great, romantic idea. A goodbye kiss. But my heart couldn't handle it like I'd thought. I liked British Boy. I really did. And the fact that this was the best kiss I'd ever had was heartbreaking because I wouldn't have it again.
Sadness swirled through me as I slowed my lips. Our time was almost up.
A sob started building up in my throat and I pushed myself away from him.
"I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have done that."
Before I could say anything else, he bent down next to my ear and whispered, "That's the most alive I've felt in months, Ashlyn. But I can't keep up this lie anymore."
He didn't have a British accent this time. British Boy wasn't British? And he knew who I was?
My knees weakened, and I gripped the counter for support. British Boy had been lying to me the whole time?
I felt along the wall behind the cupboards, looking for the light switch. I needed to see who this guy was.
His strong hands gripped my shoulders from behind and pulled me against his chest. "Yes, I lied to you. It wasn't right, and I wish I could take it all back. But if you knew who I was, you never would have given me a second thought." His British accent was back.
"Who are you?" My ears pounded as adrenaline coursed throughout my whole body.
"Someone who doesn't deserve you." And then he let go of me and disappeared. I scrambled toward the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but instead I rammed right into one of the lab tables and banged my knee.
Why couldn't he just use his real voice again? I thought as I hunched over and rubbed my knee. My brain was clear enough that I might have a chance at recognizing it.
It couldn't be Noah, could it? He was the only person I could think of that matched what he was saying.
But no, Noah wasn't as thoughtful as British Boy had been. He wasn't a good listener. He was a mean jerk who made my life miserable. Plus, I would have recognized the way he kissed me, wouldn't I? It’d been a few months since we last kissed, but I couldn't have forgotten that easily, could I?