False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  He immediately paused to listen and curiosity finally brought him to the door. Turning the knob, he swung open the door only to have Sam tumbling into his arms and crashing against his chest for the third time. Vincent's eyes widened in alarm. "Sam? Are you hurt? What –"

  Sammy looked up at Vincent and beamed before slurring, " 'Ello, Vinnie. How ya doin'?" The red haired girl/boy followed up with a loud hiccup. "I'm so tired. Did you miss me?"

  Oh god. He's drunk. Vincent looked out into the hallway to make sure no one had seen the state Sam had returned in and quickly dragged the boy inside. Sammy had gone limp on him and Vincent closed the door quietly before heaving the boy across the room. Sammy's feet dragged and scraped all the way.

  While he was maneuvering Sammy to her bed, he grumbled, "What the hell were you drinking so much for? And who gave you alcohol?"

  "Mmm . . . Free Willy," she murmured dreamily.

  "I'm not even going to ask," he grunted as he tried to set her down on her bed gently. She sat there with a dazed look in her eyes before they turned wide with panic. "Oh no! There's an earthquake! The room's spinning around!!" Her green orbs settled on Vincent in fear. "Gyah! You're spinning too!" And with that, she launched herself off the bed straight at him. He grunted as he caught her easily in his arms, but she tightened her arms around his shoulders and pressed close against him. Whispering comfortingly in his ear, Sammy slammed her hand against his back in what he thought was supposed to be a soothing manner, "Don't worry. I got you. You're not spinning around anymore!"

  He turned red at her proximity and cleared his throat awkwardly. With a wry smile, he remarked, "Ah, gee, thanks. You're right. No more spinning around anymore. Whew."

  She grinned crookedly at him as he ducked low, lifting her up in his arms and setting her back in bed. He attempted to tuck her in underneath her covers, but she caught his hands. "Vinnie . . . Vinnie . . ."

  I'm going to disembowel whoever gave him so much alcohol. "What?" It was too dark in the room and his eyes caught sight of that fragrant candle his stupid sister had bought him to "set the mood" for his future girlfriends. Since he couldn't open the lights and risk having teachers knocking on his door to check what was wrong what with Sam dead drunk and all, he quickly lit the candle and hoped that it wouldn't stimulate the fire detectors. He opened the window a bit to let in some fresh air and a cool breeze ruffled the flame, sending the glowing light flickering.

  Sammy spoke up then. "Did ya know I used to want pets?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "Yup. But we were too poor." She shook her head sadly against her pillow and her red hair turned into a messed mop. Vincent grinned and brushed his fingers against her forehead to smooth the tendrils back into place.

  She continued rambling, "Yup. But then I found out there was a thing called dust bunnies."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Yes . . .?"

  "So I decided to search for them with Terry. We did a lot of research and discovered that they liked to populate the place underneath beds and couches the most. So we went on an adventure to find our very own dust bunnies so that we may have our own very cute pets." She frowned thoughtfully. " 'Course we never did find bunnies. Just clumps of black dust. So disappointed!" she wailed and he clamped his hand over his mouth to keep from chuckling out loud. "We thought they were hiding. Then we learned that the lil balls of icky black dust were the dust bunnies so then we got even more disappointed."

  She looked up at Vincent ruefully. "Vinnie, they shouldn't call them dust bunnies. They don't even look like bunnies. They should have a disclaimer or something to warn children else they gonna get disappointed too." She nodded solemnly.

  Vincent stared at Sammy for a while before he mumbled underneath his breath, "That is so unbelievably sad in so many different ways."

  "Huh?" She blinked up at him, bemused.

  "Nothing, Sammy." He leaned in close to pull the covers up to her chin. She continued to look up, her eyes fixated unwaveringly on him. Hesitating slightly, he bent down quickly to peck her chastely on her forehead before spinning around with the speed of lightning to hurry back to his bed. Eh. Hopefully, he'll be too drunk to remember any of this.

  "Vinnie?"

  He turned around with an amused smile and folded his arms, "Yes, Sammy?" In the face of Sammy's purely silly yet adorable drunken self, like hell he could bring himself to act cold again. He really was turning into a mush.

  "I have a secret. Do you wanna hear?"

  His eyes crinkled as he watched her. "Do you want to tell me?"

  She paused for a while and he almost kicked himself for asking the question. Then she nodded hesitatingly, "Y – yes. I do. It's time."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

  "I – I – I –"

  He took a step closer to her, turning his face to one side to fix his eyes on her.

  She let out a sigh of regret and mumbled, "I hate cabbages."

  That gave him pause. "I'm sorry?"

  "Never did like them. I didn't even like those Cabbage Patch kids. Nope. Stupid cabbage."

  "Ah . . . I see. Well, er, good of you to tell me so." He nodded, bewildered.

  "There's more."

  His lips quirked in humor and he responded exaggeratedly, "No."

  "Yes. I'm afraid so."

  Resigning himself to what appeared to be Sammy's confessions regarding her passionate hatred for certain toys, he quipped, "You gonna tell me you hate Barbies as well?"

  "No . . ."

  "Then?"

  "I – I'm actually not what you think I am."

  "No?"

  "No. Actually, truthfully, in reality, I'm Sammy. Not Sam. 'cause Sammy is what I'm known by. Not Sam. 'Cause Sam is not really my name. I like Sammy. Not Sam. 'Cause my family used to call me Sammy. Not –"

  "Sam. I understand. Alright, Sammy, how about you get some sleep now, huh? You're going to wish you were dead in the morning when you wake up with a splitting headache."

  "But I'm not done yet," she murmured softly.

  "It's okay. I'll listen tomorrow," Vincent grinned as he turned around to head back to his bed. He shook his head. The kid really can't hold his liquor, can he?

  "Vinnie . . ."

  "I know. I know. You hate cabbage."

  "No –"

  "You don't even like Cabbage Patch kids."

  "Yes. But I'm also –"

  "I know. You're Sammy."

  "Yes. I used to have dust bunnies as my pets."

  "Mmmm . . ." Vincent reached his bed and started to pull back his covers.

  "Terry used to kidnap my bunnies and set fire on them."

  "Uh huh . . ."

  "I was so sad."

  "I'm sure you were . . ."

  "I was only eight."

  "Mmhmm …"

  "Vinnie . . ."

  "Hmmm . . ."

  "I'm Sammy."

  "Yup."

  "Vinnie . . ."

  "Uh huh . . ."

  "I'm a girl."

  "Mmhmm . . ."

  "Good night, Vinnie."

  "Uh huh," he was busy fluffing his pillow when Sammy's words suddenly caught up with him. His head flew up and he spun around, almost losing his balance. Heart thudding in his chest, he crossed the room in three steps and he stared down at her closed eyes. "Sammy."

  "Mmm?"

  "What did you just say before?"

  "I don't like cabbage."

  "After that."

  "I used to have a dust bunny. Its name was Fluffy."

  "No, after that."

  "Terry burned it. Then he flushed my second Fluffy down the toilet."

  "No! After that!"

  She didn't respond this time and her breathing turned deep and even. He watched her, trying to catch his breath. His heart pounded frantically and he slowly lifted his hand to cover his face. A bitter smile curved his face and he resisted the urge to laugh. God, he must really be going crazy. He was starting to hear things. 'I'm a girl.' He could have sworn that was what Sammy had s
aid but who knows? It could just be some cruel figment of his imagination again. Heck, he was already hearing voices, wasn't he? He shook his head slowly and turned around, shuffling back to his bed.

  Sammy sighed softly before mumbling lazily in the glow of the dancing candlelight, "I'm a girl, Vincent."

  One of these days, Vincent was going to hurt himself from all the spinning around he does. Vincent whirled around once again and as his frantic dark grey eyes fell on his roommate, the serene sleeping expression on Sammy's face was the last thing he saw before the candle's golden flame was dashed out by a sudden draft of cold air.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The first thing Sammy was aware of as she slowly came back into the world from some weird dreams about . . . dust bunnies . . . and Cabbage Patch kids . . . was this jackhammer going off in her head. It was like Snow White's seven dwarves had suddenly decided to pick up and move into her cranium, complete with their mining sets of pickaxes and shovels. Wincing slightly, she wrinkled her nose and refused to open her eyes. Somehow, she didn't think blinding sunlight would do her throbbing headache any good. No sirree.

  A low groan croaked out of her throat and she sighed. Why did she feel like someone had jumped off from the top of a skyscraper on top of her? Her eyebrows snapped together as she faintly recalled something about . . . buzzing . . . and Free Willy. What? Wait. Oh right. She had gotten drunk. Oh dear god. That was all she remembered. Stumbling around the hallways, she had managed to find her way back to her room and then – and then – and then – ARGH! Something about dust bunnies again! Somehow, she had the feeling that she was forgetting something extremely important . . . but what?

  Her mouth felt dried like salted fish or something and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Indulgently, she stretched out languidly, relishing in working out each crick in her muscles and threw open her arms when –

  "Ow!"

  Her right fist appeared to have connected with something distinctly firm and solid. Something distinctly firm, solid and warm. Something distinctly firm, solid, warm and familiar. Ah, no, it was a someone.

  Her eyes flew open then to see who she had inadvertently jabbed and she nearly choked. Vincent's proverbial hazy gray eyes, albeit a bit bloodshot, stared intently into her. She flinched. She had temporarily forgotten about the dwarves in her head and they had redoubled their pounding with a vengeance. Blinking blearily, she noticed that Vincent was, for some weird reason, on his knees by her bed, his upper body looming precariously over hers. His hands were clutching the sheets tightly until his knuckles turned a deathly white and he whispered hoarsely, "Sam."

  She blanched. Gee, he sounds almost as bad as me. Was he drinking with me yesterday? No . . . that was Free Willy. She paused. Don't ask. Squinting uncertainly at her roommate, she rasped, "Is something wrong, Vincent?"

  "Last night . . . you were . . . drunk . . ." He intoned in a similar cacophonous tone.

  A jolt of alarm rifled through her body. Oh no. Did I do something . . . inappropriate? Trying to maintain a nonchalant tone while shifting subtly to her right, she answered in a throaty voice, "Er . . . yeah. Sorry about that." By that time, her shoulder had ran into the wall, but still she persisted in pushing back until her shoulder started to crawl up the surface and she slowly slid onto the side of her body. Vincent quickly took up the room she had worked so hard in creating by immediately seating himself down, effectively closing in on the tiny distance between them. Rubbing his knees absentmindedly, he leaned down until the upper half of his body was practically covering her body. Her eyes started blinking involuntarily at his propinquity. "Sam. No, Sammy. You said something last night . . . that I believe you should explain . . ." His solemn tone suddenly had a twinge of what sounded like . . . desperation and frustration. "Please."

  She wished he wouldn't get so close. Sammy knew she probably looked like a mess. After all, it wasn't like they were in a movie or in some romance novel where the characters magically woke up picture perfect, ready for some heavy duty make-out session. Not that she was planning on making out with Vincent. Ever. At least not in her current cross dressing condition. Once again, that familiar feeling of self-pity swarmed over her and she frowned darkly. She surreptitiously ran a hand over a face, trying to cover her hair, then her eyes, and finally her mouth. All at once. She nearly cried at the foolish impossibility. Somehow, she knew her hair was all mussed up and sticking out everywhere like a half dilapidated mop. Somehow, she knew her eyes were probably dilated and dazed like she was a heroin addict or something - not to mention the corners must be covered with eye gunk. Somehow, she knew after a night of drinking, her breath would not be pepperminty nor doubleminty fresh. Somehow, she wanted to fade away into the wall behind her forever and ever before Vincent could notice her icky morning self. Not like he hadn't seen her in the past mornings they've spent together in the same room . . . but still. Not this close!

  "Sam?" He asked, managing to sound impatient, irritated and anxious all at the same time. Not to mention, husky, sensual, and – BAH! Sammy quickly reminded herself of her yucky, disheveled appearance and managed to get her thoughts gathered.

  Racking her brain desperately, she wondered what in the world she had possibly babbled about yesterday night. A sudden flash came to her. Vincent standing at the open window, illuminated by the flickering glow of a candle. A sudden breeze ruffled his dark hair. Her blurry vision still managed to capture the gracefully sculpted cheekbones and slender nose highlighted by the shadows produced by the golden flame. Black eyebrows curved in the shape of half moons ruled over his dark, smoldering eyes that were somehow made even darker in the night. His firm, solid chin leading the path that trailed against his strong jaw line. Then there was her. Collapsed in an unladylike (not that she did look very ladylike in the first place, being in her boy mode and all, of course) heap on the bed. "Vinnie, they shouldn't call them dust bunnies. They don't even look like bunnies. They should have a disclaimer or something to warn children else they gonna get disappointed too."

  Sammy wilted. Of all the things she could have talked about. Oh geez. Stammering incoherently, she tried to explain, "Well, about – oh geez – I don't know – I – I liked bunnies then. I – yeah – poor so – yeah – dust bunnies – good. Uh, I was small then – Terry made me do it – well – actually – really only about eight then – quite small – and – yeah. Children just do the darnedest things." She forced a high pitched laugh and winced at the jarring sound. The dwarves were having the time of their lives, prancing about in her brain.

  Vincent stared at her in confusion before shaking his head impatiently. "I wasn't talking about that. I actually found your weird childhood antics strangely endearing –" He turned pink for a minute. "Never mind, I wanted to know . . . you know, about what you last said before you passed out."

  No, she didn't know. Sammy's face twisted in a grimace as she tried to figure out what she was rambling about yesterday night but nothing of immediate importance came to mind . . .except dust bunnies. She shrugged helplessly, continuing to crush her shoulder against the wall. "I really don't remember."

  * * *

  Vincent paled and then he shook his head quickly. He did not just wait by her bed the whole night on his knees, staring almost obsessively at her sleeping face, for this! So close. He was so close to getting some answers that might finally solve his problems once and for all. Sammy's drunken confession last night that "he" was actually a girl had induced Vincent to leap into the air and perform a little dance with much flailing of his limbs. He had nearly drowned in the sudden wave of sheer bliss and contentment that overwhelmed him. His heart had started pounding furiously and his eyes were widened to the size of Texas - or perhaps just a Texan bull.

  It was also at this moment that he realized the extent of his feelings for Sammy. It wasn't so much as an infatuation. It was an obsession. Even though he had spent hours running around in denial, frustration, anger, foolishness . . . well, the list can just go on. And he
finally realized that he honestly, truly, genuinely liked Sam ... Samantha … Sammy. He liked her … even when she was still a him. Pause. Oh man, that sounded just wrong.

  "No! Just . . . think about it. Something about . . ." He was running his hand through his hair a mile a minute and he bit his bottom lip in frustration. He trailed off and stared at her hopefully. That was no help.

  Sammy started to shake her head when something struck her. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she stared blankly at him in horror. Oh no . . . I didn't . . . did I? I . . . oh no . . . ohnoohnononono! Did I blurted out something about . . . liking him? She started to panic again. Vincent isn't just going to give me the silent treatment. He's going to boot me out! He thinks I'm gay! She wanted to wail at the top of her lungs.

  Perhaps Vincent was just feeling particularly sadistic but he was absolutely elated by her expression of horror. He nodded gleefully, "Yes, yes! You remember now?"

  Sammy felt sick. Slowly maneuvering herself around Vincent by somehow twisting her body appendages in a contortionist's fantasy, she managed to clamber off her bed. She swayed there, trying to get her balance for a minute or so. It appeared that Snow White's minions had hacked their way through her motor coordination system. Upgrading to Rosy Red Cheeks Version 2.0, Sammy waved her hands around in a fluster, "I – I'm sorry! I don't what I was blabbering about yesterday but if I said anything . . . ah . . . offensive . . . I'm sorry!" The girl started scuttling backward, mindful of the fact that she probably looked like a crusty old crab.

  Vincent continued to sit there on her bed, seemingly dumbfounded. In one quick motion, he was on his feet and halfway across the room toward her. "Offensive? Sorry? What in the world are you talking about?" He repeated, clearly confused. His hands came up to grab her by the shoulders before she could scuttle around the room in a Crab Marathon. His wary eyes probed hers intently before he took a deep breath. "Sammy. Are you a –" He stopped. "I mean, could you possibly be –" He furrowed his eyebrows. Damn. "Are you a girl?" So simple, Vincent! What the hell are you making a muck out of things for?