“You can’t be serious about that theater girl. This whole thing with her is just about getting back at me, I know it.”
Cabot kept his voice even. “I guess I can be as serious with her as you were with whoever that guy was you hooked up with.”
Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “I told you that was a onetime thing, a mistake. Do you really want to ruin us, your senior project, over her?”
“You ruined us, Audrey. Mariely had nothing to do with that.”
Audrey yanked the painting from his hands. For a second he had the sickening thought she might bash it against the floor, and his heart stopped. When she didn’t, he silently thanked the universe. He could let her walk away with it and never see it again, but watching her destroy it in front of him? That would have broken part of him.
Audrey stalked out of the studio with his painting and the box of her stuff. Cabot didn’t see her to the door, but he heard her slam it shut. He stared at the big blank space left on the wall in front of him.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he came to Mariely. His finger hovered over the call button until he remembered she was at work. Crap. He really wanted to talk to her; she was the only person who got what he was going through. For a second he thought about grabbing his keys and heading over to the Drafthouse. It would be too weird to show up at her work, though, right? Especially after the way she’d reacted to the kiss fiasco earlier today. They weren’t dating for real. Mariely was not his real girlfriend.
Maybe that was the real problem: why wasn’t she?
Chapter Fourteen
Cabot is not in the parking lot to meet me before school the next day because he has to serve morning detention due to our impromptu makeout session at lunch. It feels unexpectedly odd to walk to class by myself, as if I haven’t done it hundreds of times before him, and would be doing so again soon. I realize I’m going to miss our morning ritual of coffee and tea and holding hands down the hallway.
I’m especially going to miss the hand holding—we’ve gotten so good at it. My palms hardly break into a sweat anymore.
What is going to happen to us next week after the dance? Do we go back to passing each other in the halls like nothing ever happened? I haven’t thought about it until now or considered that it might be a problem. But I’m starting to wonder if it will be, for me.
We’re doing our first full run-through of The Fantasticks today in theater production class. At our last rehearsal it seemed that Jacen and I had finally gotten past our initial post-breakup awkwardness and gotten back into our stage routine.
I was wrong.
Nothing is really off, but it’s definitely not on, either. No matter how hard I try I can’t sync up with Jacen or anyone else.
When we break for lunch, Jacen stalks up to me. “What’s the matter with you, Mariely?”
“Nothing, I’m just…having an off day.”
Jacen crosses his arms. “Every day with you lately is an off day. I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’m the only one who will: we need your focus on this stage, not off in lip-lock land with Cabot Wheeler.”
I audibly gasp. “Are you serious right now? You no longer have the right to be the jealous boyfriend, Jacen.”
“I may not be your boyfriend anymore, but in this room, on this stage, I’m the only guy in your life. What you do here affects me, affects all of us. That’s how theater works. Leave your personal life on the other side of the curtain.”
The kettle of unspent anger that’s been simmering inside me since I found Jacen and Himesh together on that sofa blows its top. “What or who I do in my personal life is none of your business ever again. As for what happens in this room and on this stage? We both know that I can act circles around you, even on my off-est days.” I grab my bag and shove my script inside.
“You think so? Because I think Cabot’s the one giving the performance of a lifetime.”
My heart skitters to a halt. Merciful Marlene Dietrich! My rage turns into cold, heavy dread, afraid that Jacen somehow knows the truth about us. “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”
Jacen rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, Mariely. Cabot’s using you. Either to get back at Audrey or get back with her, but it’s obvious to everyone. Everyone but you.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to sound relieved even as my heartbeat resumes its normal amble. But then my indignation returns. “Wait a second. A week ago you told me I should be with Cabot. That I needed it. Also, I’m the one who asked him to the dance in the first place. Why does everyone forget that detail? Did you ever stop to wonder if I’m using him? Girls can use guys, too, you know.”
Jacen shakes his head. “I saw that kiss yesterday, and I saw you. You’re falling for all of it: the car, the clothes, the cool. You’re falling for Cabot. But all that’s going to come of it is you falling on your face when—”
“Am I interrupting?” We look over to see Cabot standing inside the door of the Black Box. Wonderful. I wonder how much of this ex-never-lovers’ spat he heard?
“No, you’re not interrupting anything. Not anything that matters. Let’s go.” I pick up my bag and make sure to take a firm hold of Cabot’s hand as we leave. Outside, the October sun temporarily blinds me after being inside the dimly lit theater all morning.
“Oh, Bette Davis’s eyes, I forgot my sunglasses.”
“Here, take mine.” He pushes the frames into my hand. “Wait here, I forgot something, okay?” He disappears back inside the Black Box and I fumble around to put on his sunglasses. I wait for him, stewing over Jacen’s audacity. Who is he to warn me about Cabot’s intentions? I begin to tap my foot just thinking about it as a minute goes by, then another, while I wait and stew and tap some more.
Finally, Cabot rejoins me. “Are you ready? I’m starving.”
“What did you forget?”
“Oh. Nothing. I thought I dropped something.” He’s lying, I can tell. Why he would lie about forgetting something is odd, but before I can push, he takes my hand and asks, “How would you feel about sneaking off-campus for lunch today?”
“You spent the morning in detention, Cabot. Do you really want to go again tomorrow?”
Cabot shrugs and gives my hand a squeeze. “It was worth it today, it would be worth it tomorrow.”
Wait, what does he mean it was worth it? That the kiss itself was worth getting detention or how it pissed off Audrey? I’m so confused.
“I don’t really want to run into Audrey today if I can help it.” Well, that answers that. I have to stop forgetting that everything he—we—do is to further our plan. That there is no us apart from that.
“Yesterday went badly, I guess.” I’d wanted to text him on my bus ride home from work last night, to make sure he was okay, but decided, better not. Wondering about his emotional state is something that a girlfriend does, a real girlfriend. That’s not me.
“Let’s just say I could use a change of scene from the Café, couldn’t you?”
After everything with Audrey, Jacen, even Willa—yes, a change of scene would be paradise. “I’ll race you to your car,” I say.
He looks down and laughs at my four-inch wedges. “In those shoes? You’re on.”
I drop his hand. “Go!” I don’t win, but I didn’t give up, either.
When we get in the car, all out of breath, Cabot asks, “Do you have something to hold back your hair?” I hold up my wrist showing him a black elastic in its usual spot. “Good.” He pushes a button, and the top of the convertible rolls back. The sky is cloudless, and there’s the first hint in the air that fall will actually make an appearance after the endless summer heat.
We zoom up Burnet Road, then take a right through the neighborhoods till we hit the freeway. I text Willa that we won’t be joining her and Damien for lunch today before I turn off my phone and drop it into my purse. I want to put all the never-ending drama behind me for the next hour.
Traffic is moving today and Cabot punches the gas pedal on the Porsc
he. For someone accustomed to the lumbering, enclosed public bus system, all this freedom of movement and air is a bit scary and wild and exhilarating all at the same time. Kind of like my hair, which I have to wrangle so it doesn’t whip into Cabot’s eyes and blind him.
A few minutes later we exit and turn down a windy residential street south of the river that runs through downtown. Cabot brings the car to a stop along the curb under the canopy of an enormous live oak. I struggle to put my hair back together as he comes around and opens the door for me.
“You like tacos, right?”
I frown. “Are you assuming because I’m Mexican?”
“What? No. I assumed because you live in Austin and it’s kind of a rule if you’re going to live.”
“Oh. True.” We walk down the sidewalk to where a line of people has formed outside of a ramshackle taco joint that looks like it might have been a dry cleaner’s at one time.
“Have you been here before?” he asks.
I snort. “Out for tacos? Lita would cut off her own arm before she’d take us to a restaurant to eat food she can make better at home.”
“So maybe don’t tell Lita we came here.” He pauses for a second. “You call your mom by her first name?”
At first I’m confused, since I haven’t called my mom anything since I was twelve. Then I realize why he asked. “No. Lita is short for abuelita. It means grandmother in Spanish.”
“So you live with your grandmother?”
Crap! This is why we should have stayed at school. When we’re there I’m in the right frame of mind, the one where I don’t talk about my home life. Away from NextGen and all the people who remind me constantly that I’m not like them, I’ve let my guard down.
I answer with a “Mm-hmm,” then redirect with, “What’s good here?”
“Do you like beef or chicken or fish or vegetarian?”
“Vegetarian tacos? What’s the point?”
“Right? Though the Heather taco with queso fresco and avocado is pretty amazing.”
“What’s a Heather taco?”
Cabot winks. “You’ll see.”
He orders tacos with names like Frontera Fundido and Pollo Fantastico and two Heathers. We find a little table under the trees, and he gets four little cups of salsas for us.
“The green one is the mildest, then the red, and these”—he points to the two creamy ones—“are Doña sauce—extra spicy.” He proceeds to smother his Frontera Fundido taco in Doña sauce and digs in. I select the verde sauce.
“Aw, I thought you’d go for the Doña,” Cabot says.
“You assume I like it extra spicy because I’m Mexican?”
He grins over a mouthful of taco. “No, I assumed you’d go for the extra spicy because you’re the kind of girl who doesn’t back down from a challenge.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That’s because it was.”
I smile shyly. I like that this is how he thinks of me, that I’m that kind of strong, fearless. I like that he doesn’t know how weak and scared I can be. That’s what makes this fauxmance ideal, that we won’t ever have to see each other’s flaws. To me he’ll always be the gorgeous, kind, earnest guy who makes my heart flutter. To him, I’ll be the va-va-voom girl, with a little mystery and a lot of moxie.
And even if that isn’t the real me, I liked being her to him.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “I have voice work during theater this afternoon, and spicy is not good for my vocal cords.”
“Cabot, hey, what’s up?” We see three guys jumping out of a Land Rover that’s double-parked in the tiny lot. All three have various shades of blond hair and button-down plaids. They come over. The way Cabot sits up, rolling back his shoulders, tells me he’s not thrilled by this development.
“Long time, dude,” says the taller one, reaching out his hand. Cabot stands as he shakes it.
“Yeah, it has.” His voice is unmistakably tight.
“We heard about what happened with Audrey,” says another.
“That’s so brutal, dude,” the third chimes in. “Do you know who it was she hooked up with? Kick his ass?”
“No, I didn’t ask,” Cabot answers. The muscle in his jaw begins to flex back and forth; he’s clearly annoyed by these assholes. “Nate, Jacob, and Cass, this is Mariely. My girlfriend.”
Our original fauxmance agreement was that we didn’t pretend to be together outside of school or activities with our classmates. Lunch off-campus on a school day doesn’t count, technically, and these guys are not our classmates, so Cabot’s introducing me as his girlfriend takes me by surprise. Them, too, obviously, because they look at me, note my bumper bangs, bowling shirt, and cigarette pants, then share a WTF look.
“Mariely, these are friends from my old school. Sorry, guys, we gotta go.” Cabot holds out his hand for me, and I take it.
As we make our way back to the car, hand in hand, I whisper, “Do you still hang out with those guys?” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice—who am I to say who Cabot is or is not friends with? Still, Lita always says that the friends you keep say the most about who you are as a person, and those guys say Cabot is a giant douche bag.
“Not in a long time. I told you before, that was another life.” He sighs. “A life I wish I could forget right now. I’m sorry about that, and I know we said we wouldn’t, you know, do this outside of school, but…”
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” We approah his car and and an idea comes to me. A kill-two-birds-with-one-stone idea. I glance back down the sidewalk and see those three still watching us. “So, they obviously know Audrey?”
“Like I said, everybody knows everyone else in the Hills.”
I lean back against the car and pull Cabot toward me.
“Mariely, what are you doing?”
I grin mischievously “Making sure they know and Audrey knows that she doesn’t get to win. Now, put your arms against the car and lean over me.”
Cabot hesitates briefly, like he’s deciding how far he wants to go with our outside-school PDA. But he puts a hand on either side of my body on the car frame and closes the space between us. Really closes it. Until I can smell the warm and cozy scent of his sun-warmed skin.
“Like this?” His voice rasps.
“Mm-hmm,” is all I can manage and do my level best to focus on staying in character, the va-voom girl with moxie. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next part. “Now, kiss me, and not a stage kiss.”
Cabot’s eyes darken, and when his gaze drops to my mouth, I can hardly breathe. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mariely? We don’t have to.”
I nod, because I can’t speak, and close my eyes, reminding myself this is a performance like any other. For Audrey, for those assholes down the street.
I can handle this. I can handle this.
Cabot’s lips brush mine, so softly at first, I’m not sure he’s going to actually kiss me. But then he nudges open my mouth with his and I feel my resolve to stay calm melting away as I melt into Cabot. My heart skips over leaping, right into chest pounding, and my hands come up to rest on his hips. I don’t know if it’s to hold myself up, or hold him closer, or both. The kiss goes on and on and I think I could stay like this forever…
When Cabot’s lips leave mine, I open my eyes to find myself again staring into those dark, tempting pools. “Is that what you had in mind?” He sounds like he’s having a hard time catching his breath.
No, that was nothing like I had in mind, but everything I asked for just the same. “I’m pretty sure that did the trick.”
I’m pretty sure of two other things as well. One, I cannot kiss Cabot ever again if I plan to leave this fauxmance with my heart not broken into a million pieces. Two, Willa is always right. I might be accidentally falling in love with him.
Chapter Fifteen
The drive back to school is quiet all the way until we pull into the parking lot. The revelation of my own feelings for Cabot
makes me too tense to say anything, and Cabot’s silence isn’t helping.
“Do you have plans this weekend?” Cabot asks once we park.
“Work, mostly. I picked up an extra shift, so I’m working both Friday and Saturday night, plus Sunday afternoon. Why?”
Cabot shifts in his seat, rubs his palms up and down his jeans, like he’s the one who’s nervous. “I wanted to ask if you might like to hang out sometime, you know, just you and me.”
Oh, sweet Lana Turner! What is happening? I call on every acting technique I’ve ever learned to sound chill as I ask, “Cabot, are you asking me on a date?”
“Not a formal date or anything, because I know you said you’re not ready for that, but…oh, screw it.” He turns his whole body to face me, his eyes super intense. “I didn’t kiss you back there because you asked me to. I mean I did, but I didn’t kiss you to prove anything to those three dipshits or hope Audrey finds out about it. I kissed you because I wanted to, because I like being with you. I want to spend more time with you, if you want to spend time with me.”
Deep breaths, Mariely.
I wasn’t wrong; I did feel the connection with Cabot when he kissed me the first time. And he was affected just as much as I was by our earlier kiss. Part of me is screaming, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” This is my chance to get the answers to all those “what-ifs” and “maybes” I’ve been wondering about with Cabot. The other part of me hears Willa: “Be careful, Mariely, don’t get hurt.” And Jacen, “You’re going to fall on your face, Mariely.”
Both of them are probably right, but…what if they aren’t? “I don’t have to work on Thursday,” I offer.
A grin spreads across Cabot’s face, but only for a couple seconds before he slumps into his seat. “I can’t Thursday. I have to have dinner with my dad… Wait, you could come to dinner with me and then we can do something afterward.”
“You want me to go to dinner with you and your dad?” I laugh nervously. “I thought you said nothing formal. Dinner with your dad sounds pretty formal.”
Crazy, Stupid, Fauxmance (Creative HeARTS) Page 10