Crazy, Stupid, Fauxmance (Creative HeARTS)

by Shellee Roberts

  “You have no idea,” Cabot muttered.

  “Oh, I think I do. That day she found out you and Mariely were going to the dance together, she showed up at my house, all whacked-out pissed, and tried to convince me to go with her, saying I owed it to her and that your breakup was my fault. When I told her no and asked her to leave she threw herself around my ankles and begged me. I had to drag her out of the house. It was bizarre by any standard, and I grew up in L.A.”

  Cabot would have never thought that discovering the guy Audrey had cheated on him with would be the best thing that could happen today, but it was. “Thanks, Finn. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “Hey,” Finn called out to him as he turned to find his car, “listen, you can use what I told you however you want, and I know I don’t have a right to ask you this, seeing as how I hooked up with your girlfriend, but could you not tell Mariely that I was the guy? If she knows, then Willa will know, and I…” His voice trailed off and he looked uncomfortable and awkward. “I’d rather Willa doesn’t know if she doesn’t have to.”

  “No worries,” Cabot assured him. “The only person who needs to know that I know is Audrey.” Cabot walked to his car and got in, his mind already putting a plan in place. What Finn had told him wasn’t a lot, but if Cabot played it right, it could shut down Audrey for good. Then he could concentrate on the bigger problem: getting back Mariely.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I have never been in a more revealing outfit in my life.

  I traded in my original flouncy dress for this femme fatale red, off-the-shoulder, neckline-down-to-here wiggle dress that leaves me barely enough room to breathe, much less wiggle. I spent three hours rolling my hair into sleek Veronica Lake curls, then painting an elaborate black-and-white Dia de los Muertos sugar skull design on my face. Now I’m this close to paying the driver to turn around and take me home.

  “This is a mistake,” I tell Willa, who’s squeezed into the seat next to me, Damien on her other side. He’s wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt, open at the collar, not a costume like all the other drama geeks will be wearing tonight. Like I’ve said before, Damien may be in theater track, but he’s definitely not theater. Also, since this night is no longer a foursome, Damien downgraded from a stretch to a town car, so we’re packed in like sardines in the backseat. My third-wheeler status couldn’t be more undeniable.

  Willa, looking adorable in a black crepe pintucked dress with frilly cap sleeves and Peter Pan collar, shifts her legs again, trying to find a comfortable position riding on the hump. “This is not a mistake,” she says, though after repeating herself at least three dozen other times already, she’s having a hard time keeping the annoyance out of her voice. “So what if Cabot is there with Audrey? Didn’t you swear up and down to me a thousand and one times that you are done with guys?”

  “She’s wearing the wrong dress if she’s done with guys,” Damien mumbles, causing Willa and me to glare at him in unison. “What? You don’t put on something like that”—he makes an up-and-down motion with his hands indicating my dress, not even bothering to pretend he’s not staring at my boobs—“if you don’t want guys to look at you.”

  Please let this be the only time I ever think this, but Damien is right. I did wear this dress to be noticed. Actually, everything I’ve worn this week is so that one guy in particular would notice—for all the good it did me. I primped for longer than the length of a Broadway show and practically sewed myself into this costume to prove to him and everyone at NextGen that just because not one but two guys dumped me in the space of a single month, doesn’t mean I’m at home scarfing Ben & Jerry’s with Mr. Darcy.

  Except I don’t feel like proving anything to anyone now. I feel bruised and exhausted by all of it—Jacen, Cabot, relationships, stupid fauxmances, crazy ex-girlfriends. All of it. So why bother?

  “Damien’s right,” I say. “I’m going home. I don’t want to be noticed.”

  “No, Mariely. You’re not going to let Audrey win this, remember?” Willa pleads.

  “She already did, Wills. She’s coming with Cabot.”

  Willa is being stubborn, though. “This is our last fall dance. You have to stay for at least one song. Please?”

  I sigh. Even though Willa has every right to be yelling at me “I told you so” from the rooftops, she’s stood by me through this whole debacle. I can stay for one dance to make her happy. “Okay, fine, one dance—not a slow one—and then I’m leaving.” If I hurried I could make it home, cut myself out of this dress, burn it, and still be in my sweats eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream by ten o’clock.

  The car pulls up in front of the beautiful stone theater overlooking the hills outside Austin. Damien gets out and holds the door open for Willa. The driver gets mine. Strings of white twinkle lights and Mexican papel picado crisscross over the outdoor courtyard. Inside I see a red carpet with a photo wall. Everyone looks beautiful and they’re giggling while taking selfies and I can hear Big Bad Wolf, one of the NextGen student bands, playing inside. It’s pretty much the perfect setting for a perfect evening.

  Kill me now.

  Willa, her extrasensory BFF superpowers on alert, senses I’m about to dive back into the car and throw all the cash I’ve got at the driver to take me anywhere but here. She locks one of her hands around mine, the other around Damien’s.

  “We’re here and we’re going to have fun, dammit!”

  In the ballroom, thousands of twinkle lights sparkle overhead and wreaths of orange marigolds, the traditional flower of Day of the Dead, decorate the walls. The band is playing some kind of rock/soul fusion and people are dancing.

  “Willa, over here.” Damien pulls us toward a group of his friends. I spot my theater nerds on the other side of the dance floor, all beautifully costumed with their faces elaborately painted as sugar skulls. I pull my hand from Willa’s grasp. She glances at me, afraid I’m making my threatened escape.

  “I’ll be over there,” I say, pointing to my tribe.

  “You better be,” she warns before letting me go and disappearing into the crowd with Damien. In my head, I’d imagined coming tonight in this dress and cutting through the crowd like Scarlett O’Hara at the ball, but in reality I try extra hard to stay focused on where I’m going and not all the faces, afraid of who I might see if I don’t.

  I almost make it to the welcoming, protective arms of friends when I’m cut off at the pass. By Audrey.

  “What is it with you drama geeks and the costumes? Can’t you ever dress like normal people?”

  Thankfully, Cabot is not with her—that I couldn’t have taken. I glance disdainfully at her chic taupe-colored dress. “Why? When normal is so beige?”

  Audrey’s lips draw tight and thin. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re here at all. If I’d had two guys dump me in less than a month I’d probably stick my head in an oven rather than show up at a dance and advertise my pathetic loserdom to the world. But that would never happen because I’m not a pathetic loser.”

  “No, you’re just a basic bitch.” I try to sweep by her, but she blocks me.

  “I may be a bitch, but at least when Cabot is with me he isn’t faking it.”

  An icy shiver zips down my spine, and all of my bravado evaporates.

  Oh.

  Holy.

  Shit.

  Audrey knows.

  My head starts to spin, and my hearing goes in and out. Images of me spending the rest of my senior year as a laughingstock flit in and out of focus in my head. And laughingstock is probably the best-case scenario once Audrey is done with me. “Wh-what did you say?”

  “Shut up, Audrey,” a deep voice growls. Appearing out of the crowd dressed in top hats and tails and full-on skeleton makeup, as if they’ve just stepped out of a Dia de los Muertos–themed Fred Astaire movie, are Jacen and Himesh.

  And Cabot.

  Wearing a gorgeous royal-blue tuxedo jacket, black pants, and patent leather shoes
so shiny the twinkle lights reflect off them, his blue eyes are blazing from beneath the black swirls and dots of a stunning skeleton design covering his face. Death has never looked so hot…or so pissed off.

  “Leave her alone, Audrey,” Cabot snarls over the music. “This is between you and me.”

  The look on Audrey’s face is straight-up disgust. “What are you wearing on your face?” She whips back to me, livid. “You couldn’t leave him alone, could you? You had to ruin him, like you ruined your ex-boyfriend,” she screeches, pinning Jacen with her loathing.

  Jacen’s not having it. “Piss off, Audrey.”

  Ignoring his date’s transformation into the Wicked Witch of the West, Cabot only has eyes for me. “Mariely, you look stunning. I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”

  “Why?” I ask, mad at myself for not leaving earlier when I had the chance. “You have a date, and it’s not me. Enjoy your night.” I hook my arm through Jacen’s and turn to walk away, but now it’s Cabot who cuts me off.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get here because I want to make it absolutely clear to everyone that I want to be with you, Mariely. You and nobody else.”

  I stare at him, not certain at first I heard what I think I heard, but there’s no mistaking the look he’s giving me—truth so raw I feel it deep, deep inside where I keep all the feelings I never let anyone disturb, afraid if they do I might break. A week ago I would have given anything to have to him say those words to me, but now…I’m not going to break. I can’t.

  “Wrong move, Cabot. Now everyone is going to know what pathetic losers you both are.” Audrey pulls her phone from her wristlet. “I knew there was no way Cabot would actually be with someone like you, and I was right. Recognize this?” She shoves the phone in front of me. The brightness of the screen makes me squint, but then I realize what I’m looking at: the script I gave to Cabot that spelled out in minute detail how we could make our fauxmance seem real. My stomach rolls and heaves, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick. I lock eyes with Cabot, and he looks as sick as I feel.

  “H-how did she get those?”

  “She found them in my room,” he says.

  “She was in your room?” Now I’m really going to be sick, imagining all the things that might have happened between the two of them in his room.

  Audrey smirks. “Many, many times.”

  “Shut up, Audrey,” Cabot yells. Everyone around us freezes, even Audrey, and I can practically feel the hundreds of eyes turning to see what’s happening. “She was snooping and found them in my room and said that if I didn’t break up with you she would post them online. I couldn’t let that happen, not after what you’d already been through after your breakup. So I went along with it. I was trying to protect you.”

  Audrey’s body practically ignites she’s so pissed. “Giant white knight fail for you, Cabot, because now the whole world is going to know what I know.” She raises her thumb to send those images along to what is I’m sure thousands of followers across a social media network so vast I’ll have to not only change schools, but cities, and probably my name. I’m about to vomit on the floor when Cabot snatches the phone from her hand, drops it onto the floor, and smashes it to pieces beneath the heel of his shoe.

  Audrey shrieks. “You think that’s going to stop me? You’ve heard of the cloud? I can send those images from anywhere, any time.”

  Cabot’s voice rumbles, low and dangerous. “Do it, and I will take out a full-page ad in the Austin Chronicle announcing to the entire city how you threw yourself at Mia McCain’s son and he had to drag you out of his house, clinging to his ankles, to get rid of you. You enjoy publicly humiliating people so much, get ready for a taste of your own medicine.”

  Audrey’s jaw goes slack, her eyes widen. “Th-that didn’t happen.” She crosses her arms across her body, trying to regain her composure. “You have no proof.”

  “I do.” Finn steps into our ever-widening theater-in-the-round—I mean, at this point, we should sell tickets and popcorn. “What is it people say online? Pics or it didn’t happen? Well, it did happen and I have the pictures, so if I were you, I would rethink your strategy. Or I may be forced to rethink the money I paid to buy up the long-lens paparrazzi shots of me on the porch of my mother’s new house prying you from around my legs.”

  Audrey’s ivory pallor turns nearly translucent while Cabot and Finn stare her down in a we-totally-mean-everything-we-said way. Finally, she slinks away into the crowd.

  Cabot turns to Finn. “Thanks for that. I’m sorry it was so public.”

  Finn shrugs. “I said you could use that information any way you needed.” Then he leans in and whispers something to Cabot that I can’t hear.

  Cabot shakes his head. “That was a confidence. No one will hear it from me.”

  Finn nods appreciatively, then spots someone in the crowd—Willa, who is rushing toward me. In the brief moment before he blinks, I see a look in his eyes of such intense longing that after he’s gone, I can’t be sure I didn’t imagine it.

  “Mariely, what the hell happened?”

  “Audrey happened,” Cabot answers for me.

  “Oh God, what did she do?”

  “Mayhem, destruction, the usual,” says Jacen. Then he turns to me. “Are you all right?”

  All right? No. I feel annihilated. “I’m going home now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Willa offers.

  “No, you stay here with your date, okay? This is supposed to be your perfect night. I don’t want to screw it up more than I already have.” I hug her so she knows I mean it.

  “We can drive you. Right, Himesh?” says Jacen.

  “Of course. We’ll take you home,” Himesh agrees.

  “No, I’ll take you,” Cabot interjects. It’s not a question. Everyone watches to see how I’m going to respond.

  I don’t.

  To Willa, and Willa alone, I say, “I have money for a cab. Call me tomorrow, okay?” I give her another hug, but concern mars Willa’s pretty face, so I try to smile a little to reassure her that I’ll be okay, except I fail miserably. So pretending I have any dignity left, I head for the door before the tears I’ve been holding back spill over and everyone will finally see that I’m nothing more than stage makeup and bravado.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Outside I hide in the shadows beyond the reach of the twinkling lights, the music, and the general making-merry of everyone in the theater, waiting for my cab. When I see it pull into the theater’s circular drive, I practically jump in front of it I’m so ready to be gone from this place and away from this night. I’m opening the door before the driver comes to a complete stop, but as I slide into the refuge of the backseat I’m pushed even farther inside by another, larger body. I don’t even have to look to know who it is.

  “Should I start driving or not?” the driver asks.

  “No,” I say at the same time Cabot says, “Yes.” Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and tosses a handful of bills into the front seat. “2600 Nuckols Crossing.” The driver doesn’t ask me again; he just starts driving. Fine. Whatever.

  “What the hell are you doing, Cabot?”

  “I said I was taking you home, and I meant it.”

  “If I’d wanted you to take me home, I would have let you. Now get out.”

  “Not till I talk to you.”

  “I’m done with all the talking I’m going to do tonight. I just want to go home. By myself.”

  I scooch as far to the other side of the backseat as I possibly can and stare out the window, the universal girl sign for I’m not going to talk to you. This, however, does not deter Cabot.

  “I’m sorry about tonight, about Audrey, about everything. When she found those scripts, I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I went to your house that day, to tell you, so we could come up with a plan for how to deal with it together. I didn’t go there to break up with you; that was the last thing I wanted to do. But you were so upset alr
eady by what Audrey had said to you, I thought maybe the better option was to let you go, so you wouldn’t have to go through another humiliation. I thought I was doing the best thing for you…even though it was the worst thing for me.

  “I came to the dance tonight to tell you I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have broken up with you, and not just because I have something to hold against Audrey, but because I want to be with you and I think you still want to be with me. Yes, we’re different, you’re in theater and I’m in fine arts; you’re from the East Side and I live in the Hills; you’re rockabilly and I’m not. Who cares? We’re good together. Can’t that be enough?”

  Silence settles into the cab as I stare out, watching Cabot’s reflection in the window until it goes blurry from tears. Finally, when I think I can speak coherently, I ask him, “Who did your makeup?”

  “Jacen.”

  I laugh, a sad little sound. “My ex-boyfriend helping my ex-whatever try to win me back. You know Jacen warned me against getting too involved with you in the first place.”

  “Yes,” he says. “I heard him that day when I came to meet you in the Black Box.”

  “He told me I was going to end up falling on my face. Well, look what happened. I’m tired of looking like an idiot, feeling like an idiot, being disappointed by people. You let me believe that you broke up with me for all the reasons I thought we weren’t right for each other in the first place, that our differences were too big to overcome. That I wasn’t worth fighting for.”

  “Dammit, Mariely, this is me fighting for you, can’t you see that? I am wearing skeleton makeup that your gay ex-boyfriend put on me so I could show you and Audrey and everyone else how worth it you are to me. I am so far out of my comfort zone here I may as well be on another planet.”

  “Shouldn’t people who are supposed to be together be in each other’s comfort zones? You were right, breaking up was the best thing for me. Because I am so over all of this emotional drama. I just want to be left alone.”

  Cabot turns to look out the window. “Stop here, please.” We’re at an intersection still miles away from East Austin. The driver turns into the parking lot of a darkened office building. Cabot opens the door and gets out.