Gabi shakes her head. “Brandon just attacked Justin at the park.”
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 20TH
1 week and 5 days until Homecoming
BRANDON
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY, 12:00 p.m.
I push through the cafeteria doors with one singular focus: finding Aly. I gave her space on Saturday, figuring we could both use the time to calm down. When she didn’t show at church yesterday, I took it as a sign to give her even more. But when she barely made it to homeroom before the bell rang, cheeks still red and puffy, I decided the time for space was over.
Unfortunately, this is the first block we’ve had together all morning.
I walk past the waiting underclassmen and nod at the guy standing behind her. I never throw my weight as a senior or the captain of the baseball team around, but today feels like a good day for an exception. The dude looks like a freshman and he quickly makes room, and after lifting my chin in thanks, I turn to Aly. Her nose is in a book, but she’s so tense her shoulders are practically in her ears. She knows I’m here.
“Aly, I’m sorry.” She doesn’t react, and I glance back to see Short Man listening with interest. I raise two fingers in a mock-wave and continue anyway. “I was a jerk at the match. You needed me to listen, not give a lecture, and I swear I didn’t mean any of it the way it sounded.”
Those tense shoulders shudder with a breath, and Aly dog-ears her page. Turning sideways, she gives me an unreadable look. “It’s fine.”
The look in her eyes calls bullshit. Pulse pounding, I scramble to fix things somehow. “No, it’s not. Aly, I was an ass, but you have to know I only said those things because I was upset. You deserve better than Justin—you are better than Justin. And seeing you in pain…” I swallow hard. “…it killed me. Seeing you hurt makes me crazy. I hate it. But I promise you—” I brush a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “—I never meant to hurt you. I fucked up and I’m sorry.”
A shimmer of warmth enters her eyes, and her pink lips part. She looks lost and vulnerable, and her voice lacks her usual cheerfulness as she says, “No permanent damage done.”
I want to believe that’s the truth.
I’d like to think an apology can fix everything. But I don’t. Aly is back to staring ahead, and I can’t come up with a single thing to talk about—other than me digging to see if what Justin told me is true, and doing that would do no good. It won’t change things. It can’t. But with that off the table, I have nothing. Our friendship has always been effortless, and now I’m grasping at straws. I rub the back of my neck.
Short Man bumps into me, and trays slam at the table next to our line. When I envisioned this conversation, it didn’t happen in a crowded noisy line in the cafeteria, waiting for slop. Aly and I were alone, I apologized and she forgave me, our normal friendship came back, and all the messed-up, destructive love feelings flitted away.
Unrealistic, I know. But I never expected to be scared shitless.
“I heard you saw Justin this weekend.”
My head snaps back. “Where did you hear that?”
“Carlos texted Gabi. Apparently texting is now allowed within the parameters of her no-highschool-boys policy.” Aly gives me a searching look as we take a step forward in line. “Did Justin tell you anything?”
I hesitate, not sure what or how much to say. “He told me I had my facts mixed up. That you actually broke up with him.”
She nods slowly. “Did he tell you why?”
A grandma in a hairnet scoops goopy pasta onto a tray in front of me, and I shake my head. Justin gave me a reason, but I still think he was playing me. “Not really. He said I should ask you.”
Sidestepping in line, Aly shoves that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear and shrugs. “We weren’t right for each other after all.” She raises her head, and a ghost of a smile crosses her face. “Guess you were right.”
Her smile is fake. It’s proof that there’s a wall between us, a shield Aly’s never put up before. Pain lingers in her eyes, and I want so badly to ask if she’s so miserable, why in the hell did she call things off with him in the first place? But I don’t. I have secrets I’m keeping from her, too. So instead, I say honestly, “If it makes you this sad, I wish I’d been wrong.”
I grab the tray from the end of the line and follow Aly to the cashier. “I’m paying for both of us,” I tell the woman, turning to Aly with a nervous smile. “Least I can do for being an ass on Saturday.”
“Thanks.” She bites her lip and bounces on her toes, darting her eyes around the cafeteria. “You don’t have to. But thanks.”
“No problem.” I tuck my wallet back in my pocket and start walking to our usual table. Aly doesn’t follow. “You’re not sitting with us today?”
She sets her tray on a floater table and chuckles. “Um, no. I think I’ll just sit here and read,” she says, lifting her book in a weak wave. “But thanks, Brandon. For lunch. And for apologizing. I overreacted the other day.” She sticks out her hand, an authentic Aly grin threatening to grace her beautiful face. “Friends?”
Relief pours through me, followed by a quick shot of disappointment. Friends are exactly what we need to be. I take her small hand in mine and repeat, “Friends. See you at practice later, then?”
Scooting out a chair, Aly nods as she sits. “Yeah, see ya then.”
BRANDON
FAIRWOOD CITY PLAYGROUND, 4:05 p.m.
It’s our sixth practice and the girls know the drill. They enter the gym, check their names off the roster, and take seats on the front bleacher, waiting for the signal. Once everyone arrives, Aly blows the whistle and we all file out for a ten-minute warm-up jog.
From the beginning, we’ve made a point of setting an example. Giving as much as we ask them to give. Working hard and playing hard. I don’t know if it’s made a difference to the team, but today, I’m glad we do it. It gives me a chance to talk to Aly.
I fall in line beside her, our breathing in sync with the pounding of our feet on the rubber track. “Can you believe our last game is this weekend?” I ask between breaths. “It feels like we just got started.”
Aly breathes out and gives a small smile. “I’m gonna miss the girls. They’ve been fun.”
I laugh. “Of course you’ll miss them. They practically worship you. What will you do without your entourage?”
She giggles, and the tinkling sound makes my pulse race harder. “They don’t worship me.” She cuts a sideways glance and grins at my disbelieving expression. “Okay, maybe a little. But you definitely have your own underage admirers in the group. Maybe not completely for your skills on the court.” She gives a slight shrug, and the teasing tone of her voice is so close to our normal banter that euphoria hits my bloodstream. “But I guess you have to take what you can get.”
I jog closer and gently bump her. She pitches forward and then regains her stride, shooting me a playful glare that shows she’s not mad. Another hint of normalcy.
We lap the track several times and then single-file it back into the gym. After a quick drink of water, I lead the girls in a series of stretches before Aly begins drills.
“Okay, listen up,” she calls from the front of the gym. “We’re gonna work on passing. In groups of three, you’re going to lie face down on one side of the court. When you hear Brandon call your name, jump up and set yourself in time to return the ball back to me. Got it? First up, I need Baylee, Kaitie, and Britney.”
The girls have two turns each at the drill, then we break into groups for a scrimmage for the rest of practice. We dismiss the girls at five-thirty, and while Baylee and Kaitie go to the concession stand for a snack, Aly and I gather supplies to put in the back of my truck.
“Heads up,” she shouts.
A ball hits my back, and I stumble. Grabbing a second volleyball, I turn and raise it above my head to lob at her. “You asked for it now.”
Aly backs away, crouching and laughing, waiting for me to throw it. But I don’t. She stands back up with
a questioning look.
“I thought you’d be here,” Lauren says, sashaying across the floor. “Surprise!”
I drop my arm and watch as Aly shuts down again. She grabs the two volleyballs nearest her feet and makes a beeline for the bleachers to drop them in the canvas bag. Twirling around, she gives me a tight smile.
“Well, that’s everything. I’m gonna grab Kaitie and head on out. See you later, Lauren.”
I don’t say anything. I just watch her slam into the metal door and throw it open. It bangs shut behind her.
With a frustrated sigh, I fling the canvas bag over my shoulder and fish my keys out of my pocket. Turning to Lauren, I motion toward the door.
This has gone on long enough.
Outside, I toss the bag into the cab of my truck and scan the playground for Baylee. She’s a few yards away on a swing, eating a pickle and staring back unabashedly. I lean against the truck and speak to Lauren for the first time. “You wanted to surprise me, huh?”
She presses up against me and says, “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
I gently push her back and take a breath. Girls like Lauren use me for the same thing I used to use them for. Fun. Excitement. Something to do on the weekends. As captain of the baseball team at a school where the football team sucks, going out with me gives girls social status. It’s stupid, flattering, and even embarrassing, but it’s the truth. Lauren doesn’t care if my heart is in it—hers most certainly isn’t—but I care.
“Lauren, I think this—” I say, motioning between the two of us, “—has run its course.”
She tilts her head and studies me, probably confused. Probably even pissed. It’s only been a week, and I’ve yet to take her anywhere. I never even kissed her. If anything, I used Lauren to look like I got over Aly, and although I have no doubt Lauren was using me too, I still feel ashamed.
She releases a breath and says, “I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not?” I was completely prepared for a major girl-like fit. She shrugs a shoulder, and I ask, “Why not?”
“I knew this was a long shot. I see the way you still look at Aly.” She rolls her eyes. “You love her.” The sarcastic reply is a lot closer to the reaction I expected.
Popping open the tailgate, I hop up and motion for her to do the same. She hesitates but eventually does, and I turn to her. “Lauren, I’m not saying that I hurt you because I don’t know if I did and assuming so would make me an egotistical ass. But I used you this week and you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
Lauren narrows her eyes. “You’re serious?” I nod solemnly, and she laughs. “Damn, Aly did some kinda work on you, huh?” Her lips flatten into a thin line and her nose wrinkles as if she smelled something bad, but before I can give her shit for her attitude about Aly, Lauren continues, “Listen, Brandon, I appreciate the gesture and all, but you didn’t hurt me. I pretty much used you, too.” She snorts. “Or at least I tried to.”
A minivan pulls up beside my truck, and a crap load of hyper kids pours out. They take off for the soccer field, talking smack and taunting, trailed by a set of exasperated parents, and I wait for them to clear out before asking, “What were you hoping would happen?”
I don’t know why it matters, and I doubt she’ll tell me, but I’m curious. As obnoxious as Lauren’s been the last four months, she’s not all bad. She’s hot and smart and amusing in her own way. I never understood why she came after me so hard when she could’ve had anyone.
Lauren’s eyes are on the nearby playground and at first, I don’t think she’s gonna answer, but then she smirks and says, “You were a challenge.” She lifts a shoulder unapologetically. “You’ve never made a play for me, and you’re pretty much the only jock who hasn’t. It bothered me. Being popular means being with the best, Brandon, and other than Justin, that’s you.”
“So it wasn’t because you felt a soul-deep connection,” I tease with a laugh, and she shrugs again, this time with what looks like a real smile on her face. It’s a lot prettier than her usual ones. “Well I appreciate your honesty. To give it right back, if it helps any, I didn’t realize I was in love with Aly until yesterday. And I’m almost certain she doesn’t feel the same.”
Lauren snorts, leaning back to prop herself on her elbows. “You don’t know how to read girls very well then.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”
A somewhat comfortable silence stretches between us as we listen to the laughter floating from the playground. After a few minutes, Lauren exhales a breath and scoots off the tailgate. “It’s been fun, Brandon. If things don’t work out with Aly, you have my number.”
“That I do,” I say, though we both know I’ll never use it. She’s a Casual, and though I don’t believe in love or relationships, I’m officially over that scene. At least for now.
She leans in to kiss my cheek. “Aly’s a lucky girl.” She wiggles her fingers in a wave, and I watch her walk away, thinking, I’m the lucky one.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 23RD
1 week and 2 days until Homecoming
ALY
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY, 12:05 p.m.
The tangy smells of spicy food and nacho cheese waft toward me the moment I open the cafeteria doors. While I’ve always been a lover of food in general and dessert in particular, Mexican cuisine holds a special place in my heart. I smile, thinking of the yummy goodness that awaits, and walk to get my tray. As I do, I glance at the Beautiful People table, curious if Brandon is there. Things are still weird between us, but they’re getting better. I’ve sat at the floater table all week, but this morning I decided to join them again. It’ll be awkward as hell sitting with Justin, too, but I meant what I said. He’s a good guy, and I hope we can be friends.
Walking with my head turned, I don’t see Lauren coming. Or where I’m going. One second I’m thinking about what my opening line will be when I show up at the table, and the next, I’m chest-to-tray with a plate full of nachos. And I’m not the only one.
As the bright-green tray clatters to the ground, Lauren looks at the neon-orange cheese oozing down her shirt. My leg muscles tense, ready to run, as her legion of followers fans off to the side, various stages of outrage and shock on their faces. A flash of cold hits the back of my neck—but this time, I refuse to bolt.
At least not yet.
“You skank!” At her enraged shriek, the cafeteria goes silent. It’s like the quiet before a storm. A shit storm named Lauren. “You totally did this on purpose!”
I shake my head as she flicks a chip from her shirt. I watch it land on the ground, my pulse thundering in my ears. Never mind that I have globs of radioactive cheese splattered all over me as well; Lauren’s evil grin clearly says she’s out for blood.
“No,” I stammer, like the complete coward that I am. “I didn’t.”
“No?” she asks, taking a step closer, her lip curling up like Elvis. “Then did you go blind in your quest to become a girl?”
Her voice twists on the last word, and it echoes in the quiet room.
A hitched breath escapes. The edges of my vision go fuzzy.
On some level, I’m aware of the whispers around us, the gleeful looks from Lauren’s minions. I even realize Gabi and Kara have suddenly appeared beside me, no doubt gearing up to kick ass. But it’s like I’m removed from it all. Like I’m in a bubble, where the only real sounds are Lauren’s hateful words repeating over and over.
Quest to become a girl.
Hell, you actually look like a girl.
Pretty sad you had to resort to all that.
Only way you were able to get him was to change everything about yourself.
It’s during that last one that the bubble pops. And I snap. The weight of constantly seeking others’ approval, desperately wanting them to like me and fearing I’m never good enough, finally gets to be too much. I don’t care if I stumble all over myself or end up giving Lauren more ammo for her maliciousness. I need to say something.
Interrupti
ng her snarly griping, I raise my voice to say, “Lauren, for the love of God, shut up!”
Her mouth falls open, and she does just that, along with the rest of the room. Then she blinks, as if shocked that I’m standing up to her, and to be honest? So am I.
“All you do is bitch,” I continue, throwing my hands in the air, though I have no idea where the words are coming from. It’s like I’m on autopilot and someone else is in control of my mouth. “I mean, seriously, you need to get a new hobby. Because terrorizing me and anyone else who dares to shine in your vicinity is getting pretty damn old.”
Shaking my head, I realize I’m done. I’m done standing there, waiting for her to come back to life and zap me with another zinger, and I’m done with feeling the need to do the same. She isn’t worth it.
Glancing down, I notice my goop-coated shirt.
Well, maybe I’m almost done.
Dragging my finger through a particularly thick glob of cheese, I scrape it up and meet her frosty glare. Then I fling it at her. A gasp rends the air, and I spin on my heel.
Gabi’s wide eyes meet mine as both she and Kara rush to fall in step beside me. We make it halfway to the back doors before Lauren sputters to life.
“Where do you think you’re going? This isn’t over. You can’t run away now.”
“I’m not running,” I tell her, glancing over my shoulder. I cover the distance to the double doors and shrug as I push them open. “I’m just tired of talking to you.”
ALY
KARA’S DEATH MOBILE, 12:20 p.m.
I’m flying high. And walking on rubber legs. I don’t remember the walk down the breezeway, and I have no clue why we’re here. Kara presses the remote for her car, unlocking the passenger door and shoving me inside.
“Wh-where are we going?” I stammer.
“Ditching!” she proclaims, sticking her head in. “You totally just handed Lauren Hays her ass in public! That, my girl, is cause for celebration.”
The Fine Art of Pretending Page 20