The Fine Art of Pretending (11 page)

Brandon’s horrifically bad singing helps me relax. Soon it feels like it’s just the two of us, alone and goofing around in my living room. He hams it up playing Danny Zuko, complete with
snazzy
John Travolta dance moves, and I do my best to match with my wholesome Sandy impersonation.

Talk about an original
Commitment
girl.

The audience cheers along from the very beginning, even joining in for the background “tell me more”s. Singing with Brandon is so much fun that, before I know it, the song is over, ending on the impossibly long note that he totally murders, but in the best way possible, grin on his face, eyes crinkled, finger extended high in the air.

For one short moment, it’s silent. That short moment feels like a lifetime. Then, to my utter amazement, we receive a standing ovation.

We did it.

I stare at the crowd, stunned, unable to comprehend what just happened, and sense Brandon watching me. I look over, and he smiles. Grabbing my hand, he lifts it in victory, resulting in even more whooping.

My cheeks burn and I bite my lip, but nothing can hold back the smile splitting my face. I feel incredible, blissed out more than I ever thought possible.

Chin lifted a little higher than before, I take a step off the stage and feel my ankle roll in my strappy, platform shoes. A gasp comes from the girl in the front row, and a vision of me smacking my head on the cold, hard linoleum floor in the world’s worst encore plays in my mind. But then Brandon’s hands are there, circling me, halting the ground from meeting my face. Saving me like he always seems to do.

“Oops.” I grab onto his elbow with a grimace, feeling the cords of my neck bulge out. “That was epically embarrassing.”

Brandon shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Barely anyone noticed.”

I turn to the still-cheering crowd and realize he’s right. Only a few of the girls in the front row are smirking at my almost wipeout.

Freaking heels
. They are going to be the death of me.

Keeping a firm grip around my waist, Brandon leads me back to our friends. The second we reach the table, Gabi and Kara tackle me.

“How did I not know you could sing like that?” Gabi asks, pulling back from the three-way embrace. “And why in the hell didn’t I bring my camera?!”

“Seriously, Aly, that rocked!” Kara wipes a stray hair from her wide-open mouth. “I can’t believe you got up in front of all these people! I mean, I would in a heartbeat, but you?” She squeals again and wraps me in another tight hug.

She rocks me back and forth, and I grin, realizing I took a major step in the right direction.
Casuals
are defined as being fun and adventurous. A week ago, that would
not
have described me. But tonight, for the first time in my life, I abandoned myself in public to pure pleasure. I almost passed out while doing it, but hey, it’s all about the baby steps.

But the question is, did Justin notice?

I gaze over Kara’s shoulder. Brandon is standing in the middle of his friends, being not-so-gently ribbed, taking it all with a smile on his face.

“Powerful singing there, Brando,” Carlos says, straight-faced. “Crazy moves, too.”

“You know, it was chivalrous to try and help Aly sound better by sucking so badly,” Drew adds. “But next time, I think she can handle the singing stuff on her own.”

Justin crosses his arms, an eyebrow arched over a devastatingly dark eye. “Yeah, that was raw entertainment right there.” He waits a beat, then his smile breaks free and he slaps Brandon on the shoulder.

They all join in, laughing and talking, and Justin slides his gaze toward me. He nibbles his lower lip and nods, giving me a slow once-over. A choreographed victory dance plays out in my mind.

Oh yeah.

He noticed.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 12TH

7 weeks and 2 days until Homecoming

ALY
ALY’S CABIN, 12:35 a.m
.

My
heart is totally going to beat out of my chest. Gabi clears her throat—our signal—and I ease out of my bunk, hoping the ancient springs won’t creak. I look at Kara’s empty bed. She sneaks out every night, and Thompson hasn’t caught
her
yet.

Everything will be fine, Aly. Chill out
.

I tiptoe barefoot across the rough boards to where Gabi waits. She sticks her head out the door for a quick chaperone check and then waves me through. Clinging to the shadows cast from the cabin, we move stealth-like through the grass, avoiding the lampposts marking the trails, and creep toward the sand bank near the lake.

It’s our final night at Cypress Lake. When Gabi suggested tonight’s jailbreak at dinner, I completely balked. But my fake hookup whispered in my ear, reminding me that a true
Casual
wouldn’t hesitate at an adventure like this, so I gritted my teeth and let them convince me it would be fun.

As I carefully step over a fallen branch, a twig beneath my foot snaps. I jerk back, wide-eyed, sure we’re about to be busted. The worst that can happen is detention—we leave in the morning so it’s not like they can send me home early or anything—but I’ve never been in trouble before. For the last three years, I’ve managed to avoid Gabi’s nuttier adventures by claiming a mountain of homework or rigorous volleyball practice, but now there’s no backing out.

Tonight, I’ll prove I’m the
Casual
type. Even if it freaking kills me.

The moon’s reflection on the water peeks through the trees as we near the deserted beach. Gabi and I are the last to arrive. Kara and Daniel had their own secret rendezvous scheduled, and Drew claimed a headache, so tonight it’s the six of us. Justin and Lauren stand near the water, and as we approach, she slides her hands around his waist and into the back pockets of his jeans.

The display is typical and frustrating, but I’m determined not to let it affect me. It’s not like the boy can make a move on me tonight anyway; he thinks I’m with Brandon.

Patience is a virtue
.

I walk to where Brandon kneels in the sand, spreading out a blanket. He dusts his hands on the back of his pants and grins when he sees me at the cover’s edge. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I cross my arms. Sometimes I
hate
how well he knows me. “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” He takes my hand and tugs me down beside him. “But I bet you’re obsessing about being caught. Am I right?”

I scowl. “No.” Normally I tell Brandon everything, but it feels important that he believe my transformation into a
Casual
is easy and natural. So I aim for blasé as I ask, “So what’s the plan? Just hang out and stargaze all night?”

“Actually,” Carlos chimes in, plopping down and hogging half the blanket. “How about Truth or Dare?”

Gabi rolls her eyes, squatting down between us. “Seriously?” She tries to look annoyed for Carlos’s benefit, but really, she’s a dare queen.

Justin and Lauren walk over hand-in-hand and kneel down. Lauren smiles her plastic smile at me and says, “I’ll go first. I love a good dare.”

This was why I avoided all those boy-girl parties in junior high. Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven—all different names for the same torture. I’m not fearless like Gabi or confident like Kara. I survived those games by a combination of avoidance and aptly timed bathroom trips. Yet here I sit—a senior in high school—and it catches up with me.

Effing jailbreak
.

“Okay, Lauren,” Justin says with a glance at me.

Uh-oh
.

My stomach clenches, and I swallow hard.

“I dare you and Aly to make out for thirty seconds.”

I stare ahead dumbly, positive I heard wrong. But from the grin twitching his lips, I can tell my ears are working just fine. A small
squeak
escapes my throat as Lauren shrugs like it’s no big deal. When Justin looks away, she nails me with a look of challenge.

Where the heck’s a bathroom when you need one?

Sliding her feet beneath her, Lauren leans forward, and I finally find my voice. “I’m not kissing Lauren!”

She sits back, grinning in triumph.

“What’s the big deal?” Justin asks. “It’s just a game.”

I open my mouth, but no words come. A very small, very miniscule part of me considers doing it. Justin is noticing me. Refusing his dare will erase all the positive steps I’ve taken this week. But there’s just no
freaking
way it’s going to happen.

Now, how do I get out of it?

Luckily, Brandon speaks up. “It’s not Aly’s dare, it’s Lauren’s. She doesn’t have to do it.”

My knight in relaxed-fit jeans
. I lean against his chest and smile in gratitude.

Justin glares at Brandon and says, “All right, Lauren, I dare you to flash everyone.”

“Whatever.” She grabs the hem of her shirt. “You know, you can just search YouTube. I did this at Mardi Gras last year.”

Her eyes flick to Brandon, and she lifts her top.

Averting my gaze, I look to see if Brandon is watching the show. Thankfully, his eyes are on the sky. I don’t know why I’m so relieved, but I am. Perhaps feeling my stare, he looks down at me and then away, clearing his throat.

Did I seriously risk getting caught for this?

“Okay, my turn!” Lauren says, adjusting her shirt. “Brandon, truth or dare?”

I can’t even imagine the kind of dares this girl can come up with; truth has to be the safest choice. And since I know everything there is to know about Brandon, it’d be a lot less stressful to watch. Closing my eyes, I
will
him to say truth.

“Truth.”

Another wave of relief washes over me. I give him an encouraging smile, letting him know I’m here if things get sticky. There’s a lot Brandon doesn’t like talking about, his dad’s death being at the top of the list.

“Truth?” Disappointed, Lauren scrunches her forehead. I get the distinct impression she was hoping for a dare—and I have a hunch what that dare would involve. After a few moments of painful suspense, she says, “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything good.” She huffs a breath and asks, “Brandon, are you a virgin?”

My head snaps up. Lauren acted as if it’s the dumbest question in the world, but she inadvertently stumbled on the one thing Brandon and I never discuss. I’ve always assumed he’s not, but he refuses to tell me how far he goes with the girls he hooks up with, not that I’m that eager to know.

Brandon looks at me, then back to Lauren. “No.”

The truth hits like a punch to the gut.

My jaw hurts with the strain of keeping my face as neutral as possible, and I avoid looking him in the eye. Brandon places his warm hand on my shoulder, and I stop myself from flinching.

Why do I care if he’s a virgin or not? Any girl he sleeps with is his business.

And we’re not
really
together anyway!

This week of pretend hooking up has ended up feeling more like a week of being his pretend girlfriend. And it’s the
pretend
part my head and heart are having the most trouble with.

With forced effort, I relax my spine and place my hand on his. This isn’t his fault. It’s my own brand of crazy. Brandon exhales, his breath fanning the hair on the top of my head. His thumb wraps around mine as he returns to the game. “Gabi, truth or dare?”