The Fine Art of Pretending (21 page)

We hold each other’s gaze a moment more, and then he walks away. I watch his back, counting his steps until he disappears down the stairs and into the parking lot. Then, and only then, do I let go of the emotions wreaking havoc on my insides.

Twenty minutes later, Gabi finds me curled on the bench.

“Hey, girl, I’ve been looking for—” She stops, takes in my blubbering face, red eyes, and runny nose, and says, “I’ll be right back with Kara!”

Gabi has never been good with emotional stuff. I drag my fingertips beneath my eyes and grimace at the thick coat of black I wipe off. The double doors open, and Gabi reappears, only this time with the entire freaking cavalry in tow. Kara and Sarah fall around me, each grabbing a hand, as their respective dates huddle near the wall, looking completely out of their element. The door opens a third time, and Carlos and Justin join the party.

Fantastic.

I don’t have to say much—the fact that I’m bawling like a baby and Brandon is nowhere in sight makes the situation quite obvious.

Still, Carlos asks, “Where’s Brandon?” Gabi shoots him a death glare and slaps his arm. “What the hell, woman?”

Ignoring him, she pushes my feet off the bench, tugs me up, and then slides in on one side as Kara takes the other. Wrapping me in a three-way hug, Gabi declares, “Men are idiots.”

I sniff and look at the crowd standing around awkwardly, more than half of which are guys. Drew lifts his chin in consolation.

Kill me now.

Sarah kneels down, leaning her head against my lap. “Are you okay? Gabi’s right, boys are stupid.” She glances back at her boyfriend and clarifies, “Not you, honey. Brandon. What is his deal? He ignores the obvious for years, finally wises up, and then–” She turns to me and asks, “Wait, what did he do exactly?”

Kara hands me a ball of wadded-up toilet paper, and I drag it across my eyes. “Nothing. We broke up. It was mutual.”

The looks on their faces confirm that nobody is buying the pre-canned line.

Sarah pats my hand. “Aly, don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

Gabi rolls her eyes, and I struggle not to do the same. Sarah means well, but being consoled by someone completely in love? It doesn’t help. And Drew tugging on his ear, mumbling condolences,
really
doesn’t help. Without a doubt, Brandon is going to hear all about my sob-fest now. Drew’s a sweetheart, but keeping his mouth shut isn’t one of his strengths.

I hear the gym doors open yet again, and I just
know
who it’s going to be. In case I hadn’t gotten the message, the universe thought she’d stick it to me one more time. And that comes in the form of Lauren.

From the expression on her face, I can tell she didn’t know we were there. For once, she doesn’t look plastic or haughty. The confidence I’ve grown to expect from her and all the other
Casuals
is noticeably absent, replaced with slumped shoulders and a downcast gaze. For about a nanosecond, I see a girl who appears just as lost and sad as I do. Exhaustion radiates from her being.

But then, registering her audience, the old Lauren returns. Shoulders snapping back, she lifts her chin as her sharp eyes take in my balled tissue and emergency response crew. Smirk in place, she tosses me a haughty, “Have a great night,” and continues strolling past. But after everything that has happened tonight, it lacks the usual sting.

Gabi pulls Kara to the side, and they start whispering heatedly. I hear the phrase “payback’s a bitch,” and not knowing if they are talking about Lauren or Brandon only makes me cry more. This isn’t anyone’s fault but mine. Carlos shuffles his feet and scratches his arm, reaching out to pat my head like a dog every thirty seconds. Justin taps his foot against the brick wall, eyeing me behind an unreadable mask. Daniel pockets his phone and then takes it back out, obviously lost as to what to do.

The old saying “misery loves company” is a complete load of crap.

I grab Kara’s arm. “Guys, I just wanna go home, get in my jammies, throw a blanket over my head, and wallow. Can we please get outta here before the entire dance comes pouring out to get the gossip firsthand?”

There’s no doubt in my mind Lauren is working her phone, spreading it as we speak.

Kara’s eyes widen, coming to the same conclusion. “Daniel, we gotta go.” Grabbing my arm, she pushes me forward. She totally gets self-preservation.

Daniel, obviously happy to have a task to do, yanks his keys from his pocket and tromps ahead. I turn to offer the group a halfhearted wave filled with balled-up toilet paper, then follow him, arm in arm with Kara, to the parking lot.

When they drop me off ten minutes later, the house is dark. I let myself in quietly, my shoulders slumping in relief. My parents are great at the whole listening without judgment thing, but I really can’t handle going through the whole ordeal again. I grab a Coke from the fridge and a container of Double Stuf Oreos from the pantry and creep up the stairs to my room.

Setting my heartbreak cure on the nightstand, I throw myself onto the bed and stare at the painted ceiling-scape Gabi created. The bright yellow sun and fluffy clouds that greet me each morning normally make me smile.

Not tonight. They’re too damn joyful.

I grab my silky, yellow,
cheerful
pillow and chuck it at the ceiling, grunting with the effort.

Now that felt good.

Leaning my chin back, I stare at the Wall of Shame and laugh in disgust. I didn’t even get a just-a-friend picture from tonight’s dance to add to the wall. Somehow, that’s even more pathetic.

I shake my head and survey the photos, remembering each dance, each guy. Each time I wasn’t enough. Then I eye the calendar mounted over my desk.

The countdown to Homecoming is on; it’s time I got back to business. My priorities slipped the last few weeks, but from now on, my eyes are set firmly on the prize. This is about being confident and
Casual
. And getting Justin to ask me to Homecoming.

He
is supposed to be the end goal, not Brandon. Now I remember why.

I kick my shoes across the room and fold myself into bed. I have an early practice in the morning, followed by our rec team’s second volleyball match. As tempting as it is to ditch both, I can’t let down my team, and I won’t disappoint Kaitie or Baylee. Brandon either. Everything that happened tonight was my fault, not his. Tomorrow, I’m just going to have to put my head down, plow through on autopilot, and endeavor to get through the match without making things between us worse.

If that’s even possible.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 28TH

5 weeks until Homecoming

BRANDON
FAIRWOOD CITY PLAYGROUND, GYMNASIUM, 12:45 p.m
.

I
glance at the gym’s closed metal doors and unfold last night’s sketch from my pocket. In it, Aly sits on the bench I left her on last night. Her hair is up in the messy ponytail of pre-makeover days, but she’s wearing last week’s lace halter top. Tears pool in her usually sparkling blue, makeup-free eyes. My stomach hurts.

I’ve gone through some horrible shit in my life. I’ve watched my dad battle a sickness and lose. I’ve watched my mom work to utter exhaustion to try to support us and my sister cry over forgetting the sound of our dad’s voice. But walking away from Aly, both my longtime friend and the girl I’ve seen the last three weeks, was honestly one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Being on the dumped end of a break-up fucking sucks. Hell, it sucks being in a break-up period. My normal hookups just sort of fade, both parties growing bored and moving on to greener pastures. That’s the joy of
Casuals
. No drama, no pain, no tears.

No fear.

And fear is exactly what I feel as my gaze darts back and forth between the sketch and the gym doors, every cell in my body on red alert for Aly’s appearance. A screech on the linoleum makes me jump. I look up, but it’s only Baylee doing warm-up drills. I glance again at the clock and tap impatiently on the bench.

Last night couldn’t have gone worse. All my preparation and self-lectures flew out the window the second Justin put his hands on her. I should have just danced with her to begin with, instead of hanging back with Carlos, trying to gain control over my impulse to scoop her up and drag her back to my truck. Unfortunately, watching her toss her hair around and sway her hips on the dance floor only turned me on more. And when Justin moved in for the kill, I couldn’t take it.

Our conversation on the breezeway was humiliating, but after I pounded the heavy bag in my garage for an hour, I decided she was right. We needed to end our fake relationship and get back to reality—our friendship, minus the PDA—before we lose everything.

I just pray it’s not too late.

At eight-fifty on the dot, the doors finally open.

I quickly pocket the sketch, stand up, and shove my hands into my deep pockets.

The army-green coach’s polo hangs loosely on her small frame, almost baggy like her old clothes. With her hair up in a ponytail and worn-out khakis, she looks like the Aly I’ve known for years, except for one small difference. She won’t look at me.

Eyes down, she stalks across the floor, plops her water bottle on the bench, and drops her bag.

I clear my throat. “Morning.”

Aly glances up, but her eyes reach no higher than my chest. “Hey.”

Seconds tick by in silence. She pulls at her ponytail and bounces on her toes, never once meeting my eyes. I take a step to close the distance between us, and she scampers to the opposite side of the gym, where she pulls Baylee and Kaitie into a conversation.

Obviously, the last place in the world she wants to be is next to me on the sidelines.

Which, the more I think about it and the longer I watch her avoid any and all eye contact, is complete crap. I may not be well-versed in the area, but isn’t holding a grudge and being pissed supposed to be the right of the
dumpee
?

Aly remains on the other end of the gym until the rest of the team shows up ten minutes later. When she does eventually make her way back to our bench, she sits beside me and wrings her hands in her lap. I stare at those hands, aching to fill the silence between us, to make things right, but no words come.