The Fine Art of Pretending (33 page)

The back door opens with a
beep
, and Kara rushes in with an armload of grocery bags that have to be cutting off her circulation. She heaves them onto the kitchen table and huffs, fanning her bangs around her face. “Never fear, spa products are here.”

Grinning, she kicks off her shoes and pads over to the recliner. Squeezing in on the other side of me, she pinches my face in one hand and studies it with puckered lips.

“Kara, if you’re trying to kiss me, I should warn you. I’m nothing but a heartbreaker.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls my face to plant a kiss on the bridge of my nose. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, everyone knows I’m the heartbreaker. So which guy are we hating today, Brandon or Justin?”

I slump against her and reply, “Neither. If we must hate on anyone, it’s me, but I’d rather we focus on distracting me from the self-loathing.”

The grandfather clock in the hallway dings, and my stomach growls. I peel myself out of the leather recliner and reach back to help my friends up. “Time to feed the pathetic. What do y’all wanna do for lunch?”

Kara grins. “How about a gallon of ice cream, a row of Oreos, and a big glass of milk?”

I blink slowly, waiting to see if an alien life force has taken my health-aholic friend’s place. Kara rolls her eyes at my slack-jawed wonderment and waves her hand. “I believe you’ve earned a day of junk food, and what kind of friend would I be to let you suffer alone?”

As miserable as I still am about Brandon and Justin, I can’t help but smile.

She puts her hand on her hip. “Well, don’t just stand there. Bring on the spoons!”

I hightail it to the kitchen before she can change her mind and am greeted by the chirping of Gabi’s phone on the counter. Instinctually, I pick it up and see an incoming text from Carlos. While she’s still in denial about her feelings, the two have definitely taken a turn for the closer since the camping trip. At least one good thing may’ve come out of this disaster.

“It’s lover boy!” I call, laughing as Gabi snatches the phone out of my hand. She walks backward a few steps to read the message, and her jaw drops. “Must be something sexy.”

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.