The Fine Art of Pretending (35 page)

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.”

She cackles as Gabi hops into the backseat. Pressing her face between the headrests, Gabi lays her hand to my forehead to check for a fever. “Seriously, who the hell are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

I knock her hand away with a laugh—or, rather, an attempted laugh. With my entire body becoming one big shake, it comes out more like a wheeze. “I-I don’t know,” I admit, still not quite sure what happened either. Kara jumps in the driver’s side, guns the engine, and I say, “I-I can’t feel my legs.”

“Worth it,” Kara declares, throwing the car into reverse. “Did you see her face?” She backs up one-handed as she huffs on the fingernails of the other and pretends to polish them on her shirt. “I taught you everything you know.”

Gabi snorts. “Yeah, Kar, ’cause
you’re
the hard ass of the group.”

As we speed out of the parking lot, I lean forward, throwing my head between my legs. Adrenaline is pumping through me so fast, it’s like my team just won a championship. I breathe deep through chattering teeth, willing my body to calm down, and say, “Th-that. Was. A
rush
.”

Kara whoops again, and I inhale another deep breath, letting it out as I slowly sit back up. And then, I start giggling. Uncontrollably. Tears actually spring to my eyes, but for the first time in what feels like weeks, it’s from happiness, not heartbreak.

Kara joins in, propping her chest against the steering wheel as she drives, she’s laughing so hard, and through the happy tears, I check my seatbelt, confirming it’s secure. Wiping mascara smudges from under my eyes, I turn in my seat, realizing Gabi’s suspiciously quiet. Considering how many times Hurricane Gabi has struck and how much Lauren annoys her, it worries me that she’s not laughing.

Looking into her eyes, I wince and ask, “Was I
too
bitchy?”

That shocks the weird look from her face. “What? Hell no! If anything, you were still too nice. I just wish I could’ve gotten a jab in, too,” she admits. “You going off like that just had me too damn shocked.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” The memory plays back in my head, and another giggle-fit shakes my shoulders.

Holy crap, I just told off the captain of the dance team. In public!

As awesome as that is—and it truly is—Lauren was right about one thing: I did try to change everything about myself during this process. And I failed on an epic scale in almost every attempt.

In trying to keep things casual, I realized I
do
like commitments.

In going after Justin, I discovered he’s
not
the guy for me.

And in my need to fit this stereotypical mold of what I thought a
Casual
should look like, I reaffirmed my belief that heels are from the devil.

But I also stood up for myself today and faced down the queen of the school, something I never thought I could do. I also rocked karaoke. As terrifying as performing in front of a crowd was, it was also pretty freaking exhilarating. Maybe I
do
have a little
Casual
buried deep inside after all. Maybe I always have. Or maybe it’s that we’re like that ’80s movie,
The Breakfast Club
, where we’re all a little bit of everyone.

We’re all undefinable.

Kara whips her car into a gas station. “Trust me, Aly, Lauren had that coming.”

“Yeah, she kinda did,” I say, turning the ring on my finger. “But you know, she had a point though.”

Gabi
psshaws
from the back. “Are you kidding me? She acted like you ran into her on purpose. She overreacted, and you rocked. Don’t let her steal that away now.”

“No, I’m not.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide a leg under me, shifting my back against the window so I can face them both. “That’s not what I mean. I meant with her gunning after me to begin with. She’s pissed because Brandon picked me over her, and that
is
pretty unfathomable.” Kara opens her mouth to argue, but I shake my head. “Because he didn’t. Our whole hookup thing was just another part of Operation Sex Appeal. It was an act.”

Kara flicks her wrist, turning off the engine, and the silence speaks volumes. Her eyes are wide and Gabi bolts up. A slideshow of reactions plays across their faces, both ending on bewilderment.

“I don’t understand,” Kara says, hurt making her voice soft. “Why wouldn’t you tell us?”

I hang my head and clamp my eyes shut. “I was embarrassed! I mean, a fake hookup? Who does that, right? When I suggested it, I never thought Brandon would go for it, and when he did, I don’t know… I just assumed y’all would try to talk me out of it. Or tell me I was taking the makeover too far. Or that I’d finally lost it. All reactions that, in hindsight, would’ve been completely accurate.” Shoving my fingers through my hair, I squeeze my head as the last few weeks rush over me. “After it was over, I still couldn’t admit I lied. Besides, by then I’d fallen for him anyway, so that part was honest. Just the part about him being in love with
me
wasn’t.”

Gabi tosses her seatbelt aside and slides her folded arms on my seat. Laying her head on top of them, she says, “Aly, I do crazy crap all the time. No matter what stupidity you land yourself in, I’m not gonna judge you. It pisses me off that you didn’t know that.”

“I do know that,” I tell her, putting my hand on her arm. “This was a
me
thing, not you. And I’m sorry. Believe me, it’s not gonna happen again. I’m done with lying, games, manipulation, all of it. It’s too exhausting.”

“So it was all fake?” Kara scrunches her mouth like she is confused. “Even that kiss I heard so much about?”

My lips tingle at the memory, and I feel a blush creep up my neck. “No. Well, it started as fake, just like the rest. Gabi dared us, so we had to do it.” I bite my lip. “But then it became very real. It was just that one time, but…” I duck my head and grin. “…it was good.”

Gabi snickers, but Kara presses on. “And what about the dance? Those tears in your eyes were real, girlfriend.”

The grin falls from my face. “Like I said, I did fall for him. But I don’t know, I guess Brandon figured out how I was feeling and it got too complicated for him.”

“I don’t buy it,” Gabi declares, exchanging a look with Kara. “Not the fake-relationship part, but the Brandon-not-falling-for-you bit. I saw the two of you together, and you know I enjoyed watching his reaction to you and Justin hooking up. No one’s that good of an actor, Aly. Trust me.”

I sigh. “Oh, how I wish that was true, Gabriella.”

Kara taps her finger on her lip, like a detective on the hunt for clues. “You said he figured out you were falling for him. Did he tell you that? Or did you just assume?”

“Call it a hunch. My feelings got all crazy-like, things got weird, he freaked, and we called it off.” I throw my back against the door, remembering the pain of that night. And every night since. I shrug hopelessly. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Gabi rolls her eyes. “Ms. Reed, you are so adorably clueless sometimes.”

“And you’re so much better?” I ask, scowling at her sudden woman-of-the-world exterior. “Has anything happened on the Carlos front this week?”

That smirk disappears with a quickness. “Actually, we talked this morning in detention.”

“And?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“And it was nice,” she answered defensively.

Now it is my turn to roll my eyes. “In other words, you still haven’t admitted you like him. To him or yourself.” Her cell phone interrupts her growling fit, the theme song to
Jaws
she assigned to her mom, and I smile sweetly. “Saved by the ring.”

Gabi yanks her phone from her bag and sends the call to voicemail. If her mom’s calling, it means the school is already on to us. It’s only a matter of time before Kara and I are summoned, too. Keeping her eyes on the phone, she says quietly. “You do it, I’ll do it.”

I blink, sure I heard her wrong. “What?”

She lifts her head and repeats, “You do it, I’ll do it. If you tell Brandon you want him, I’ll do the same with Carlos.”

Kara looks at me with eager eyes, so I close mine. “I can’t, Gabi. I tried it already freshman year, and it didn’t work. Don’t ask me to do it again. It hurts too much.”

ALY
ALY’S HOUSE, 8:50 p.m
.

“Jenga
,
Jenga, Jenga.”

Mom fully believes the chant holds magical powers to assist in removing her block. When the tower doesn’t fall, she smiles triumphantly. I shake my head and lift my hand for my turn. I slowly tug my block forward, sans chant, and Mom tsks her disapproval.

“That’s okay, honey, I believe enough for the both of us.” Then she chants again, winking so I know she hasn’t completely boarded the crazy train.

A tremor rocks my hand as I slide the last bit of the piece out. The tower wobbles, and the four of us take a collective breath. When it doesn’t fall, everyone cheers.

A night with my nut job of a family is exactly what I need. The school
did
call my parents, but when I told them everything that’s happened the last month (well, the parent-approved version), they let me off with a weekend on restriction. Considering I no longer have a social life, I figure I got off extremely easy. Besides, this is nice. Dad grilling steaks. Mom forcing us to taste-test her latest creation—a kicked-up Cajun spinach and artichoke dip. Kaitie and I pigging out and pretending we’re both traumatized by our parents’ flirting. This feels normal.

I miss normal.

The timer for Mom’s baked macaroni goes off, and I put my hand on her arm. “I got it. You take my turn. Just don’t forget to chant.”

Stepping through the back door, the cool air-conditioning hits my warm skin and I shiver. I pad into the kitchen, rubbing my arms, and peer inside the oven. Noticing the top isn’t quite as toasty as Mom likes, I close the door and add another five minutes to the timer.

The kitchen is quiet. No hiding in here. I push myself onto the counter, kick my feet, and heave a sigh, giving in to the thoughts that have run through my head for hours.

Operation Sex Appeal was the stupidest scheme in the history of forever. Oh, it succeeded in changing surface stuff, but it never gave me the confidence I hoped for. Probably because the girl getting noticed wasn’t
me
. There is some of that girl in me, but I’m also the cute and funny friend, the girl who likes relationships and prefers walking down the hall without feeling like her butt is hanging out of short shorts. I’m me, and that’s okay. Actually, it’s more than okay. It’s pretty freaking fabulous.

Sitting up tall, I announce to the quiet room, “As of this moment, Operation Sex Appeal is officially called on account of stupidity.”

The room doesn’t respond, but saying the words aloud releases a weight off my chest. I don’t even care that Homecoming is a week away. If I can’t go with Brandon, I don’t want to go anyway. There’s still time to wrangle up a just-a-friend date or maybe even a real one, but I want more.