The Fine Art of Pretending (9 page)

ALY
ALY’S CABIN, 7:45 a.m
.

I’m
in the middle of a delicious dream. I know it’s a dream because Lauren’s nose has inexplicably doubled in size. We’re out in the water of Cypress Lake, and from across the crowded space, Justin’s eyes meet mine. I can tell he realizes what a fool he’s been in overlooking me all these years. It’s written in the thought-bubble above his head. Pushing Lauren and her honker aside, he starts gliding toward me. His eyes hungrily skim over my new bikini as if he wants to devour me as the rest of the class looks on, cheering. Except for Brandon. His thought-bubble is filled with overprotective, big-brother-like growly sounds. But it doesn’t matter because now only a mere foot separates Justin from pulling me into his arms.

That’s when Kara’s obnoxious snore yanks me back to reality.

“No!” I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to grasp the final wisps of the fantasy, but it’s hopeless. Then a wondrous thought occurs and my eyes fly open. Today, that fantasy could very well become a reality—well, minus Lauren’s bizarre nose growth. The look I shared with Justin across the bonfire last night still gives me chills.

Operation Sex Appeal is working.

With a giggle, I leap out of bed and rush through my
new
morning routine. I still can’t believe I came up with this crazy idea in the first place. I’m Miss Play-It-Safe. Miss Unadventurous. This whole mission is so
not
me. If anything, it’s closer to a stunt Gabi would pull. Satisfied with the
Casual-
looking girl in the mirror, I race to the assembly hall to meet Brandon for breakfast. We signed up for the beach volleyball tournament, and while that sport is the one area of my life in which I feel confident, I’ll be no good to anyone on an empty stomach.

I skitter to a stop inside the door, searching the crowd for his familiar handsome face. Brandon stands up from the back table and waves me over, lifting a plate piled high with eggs and bacon. This is the first time we’ve been alone for an extended time since beginning the charade, and we easily fall into our teasing banter.

“You know, if I knew what a good fake hookup you’d turn out to be, I’d have suggested this a long time ago.”

Brandon laughs. “Yeah, well, I need you fueled and ready to spike someone’s head off.”

I grin around a mouthful of eggs. The rush I normally get before a big match courses through my veins, and my muscles tense. I’m used to practicing at least six days a week. The past few days have been new and exciting, but I’m ready to get back on a court. Electric energy makes me bounce in my seat as I finish off the plate and down a glass of OJ. “Let’s get to it!”

Out in the blazing Texas heat, teams gather together to check the lineup. I see the names matched up with ours and bite my lip to keep from smiling. This will be almost too easy. Brandon’s good at any sport involving a ball, and I’ve made MVP of the girls’ volleyball team the last two years.

Brandon and I fall into an easy rhythm, and the first match is over before it even begins. We totally own the slackers playing opposite us, who more than likely only signed up to stare at girls in skimpy clothing. I narrow my eyes in concentration as they leer over the net. I spike the ball, land it in the perfect spot between them, and adjust the strap of my new hot-pink sports tank that has a built-in bra clearly not made for a chest like mine.

Welcome to
my
turf, boys
.

As our official historian, Gabi snaps a picture of our victory hug, and a hum of whispers rises from the crowd. I giggle, high off the win. “They think we’re totally smitten,” I say, playing up my Southern accent and batting my eyelashes like a belle.

Brandon rolls his eyes and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he jogs to the sideline cooler. I squeal and bang my fists across his sweat-slicked back. Grains of sand stick to his skin, and when he returns me to my feet, I avert my eyes.

I take a long sip of Evian, relishing the feel of the cold water sliding down my parched throat, and swipe my arm across my forehead. A definite benefit of not wearing my usual clothes is the ventilation. I grab my towel and pat off a layer of sweat.

A prickly sensation creeps along the back of my neck, and discreetly, I turn to scan the audience, expecting to find Lauren nailing me with another one of those lethal stares. I have to say, having those things directed at me? Not a fan. But when my gaze lands on the person giving me the prickles, I freeze.

And my stomach flip-flops.

Justin’s standing opposite me in black swimming trunks—and nothing else. His bare chest glistens with a sprinkle of sand dust. His eyes roam over my exposed skin, causing a slow-burning fire to spread throughout my body, and when his gaze meets mine, his mouth kicks up in that famous, lopsided grin.

Holy cannoli
.

Just as I begin to think my dream is stepping into reality, a different muscular chest disrupts our contact. I step back, confused, as Brandon holds out a towel with a tight-lipped smile. I wave the one I already have in the air.

Brandon knows about Operation Sex Appeal. He knows it’s my mission to get Justin’s attention. You would think he’d be happy to see my progress. The sooner Justin gets interested, the quicker Brandon can go back to his string of adoring fans.

I circle my finger in front of his angry face. “Everything okay there?”

Brandon nods curtly.

“On your word?” I ask, still not getting the tension radiating from his shoulders and eyebrows. He has seriously annoyed eyebrows.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah, I just need you focused. We still have another team to kill, remember?”

That makes sense. I nod and take another pull off my drink, excitement over the next match already bubbling up.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, grabbing Brandon’s empty bottle. “Last night I saw a recycle bin over by the bonfire.” I alter my voice to a snooty tone, an echo of our science teacher, Ms. Burns, and say, “After all, everyone must do their part.”

I get the laugh I wanted, erasing the creases of tension from his forehead, and I take off for the bin. On my way back across the uneven ground, the crowd parts and Lauren steps in my path. My foot rolls at the hatred in her eyes, and I trip, busting my ass in the dirt.

“Shit, that hurts.”

Brandon runs over as I push to my feet, testing my weight on my ankles. “Are you all right?”

I take a moment to assess and then nod, dusting off my wind shorts. “I’m fine.” Brandon’s green eyes show concern, and I smile with assurance I don’t feel. And pretend I don’t hear the snickers trailing behind me.

Operation Sex Appeal was designed to get people to notice me, and I can honestly say I don’t feel
invisible
right now. But I can also say that, for the first time since we arrived, I’m wondering if maybe being a
Casual
isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Under the hot spray of the shower, I rinse off my favorite birthday-cake-scented shampoo. I’m still floating from my moment with Justin, and the bathroom is empty, so I start humming my favorite Sugarland song. I curl my lip and shimmy my shoulders, and somewhere during the conditioner, I start to sing aloud.

“All I want to do…”

Bopping my head, my jamming continues as I step out and coat myself with vanilla lotion. Between running and volleyball, I’m forever in the sun, and this is my attempt to keep my skin from looking eighty in ten years. Thoroughly covered, I wrap my hair in a fluffy towel turban-style, put on my new bright yellow bikini and a pair of jean shorts, and pad back to my bunk.

Arctic air-conditioning hits my damp skin, and I shiver as I toss my towel on the floor. Shaking out my hair, I sing, “Baby drive me crazy,” as I comb my fingers through the snarls. Kara’s radio sits next to my hair dryer, so I flip it on and scan the stations until I land on my favorite. Hitting the switch on the dryer, I begin belting the top forty hit over the loud
whir
.

Crooning into my hairbrush microphone and with the dryer humming in my ear, I
almost
don’t hear the creaking sound behind me. But mid-head bob, swaying arm still outstretched, I freeze, then promptly spin on my heel.

Brandon is sprawled across Gabi’s bed, hands behind his head, ankles crossed. The corner of his mouth twitches as he meets my horrified gaze. He winks, and I whirl back around, killing the radio. “What the hell are you doing here?”

God, if you’re listening, please have mercy and take me now
.

Brandon chuckles, and I shake my head, choosing to believe this isn’t happening. I don’t look back. I
can’t
. With my breathing near hyperventilation, I continue drying my hair, hoping with everything in me that he’ll be gone by the time I’m done.

Eventually, every strand is bone dry. I have no choice but to turn off the dryer, wrap the cord around the handle, and put it in my bag. Only then do I turn around.

Sure enough, he’s still sprawled out, silently nodding his head, tongue tucked in his cheek. “That was awesome.”

I throw my head into my hands. “I was supposed to be alone! Everyone’s out at the lake.” I peer at him through the slats of my fingers. “And why aren’t you, exactly?”

He shrugs. “I got bored. I wanted to see if you’d go hiking with me, but after that performance, I’m thoroughly entertained.”

Oh, God
. I dive onto the bed and cover my head with my silk pillow from home. Gabi’s bed creaks again, and I know he’s on the move. When my own bed shifts under Brandon’s weight, he tries to pry away the pillow but is unable to overpower my death grip.

He chuckles. “Aly, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you—”

“Ha!”

“Okay, I’m sorry
that
I embarrassed you. But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. The moves were quite hilarious—”

That statement earns him my pillow to
his
head, which he catches without missing a beat.

“But I had no idea you could sing like that. I thought we didn’t have any secrets, but you go and hide something like this?” He
tsks
and from the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head. “Makes me wonder what other deep dark secrets you have. Relationships, even casual ones, are built on trust, Aly. I don’t know if I can keep dating someone I can’t trust.”

Despite myself, I laugh at his teasing. I sit up but can’t bring myself to look at him. Instead, I focus on a loose thread on the comforter and wrap it around my finger. “No one knows. I’d be literally scared to death to sing in front of anyone.”

“You just sang in front of me and lived to tell the tale.”

“Ah, but see, I didn’t know you were there.” I shift on the bed and slowly lift my eyes to study his face. He’s smiling, but doesn’t appear to be laughing
at
me. “Normally, I only sing in the bathroom. Besides you, only my toothbrush and hairbrush have been privileged enough to hear these pipes.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You should broaden your audience.”

His green eyes sparkle with sincerity, but I’ve never been good at taking—or believing—compliments. I clear my throat. “So, hiking, huh?”

Brandon’s forehead wrinkles in confusion before a huge smile spreads across his face. “Oh, right, wanna go? I hear the trails in this place are awesome. We can swing by the lake after if you want.”

Anything that gets us away from this moment
.

“Sure,” I say. “Let me grab my shoes.”

I throw my hair up in a messy ponytail and step into abused Nikes. It’s just Brandon right now, so I can be myself…or at least myself wearing a bikini. Then I follow him out the swinging cabin door, ready to explore. And, hopefully, forget all about my impromptu concert.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11TH

7 weeks and 3 days until Homecoming