Page 2 of Fake It Till You Break It
“Plus, if that was the case, I’d rather walk,” I muttered under my breath.
But Mom’s superhuman ears heard me. “If that’s what you want. You could use the exercise after lying around the house all weekend.”
Ouch.That was low. Especially because I’m pretty sure my extra baby fat and slightly round cheeks came from her side of the family. Everyone always said we were spitting images of each other. Something that delighted her to no end.
“By the way, Mia, you looksoopretty today.” Mrs. Adler elbowed Jake’s side. Her other hand played with the strap of the large tan tote bag slung over her shoulder. The metal tassels of the SeaWorld key chain from our Orlando trip four years ago swung back and forth. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”
He shrugged, and she elbowed him even harder until he grimaced. “She looks the same as usual.”
Mom clasped her hands together. “That’ssoosweet of you.” She stressed thesoothe same way Mrs. Adler did, like it was a two-syllable word. “Wasn’t that a nice compliment, Mia?”
“I don’t know if that counts as a com—ouch!” Now it was Mom’s turn to shove her elbow into my side. “I mean, yeah, thanks.”
I met Jake’s gaze, and we both rolled our eyes in unison. Could theybemore obvious?
I’m not sure when or who came up with the crazy idea that Jake and I were destined to be together in the first place. Although I’ll bet my savings that it was Mom’s idea. Ever since she became a wedding planner, she had romance etched in her brain.
Whoever it was, this was something that Mom and Mrs. Adler had pursued with a passion since we were two.Scorching, melt-your-ice-cream-in-two-seconds type of passion. Despite the fact that Jake and I could barely stand being in the same room together now. But our disdain for each other was just a minor blip in their dreams of being future in-laws. After all, according to Mom, someone had to take one for the team.
Still rubbing my aching waist, I straightened up. “Let’s just go. I still have to meet with my chem group before homeroom.”
With a bright smile, Mrs. Adler wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “Of course. You don’t want to be late. Jake, honey, you should carry Mia’s bag out to the car for her.”
“Huh?”
“Her. Bag.”
“She has arms. Why should I—ouch! Mom!” With one hand rubbing his knee, Jake half walked, half wobbled away from her outstretched leg. The toe of her left black pump was still pointed at him. “I’ll hold that for you.”
I kept a tight grip on the strap and yanked back. “No, I’m fine.”
“Just hand it over, will you?” he muttered under his breath. “Before I have to waste my health insurance on a broken leg.”
Reluctantly, I surrendered my bag and walked toward his car across the street. “Fine. Whatever.”
Jake and I didn’t say anything else to each other until we were safely in his car and out of earshot of our moms. Heturned on the ignition and grasped the side of my headrest as he slowly pulled out of the driveway. “Is it just me, or are theysooannoying?”
Snorting, I slouched down in the seat and pulled my knees up to prop them against the leather dashboard. No need to adjust the seat because it was already set perfectly to my almost five-foot, three-inch height. I’ve been in this seat more than I’ve been in my own car. The cushions were probably molded to my butt by now, flat as it was. “Well, subtlety was never their strong point. That’s probably why they’re such good friends.”
“Right. That and their love for green tea lattes.” Jake turned on the radio, and our moment of peaceful truce ended.
Seriously, sometimes I think Mom needed a new hobby. Knitting. Gardening. Collecting rare minted coins. Anything was better than throwing her only daughter into an arranged relationship with an annoying Know-It-All Ass.
He glanced over at me like he knew I was thinking about him. “By the way, you have purple jam on your left cheek.”
It was probably raspberry jam left over from breakfast. I had toast and peanut butter with jam. Peach jam would have been better, but we were out.
“I’m leaving it to snack on during second period,” I said blankly without moving.
Grimacing, he turned away. His hand rubbed the back of his neck until it turned pink.
It took everything I had not to laugh—although my lips couldn’t help quirking up into a grin. I had to turn my face toward the window so he wouldn’t notice and realize I was screwing with him on purpose.
His crazy obsession with being neat was something I had loved to mess with him about since we were eight. I couldn’t help it. Jake was such a weird kid. He’d line up all his toy trucks according to size and color and not let anyone touch them. So, of course, I deliberately mixed them up, annoying the hell out of him. Finally, he ended up hiding all his cars in his room and locking his door.
That was also the year that our nicknames for each other—Ass and Brat—were born. Although my name for him always got me grounded whenever anyone heard me.
Such an unjust world we live in.
