Page 3 of Fake It Till You Break It
Jake rolled down the window an inch or two, and the wind ruffled his dark hair. The curls were cut close to the top of his ears. His fingertips drummed an erratic beat on the peeling steering wheel. “What time will you be done later?”
I crossed my arms. “You seriously don’t need to pick me up. I’ll just catch a ride home with someone else.”
“It’s fine. I need to watch the store for a few hours while Mr. MacArthur goes to his dentist appointment anyway, so I can stop by afterward. Besides I can’t go home without you. Not in one piece anyway.”
“Fine, do whatever you want.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure what I want doesn’t matter. It never does.” Before I could respond, he pulled into our school’s parking lot. “So, what? Six? Seven?”
Snatching my bag from the back seat, I jumped out of the car. “Make it seven thirty.”
“Damn, that’s late.” Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Jake climbed out of the car and came over to my side. Without saying anything else, he leaned over until he was right in my face.
Surprised, I backed up a bit, but he just took another step forward until he reached out… to brush against the corner of my mouth. Before I could say or do anything, he wiped the little smear of jam onto my sleeve.
“God, that had been annoying me the whole car ride,” he said, shaking his head.
The hell…?
I jerked away from him. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, what do you expect when I’m forced to put up with you my entire life? I’m lucky you didn’t put me in an insane asylum by now.” He waved at Aly, who was waiting on our bench by the parking lot, before walking away. “See you at seven thirty.”
I was still sputtering when Aly came up to me. “What was that about?”
My fingers rubbed at the corner of my mouth, and I scowled. “Nothing. Just Jake being an ass as usual.”
MIA
MY EYES GAZED LONGINGLYat the stage. Lyndon Whitmore, the lead actress, sang about her family’s journey across the river as she danced across the stage, light as a gazelle. Her voice rang out loud and clear across the partially empty auditorium. I made a note of her posture and how she lifted her head. I even attempted to purse my lips the same way she did, but I knew I could never sound the same. Not unless I could steal her voice like inThe Little Mermaid.
Talented people sure are easy to hate sometimes.
I mean, I wasn’t horrible—despite the fact that Jake said roosters crowing sounded better than my singing.
When I was seven, I took voice lessons that cost Mom way too much money, but all they did was make me enunciate my words more. Something I probably could have learned fromSesame Street.
But,howdid Lyndon do that? It seemed so effortless forher. Like drinking water. Or riding a bike. Although that was a pretty bad example because I never actually learned how to ride a bike. Apparently, I had no sense of balance along with being tone-deaf. Jake tried to teach me when we were ten, but he got so frustrated that he ended up just paying me to give up.
Easiest fifty bucks I ever made.
Someone tapped the back of my head, knocking me out of my daydream. Aly plopped down on the seat beside me. “Your eyes are going to fall out if you keep glaring at Lyndon like that.”
“I wasn’t glaring. I was… examining her technique.”
“Uh-huh. And does your examination include scowling, too?” Without waiting for my answer, she handed over her cup of coffee—extra cream and two sugars.
Holding the cup up to my nose, I breathed in the lovely aroma a few times before letting out a happy sigh. I didn’t actually like the taste of coffee, but the smell was enough to perk me up. “Thanks, I needed that. It’s been a really long day. But any day I’m forced to see Jake is a long day.”
Aly snorted. “That’s every day then. Maybe we should all carpool sometime. Save gas and the environment and all that. Or you could take my car, and I’ll carpool with him.”
“Urgh, why would you do that?”
She swept her honey-brown locks into a low ponytail. “Uh, ’cause he’s cute?”
Wait, what? My left eyebrow rose, and I reached out to touch her forehead. Cool as a cucumber. So, she’s not delirious from being sick. “Are youcrazy?”
She batted my hand away. “Are youblind? He’s adorable. Like, hot boy next door who doesn’t even realize that he’s hot. Which makes him even hotter. And he’s so nice, too. Well, maybe not toyou, but he’s nice to me. And to everyone else. He’s Mr. Good Guy.”
