Page 16 of The Rebel
“Oh, okay, sure. I just thought you might like...” I never finished my sentence, because Scott was at the counter and turned to me, “Just let me order for you, Vali. What do you want?"
“Americano?” Gabby chimed in, of course knowing I was particularly sensitive to the flavored coffees, though I had a fleeting craving for a hot chocolate with sprinkles and whipped cream.
All I could do was nod gratefully as Scott gave the order to the barista, and Gabby linked her arm through mine and escorted me to the table, her smile a permanent fixture on her face.
Sipping on the warm drink, I listened as Scott and Gabby talked about their band, though it was hard to concentrate, especially when Scott let Gabby sip from his milkshake straw. Faking smiles was hurting my cheeks, but with their foreheads touching and their lips only inches apart, Gabby and Scott were mind-blowingly oblivious to my sweet agony. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes and sigh was the ultimate in self control.
Scott’s phone pinged and he checked it. “Oh, I’ve gotta go pick up Mason,” he said, gulping down the rest of his drink with a loud slurp. Gabby feigned disgust and punched his arm, but Scott laughed and gathered his gear, his lips lingering on the top of Gabby’s head. “I’ll be about thirty minutes. See you at your house, Chickpea.”
I think I nearly threw up in my mouth.Chickpea?
But Gabby was nodding vigorously. “Sure thing, Pumpkin.”
And again, my heart plummeted. They had cutesy names for each other and Scott was coming to dinner, too. There was no way I could keep up this pretence for another few hours and especially in front of Mr. and Mrs. Pelzer. I needed a quick out.
“Who’s Mason?” I asked casually, frantically trying to think of an excuse.
“Scott’s younger brother. He’s at baseball practice.”
“Oh,” I said. It was another thing they had in common, music, hybrid cars and younger brothers, and to be really specific they both hadsonat the end of their names—Bryson and Mason. They really were a sickening perfect match.
As Gabby chatted on, I formulated a plan. I hated to lie and deceive my friend, but I’d go bananas if I had to sit at the Pelzer’s dinner table and pretend everything was peachy.
As I finished my coffee, I picked up my phone and looked at it intently. “Oh, hey, I have to take a rain check tonight,” I said, trying not to sound wooden and phoney. “Uh, Mom says we’re going out for dinner. Are you still able to give me a ride home?”
Gabby’s face fell in genuine disappointment. “Awww, I really wanted you to come. It feels like ages since we’ve been together.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got Scooooott to entertain you,” I teased, but instead of sounding cute, an edge of bitterness tainted my voice causing Gabby to suck in her lips, blink and bunch her eyebrows. Told you I was a bad actor.
I couldn’t face her and quickly picked up my backpack and muttered, “Stupid family stuff. Plus I have to get started on my art portfolio. I hardly did any during winter break. I need to get onto it. It’s a huge assignment.”
Gabby quietly followed me out the cafe and we walked down the street. Only then did she speak, her words stilted and awkward, “Hey, Valencia, you’re okay with everything? You know, with me and Scott dating?”
“Of course,” I chirped like I was hyped up on sugar. “It’s awesome. You two are great together!”
She had to know I was trying way too hard, but I was spiraling, manic in my desperation to convince her I was happy for her. “It’s so great, so awesome! And you know we’re still besties, right?”
“Absolutely,” Gabby said, clumsily taking hold of my hand and wrapping her pinky finger around mine.
“Besties for life,” we affirmed, squeezing our little bones tightly. But the mantra felt hollow and my heart clenched as I continued on with my rants about being on top of the world, on cloud nine and over the moon for her.
Yep, this is what my life had come to. I’d become a big, complete and utter fraud, and now I’d have to play the game.
––––––––
Mom was surprised when I walked in, so I had to lie and tell her the Pelzers were going out to dinner. I went straight to my room and read through my art assignment. At least that hadn’t been a lie. We had to compile a portfolio and our teacher, Mr. Moreno had high hopes that some pieces would be accepted into Covington Heights’ spring art exhibition. Volley came and curled up next to me, but I didn’t draw a thing. My inspiration had all but vanished.
Visions of Gabby and Scott haunted me, how comfortable they were around one another, how sweet he treated her, how she looked at him so adoringly. My lungs seemed to be incapable of taking in oxygen and my chest hurt with every breath. Was this sadness, depression, jealousy? A mix of everything? Whatever it was, it sucked. And bad.
I had to find a way to move on, deal with it.
I’d discovered art was the best way of expressing myself, of losing myself. Being forced to watch hours and hours of Parisplaying tennis, my art pad had become my savior, my comfort, drawing or sketching while sitting in the stands. I’d usually draw what I was seeing, which was the crowd sitting on the opposite side of the court. Faces, people, bodies, expressions, those were the things I liked to capture. But more recently, because we’d been watching Paris training, I’d been forced to draw action shots, his body extended in a serve, or stretching out for a forehand, or lunging for a drop shot.
Some had turned out pretty good, but not good enough to show anyone.
I ate dinner in my room while Dad ate in front of the television watching the news. Mom was too busy making phone calls and would eat later. Dad had gotten rid of the Christmas tree and left all the decorations on the floor in the living room. It was my job to pack them away. Volley swirled around me, getting in my way as he sniffed at the boxes and sat in the one that stored the baubles. I grabbed my phone and sent a photo of him to Paris.
I’d nearly finished boxing up everything, when Paris messaged me back:It’s going to be epic.He had sent five pictures of flags, but the only ones I could identify were the Spanish one because of Spanish class, and the British Union Jack. Jade had a sticker of it on the back window of his truck.
