Page 18 of Faux Real
“No, Kenny. No more. You don’t need them.” Maxine frowns, shaking her head. “You promised you were done.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, whatever. I’ll just ration it accordingly.”
I laugh inwardly. That’s not going to be possible.
Maybe I’ll talk to Zeek.
seven
An Unwelcome Guest
OLIVER
Pretendtodate?Thatlunaticactuallysuggested that? Like it wascompletelynormal? Like she was asking to borrow a bloody pencil? Who asks such a favor of someone they barely even know, let alonelike?CrazyKennedy. That girl hasseveralloose screws in that pretty head of hers.
The fact she was able to ask for a favorandinsult me in the same breath is astounding, yet I’m borderline impressed by her brazen negotiating tactics. But unfortunately, I don’t have time in my schedule for petty drama. I just need to survive the next ten months then I’ll be set for life. Just ten months of keeping my head down. Shouldn’t be hard to do since Mycroft County is the epitome of boring.
I don’t need her help. What kind of trouble can I even get into if there’snothingto do? It’s like my parents sent me to the most inactive city in America. Probably on purpose. They knew that this place would slowly kill me. Drain my will to live.
No friends? No acquaintances? Nobody. Not that Ineedfriends.
I have friends. They just happen to be halfway across the world.
I twist open the handle to my dorm room, hoping I’ll finally get some alone time. But instead, the cruel hand of fate has delivered me a supposed flatmate in the form of a stubby young chap with light brown hair and tattered clothing.For Christ’s sake.I thought I wouldn’t have a flatmate. There was no one here earlier. This is a nightmare. Truly. Can this day get any worse?
“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in,” he says, adjusting records on his side of the room, his buggy blue eyes scanning my face intently. “You must be Oliver Knight. I’m Clifford Travosky. Nice to meet you.” Clifford holds out his meaty hand toward me.
“Hey,” I say casually, walking pastCliffand plopping down on my bed, my gaze scanning his vinyl collection.Not bad. “I thought I didn’t have a flatmate.”
“Sorry about that.” Clifford sucks in a sharp breath as he saunters towardmyside of the room, his eyes sweeping across the various cameras I positioned on the floating shelves. “I had to cover a shift this morning, so I missed homeroom, I just got here a few minutes ago.” His hand reaches out toward my vintage Canon A-1 camera.
“Don’t touch that,” I state flatly, narrowing my eyes. He’s going to be a nuisance, I can tell. Clifford throws his hands up apologetically and stumbles backward toward his bed.Better. “Did you say you had ashift? As in you have ajob?”
He attendsHiltonand has ajob? Who is this person? I would bet that the majority of these students don’t even know what a Curriculum Vitae is.
“Yup,” Clifford says, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “That I do.”
“Really?” I ask, pulling my headphones out of my nightstand and cueing up my mid-afternoon playlist. “Why?”
“Well—” Clifford chuckles quietly. “I’m here on an academic scholarship,” he explains. “Only about eighty percent of the tuition is covered. My parents pay the rest out of pocket, but they don’t make that much. My dad’s a music teacher and my mom’s a pharmacist. I gotta work for my own spending money.”
“Oh,” I hum, nodding my head and slipping on my headphones. At least I didn’t get roomed with an uppity Chad. Plus, if he works, that means that he won’t be in our room all the time. A win-win. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” Cliff says, tapping his hands on his knees like he can’t sit still. “It’s an easy job. I stock inventory at an indie record store in town. Pretty chill work.”
I crane my neck toward him, my curiosity piqued. “There’s a record store in town?” I ask. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s just off Winder Avenue near Elle’s Cafe, if you know where that is,” Clifford elaborates, rummaging through the pockets of his army trousers. I’ve seen the cafe on my rips through town but never saw a record store. He fishes out a business card and hands it to me. “You should check it out. We stock lots of cool one-of-a-kind records. It’s on the second floor, kinda hard to find if you’re not looking.”
I take the card from him. Well, maybe this will give me something to do for the next couple of days. “Saturn Records,” I read, pursing my lips. “Thanks, I’ll have to check it out.”
“Yeah, no worries,” he says. “I can give you a discount if you want one. I get twenty percent off.” He pauses, wincing. “Sorry, you probably don’tneeda discount.”
“Why wouldn’t I want a discount?” I ask, tilting my head. “Just because I have money doesn’t mean I’m not thrifty. Less money on records means more money on pints.”
If Aunt Bessie saw charges on her precious black visa card from a liquor store, she’d surely tell my parents. That means mydegeneratehabits must be supported through my lousy weekly allowance.
“Pints? As in...beer?” Cliff asks, blinking at me. “But you’re not—”
