Page 5 of Faux Real
“I’m sure he had a reason; otherwise, why would he do it?” I ask quietly.
Junior Prom was supposed to be a magical night, and it was, until...it wasn’t. I didn’t think that night would end with me crying alone on the bathroom floor of the hotel, staring at a key card for a room that I said I wasn’t ready for.You’re worth the wait, he used to tell me. Bull-fucking-shit.
“Because he’s a fucking idiot, Ken and you can do better than him anyway.” Max gives me a hug. “It’s his loss, not yours.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “But we had plans. We were going to be the queen and king of Harvard. We were both going to run for Senate, change the world.”
“Kenny, dude. You’re seventeen, enjoy it while it lasts. You can worry about world domination when you graduate.” Max grabs the pair of sunglasses atop her head and puts them on. “Until then, go slap on some lip gloss, and let’s jet.”
I shake my head, trying to reboot my mood. “You’re right, I know you’re right,” I say under my breath and head to my vanity. Grabbing my favorite blush pink gloss by Anastasia Beverly Hills, I apply it carefully to my lips before popping a tablet into my mouth, hoping that it’ll get me through the day. Dang, I’m running low. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go whip some freshmen into shape!”
Maxine loops her arm through mine as we make our way through the hordes of students and down to the quad. The fact that Maxine doesn’t remember signing us up for volunteer duty doesn’t shock me. She was pretty lit when Headmaster Rothland asked her during finals last semester.Someonethought it would be a good idea to celebrate finishing Junior Year with a bottle of Grey Goose. Too bad the girl forgot she had one more test in the afternoon. Needless to say, her history essay looked like it was written by a toddler.
We exit the front doors of the dorms just as Mr. Rothland is coming inside. Speak of the devil. Mr. Rothland is sporting his usual dark grey suit and sour expression, two things you’ll never see the man without.
“Miss Carmichael, Miss Chen, welcome back. I take it your summer vacations were thrilling?” he says, stopping us at the top of the stairs. He looks down at Max. “But hopefully nottoothrilling, right, Miss Chen?”
Max snorts. “It was just fantabulous, Rothy. I went to Egypt with my folks. Saw some pyramids, got spat on by a camel. It was dope.”
The headmaster pinches the bridge of his nose. “Miss Chen, do you remember when we talked about nicknames and respect?”
I close my eyes, secondhand embarrassed. She’s literally crazy!
Like, Oh my God, I could never!
Max rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Rothland,” she mutters.
“Since it’s not yet 9 a.m., I’ll let it slide just this once,” he states, scanning our faces. “Miss Carmichael, congratulations on your new position as Student Liaison Officer. Well deserved.”
I beam. “Thank you, Mr. Rothland! I promise I will uphold the integrity of all the SLOs before me.”
“Suck-up,” Max whispers under her breath, and I give her elbow a tight squeeze.
“I expect nothing less from Daniel Carmichael’s daughter.”
I fake a smile. “Of course.” God forbid my accolades are a result of my own intelligence and grit rather than my DNA.
“Well, have a good day, girls.” Rothland raises a bushy eyebrow as he leers at my best friend. “Stay out of trouble?”
Maxine’s whole body tenses as she jumps up and salutes him. “Aye Aye, Captain.”
I giggle through my nervousness. She’s going to be the death of me, I swear. “Goodbye!” I exclaim and drag Max down the stairs. “What was that?!”
Max sucks on her teeth, flapping a hand at me while staring out into the quad. “Chill Ken, it’s fine! I’m just being me!”
“And as much asIlove you, I don’t think that Rothland appreciates your...quirkiness.”
“Rothland can suck my dick,” Max says casually, looking around the quad. “My parents paid thousands of dollars for me to be here. I should be able to call him whatever I want.”
My gaze flickers around us. “You have got to keep your voice down! There are teachers everywhere!”
Maxine suddenly stops looking around, her mouth gaping open. She lowers her sunglasses.
“Hot damn...”
I follow her sightline. Trudging up the sidewalk, a motorcycle in tow is probably one of the most disheveled boys I’ve ever seen. Oh my God, why is his face dirty? His black skinny jeans and leather jacket are tattered and ripped, his shaggy brown hair hanging over his face.
“Ew,” I murmur.
