Page 3 of The Fake
Wes drops a pitcher in the middle of the table and divvies out the mugs. Joel’s three steps behind carrying six shots precariously in his hands.
“Dude, we have the athletic mixer tonight.” Wes raises both brows and his tone is all serious and adult-y. He’s become a total bore since he graduated and became an assistant coach.
“It’s barely noon. Lots of time to sober up before then.” Joel lifts a shot glass and reluctantly, Wes and I do the same. “Bottoms up.”
2
Chloe
Crackingopen your textbooks a week before classes start has to be some sort of warning sign.Caution: fragile emotional stateorCaution: bored completely out of her mind.
Maybe I’d been that eager freshman year but definitely not since then. Senior year starting over at a new school… not how I planned it.
I flip the page in my new Applied Communications book and skim a couple of paragraphs before I give up and toss it aside and resign myself to death by boredom.Caution: prone to dramatics.
The last one isn’t strictly true, but it’s another side effect of being cooped up with no one to talk to. I’m all in my head with no outlet. Volleyball practices don’t even start for a few more days, so I have nothing to occupy my time.
I could call my bestie back home, Camila, but admitting how worried I am that I made a huge mistake in coming here will only make her feel sorry for me. Besides, she’s probably off having fun with our friends and teammates back at Golden U soaking up the sun on the beach. I guessformer teammatesnow.
My current teammates, three of them anyway, are in the common room of our suite. I can hear them through the wall that separates it from our bedroom. That’s another thing I never thought I’d do again—dorm living.
I grab another textbook and flip through it without even looking to see which class it’s for. Bri’s voice gets louder and more animated and then there’s laughter.
I miss laughing. I miss talking. I miss that feeling in your chest when you’re so in the moment everything inside expands and tightens and somehow makes you feel light, too. Good conversation, I definitely miss that.
Closing the book with my thumb holding my place, like it’s really imperative I keep my spot for all the reading I’m not going to do, I rest it on my stomach and close my eyes, trying to hear them more clearly and imagine what it’d be like to be out there with them.
Bri’s voice is the only one I can make out word for word. Her high-pitched disdain carries through the thin walls, and I can picture her blunt-cut bob swinging around her face as she shakes it disapprovingly. “It’s a total waste of time. I can think of a million better ways to spend the night than prancing around in dresses as eye candy for alumni who couldn’t care less about us. They’re just here for the football and basketball teams.”
“Well, I’m excited. It’ll be a good chance for all of us to hang out before classes start. Plus, we can check out all the new recruits.”
I smile at Sydney’s retort. She’s the opposite of Bri in every way. From her long blonde hair to her sweet, gentle voice, and, more importantly, her desire, or lack thereof, to make my life as miserable as possible.
Transferring to Valley for my senior year after being kicked out of my previous school doesn’t exactly make the type of impression that beckons people to welcome you with open arms. I get that, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite this bad five hundred miles from home. I mean, it’s not like I tried to buy my way into Valley. Technically,Ididn’t buy my way in anywhere, but that’s not how the media portrayed it.
Untalented Wannabe Begs Mommy and Daddy to Get Her a Spot on Top-Ranked Beach Volleyball Team. That’s almost word for word the headline from one of the nastier writeups. They didn’t use the words untalented or wannabe, but they all but implied it by highlighting, in excruciating detail, every fault I’ve made in my entire volleyball career.
In some ways it was great that they’d focused more on me and less on my dad, the hotel mogul. He’s had a record high year. Go figure. People seem to be more forgiving of rich CEOs than of their college-aged daughters or maybe that’s just my perspective.
I had hoped that coming to Valley would be a fresh start, but Bri is standing squarely in the way of that. It’s one thing to dislike me; it’s another to make sure the rest of the team alienates me. She has made it very clear that talking to me is in direct violation of their loyalty to her and the team.
She might be a total bitch, but she is one of the best blockers in the conference. She also happens to be the captain of the Valley U beach volleyball team. Also, I don’t really think she’s a bitch to anyone but me. Overbearing, yes, but I seem to be the only person to get her full wrath.
“What are you two going to wear?” Bri asks them. “I think we should keep it simple and classy. Nothing too flashy or short. Let’s see your dresses.”
I register Bri’s request and Sydney’s footsteps too late. The door to our room flies open. I fumble with my book, open it, and pretend I’m reading as Sydney enters. Her big, brown eyes flit to me, and a guilty expression crosses her face. She gives a small smile, bites on her lower lip, and then disappears into our closet.
If it weren’t for Bri and her fiery hatred of me, I think Sydney and I could be friends. Close friends even. We haven’t spoken much at all, but I can usually tell within a few minutes of meeting someone if they’re my kind of people, and Sydney gives me all those vibes.
When she comes back into view, she’s carrying two dresses. Standing in front of our full-length mirror, she holds the first one, a short black cotton dress, in front of her. Then she drops it and holds up the other option. Her face automatically pulls into a smile at her reflection.
I admire her adventurous fashion sense with the neon pink and green band dress that shouldn’t look good on anyone but will on her because she could duct tape a neon green poster board around her body and pull it off. Sydney is gorgeous and even more so because she doesn’t seem to realize it. Long blonde hair, giant brown eyes, tall and thin with an athletic frame. She’s a knockout in anything.
“I like that one,” I tell her, giving up any pretense that I’m reading and not watching her with rapt interest. Also, I’m tired of the silence.
And I really do like the dress. Bonus that I know it’ll make Bri’s head spin. She has certain ideas about how we should look and conduct ourselves to best represent the team. I get it, kind of, but this is a college mixer we’re talking about not tea with the queen.
She’s even instituted a dress code for practices just in case anyone decides to drop in and watch, which I’m told next to never happens. But on the off chance, we’re to be in standard-issued Valley blue and yellow only. You’d think she’s the one who grew up with parents who wanted everything to appear perfect. Perfection is non-existent. She’d be happier if she accepted that. I’d offer her that tidbit if I thought she’d actually listen.
