Page 17 of Lessons in Faking
Wren simply shrugged. “Bathroom?”
When she came back, her short, colored hair was tied up as best as she could manage, traces of blue catching on the edges of it here and there. The mask covered her already clear skin messily, but entirely.
She was aware of my weird brother issues, so when I told her about our fight, and then my inevitableI wish I were more than an inconvenience in his lifeepiphany, she wasn’t surprised. She ate and listened, every now and then throwing in an outraged “Motherfucker” or “What?” Usually, when she’d just taken a bite.
At the end of my monologue, Wren considered me. “So...?” she asked. Our food was done, and Netflix was asking whether we were still watching.
“So what?”
“What’s the plan?”
Ah.The plan. Of course Wren knew I’d want to get back at him. Shame she won’t like it. At all.
It seemed McCarthy had made quite a few enemies in his three years at HBU. Coincidentally, on the top of that list were the two people closest to me. Henry at number one, of course, closely followed by Wren Inkwood—for some reason not quite clear to me.
Before today, I’d never really questioned why either of them disliked him so much and never cared enoughto ask. Hell, I wasn’t even sure whatmyproblem with him was. Take Henry out of the equation, and I was left with pretty much nothing. Except the way his lips curled knowingly when I gave a wrong answer.
“Funny story,” I muttered, faking a single laugh as my eyes roamed the living room, like I’d never seen Wren’s bookshelf against the wall behind the couch, filled exclusively with historical texts and fantasies. Never sat on the smooth brown leather of our couch, facing the TV on the opposite wall. Like the loft’s open floorplan and the green-and-white-checkered carpet under the coffee table were new. And like Wren’s polaroids decorating the short hallway to the front door had only been hung this morning. I scrambled for the remote between us, telling the screen,Yes, we are still watching; please fill the lingering silence now!
“Is it?” she asked. “Funny?”
“Well,” I began, eyes flicking to Wren long enough to see her eagerly awaiting my response. “Let me preface this by saying my methods may be flawed, but they are always effective.” I was stalling. Clearly. “So while the means of achieving my revenge might not be ideal, the outcome will be worth—”
“Just spit it out, Athalia.”
Fuck it.
“I’m going to pretend to date McCarthy for the next two months.” The speed with which the words flew out of me could set a Guinness World Record. “Exclusively,” I added reluctantly.
It took her a good thirty seconds to comprehend thejumbled mess I’d just thrown at her. When she got it, her brow stretched high, and she leaned back, in some kind of shock. For a moment, I think she froze.
I didn’t know whether it was five seconds or minutes or hours. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“It’s gonna piss Henry off.” She mulled it over once more, expression twisting into a grimace. “It’s definitely going to piss him off. Bonus points for getting the attention you so clearly crave. A quick fix for something that, at some point, youwillhave to talk to Stephanie about.” The fact Wren knew my therapist’s name was evidence enough that she’d gotten to know me way too well in our three years of college together. “I mean, it’s a solid plan. Except for theoneunpredictable, right? If McCarthy is one thing, it’s probably unpredictable. See how I saidprobably? That’s because he’s so unpredictable, I don’t even know—” It felt like Henry had rubbed off on her. Wren didn’t usually ramble, but she was definitely doing so now. Rambling on and on and on and—
“Okay,” I cut her off, hands lifted in surrender. “I get it. It’s an idiotic plan, but if it works the way I want it to work, it’ll be the best thing I can do. If McCarthy doesn’t act like a jerk—which is unlikely—and if spending time with him isn’t insufferable—also unlikely—I might not even regret this.” I was also rambling now. “But itisa good plan,” I insisted.
Wren sighed. “It’s an okay plan,” she said, but smiled.
Going to bed that night, I checked my emails in the hope that any of next week’s lectures had been canceled. Instead of the sweet relief of one of those messages, there was one thing waiting in my inbox:
6:33 PM
Pressley,
Find attached a copy of our written contractual agreement.
Unkind regards,
D.M. W.
Chapter 9
During thesoft launchstage, I could count the number of times my and Henry’s eyes met on one hand. He was stubborn enough to barely look at me, and I barely wanted to look at him.
And now, with two hours until my first lecture, here I was. Being stood up by my fake boyfriend, on our first fake date. Wasn’t life just marvelous?
