Page 4 of Lessons in Faking
I wanted to see him more often, yes. But never when he was in a bad mood.
“Henry.” My brows rose as he slipped inside and headed straight for the kitchen. “Why don’t you come in?” I muttered, waving him in with an unnecessary swat: I could hear him rummaging through the cabinets already. I followed. “You know I love your annual visits, but a bit of a heads-up would be... great.”
Henry was still in his jersey, crimson shorts on full display, a little 8 stitched onto them, and a black hoodie thrown over the matching shirt. His light-brown hair parted neatly in the middle, as always.
“They’re notannual,” he finally acknowledged. His snack search ended with a half-brown banana from the otherwise empty fruit basket, but taking it forced him to first place the stack of papers in his hand onto the island.
I stiffened. “Where did you get those?”
The question was unnecessary.
“Oh, these?” He shrugged, using the banana as an extension of his finger to point at my statistics notes. He took a bite, then with a full mouth, went on to say, “Funny story, actually.” The expression on his face told me it wasn’t—or at the very leasthedidn’t think it was. “McCarthy gave them to me after practice.” Disdain spread across his face as soon as he said his name. “Told me mysistermust have left them at his office, and if I was already stopping by anyway—”
“Not that you were going to,” I reminded him. “Stop by, that is.”
Henry ignored the dig. I wasn’t surprised. “He wants me to let you know that, apparently—”
My brother was nothing if not dramatic, and he paused like he needed the moment to collect himself. I braced myself for impact—for whatever message McCarthy had left my brother.
“Apparently,” Henry repeated, waiting until I looked back at him. “He really enjoyed himself today. Is looking forward tonext time, even.” And as if it couldn’t get any worse: “‘But remind her how thin the walls are,’ he said. ‘I won’t go as easy on her again.’”
We stared at each other in very different kinds of disbelief.
Mine was,I cannot believe McCarthy would feed my brother this bullshit.
His was,I cannot believe my sister is hooking up with my archnemesis.(Like I said, he’s dramatic.)
And when I didn’t say anything in my defense—because I was still too stunned to say anything at all—the accusation shot out of him. “You’re sleeping with McCarthy!”
Thatsnapped me out of my silence. “Good God,” I gasped, grimacing. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Then explain these!” He waved my notes in the air, desperately. “Please.”
“Tutoring!” I sputtered. “He’s my tutor.” I took a deep breath. “Statistics.”
Like the word was all the explanation Henry needed, relief seeped into every single one of his features. His shoulders sagged, he took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes in what seemed to be a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in.
“Tutoring,” he affirmed to himself in a half-whisper, then took another bite of the banana, as if the fit he’d just thrown never happened. Swallowing, he nodded in another self-assuring gesture. “He’s your tutor.”
“Yes.”
His voice was calm when he said, “So get another one.”
“I can’t simplyget another one,” I huffed, sitting back on the barstool.
“Why not?”
“Because.” I groaned. Henry’s brows rose in anticipation. “Because Shaw saidthisis my only shot at passing his class. McCarthy as my tutor. Once a week.”
Henry shook his head as if he’d been there for the conversation and that wasn’t what Shaw had said at all. “I’ll be your tutor instead.”
Hello, offer number two.
“Are you Shaw’s TA?”
“No,” he said. “But I’m better at statistics than McCarthy.”
“You think you’re better than him at everything,” I pointed out and buried my face in my hands.
