Page 6 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“I’m just putting it out there. If you let your parents call the shots now, they’ll be calling ‘em for the rest of your life.”
Davis really hoped his friend was full of shit.
“All I’m saying’s you’ve been into this girl for freaking ever,” Donovan continued, slapping on a healthy dose of Old Spice. Anything longer than a semester of school constituted forever at eighteen.
Davis had been peripherally aware of Eden since kindergarten. They’d once eaten an entire glue stick together before the teacher discovered them hidden away in the classroom’s bean bag corner.
In junior high band, he’d been stationed behind the bongos when Eden had saved her friend from dreaded “fart mouth” after Pond Birkbeck had desecrated Layla’s unattended trumpet mouthpiece. He’d applauded her bravery, along with the rest of the band, when Eden and Layla had pummeled Pond to the floor.
But he’d never forget the moment that he became aware aware of Eden Moody.
It was the end of the first day of school his junior year, her sophomore year. Davis had been behind the wheel of his third-hand El Camino fiddling with a Phish CD when he’d heard laughter through his open windows.
Fran, the mohawked bass player for any number of high school garage bands, gripped the armrests of her wheelchair and cackled with glee as Eden Moody gave her an enthusiastic push down the slight hill to the parking lot. Eden hopped on the back of the chair, her magenta highlights glimmering in the afternoon light, a smile brighter than the sun on her face. It wasn’t some major aha moment like his mother was always talking about. It was more of a “yeah, that’s the one” acceptance.
Eden had this sexy rebellious vibe going that the straight and narrow Davis found both terrifying and appealing. She wasn’t worried about fitting in and doing what everyone expected of her. She was strong, exciting, and very, very pretty.
Eden wasn’t like the other girls who were usually more than willing to flirt or date or hit a few bases in the back of his El Camino. Eden was different.
And then he’d remembered who her parents were. And who his parents were.
He hadn’t been able to help himself, talking to her, flirting with her over the past few semesters. He liked her. She was funny and sarcastic and filled with this buzzing energy. He just wanted to be around her.
In deference to his parents, Davis had casually dated other girls. But his heart belonged to Eden. And now, he had this bright sliver of hope that he could both date her and not piss off his parents.
The bathroom door burst open, bouncing off of Donovan’s shoulder. “Are you trying to give your father another heart attack?” Tilly Nuswing-Gates demanded, her mouth painted in an unforgiving frown.
“Geez, Mom!”
Donovan looked left and right for an escape route.
Davis lamented not locking the door. Sometimes he wondered if his father’s heart attack all those years ago had been caused by Tilly scaring the ever-living crap out of him with one of her dramatic entrances. “What seems to be the latest crisis?” he asked, knowing exactly what it was.
She crossed her arms, blocking his escape. “I knew it! I just knew it the way you two were mooning over each other in the park today!”
Guilt settled like a bowling ball in his stomach.
“I think I’ll head over early.” Donovan the Coward squeezed past Tilly and ran for the hills in his perfectly straight bowtie.
“I know that you’re planning to take that… that… that Moody girl to the dance,” his mother sputtered with rage. “And I am telling you that you will do so over your father’s corpse. You will literally kill him.”
“Mom, aren’t you being a little bit dramatic?” His father’s heart attack had happened years ago. Since then, Tilly had badgered him into better health. Maybe it was time they stop tip-toeing and started being honest with each other.
“‘A little bit dramatic’? Your father almost died and you insist on doing theonething that will put him in his grave.”
Tilly should have been a soap opera star. Her dramatic timing was magnificent. “Fine,” Davis conceded. “Then let’s not tell him. Hasn’t this feud gone on long enough? She’s a great girl. She’s smart, she’s funny.”
“I can’t believe you’d even consider going anywhere with her kind. Her parents are hoodlums. Her grandparents are practically circus freaks.”
“Mom!”
“Davis!” His father bellowed from downstairs and Davis winced. News traveled fast in Blue Moon.
“What do you expect?” his mother hissed. “No one keeps secrets here.”
“Davis!” His father sounded like a wounded animal ready to rampage.
“Shit.” Davis followed his mother downstairs and prepared to face the music. He was a pretty low-maintenance son. He didn’t bicker with his parents. There were no real power struggles. He was respectful, courteous. He kept his room clean. Paid for his own gas. He helped out at the winery every weekend without complaint. Maybe they could give him this one thing?
