The Fine Art of Pretending (38 page)

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

We stare at each other, so many words in my mouth, options I could take, things left unsaid. I glance up and see Gabi walking toward us, her attention focused on our joined hands. The expression on her face says she is reading way too much into the gesture. She looks at me, and I see it in her eyes. She knows the truth.

Hesitantly, reluctantly, I let go.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25TH

6 days until Homecoming

BRANDON
BRANDON’S HOUSE, 6:40 p.m
.

A
light knock raps on my door, followed by a more determined one. After getting the shading just right on Aly’s eyes and without looking up from my sketchbook, I call out, “Come in!”

The door clicks shut and muffled steps approach. I quickly cover the sketch with my notebook and glance over to see Mom standing by the bed. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” I say, pricks of apprehension steeling my spine. A paper crinkles, and I look down to see a sketch in her hands. I jerk my head to the empty space over my desk. It’s the before-and-after of Aly I drew weeks ago.

How in the hell did I not notice it was gone?

She holds the paper out. “Why have I never seen this before?” she asks, her voice a mix of bewilderment and awe. “I mean, I didn’t even know you had an interest, much less a talent like this.” Mom looks at the sketch again wistfully and smiles. “Baby, this is
really
good.”

I shrug, drumming a beat on my notebook. “It’s nothing. Just something Dr. Foster recommended after Dad died. It helps me figure things out.”

Mom nods, sinking down onto my blue comforter. Clearly in no hurry to end this awkward conversation. “That’s good. I’m glad you found this outlet. But, Brandon, you know you can always talk to me, too, right?” She places the sketch on the bed and shakes her head. “Baylee said you and Aly acted almost normal again at the match today. I never even knew y’all were fighting. I feel so out of the loop.”

Shit.

Mom already battles regret over her hectic work schedule. I refuse to let my issues make her feel worse. Walking across the room, I sit beside her and say, “Really, it’s not that big of a deal,” I lie, and I hate myself for it. But I’m doing it to protect her. That makes it better, right? “We just decided we’re better off as friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Mom picks up the sketch again and studies it. “Judging from this, I’d say you’re more than that.”

I stare at the picture, remembering the night I sketched it, how I blamed the clothes for making everything so confusing. The transformation from track pants and a ratty tee to a bikini top and cutoffs. But as I compare the two again, it seems so obvious. She’s the same girl in both pictures. Same signature smile. Same flirty eyes. Same crazy humor and contagious laugh.

It was never about the clothes. The only thing Aly’s makeover did was force me to get my head out of my ass and finally see the girl she’s been all along.

“I don’t know what we are,” I admit. “We didn’t want to screw up our friendship, but I don’t think we can ever go back. Too much has changed.”

Looking at the sketches in my hands, I know it’s true. Our friendship might get back on track, but it won’t be the same. I’ve gotten a taste of more. I don’t know if what we had is enough anymore.

“Do you love her?” Mom asks, as if reading my thoughts.

The question is simple and honest, and I have no option but to give her the same. With another sigh, I nod. “Yeah.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to hurt her, but sketching isn’t doing the trick anymore. I need to figure this out, and the one person I normally turn to is the one person I can’t. So I make a choice and say, “Because relationships end.”

“What?”

Mom looks confused, and I regret saying anything. But it’s too late now. “If I don’t tell Aly how I feel, we’ll stay friends. I can handle that. Friendship is real. It lasts, and it’s safe.”

What I don’t say is that when you add love, things fall apart. Couples break up every day. I see it in the halls.

And I saw it in my father’s hospital room.

My eyes close as the memories of my mom’s scream ring in my head. When I open them again, she’s staring off at my wall. “Loving someone, being loved… It’s worth the pain of losing them.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “How can you say that? I see how hard it is for you, being a single parent and missing Dad. You’d honestly put yourself through all that again?”

She looks me in the eyes and nods. “In a heartbeat.”

The conviction in her voice blows my mind. I glance down at the sketch of the girl I now know I’ve loved for years. I didn’t mean to fall for her, but I did. And in my fear of losing her, I did just that.

The glowing blue numbers on my alarm clock read seven o’clock. I know what I have to do.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Kissing her cheek, I grab my keys and race out the door.

ALY
LONESTAR THEATRES, 7:35 p.m
.

Squeaky
footsteps let me know I’m no longer alone.

“Where have you been?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow as Gabi eagerly begins reloading hotdogs on the conveyor. Gabi is never eager. Especially about work. “Secret lover rendezvous, perhaps?”

“You know it,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, eyes sparkling mischievously. “What good is it working at the movies if you don’t take advantage of darkened theaters?”

Turning back, she pulls a bag of buns out from the cabinet, removes a few from the plastic casing, and drops them into the warming tray. While I know she wasn’t hooking up—Carlos mentioned having a family reunion in Corpus Christi this weekend—she is definitely up to
something
. I watch her back curiously, then shrug at her obvious air of mystery and continue restocking the candy inventory along the length of the counter.

The big blockbusters have been out for several weeks, and with no new releases, the theater is quiet.

Too quiet.

Since lunch yesterday, I’ve purposefully kept myself busy to avoid thoughts of Homecoming, Brandon, or Brandon at Homecoming with another girl from entering my mind. With the theater eerily devoid of customers and all cups, popcorn, nachos, and now candy restocked, I have run out of things to keep them at bay. I stand and lean against the glass counter, the knot in my stomach twisting, and the pressure of unshed tears stinging my nose.

Across the room, on the other side of the clean carpet I just vacuumed, the door to the ticket booth opens. Our manager closes it, testing the knob to make sure it locks behind him.

“Hey, Mark!”

Mark looks up, as startled as I am from Gabi’s loud yell, and barrels over, all nervous energy and Red Bull. “Y-yes?” he stammers, checking his clipboard and shuffling through its papers.

Gabi catches my eye and smirks. It’s a running joke between us that Mark needs to find a girlfriend and fast, or he’s going to send himself to an early grave.

“It’s dead tonight,” she explains, trying
way
too hard to sound casual and immediately tweaking my suspicion further. “Aly’s worked her butt off restocking and cleaning up, so closing will be a snap. Don’t ya think you should reward her diligence and let her go early?”

My eyes widen, and I turn to Mark expectantly. Gabi may be up to something, but it’s definitely working in my favor. Home has much better distractions than here. I can run, watch a movie, do homework… Hell, I’ll even clean my room if it means not thinking about Brandon holding another girl in his arms and dancing at Homecoming—
my
Homecoming.

Mark strokes his beard and checks his watch. “I don’t see a problem with that. If you’re sure you can handle it on your own, Gabriela?”

Gabi snorts. “I think I got this,” she says, holding her hands out to indicate the empty lobby.

Mark’s mouth tightens in a line. “Very well.” Turning to me, he nods. “Aly, for showing such initiative, you may leave early. But don’t get used to this,” he quickly adds. “This should not become an expected occurrence.”

I smile and duck down to grab my purse from under the register. “Yes, sir. Thank you so much.”

He hurries past the counter and into his office, where he’ll most likely spend the night worrying about ticket sales or the perfect display to generate more business, and I turn to Gabi.

“You sure you don’t mind?” At her exasperated eye roll, I laugh, throw my arms around her neck, and say, “I totally owe you. A huge batch of double chocolate chip cookies is coming your way.”

After punching my code into the register to sign out of my shift, I hustle to the side exit leading to the employee parking lot. I don’t have to look up to know it’s practically deserted. Shielding myself against the unseasonable chill in the air, I wrap my arms around my chest and speed-walk to my car, lowering my head as my feet carry me across the blacktop. Toward the back of the row, though, instinct takes over and I raise my head, feeling someone’s eyes on me.

On the hood of my car, bathed in the golden glow from the streetlamp above him, sits Brandon. He isn’t smiling. In fact, his chest rises and falls in apparent nervousness, but his gaze holds an intensity I’m almost too scared to name. And it’s that unnamed emotion that emboldens me. My steps quicken to cover the distance between us, not slowing until my chest presses against his knees and my hands rest in his lap.