Faking Perfect (19 page)

The sketch
was
good. Amazing, in fact. It wasn’t hard to see why Nolan had been accepted into a local art school, even with his so-so grades. What
was
hard to understand, at least for me, was why he’d drawn a picture of Tyler Flynn outside my bedroom window. Nolan only drew things he’d observed with his own two eyes.

“I just thought it was interesting,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me.

I dropped the sketch pad on the coffee table in front of us. “How long have you known about this?”

“About you and Tyler Flynn? Since November, I guess. One night I couldn’t sleep so I took Gus out for a walk. I saw him just like that,” he said, gesturing to the sketch. “At first, I thought he was breaking into your house and I almost called the cops, but then I saw you opening the window for him.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention it to me?”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey Lexi, it’s come to my attention that you’re having a secret affair with the school drug dealer?’ ” He shrugged. “I assumed you had your reasons for keeping quiet about it, even though I don’t get why you would.”

I studied the sketch again. A depiction of Tyler through Nolan’s eyes, captured from an angle I’d never seen. He was the
one thing
I’d managed to keep hidden from everyone in my life, even my closest friend. Or so I’d thought. And now my secret was exposed, literally documented in black and white.

“You know why, Nolan,” I said, my tone harsh and impatient. I rarely spoke to him that way, but it seemed like he was being purposely obtuse. He went to Oakfield High. He was aware of the social hierarchy there, how tenuous it could be. He refused to play the game, but he still knew the score. “How could you draw this?”

He stopped petting Gus and stared at me. “What’s the big deal?
You’re
not in the picture. No one would ever connect it with you.”

“That’s not the point. It’s—” I sat up straight, head throbbing as my blood—along with everything that had transpired in the last half hour—rushed to my head, overwhelming me. “It
feels
like I’m in it. To me. You must’ve known how embarrassing it would be for me to see this sketch. To find out you . . . know what you know.”

“So what if I know? It’s me, remember? I’m not gonna shun you for hooking up with someone who’s not on the A-list.”

I knew that. Knew Nolan would never judge me for Tyler. Still, it made me uncomfortable at times, how easily he saw through me. The Lexi he saw was still the same girl I’d spent the last three years trying to transform. A girl who ran to him for security and trusted him with her sad, ugly truths. A girl whose shame and weaknesses were so strong, they sometimes leaked through her perfect veneer and claimed her, reminding her of who she really was. A girl I hated.

Nolan’s sketch pad was just loaded with that girl. I picked it up, making Tyler disappear as I turned to the newest sketch of me. Why did he draw me like this? No makeup, frizzy hair. He’d even added the zit I’d had on my forehead at the time. Did he
try
to make me look awful?

“I draw you the way I see you,” he said as if I’d asked those questions out loud.

“Well.” I tossed the sketch pad back on the table and looked at him, sitting there in his blue OPTIMUS FOR PRESIDENT
Transformers
T-shirt, watching my expression carefully, storing it away for future reference like always. “Maybe I don’t like the way you see me. I’ve changed, Nolan. I’m not the same pathetic girl who used to sit around playing video games with you all night. I have a life now. Friends, a boyfriend.” Ben’s face filled my mind, and my next words popped out as if the image of him had possessed my vocal chords. “And while we’re on the subject, Ben doesn’t like the way you see me either.”

A flicker of disbelief crossed Nolan’s face and then his eyes went flat. “Please tell me you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”

I didn’t answer. He continued to watch me, unwavering, until I finally looked away.

“Wow,” he said dully. “I thought it would take at least six months for Ben to turn you into a pretentious asshole like him, but it’s only been what? A little over a month? Impressive.”

I wasn’t sure what it was that surged through me then, anger or guilt or a bit of both, but it propelled me off the couch and toward the basement door. Just as I touched the doorknob, I retraced my steps and grabbed the sketch pad off the coffee table. I found the drawing of Tyler and tore it out, the sound of the paper ripping loud in my ears. Once it was free, I folded it up until it was small enough to fit into my pocket.

“Don’t draw him again,” I said firmly to Nolan, who was looking at me like he wasn’t quite sure who I was. Or what I’d become. “Or me,” I added for good measure, and then I left his house and went home.

Like the note Teresa had given me so many weeks ago, I was so sure I’d destroy that sketch the first chance I got. But somehow, it too ended up in
Corn Snakes: An Owner’s Guide
, which was so full of my secrets by now, I could barely get it to stay closed.

Chapter Eighteen

D
ue to her obsession with Disney princesses, Grace was adamant about seeing me in my prom dress before I took off for the prom.

“You wook wike Pwincess Awowa in Sweeping Beauty!” she exclaimed when she and her mom reached our front yard, where Ben and I stood in front of the lilac bush, posing for pictures.

“Thanks,” I said, smoothing my dress—a long, pink, shimmering halter-style with an empire waist and open back.

“And Ben looks like Prince Philip, huh?” Rachel prompted.

Grace frowned. “No. Pwince Phiwip has bwown hair.”

We all laughed, even Mom. She always acted cheerful and friendly around Rachel, who was a bubbly, proficient Supermom type. As if they had enough in common to be friends. “Okay, just a couple more,” Mom said, holding up the digital camera.

I gritted my teeth and smiled. It was brutally hot outside and my dress, despite appearing light and airy, actually made me feel like a tightly encased sausage. A sausage that was currently being fried. I needed shade or air-conditioning before my makeup melted or my hair frizzed up, ruining an hour’s worth of torture with the straightener. Somehow, Ben seemed completely cool and unaffected in his tux as if he was immune to sweat. It wouldn’t have surprised me.

It still amazed me, even as we stood there all dressed up, that I was going to the senior prom with Ben Dorsey. I’d fantasized about that moment for years, played it out in my head as I lay in bed or sat in class, never expecting it to actually happen. In my fantasies, he would pick me up in a limo, present me with a gorgeous corsage, all the while gazing at me lovingly. Then we would dance all night, kiss under the stars, spend the entire summer together before going off to college—also together—and get married in our mid-twenties and have a litter of kids. That was my frivolous fifteen-year-old-girl dream. As a newly-minted eighteen-year-old adult, my dreams for the future were more realistic. Unlike Princess Aurora, I probably wouldn’t get a spell-breaking kiss and a happily ever after with my prince.

Ben and I had spent most of June fighting. Not screaming, storm-away-from-each-other fighting, but long, drawn-out disagreements that left me teary-eyed and frustrated. At some point, fantasy had turned into reality and the shine began to fade. Shelby was right about some things. Ben was inflexible in his opinions. Unforgiving of mistakes, his own and other people’s. He wasn’t as perfect as he appeared from afar. In fact, he was almost as flawed as I was, a realization that consistently surprised me. The only difference was, I accepted his faults while he barely tolerated mine.

Any other girl would have walked away a long time ago, but I couldn’t seem to let go of the idea that this was where I was supposed to be, who I was supposed to be, and who I was supposed to be with. As for Ben, he seemed to thrive on that kind of unbalanced relationship. He was happiest when he was winning, and with me it was easy. I rarely challenged him, even when it came to Nolan.

“He’s not coming over here, is he?” Ben asked in an undertone after the photo shoot was done and my mother was busy showing the various shots to Rachel and Grace.

“Who? Nolan?” I knew very well who Ben meant; he must have caught me sneaking peeks over at the Bruces’ house between poses. “No. Why would he? I was already over there earlier, before you got here.”

The moment those last few words vacated my mouth, I felt like kicking myself with one of my high-heeled sandals. Ben had been so pleased, so smugly vindicated, when Nolan and I quit speaking to each other after our fight a couple weeks ago. I couldn’t tell Ben why we’d fought, of course, but he didn’t really care about details, anyway. All that mattered was that Nolan and I weren’t spending time together anymore, either alone or in public. He didn’t seem bothered that I was completely miserable over it. Nolan and I had argued before, and even stopped speaking to each other once or twice, but never for this long and never over something so significant. Our fighting upset Teresa too; she was the one who’d insisted I come over earlier, using her desire to see me in my dress as an excuse. I knew Nolan would be around, but I swallowed my stupid pride and went anyway. It wasn’t fair to punish Teresa just because her son and I were on the outs.

But Ben didn’t see it that way. He saw only my defiance. “You went over there?” Telltale blotches emerged on his skin.

“His parents wanted to see me in my dress,” I explained. God, it was hot in the sun. I shifted to the right, trying to find relief in the patchy shade of the lilac bush. The night hadn’t even started and already I wanted to go inside and stick my head in the freezer.

“I bet he wanted to see you in that dress, too,” Ben muttered, his gaze traveling over my curves. “He’s not—”

“No,” I cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “He’s not going tonight. I told you that.” Nolan and Amber were both anti-prom, anti-formal wear, anti-anything to do with school tradition. They’d probably spend the whole night watching movies and eating popcorn in the family room. For a moment, I envied them.

Ben’s face relaxed slightly and the blotches disappeared. He reached out and took my hand, easing me back over to his side. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured against my hair.

I turned my face toward him, touching my lips to his the way he expected me to do. The scent of summer was all around me, on Ben’s skin and in the air, genuine mixed with synthetic. It reminded me of before our relationship changed, before I knew the different sides to him. Back when we were just friends, my vision was tunneled, blurred, never seeing beyond surface-deep. Now, my eyes were clear and wide open.

“Wexi?” Grace tugged on my hand as Ben and I got ready to leave. “Don’t forget my birfday party, okay?”

As if I could forget. Grace had spoken of little else for the past month. For her fourth birthday, she was having a fancy princess party at her house, complete with tiaras and gowns and a giant pink princess cake. It was tomorrow afternoon and I’d promised her I’d go.

Bending down to her level, I whispered, “I’ll be there with a
big
present for the birthday girl.”

She grinned. “What is it?”

“It’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.” I straightened up and watched her skip over to her mom, who was still chatting with mine. Grace threw her arms around her mother’s waist and Rachel’s hand came down to stroke her hair. The easy, unconscious way she did it, like a mother cat nuzzling her kittens, set off a familiar twinge in my chest. Longing. Family.

“Ready?” Ben asked.

His voice snapped me out of my trance and I turned to him, a shiver rippling through me in spite of the heat. When I nodded, he reclaimed my hand and led me away.

Ben waited until after ten o’clock, just when the prom itself was wrapping up, to spring his big plan on me. “I got us a room upstairs,” he said in my ear as we slow-danced to the last ballad of the night.

“What?” I pulled back to look at him.

He was smiling, proud of his ingenuity. Our prom was being held in the ballroom of a huge hotel, and a few other seniors had gotten the bright idea to reserve rooms for partying afterward. But this wasn’t our plan. Our plan was to head directly to Leila Acker’s party, which was taking place at her family’s summer cottage on the lake. I barely knew Leila, but the lure of bonfires, barbecue, and a couple jumbo-sized kegs guaranteed that most of the graduating class would end up there.

“I got us a room,” Ben repeated, running his palms over my hips. He’d been covertly exploring my pelvic area all night, delighting in the fact that the taut, smooth fit of my dress required me to go commando.

“What about the party?”

“Who cares about the stupid party?”

“But . . .” My mind was whirling. Sex with Ben. I’d fantasized about that too, of course. A lot. And I knew it would be nice, just like making out with him was nice. The problem was, he still thought I was sexually inexperienced. Naive. I could fake a lot of things, but I wasn’t quite talented enough to fake virginity.

“But what?” he said with a trace of impatience. “You don’t want to?”

“I just . . .” My hands felt sweaty against the heavy fabric of his tux. Turning him down would definitely widen the already gaping rift between us, but for once I didn’t care. Just the thought of spending the entire night with him, sustaining the charade for hours, exhausted me to my core. “I really want to go to the party,” I finished lamely.

“Fine.” His hands slid back to my waist. “We’ll go to the party.”

I knew from experience that I wasn’t forgiven, not really. The latest offense would simply join the ones before it, piling up like Nolan’s Jenga blocks, towering and wobbly, always threatening to fall.

Leila Acker’s cottage was tiny and rundown, but the massive back deck overlooking the lake made up for any shortcomings. By the time we arrived at eleven-thirty, the grill was hot, the kegs were tapped, and several people were already well on their way to smashed.