The Fine Art of Pretending (36 page)

I want a relationship.

And I want it with Brandon.

Well, that ain’t happening, kid, so what else you got?

The buzzer goes off again, and I hop down. I slide the bubbling macaroni out of the oven, humming “Summer Nights” from
Grease
, the song I performed with Brandon on the camping trip.

Stepping outside, I sing, “He showed off, splashing around,” and Mom claps her hands.

“Oh, I love that movie!” A wistful smile touches her lips, and she says, “I told you I played Rizzo in high school, didn’t I?”

“What?!” The image of Mom playing the bad girl of Rydell High doesn’t compute. Like, at all. I knew she did some theater when she was younger, and she sings along with the radio all the time, but singing in a musical is a
big
deal.

She nods. “Long time ago.” Hugging her arms around her waist, she gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Only time I ever sang on stage, but man, what a rush.”

“Yeah, it is,” I whisper to myself.

Shaking herself out of her memories, Mom pats my head and scoops a large serving of macaroni onto my plate.

She’s right. Singing on stage is a rush—much better than my nightly serenades to my toothbrush. A thought suddenly comes to me, and I bite my lip, wondering if I have the guts to act on it. Maybe this is a sign from the universe that, while I write off the male species, call off the makeover mission, and give up on Homecoming, I can still do one last thing just for me.

Maybe Operation Sex Appeal has one final phase.

I take a deep breath and say, “Hey, did I tell y’all I’m thinking of singing at the Spirit Day Talent Show?”

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 24TH

1 week and 1 day until Homecoming

ALY
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY, 12:15 p.m
.

Kara
sets her tray down and slides into the bright orange plastic chair across from me, taking in the cafeteria’s arranged social order with obvious disgust. After yesterday’s showdown, I think we all expected a fallout. Some sort of change. We expected…something. Instead, Lauren’s pretending like it never happened, and everyone else is following suit.

Shaking her head, sending the ends of her cute bob flying, Kara says, “All these people need to go see Mom for a counseling session. People here need some serious therapy.” She forks a cherry tomato from her salad and pops it in her mouth.

I push my mashed potatoes around on my plate, mounding them into a hill and then flattening them out. As I drag my fork through them in a zigzag design, I feel the weight of Gabi’s gaze. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, abandoning her steak in lieu of her chocolate cookie. Breaking off a corner, she waves it over my plate. “I was just observing the lovely food art you were creating. Obviously you are fully sane and not distracted at all.” She takes a bite and smirks.

“Not distracted,” I say, sighing and shoving away my tray. “Contemplative. I made an important decision last night.”

This morning, I decided to act on my kitchen declaration, and the result has been surprising. While my inward shift feels monumental—comfort in my own skin is something I’ve chased for years—the outward change is more subtle. Thanks to the uniform we all wear, I still kinda look like the new Aly my classmates have gotten to know. My hair is down, rather than in a ponytail because I’ve learned I like it that way, and this morning I found a new balance with my makeup, using lighter, natural colors. So I’m not surprised my friends haven’t seen the change. But I want them to know.

Making sure I have their attention, I announce, “Say goodbye to the makeover portion of Operation Sex Appeal. The time for pretending to be a sexy bombshell is over. Clearly, I am the cute and funny friend, and wonders of wonders, I’m finally okay with that.”

Gabi smiles—a real one, not a smirk, a rarity for her. She bumps my shoulder and says, “About time you figured that out.”

Kara nods. “I agree. I know I aided and abetted the whole thing, but Gabi was right. It wasn’t you.”

Next to me, Gabi pretends to choke on her cookie. She takes a large slurp of her chocolate milk and looks up with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? Something about Gabi being…right?”

Kara throws a cucumber slice at her and grins. “But the entire mission thing hasn’t been a completely wasted exercise. There were some definite memorable moments.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” I say, my eyes tracking a certain boy as he pockets his wallet and heads toward his usual table. “Hey, Carlos!” He straightens in surprise, and I smile. “Can you come here for a minute?”

He strolls over and sets his tray next to Gabi’s, darting his eyes between the two of us. “Yes, Miss Aly?”

“Last week, you suggested we pair up for tonight’s talent show and I declined,” I say, my throat closing around the words.
I cannot believe I’m doing this
. Clearing my throat, I press on with only a slight waver in my voice. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I was curious if the offer is still on the table?”

Carlos jumps back, looking as shocked by my words as I am. He shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth kicks up. “Hell yeah.” He spins the chair next to Gabi’s, apparently deciding to stay, and straddles it. “Girl, as long as you’re singing, we can do anything ya want. But you don’t think it’s too late to enter?”

Sneaking a glance at my statue-like friends, I almost laugh out loud. “Nope. You can sign up until the end of school today.”

Kara unfreezes first. “Are you serious?” She drums on the table and throws her head back in an enthusiastic
whoop
. “Aly, this is huge! Seriously, whatever you’ve been having for breakfast this week, keep it up.”

Gabi grabs my shoulder, pulls me closer, and slaps the back of her hand on my forehead. “Patient doesn’t appear to be feverish. Maybe I’m the one hallucinating. Aly, you just said Operation Sex Appeal’s over.”

Carlos’s head swivels at the words
sex appeal
, and I knock her hand away with a smile. “No, I said the makeover portion is over. This is a new phase, and it’s just for me. I’m gonna be scared out of my mind, but I want to do this. I need to try.”

Gabi stares at me intently and nods. Then she takes a deep breath and turns to face the high-school boy sitting next to her, who seems thoroughly confused by our conversation. “Carlos, I know it’s next week, but do you maybe wanna go to Homecoming with me? No big deal or anything,” she adds quickly, shaking her head and fidgeting with her heavy rope chain. “I totally get it if you already have a date or think it’s lame or whatever.”

Carlos’s smile spreads over his entire face. He reaches out, cups her chin, and presses a light kiss on her lips. Gabi’s shocked eyes flutter closed, and when she opens them with a dazed look on her face, Carlos answers, “I’d love to.” He lifts his head to look at me and announces, “Wow! I don’t know what the hell’s happening, but I am on
fire
today!”

Gabi giggles and then slaps her hand across her mouth. Kara kicks my foot under the table and flashes a maniacal grin. I attempt to match it, struggling to keep the jealousy at bay. I’m happy for Gabi.

I am.

She manned up, admitted her feelings, and went for it. That’s awesome. But there’s no way in hell I’m doing the same. Brandon and I are
finally
getting back to some sort of normalcy in our friendship. I’m not about to mess it all up again.

Grabbing my cookie, I decide to forgo lunch and head straight for dessert.

Carlos slips his arm around the back of Gabi’s chair and peers around to look at me. “How ’bout you, girl? What lucky guy’s taking you to Homecoming?”

“Nah, I think I’m swearing off guys for a while,” I say, lowering my eyes and shoving a corner of cookie in my mouth. “And I think this is one dance that I’ll sit out.”

Kara gasps.

“What?” Gabi protests. “You can’t miss your senior Homecoming. Wasn’t that the catalyst for the whole freaking makeover?”

“Yeah, Aly, you have to come with us.” Kara claws the pearl necklace at her throat and stares at me with pity-filled eyes. “Daniel can hook you up with one of his friends, or Carlos, is there anyone on the baseball team who needs a date?”

Carlos stands to eye the back table, not at all being covert, and embarrassment flames my cheeks. From the corner of my eye, I see Gabi mouth something to Kara, probably telling her to shut the hell up, and when the first lunch bell rings, I bolt out of my chair.

Normally I stay for both periods, but I need to get out of here. I seize my tray of uneaten food and shrug, aiming for blasé but fearing it reads more like a tic. “Guys, it’s cool. I don’t care anymore. We have tons of dances throughout the year, and really, it’s only one night, right?”

I look across the cafeteria and meet Brandon’s eyes. If he were my date, it would be more than just one night or another dance. It would be everything. He lifts his fingers in a wave, and tears burn the back of my throat. Blinking rapidly, I lift my hand in return, then quickly make my escape.

ALY
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY, 6:20 p.m
.

The
stands in the gym are overflowing. Chairs are set up across the floor for the influx of parents coming in for the Spirit Day Talent Competition. The clamor of voices, screeching of chairs along the linoleum, and occasional shouts of “Go Hokies!” don’t quite cover the sounds of instruments tuning up backstage where I stand, peering around the dark curtain, having a mild panic attack.