The Trouble with Faking (9 page)

A smile sneaks onto my face. “Fun, huh?”

“Yip. Besides, no uptight person in their right mind would consider wearing the clothes you wear.”

I raise my chin as I turn my gaze back to the pool table. “Well. I hope you meant that as a compliment, because that’s the way I intend to take it.”

“Absolutely. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone else wearing combat boots and a ballet skirt, but you’re definitely making it work.”

“Thanks.” I fluff up my multi-layered tulle skirt.

“Just a word of warning, though,” Noah says. “When you bend over the pool table, we can see your underwear.”

“Hey!” I smack his arm, and he flinches.

“Ow! Watch the healing wound.”

“What healing wound?” I ask, suddenly alarmed I may have actually hurt him. He reaches back for the neck of his long-sleeve T-shirt and pulls. “Whoa, hey.” I take a step away from him. “I’m not sure stripping is necessary.”

“Relax, Andi,” he says with an amused smile. “I’ve got a vest under here.” He removes the long-sleeve T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of a bird across his upper right arm and shoulder.

“Oh, wow, that’s cool.” I lean forward to take a closer look. “Is it really still a healing wound?”

“No. I was messing with you—again. I had it done the day after I mentioned it to you and Damien, so it’s had a bit of time to heal already.”

“Okay.”

I look across at the pool table as Mike groans and says, “Come on, man. Give me a chance before you annihilate me.” He’s still wearing a smile, though, so I guess he doesn’t mind too much that Damien’s beating him.

“Do you have a lot of tattoos?” I ask Noah.

“Just the cross, the bird, and the one on my butt.” He gives me a mischievous grin.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You do not have a tattoo on your butt.”

He laughs but doesn’t answer.

“Why did you choose a bird?”

He pulls his T-shirt back on. When his head emerges, he says, “Birds are free.”

“And you … want to be free?”

“Yes.” He looks at me as though this should be obvious. “Doesn’t everyone want to be free?”

“I suppose. What do you want to be free of?” I ask before stopping to consider whether that might be too personal a question.

He leans closer and whispers, “The demons of my past.”

I laugh at his attempt to be dramatic and mysterious. “Oh really? You’ve got demons hiding beneath that goofy exterior?”

“Goofy exterior?” He does a good job of pretending to be hurt. “And here I thought I was rocking the sexy look.”

I laugh. “Well, your muscular, sexy look may do it for some girls, but I’m not one of them.”

“Ah, you like the scrawny look, do you?”

I laugh harder and shake my head. Damien and Mike look over at us to see what’s going on. “Sorry!” I say. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They return their attention to the game, and Noah lowers his voice. “You really should go for Mike, then. He’s got that scrawny, nerdy look.”

“Hmm.” I consider Mike. He’s about the same height as Damien, but slimmer and with darker hair. He wears glasses, but they suit his face, which isn’t that bad-looking. “Actually,” I say, “it’s more of a
cute
, nerdy look. Thanks for pointing that out.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Perhaps I should go over there and support my pretend boyfriend now.”

“Or your pretend love interest. He looks like he could do with some moral support.”

Smiling and shaking my head, I walk back to the pool table and stand at one end. “How’s it going here?”

“I’m the underdog,” Mike says with a relaxed shrug, “so not much has changed.”

“Well, that’ll make it all the more exciting when you win, won’t it?” I flash him an almost-flirtatious smile so Damien can see I’m keeping up my part of the game.

“Hey, don’t I get any support from my girlfriend?” Damien jokes.

I blow him a kiss and say, “Sorry, babe.”
Babe?
Where on earth did that come from? I’ve never called anyone ‘babe’ in my life.

Damien leans over the table, aims his cue stick, and shoots. The ball he was aiming for narrowly misses the pocket, rebounds, whacks a group of three balls, and knocks the 8 ball into a pocket.

“Yes!” Mike pumps his fist in the air, then holds his hand up so I can high-five him.

“Woohoo!” I shout, smacking his palm with mine. “Go Team Underdog!”

“Well done,” Damien says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “although it isn’t quite the same when you win by default, is it?”

I hurry to his side, remembering that A, I’m supposed to be supporting my pretend boyfriend, and B, Damien’s never been a fan of losing.

“You should come down here more often so we can practise,” Mike says, oblivious to—or choosing to ignore—Damien’s hostility.

“Okay,” I say, since our Official Mission includes me spending more time with Mike, and if Damien’s around, it’ll help out the Side Mission too, which is to make him jealous.

“Great,” Damien says, although he sounds anything but pleased. He’s doing an excellent job of playing the possessive boyfriend. “Let us know when you’re free and we’ll both come. I can give you guys some tips.”

“Awesome. I’d like that.” Mike smiles at Damien, but something about it doesn’t look right. Is there a challenge in his gaze? Before I can figure it out, Mike turns and heads back to the TV.

Damien lets go of me, checks his phone, and says, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He heads up the stairs and out of sight.

I grab a cue stick and turn to Noah. “Just you and me, then. Want to show me how it’s done?”

His lips turn up. “You’re just worried I’m gonna see up your skirt if I stay over here.”

“I’m not worried about anything actually,” I say as he pushes away from the bar and comes towards me. “You don’t know this, but I do the bend-over test every time I make a skirt. I’m fairly certain no one in this room has seen my undies and that you, Noah Ferreira, are once again
messing
with me.”

He stops in front of me, that smile still on his lips. “I like you, Andi. We got off to a rough start, but I definitely think I like you now.”

“Oh.” I reach self-consciously for my hair and tuck a strand behind my ear. “Well, I guess you’re not that bad either.”

He laughs. “But you are terrible at pool. You definitely need some help.”

“And that’s why you’re here,” I tell him as I fetch the white ball. I may as well practise with the balls Damien and Mike left on the table. I lean over, place my hand on the table, and balance the end of the cue stick over my thumb. I line up my shot and slide the cue stick back and forth, trying to judge if I’ve got the angle right.

“Terrible,” Noah says. “I’ve never seen anything so clumsy.”

“Well, a little help would be nice.”

Noah steps around me and leans over the table to adjust my hand. “Move your fingers this way—that’s right—then hold your thumb against your forefinger.”

“That feels weird.”

“It’ll work better for you. Trust me. And you need to keep your other arm steady when you’re moving the cue stick. At the moment you’re flapping your elbow around like a chicken with a wonky wing.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

The next thing I know, he’s standing right behind me, his right hand covering mine on the cue stick and his left arm right beside mine on the table. His chest presses against my back, and I forget to breathe.

“In case you haven’t realised,” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver along my neck, “you’re asking for trouble. If you’re not interested in Mike at all, don’t lead him on. And if you really like Damien, just tell him.” His steady hand moves the cue stick back and forth. “Okay,” he says loudly. “You got it now?”

“Uh huh.”

His warmth vanishes as he steps away from me. I suck air into my lungs, slide the cue stick back, and shoot. The white ball skids left instead of forwards, whacks the edge of the table, rebounds several more times, and comes to rest having connected with a grand total of zero balls.

And I don’t give two hoots because my mind is still stuck in time about five seconds ago with Noah’s arms around me and his breath tingling on my neck.

Trouble. I’m definitely asking for trouble.

“Hey, everyone,” I say brightly, waving at the camera set up on its tripod beside my desk. “Today I’m talking about Allison Charmer’s new novel,
Circle of Willows
.” I hold up the book so my camera can see the cover. “As you know, this book had a lot to live up to after Allison’s debut series,
The Broken Cities Trilogy
, was spectacularly well received. So is she as good at writing time travel fantasy as she is at writing dystopian? In two words—” I pause for dramatic effect “—HELL YES.”

I spend two to three minutes talking about exactly why
Circle of Willows
—the book I missed four lectures in a row for because I made the mistake of starting it early one morning before breakfast and couldn’t stop reading until I’d reached the last page—is so incredible. I urge my subscribers to get their hands on a copy as soon as they possibly can, and add that I loved the book so much I’ll be giving away a copy to one lucky person who comments on this video within the next three days.

“And one last thing,” I say before I stop recording. “If you didn’t see my announcement last week, I’ve begun a new series of videos titled Cape Town Coffee Shops. Those videos will be posted every Thursday, and each will feature a fabulous new coffee shop I’ve visited. The first one went up last week, so if you want to know more about Olympia Café in Kalk Bay, you should definitely check it out.

“That’s all for now. Happy reading!” I wave goodbye, then stop recording. I remove the camera from the tripod and plug it into my computer. I need to get this video posted quickly because I’ve still got a tutorial to finish for tomorrow, and it’s already 9 pm.

After about half an hour of editing, I upload and publish the video. Then I stand and stretch. I unwind my scarf—made from fabric with ‘book freak’ written all over it; I like to wear at least one of my Etsy products in each video—and remove my jacket to reveal my pyjamas hiding underneath. The YouTube universe didn’t need to see those.

As I settle back into my desk chair and open the relevant textbook, I hear Carmen’s loud, contagious laughter out on the landing. I jump up and rush to my door, wondering if today will be the day she stops ignoring me. It’s been over two weeks since Damien and I officially ‘got together’ and Carmen decided I wasn’t worth being her friend—or something like that. I keep trying to catch her so we can at least
talk
about this, but she seems skilled at avoiding me. I pull my door open just as she unlocks hers. “Carmen!” I call. She looks over her shoulder, ushers her cousin into her room, and shuts the door behind both of them.

Fine. If she insists on believing Charlotte’s rumours rather than listening to the truth from me, then perhaps I shouldn’t bother trying to restore our friendship.

I return to my room and slump in my desk chair. I stare at the heart-shaped pinboard on my wall below the
Romeo and Juliet
paper bunting. It’s covered in photos, movie tickets, postcards, flyers, brochures, business cards. I removed it from my bedroom wall at home as it was, drove it across the country, stuck it up here, and continued adding to it. Even the Valentine’s Day paper hearts from Damien and Noah made it onto the board.

I focus on a photo of me with a group of friends on the last official day of high school before finals began. Those friends are scattered across the country now amongst various universities, and I don’t hear from them often. I actually haven’t missed them much, but I’m starting to notice my lack of friends here. I need to connect with someone other than the guy I’m in love with and pretending to date.

I swing back around to face my desk and reach for my phone. My hand clenches around the device when I see another two new messages from my mother. I delete them quickly, before the anger has time to take hold, then start typing a message to one of my old friends.

The phone rings in my hand, startling me. I don’t recognise the number, but after several rings, I decide to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, is that Andi?”

“Um, yes.”

“Hi, Andi, it’s Mike.”

“Oh. Hi.” I never gave him my number, but I suppose there are several people he could have got it from.

“So, I was just wondering if you want to play pool tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh.” I’d actually forgotten about Mike’s suggestion that we practise together. It’s been more than a week since that evening in the George. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Damien’s taking me to Truth tomorrow afternoon. You know, the coffee shop?”

“I’ve heard of it. Uh, what about Saturday morning?” he asks. “Unless you’re the kind of person who sleeps in till lunch time. I usually get up early to exercise, and then I forget that a lot of people aren’t even conscious until halfway through the day.”

I chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not one of those people. But I’ve actually got plans on Saturday morning as well. I’m seeing my sister.”

“Oh, okay.”

I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut. This is the point at which I should suggest next week, or next weekend, because he’s just being friendly, isn’t he? And I could do with more friends. But perhaps he’s looking for more, and in that case, I don’t want to lead the poor guy on. “Um …”