The Trouble with Faking

  “SHUT UP!”

  I jump as the voice of someone I had no idea was there shouts from the stairs below me. I swivel around and look down. “Mike?” I whisper in horror.

  “I came to ask my sub-warden a question about the tutoring programme,” Mike says. “Guess I arrived at a bad time.” And with that, he turns and disappears down the stairs, leaving me without a doubt that he heard everything he wasn’t supposed to.

  DAMMIT!

  I hurry downstairs after him, reaching the corridor in time to see him walking briskly away. I almost chase after him, but I have no idea what I’d say. So I run for the foyer instead, tears already pricking behind my eyes.

  I run all the way back to my room at Fuller. I kick my shoes off, drop my raincoat on the floor, silence my cell phone, and climb into bed. I’m glad for my numerous cushions this evening; they’re helping to hide me from the world. It isn’t even dark yet, but I don’t care. I want to fall asleep so my brain doesn’t keep replaying all our horrible, angry words. So I won’t keep seeing their faces over and over. Damien’s guilt when he realised I’d heard everything he said. Mike’s disappointment at hearing about our scheme. And the hurt in Noah’s eyes when I turned on him.

  Through the duvet and cushions, I hear a soft tap on my door. “Andi?” Carmen calls to me. “Is everything okay? I heard your door slamming.”

  I consider ignoring her, but I’ve already alienated three people today. I should probably try to keep the friends I have left. I lower the duvet cover and say, “I think it’s unlocked.”

  She opens the door and surveys me amidst my comfort-pile of cushions. “Early night?”

  “You could say that.”

  “It didn’t go well when you spoke to Damien?”

  I shake my head. “The poop hit the fan. In a BIG way.”

  “Well, that sounds like a good story,” Carmen says, shutting the door and swiping several cushions off the bed so she can sit. “Do tell.”

  I relate the whole messy confrontation. “I didn’t even get to say the things I was planning to say to Damien,” I add at the end. “All the wrong stuff spewed out, and then Mike was suddenly there, and then I ran away like a scared ostrich-chicken.”

  “Ostrich-chicken? Because … you’re hiding from the problem like an ostrich and you’re scared like a chicken?”

  “Yes. I should put that on a pin badge,” I murmur, sinking further down beneath my duvet. “Scared Ostrich-Chicken. I’ll put it on a hat so everyone will know the truth about me.”

  “You may be unaware of this,” Carmen says, “but self-pity is very unattractive on you.”

  “Wow. Your bedside manner is exceptional. You should be a doctor.”

  “Sarcasm’s right up there with self-pity.”

  “Ugh, come on! Just give me five minutes to wallow. I messed up, okay? Badly. They all hate me now. Damien, Noah, Mike. Marie’s probably going to find out soon as well, since we were yelling loud enough for at least half of Smuts to hear us, and then she’ll hate me too.”

  “Well … yes, I suppose they might hate you. But they’ll probably get over it. And I doubt you were the only one at fault. Damien doesn’t exactly have any right to hate you after he flat out lied to Noah about you.”

  “Yes,” I say, thinking back to that part. “How could he say that? How could he tell such a horrible lie so easily to someone who’s meant to be his best friend? I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t heard it myself.”

  “I would have,” Carmen mutters, looking away.

  I stare at her. “Why do you say that? Do you know something?”

  She sighs. “When you told me you guys got together for real, I figured I’d have to show you, but now that you’ve broken up, it isn’t necessary for—”

  “You’ve been keeping something from me?” I demand, sitting up. “After you ignored me for weeks because I did the same thing to you?”

  “Okay, look.” She holds her hands up. “I realise that after we had that long chat in the car about being honest, I probably should have told you this. But when I realised it wasn’t actually you Damien was cheating with, I figured I didn’t need to create any more drama by showing you.”

  “By showing me what?” I ask, my voice icy. “I swear, if you don’t open up right now, there’s gonna be a whole lot more poop flying at the fan.” She stands, opens my door, and heads across the landing to her own room. Seconds later, she’s back, holding something small in her hand. She holds it up. “A flash drive?” I take it from her. “Wait, is this …” The initials D. S. are written on the side. “Damien Sanders,” I whisper.

  “Yes,” she says. “I found it outside a few days after we moved into Fuller. Then I forgot about it. When I remembered it a couple of weeks later, I figured I’d just take a quick look at it to find out who it belongs to, but I saw a little more than I bargained for.”

  I look up. “What’s on it?”

  “Perhaps you should see for yourself.” She reaches for my laptop on the desk and passes it to me.

  With apprehension filling my stomach, I lift the laptop lid and plug the flash drive in. It’s filled with folders and documents labelled with course, assignment, and project names. There’s nothing immediately suspicious. “What am I looking for?”

  “A document called “Letter.’”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You opened a document called ‘Letter’?”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning to read it. I thought I’d just scroll to the bottom and check for a name.”

  I move my finger over the touchpad until the mouse pointer is sitting over the ‘Letter’ file. I hesitate, then double click to open it.

  When I hung up the phone just now, there were so many things I still wanted to say. So many things I told myself I shouldn’t say. But I can’t help it anymore. You know how I feel about you, and I know you feel the same, so I don’t see a reason to deny this any longer.

  I’m falling for you.

  I can’t stop thinking about you.

  I wish I could be around you all the time.

  I live for the moments when my phone pings and I get a message from you, and I wish I could have more. More than just messages and phone calls late at night. I wish we could be real and out in the open.

  You asked me once before, and I told you I couldn’t then. I couldn’t be with you while Charlotte was going through such a difficult time. But I’ve thought about it many times, and if you are still asking, my answer now is yes.

  Damien

  I blink at the words on the screen. “He lied after all,” I murmur. “He really was cheating on Charlotte.”

  Carmen nods. “And I assumed it was with you, which is why I thought you were lying to me. It was only after you yelled at me that I realised your name isn’t anywhere in the letter and that it could have been anyone.” She pauses. “Are you … okay?”

  If I’d discovered this a few months ago, I’d be devastated, but after hearing Damien lie about me earlier, it isn’t entirely surprising to discover he lied about this too. “Yeah. I’m okay.” I snap the laptop shut and push cushions out the way so I can get up. “Doesn’t mean I’m not confronting him about it.”

  “Oh. Um, are you—”

  “Yes.” I slip my feet back into my shoes.

  “But what if he—”

  “Still yes.” I yank the flash drive from the laptop and push it into my jeans pocket.

  “Andi!” she shouts in frustration. “You don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to say.” I grab my keys. “Put the latch down when you leave, will you?” I run downstairs and out of Fuller. Light rain sprinkles across my bare arms, but it doesn’t matter that I left my raincoat because it only takes half a minute or so to get to Smuts. I reach it just as a large group of guys are coming out, probably on their way to dinner, which makes it easy for me to slip past them. I run up Damien’s stairs and push his door open without bothering to knock—a move that wou
ld have been a bit awkward if the door had been locked.

  “Andi?” Damien looks up from his desk, startled. He stands. “Andi, I’m so glad you came back. I’ve been calling and calling you. All that stuff about deception and lies … we can move past that, right? I … it’s …”

  “I thought you liked the way I dress,” I say, placing my hands on my hips.

  “What?” He frowns. “Yeah. I do. I’ve told you that before.”

  “But you also told Noah that I dress weirdly.”

  Wariness appears in Damien’s eyes. “No, what I meant was that that’s how some other people see you. I’ve never seen you that way. I like your style.”

  “Really. Well you know what, Damien? I don’t believe you. I never would have called you a liar, but you’ve lied to me so many times in the past few weeks that I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Andi,” he says, looking hurt. “How can you say that? What have I lied to you about?”

  I pull the flash drive out of my back pocket and hold it up. “Who were you cheating on Charlotte with?”

  “What? Andi, you know I’d never—”

  “I saw the letter. I know you were still with Charlotte when you wrote it. You called her paranoid for thinking you were cheating on her, but she was right all along.” I throw the flash drive at him. He fumbles, but manages to catch it.

  “At the beginning of the year,” he says slowly, turning the flash drive over in his hands, “the first day I saw you, I told you I’d lost this. Have you had it since then? Have you been keeping this secret to yourself all this time, waiting for a moment when you could use it against me?”

  “Are you crazy? You might have done something like that, Damien, but not me. I saw that letter for the first time about five minutes ago because somebody who is a real friend to me decided I needed to see it.”

  “Well that real friend of yours needn’t have bothered. I wrote that letter when I was feeling desperate, but I never sent it. Nothing ever happened with her.”

  “With who? Was it Marie?”

  “It doesn’t matter because nothing happened!”

  “Why did you save the letter?”

  “DEAR GOD, ANDI,” Damien shouts as he flings the flash drive at the wall. “Stop being so bloody PARANOID.”

  I take an involuntary step backwards, feeling for a moment as though I’m standing in front of a different person. I remember Noah saying that fighting isn’t bad, it’s honest, and I wonder if that means I’ve never seen the real Damien before. I’ve never even seen him mildly angry, much less furious.

  “Okay,” I say, holding my hands up as though attempting to calm a wild animal. “I’m sorry. I suppose it’s possible you could have written that letter and never sent it.”

  “It isn’t just possible, Andi. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED. And now, thanks to this whole mess you caused with Noah, you and I have to break up. Just like every other girl I’ve been with, you’ve managed to screw up what could have been perfect.”

  “I’ve—Wait a minute. You think every relationship you’ve been in ended because of something the girl did wrong?”

  “Well,” Damien says, spreading his hands out, “it wasn’t due to anything I did. You said yourself you’ve been there for every girlfriend I’ve had. If I was the reason those relationships ended, why on earth would you want to be with me?”

  “I don’t. That’s what I’ve been wanting to tell you since our date on Monday night. We’re not right for each other.”

  Damien’s hands clench into fists as he folds them over his chest. “You only think that because you let Noah mess with your head. Both of you were my friends, and you both ended up deceiving me.”

  I want to shout at him, tell him to get over his persecution complex, but I decide there’s no point. We’ll simply keep going back and forth, yelling accusations and hurting each other more and more. At this rate, we’ll never be friends again. “I think it’s time for me to go,” I say quietly. “Goodbye and … I’m sorry.”

  The Official Mission:

  Get Marie to fall for Damien and Mike to fall for Andi.

  Status: Failed. (I think. I don’t actually know how Marie feels about Damien, but I highly doubt Mike ever fell for me. I’m pretty sure Damien’s the one he was interested in all along …)

  Andi’s Side Mission:

  Get Damien to fall for Andi instead of Marie.

  Status: Aborted.

  “Thanks so much for letting me stay here for a bit,” I say as I drag my suitcase through the door into Livi’s flat. “I know you don’t have much space.” I push the suitcase behind the kitchen table where it’ll be out of the way for now and leave my sewing machine on the table.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry there’s no guest room,” Livi says, “but the couch is big and super comfy. Adam falls asleep on it all the time when he visits.”

  “Thank you. And I promise I’ll fold up the blankets and things every day so they’re not in your way.”

  “Sure, whatever. Oh, there are some shelves in the bathroom that I never got around to using, so you can keep some stuff there if you want.” She plops onto the couch and crosses her legs. “This is gonna be fun,” she says with a wide smile. “I know the reason you’re here isn’t exactly a positive one, but it’ll still be fun. We can share clothes and watch movies when we should be studying and bake stuff we shouldn’t be eating.”

  “You want to share my clothes? Really?” Damien’s words run through my head. “You don’t think they’re a little … weird?”

  “Well, sure, some of them are. But I’d love to borrow the less weird ones.”

  I blink. “Um. I’m still trying to figure out if I should be offended by the word ‘weird.’”

  She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Of course you shouldn’t. ‘Weird’ was your word, not mine. I might have gone with ‘funky’ or ‘eccentric.’ Besides, who cares what you call it? You’ve totally pulled off every outfit I’ve ever seen you in, and that’s all that matters. You could probably wear a dress made of pieced-together feather dusters and still look fabulous.”

  “You think?” I rub my chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never ventured into feather territory before. Always thought it seemed a bit messy.”

  Livi laughs. “You have the kind of confidence I’ve always dreamed of having. You can wear anything.” She reaches for the bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table and offers me some. “By the way, I’m guessing you make a lot of your clothes, right? That’s why the sewing machine’s here?”

  I scoop a handful of popcorn out of the bowl. “Well, it’s mainly for my Etsy products—the scarves and bags and headbands and stuff—but I do make some of my clothes. And almost everything I buy gets altered in some way.” I munch on a mouthful of popcorn, then add, “Oh, I made these pants, actually.” I stand up to show off my pants made from white fabric printed with a pattern of joined newspaper pages. I still remember how excited I was when I found the fabric while hunting for something to make tote bags from.

  “You made those?” Livi says, her eyes widening in awe.

  I sit down and tuck my legs beneath me. “It’s not that hard. Just takes a little bit of practise. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can figure it out.”

  “Yeah, maybe two of your brain cells. You should be a fashion designer, Andi.”

  I nod. “I think I should. Neither of my parents thought that was a viable career option, though. They said I had to get a ‘sensible’ degree first, and then I could do whatever I want.”

  “Okay, I can see Dad saying that,” Livi says, “but isn’t your mom an interior decorator?”

  “Yes.”

  “So she dresses up rooms, but she isn’t happy with you dressing up people?”

  “Something like that.”

  Livi sighs. “Parents.”

  “I know.”

  She picks up the remote control and presses the play button. The movie that was paused—the latest Star Trek—jumps to life. “This is poss
ibly the hundredth time I’m watching this movie,” she says, “so if you want to change it to something else, or if you need to go study in my room, that’s cool.”

  With a week and a half left of the quarter, and several tests coming up next week, I probably should be studying. I’d far rather watch Star Trek, though. “I’m exactly where I want to be right now. Studying can happen on the weekend.”

  We crunch on popcorn, and half a minute later, Livi says, “Oh, I just thought of something.” She turns the volume down on the movie. “Are you going home for the Easter holidays next weekend?”

  “No. Mom and I looked at flights, but they’re quite pricey. Budget’s kinda tight this year with my tuition and res fees.”

  “Isn’t Dad helping?” Livi says with a frown.

  “Um, yes, I think he’s contributing. He and my mom came to some kind of agreement. And I’ve got my Etsy savings to cover living expenses. That doesn’t leave much to buy plane tickets, though.”

  “Oh. Well I was asking because I am going home, and I thought maybe you’d want to stay here. You’ll have the place to yourself. Cavendish Square is down the road, so you can chill at coffee shops and read, or you can stay here and watch movies all day. Whatever.”

  “That actually sounds amazing.” I’d pictured myself hiding inside Fuller during the holidays in an attempt to avoid Damien, who isn’t going home either, but staying at Livi’s is a far better option.

  “Great,” Livi says with a smile. We turn back to the movie, but she doesn’t increase the volume yet. “Sooooo,” she says slowly. “Are we ever going to talk about your boy troubles?”

  “Boy troubles?” I ask lightly.

  She picks up her phone from the coffee table and reads out my last message to her. “‘I broke up with my ex-pretend-boyfriend-now-ex-real-boyfriend. The guy I was PRETENDING to like possibly doesn’t even like girls. And the only guy I still want to spend time with—my ex-pretend-boyfriend-now-ex-real-boyfriend’s ex-best friend—doesn’t ever want to talk to me again. Bottom line? I need to get out of res. PLEASE can I come stay with you!’”