The Trouble with Faking

  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 …”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “We can make a plan another time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll catch up with you in the dining hall some time.”

  “Okay, great.” You see, Noah? I’m successfully avoiding trouble.

  “And enjoy Truth tomorrow. I’ve heard their coffee is awesome.”

  After finishing lectures and handing in my tutorial, I hurry back to Fuller and exchange my varsity bag for a tote bag with ‘Reading is sexy’ on the side. Normally I’d spend a Wednesday afternoon starting a new tutorial that I’d then have to hand in the following week, but with the lecturer and some of the tutors away on a field trip, I’ve got the afternoon off. And since Damien has every Wednesday afternoon free, we decided today was a good day to visit Truth.

  I sit outside on top of mem stone where Damien agreed to meet me. Instead of facing the city, today I’m facing the opposite direction, admiring the mountain rising steeply behind Jammie Hall. It’s impressive. After staring for a while, I pull my phone out and check the comments on my video from last night.

  Mallory Hayle (1 hour ago)

  Honestly, I preferred her first series, but I’m a major fan of dystopian books, so that could be why. This one was also really good.

  Shania Martinez (3 hours ago)

  So excited 2 read this! Ordered it few days ago and can’t wait 4 it 2 get here!

  Prabhati Desai (4 hours ago)

  Want to win the book.

  LollyMBooks (4 hours ago)

  Please pick me, please pick me!!!

  Davey (14 hours ago)

  Do you love every book you read? Your always giving five stars to everything.

  First of all, I reply in my head, it’s ‘you’re’ not ‘your.’ An
d secondly, I don’t give five stars to every book I read, which you’d know if you’ve watched every book review video I’ve posted.

  “Seriously, Andi?”

  I lower my phone to find out who’s asking me if I’m serious. It’s Charlotte, her perfect curls in a bunch on top of her head and one hand placed on her hip. I’m sure she’s about to elaborate on the ‘seriously,’ so I don’t bother asking her to explain.

  “What are you wearing?” she asks, her lip curling up in disdain.

  I look down at my tank top, denim jacket, shorts, pink tights, and the sneakers I drew swirls on with a glitter pen when I was bored one day. The pin badge I’ve got on today is rectangular and says Keep Calm and Read a Book. It’s pink to match my tights. I raise my head and meet Charlotte’s gaze with what I hope is a politely confused expression. “Where I come from, we call them clothes.”

  She rolls her eyes before marching past me towards Fuller. I return to the comments on my phone, occasionally looking up to see if Damien’s on his way over. When there are no more comments to go through, I slide my phone back into my bag and look around. On the Fuller side of the parking lot, a girl executes a painfully slow parallel parking manoeuvre in order to get into her parking bay, and on the Smuts side, Noah walks out and heads towards me. I raise my hand and wave to him.

  “Hey, Andi,” he says as he reaches me. “So, apparently I look like a messenger, because Damien asked me to come over and tell you something.”

  “Oh.”

  “He was on his way out to meet you when Marie stopped by to ask if he could help her with whatever it is they’re currently doing in that course they have together. So he’s not gonna make it.” He pushes his hands into his pockets as my heart sinks down to my glitter-covered shoes. “He said you’d understand, though,” Noah adds, “since, you know—” he leans closer and lowers his voice “—it’s all part of the plan.”

  I nod. “Yes, of course, I get it.” Still sucks, though. I hope I’m not about to lose the battle for Damien’s heart. I look out over the city, chewing my lip. “Um, maybe I should still go. I need to get a video for tomorrow.”

  Noah raises an eyebrow. “Video?”

  “YouTube thing.” I slide off mem stone and pull my bag onto my shoulder. “I’m adding coffee shop videos to my booktubing stuff.”

  “Cool. Well if you want some company, I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, why not,” Noah says with a shrug. “Have you got a car, though? Because unless you want to wrap your legs around a motorbike, you probably—”

  “No,” I say quickly. “No motorbike. They, um … they scare me.” Wrapping my arms around Noah scares me too. I don’t need a repeat of that weird feeling that came over me when he got too close over the pool table. “I’ve got a car,” I add. “It’s this way.”

  ***

  “This place is so cool!” I stand in the middle of the Truth coffee shop on Buitenkant Street and do a slow three-sixty with my phone camera. “I am seriously digging the steampunk vibe in here.” An enormous vintage coffee bean roaster fills the space behind a bar covered in decorative pressed tin panels. The remainder of the café area is filled with leather chairs and copper-topped tables, exposed pipes and oversized cogs, old books and vintage typewriters. The steampunk concept continues into the restrooms with copper pipes, Victorian tap levers, brass basins, and brass extendable mirrors, and even the waiters and waitresses are wearing steampunk accessories.

  “I need to get myself a steampunk outfit,” I tell Noah as we sit on swing arm stools at one end of the longest table I’ve ever seen. “That’s one thing my wardrobe is lacking.”

  “Well, if anyone can pull it off,” Noah says as a waitress walks over to us, “you can.” We place our coffee order, and as she walks away, Noah adds, “You should come here for breakfast. Best French toast in the world.”

  “In the world, huh? You’ve tasted all the French toast out there?”

  “No. But if I did, I’m certain I’d find this French toast the best.”

  “I guess I’ll have to come back then.” I pick up my phone and turn it over and over. “Hey, remember that evening I called you a criminal and you walked out?”

  “Of course. One of my favourite interactions with you.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “It was.”

  “Anyway,” I continue, “you never actually answered my question about how you and Damien became friends.”

  “Oh yes, that’s true. It’s not a very exciting story, though. Damien and I were neighbours in first year. We met each other the first day we moved into res, ended up doing all the O-Week stuff together, and have been friends since then. As simple as that.”

  “Cool.” I nod, turning my phone over and over. “Damien and I were neighbours in Joburg up until he left for UCT. We’ve been friends ever since he moved next door to me. Also as simple as that.”

  Noah laughs. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

  My hand stills. “Excuse me?”

  He picks up a sugar sachet and points it at me. “You, Andrea Clark, are lying to me.”

  “I am not.” I cross my arms. “Honesty is way up there on my priority list. I don’t lie, okay?”

  “Honesty’s a priority, huh? Then why not tell Damien how you really feel?” A mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “Why not tell him how you long for the two of you to be more than friends?”

  “I—” I consider denying everything Noah said, especially that part about longing, but didn’t I just tell him I don’t lie? “I haven’t lied to him,” I say quietly. “I just haven’t told him the truth.”

  “Because …”

  “There’s no point. He’s never felt the same way about me. It would only make things awkward between us. Probably ruin our friendship.”

  “What if he’s actually secretly in love with you too?”

  “Well, you’re his best friend, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you know if that were true?”

  “Right. Good point.” He taps the sugar sachet against his chin. “I say you move on. Maybe go for Scrawny Mike instead.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re bad at this. You should not be giving advice on boys to anyone.”

  “What can I say? I make a terrible girl.”

  “Now there’s something we can both agree on.” On the table beside my hand, my phone’s screen lights up, and a song that used to be one of my favourites starts playing. At the sight of my mother’s face on the screen, anger and hurt well up inside me. I end the call and turn the phone onto silent, then slip it back into my bag.

  “You don’t want to answer that?” Noah says.

  I paste a smile onto my face. “Nope. She can wait.”

  His eyes move down to the phone, then back to my face. He frowns.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just wondering when last you spoke to your mom.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, willing the fiery anger burning below the surface not to blaze out of control. “Why?”

  “Well, you ignored a call from her when you and I were in Damien’s room, and you’re ignoring another call now.” He places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands. His eyes, which I thought were brown but are actually hazel, never leave mine. “What was it you called yourself that night at the Valentine’s Dance? An accidental consequence of an affair your mother had with a married man?”

  I try to distract myself with something—the scar above his left eyebrow, for example—but the flames lick painfully at my insides, reminding me of what my mother did. Reminding me of exactly what I am. I never should have told Noah. Somehow, though, things slip out easily around him. Too easily.

  “I mean, if it were me,” he continues, “I’d probably have major rage issues. I’d be angry with everyone. My mom, the married guy, the world. No doubt I’d end up taking it out on all the wrong people. You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be bothered by it. Unless, of course, you’re hiding it rea
lly well, and one day you’ll simply snap.”

  My smile is brittle. “I have nothing to hide.” That’s true, isn’t it? I’m not hiding anything; I’m just not talking about it.

  Noah’s gaze slips away from mine. “Don’t we all have something to hide? Thoughts that torment us when we’re alone. Memories that haunt our dreams.”

  I watch him closely, trying to figure out if this is another one of those times when he’s messing with me. But even if he isn’t—even if he’s speaking of real thoughts and memories—he’s no doubt referring to something too personal to ask about. Personal matters should remain personal, which is why he won’t be getting the full story about my mother.

  “Look,” I say, rolling my shoulders to try to relieve some of the tension building inside me, “I won’t lie and say that everything’s fine. My mother and I aren’t exactly getting along at the moment. We haven’t spoken much since I found out about the affair and my father, and we haven’t spoken at all since I left for Cape Town, but I think that’s the way things should be for a while. She should be glad I’m finally out of her way. It’s not as though she wanted me in the first place.” Dammit, Andi, just keep your mouth shut.

  “Uh, are you sure you don’t want to talk about—”

  “Hey, look, our coffees.” I give the waitress a wide smile as she places a flat white in front of each of us. Noah’s has a leaf pattern on top, while mine looks more like a heart. They both smell amazing. “I’m going to check out the pastry selection,” I say to Noah the moment the waitress leaves. “I didn’t eat lunch, and I’m quite hungry.” And I don’t want to continue our current conversation.

  I take my time examining the croissants, brownies, muffins and cakes, and by the time I’ve made my selection and returned to the table, Noah seems to have got the message. We don’t mention my mom again.