The Truth About Faking

liked a girl, I’d never want her dating another guy.”
    “Yes, but she doesn’t know you like her,” I explain. Jason can be so dense. “So if she dated another guy, say two weeks and he dumped her, would that effect your liking her?”
    “I’m getting confused. This is a girl I like?”
    “Yes.”
    “And she likes me?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why is she dating another guy?”
    “Because some idiot walked up and asked her out before you had a chance to do it.”
    “So why didn’t she tell the idiot no?” he whispers, and something in his tone seems to suggest he thinks I’m the idiot.
    “Because he wouldn’t shut up about saving her life and saying she belonged to him. He scared you off.”
    “That wouldn’t scare me off.”
    Something about the way he says it causes a weird flutter in my stomach, which I choose to interpret it as maximum irritation. Or starvation.
    “Would you stop?” I say too loud. I stuff a large bite of lettuce in my mouth and smile at our fellow classmates, who are now staring in our direction. I take a few more bites and wait for them to resume their conversations.
    “So two weeks?” I whisper again after I’ve finished chewing.
    “Sure,” he says, still watching me with that look like he has his own plan.
    “I don’t think you’re really thinking about it.”
    “Sorry,” he breathes. “You’re right. Two weeks is probably long enough.”
    “Right. Because less time might mean something’s wrong with me, but longer might make him think I need a recovery period. And that could go on forever.”
    “I think you need a recovery period right now.”
    “And you should probably start driving me to school,” I continue, ignoring his remark. “I mean, if we’re dating and all. I’ll tell Shelly.”
    “We’re starting today?”
    “Well, yeah! You asked me to the luau in front of everyone. We’re clearly dating now.”
    “Sorry. It’s only my first day.”
    “After a busy weekend. Jeez, you met everybody!”
    “I was just cruising around. I’m a friendly guy.”
    “And a terrible driver. We’ll just keep the driving me to school thing between us. My parents might not like it.”
    The bell rings, and we stand, collecting our things.
    “Should I carry your books too?” he asks.
    “Why would you do that? I’m not injured.”
    “I’m just saying, since you don’t ask guys out and all.”
    I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll meet you this afternoon.”
    He smiles. “Later, H.D.”
     
    When I finally get to biology lab, Shelly is beside herself. She’s going on and on about Trent popping the question, and my teeth clench as I make my way over to tell her about my alternate ride home.
    “I never even saw it coming!” she gushes at Trish.
    I smile less enthusiastic. Clearly my boy-crazy best friend had forgotten about her plan to help me get a date with Trent.
    “I was just sitting there at lunch talking to Reagan,” she continues. “And then there he was asking me to the luau!”
    “That’s really cool,” I interrupt.
    “And here I was trying to get him to ask you !” she shrieks, giving me a big hug like she’s just won a trip to Paris. Then she sees my face. “Don’t be mad. This is all part of the plan.”
    “Really? Which part?”
    “It’s the mentoring part. Where I model the behavior you’re supposed to emulate.”
    “Oh, so I’m supposed to start dating the guys you like now? I’m not sure I can keep up.”
    “You don’t understand at all. The deal is, if a hot guy asks you out, you say yes. You know, to Break the Cycle!”
    “So that includes the ones your best friend’s trying to date?”
    Mr. Platt comes back in the room, and I know I have to get to my seat.
    But Shelly catches my arm before I leave. “It’s just the luau. And we’ll probably only go out once. Or possibly twice. At the most.”
    I resist the urge to jerk her red ponytail. “That doesn’t make it okay,” I whisper, turning to my seat, but she catches me again.
    “Think about it, if I go out with him, I can find out what he likes and stuff,” she hesitates, then brightens. “And you don’t have to worry about him getting all serious with somebody else because I’m doing this for you!”
    I just stare at her.
    “Harley,” she whispers. “Are you really mad?” Her expression is identical to the one she had the night her parents split, and I decide this must be one of those tests of patience Dad’s always talking about in church.
    “I’ll