The Truth About Faking

approve,” I say. “She might even deduct points.”
    “Which is why we won’t tell her.”
    “Where is she?” I look around. I’m hoping she’ll apologize for embarrassing the crap out of me and for being so gullible. But secretly, after Jason’s story, I really just want to give her a hug or something.
    “In there with Dr. Hamilton,” he says. “Lower back issues.”
    I’ve gotten used to the real doctors coming to my mom for massage and herbal remedies. They’re all good friends, and she has a way of smoothing over any differences of opinion between the two approaches to treatment. I chalk it up to her honey voice.
    “So why are you going to the luau with J.J.?” Ricky asks, like it’s his business. “What happened to Trent?”
    I tear open the bag and look at the papery green chips, frowning. “Trent asked Shelly.”
    “The silly redhead?” Ricky looks appalled. “He must need a little sexual healing.”
    “He does not.” Now I’m officially ill.
    “I don’t know,” he continues. “That girl is easy with a capital Z .”
    “How would you know?”
    “Are you kidding? She was all up in my business last time she was over here. I know a party girl when I can’t get away from one.”
    “Well, she’s not easy. She just had a shock last summer, and she’s sort of… going through a phase or something.”
    “Mm hm.” His eyes narrow. “I hope her phase uses protection.”
    “Would you shut up?” I slam the cabinet. “They’re not doing anything.” They’d better not do anything .
    “Okay, okay,” he laughs as I head for my room. “Come on, Harley,” he calls after me.
    I go to my bedroom and slam the door. I’m sure Mom’s going to say something later about the noise level when she has a client in the house, but I don’t care. I flop on my bed. Everything is screwed up, and now I have to go through with this stupid fake-dating plan. I kick a pillow. I wish Dad would walk in on Ricky some time instead of stupid Trent’s mom, who’s probably telling everyone in Shadow Falls right now. I wish Mom would think about how things look and get a new student. I wish I was going to the luau with Trent. I close my eyes and see his model-perfect face. Those lavender eyes… I try to imagine kissing him, but all I can see is Shelly beating me to it.

Four
     
     
    I spend the week tense, riding to and from school with Jason in his crap-mobile, and waiting for the news to break about my mom and her silly, half-naked student. But it never happens. Friday arrives, and the rumor-mill remains strangely silent.
    Jason isn’t such a bad fake boyfriend. I mean, we have good conversations, and he dresses well when he wants. Most of the cheer squad has their eyes on him, and I’ve even caught Trent checking us out in the parking lot a few times. I always smile and wave at him, and he usually gives me sad little smile back. I know it’s because we were so close to being together, and then I imagine us holding hands, me smiling up at him, maybe he kisses my nose, slides his arm around my waist… A little shimmer moves through my middle, and my chest rises.
    “…at seven?” Jason asks.
    “Huh?” Lost in my daydream, I hadn’t even realized Jason’d been talking to me.
    “Seven o’clock? I’m picking you up tonight?”
    “Oh, right. Better make it six-thirty. My parents’ll want to meet you.”
    “Your mom’s been talking to my dad all week, so she’ll have an idea who I am,” he argues.
    “What?” I’m totally confused. “Why has my mom been talking to your dad?”
    “The accident? She called my dad, and they’ve been working out payment for the repairs and stuff. Dad doesn’t want to go through our insurance.”
    “I guess that’s why you drive these old heaps,” I say, patting the door.
    “You know, you fix up a classic, and it can be worth twice what it originally sold for.”
    “So four dollars instead of two?” I smile.
    “More like four thousand,” he says.
    “Ooo,” I pretend to be impressed. “Yeah, so six-thirty, and remember it’s a luau.”
    “What does that mean? For guys, I mean.”
    “Grass skirt, nothing else, of course.”
    Jason laughs. “Didn’t know you’d go there, H.D.”
    “I don’t make the rules.” I shrug.
    “OK, so grass skirt for the guys. What does that mean for the girls?”
    “Oh, lots of things,” I sniff, pushing my hair back. “Wrap skirts, blouses, halter tops, leis…”
    “That doesn’t seem fair.” He