The Truth About Faking

and stops us.
    “Yeah, it changes things,” I laugh. “It means you’re going to have to start buying your fake girlfriend better gifts.”
    He smiles and we start walking again. “I haven’t bought you any gifts.”
    “Exactly!”
    “So we’re still fake dating?”
    “You bet. At least for a few more days. I mean, there’s no rush now that I know gifts are on the line.”
    “And what sort of gifts did you have in mind?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something sparkly…”
    “Sparkly, huh?” The breeze is ruffling his hair. He’s smiling at me, and it’s all very interesting.
    I wrinkle my nose at him. “You know I’m kidding, right? No gifts. But you could’ve told me your big secret.”
    “It never came up.”
    We’re at the end of the street, and I look back toward my house.
    “You should probably keep going,” I say. “I’ll turn around and head back.”
    “Harley,” Jason starts. His voice is gentle, and it’s the first time he’d used my actual name in days. My stomach tightens.
    “Yeah?” I brace myself. I’m afraid he might suggest we start dating for real, and I’m not ready to have that conversation with him.
    I like our growing friendship, but Trent is my Mr. Right. Still, I’ve seen enough movies to know how this goes. If Jason wants to get more serious and I don’t, that’ll be the end of any kind of friendship between us. Or at the very least, it’ll make things super-awkward—not at all like they are now.
    “Please don’t tell anybody where I live,” he says.
    “What?” I start to breathe again and almost laugh. “I mean, why not?”
    “It’s just, people act different if they think you’ve got a lot of money,” he says. “And, well, I’d like them to get to know me for me first.”
    It seems like there’s more to this story, something he isn’t telling me, but I let it go for now. “Sure. I mean, of course I won’t tell anybody if that’s what you want.”
    “Thanks,” he smiles, seeming relieved. “So you’ll let me know tomorrow, right?”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “How much longer we’re still together.”
    “Oh, right.”
    He starts to walk away, and I turn back toward my house. I don’t even correct him about us just being fake together.

Seven
     
     
    Not correcting Jason’s fake dating error is the first sign my brain is betraying me. The second is I’ve completely stopped thinking about what my real Mr. Right likes when deciding what to wear to school. The next day I don’t even consider the pictures in Trent’s locker as I stand staring into my closet. All I’m thinking about are the outfits Jason’s said looked pretty on me.
    None of this is part of the plan! I’ve gotten completely off course. And in another five minutes he’ll be here to pick me up for school! I change outfits three more times and wish I’d thought to get up early so Mom could braid my hair in that headband style he’d said he liked. I hear his voice in the kitchen and grab my book bag before running down the hall. But when I reach the kitchen, I see Jason standing by the table talking to Ricky.
    Ricky. The sight of him makes me pause mid-step. Mr. Home-wrecker, Abercrombie-model is standing there smiling and chatting like everything’s great and he hasn’t done anything inappropriate.
    “Hey, kiddo,” Ricky says, but his voice sounds a little off today. “You look nice.”
    “Thanks,” I mumble.
    “Yeah, you do,” Jason brightens, and I can’t help feeling a little bit better. “Ready?” he says.
    I nod and follow him to the door. Just then my mom appears in the entrance to her office.
    “Harley? You didn’t say goodbye,” she says. Is she anxious, too?
     “Sorry. Bye, Mom.”
    She can tell something’s wrong, but she doesn’t say anything. Jason does, though, once we get to the monster mobile.
    “So that’s the guy?” he asks, holding my door.
    “Yep, that’s Ricky.”
    “I get where you’re coming from, but I gotta say. Your mom doesn’t seem that into him.” He closes the door and jogs around to get in on his side.
    You didn’t see what I saw Saturday night .
    “It’s more him that’s into her,” I explain once we’re moving. “Mom just says he’s a nice boy.”
    “He does seem really nice, but I wouldn’t let that bother me.”
    “Oh no?” I glance at him. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans again, and the wind’s pushing his hair around. It’s distractingly cute, and I look down at my hands, trying