The Truth About Faking

to refocus my brain back on Trent.
    “Nope. I’ve seen your parents together,” Jason continues. “Your mom looks at your dad like—”
    “Like he’s a chocolate-dipped strawberry?”
    “Yeah,” Jason smiles. “It’s weird. But in a super-nice way, I mean. Since they’re your parents and all.”
    “No, it’s weird. They’re the ultimate mismatch.”
    “Just on the outside. On the inside they really get each other. It’s cool.” Jason looks off for a second. “And I mean, sure your mom’s hot, but it’s not like your dad’s a hamster or anything. You look a lot like him.”
    “Wow. Is that a compliment?”
    “No, I mean… I think you look…” He’s suddenly embarrassed. “C’mon, Harley, you know how you look.”
    In my mind, I’m still all braces and legs to my armpits, but I can tell from Jason’s expression that’s not what he sees. His eyes say I look very different, and the Gremlin suddenly feels both smaller and stuffier.
    “Isn’t there an A/C in this G-ride?” I complain loudly.
    “Well, I hate to break it to you—”
    “Jason! I might have to cut our fake dating period short if you can’t at least drive a car with air-conditioning. I know your secret now, and this is just mean.”
    “Mean?” he laughs.
    “Yes. You’re going to dump me in a few days, and then next thing I know you’ll be driving Shelly around in a Beemer.”
    “But she’ll be my real girlfriend.”
    “So! This is too much.”
    We’re at school, and I’m actually thankful to be getting out of the car and away from my fake boyfriend. For a second there it got a little too close to being true. I look up and see Trent in the parking lot, and I hurry to catch up with him.
    “Hey, Trent,” I say, breathless.
    “Harley, hey!” He smiles and it all comes rushing back. Perfect teeth, kissing those lips. “Where’s Jason?”
    “Oh, he’s coming.” I wave my hand behind me. “We had a little argument, so I don’t know.”
    “Argument?” he glances over my shoulder. I look back as well and see Jason leaning against the Gremlin. I decide he’s seen me with Trent and is giving us a little space this time. Finally.
    “It was something silly, but I don’t know,” I sigh. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”
    It’s a stroke of genius, and it only took one dose of lavender to get me back on track. Trent doesn’t say anything, and we keep walking toward the classroom building. As always he’s dressed like a model in khaki pants and a polo shirt. It’s a definite plus the way he takes such obvious care with his appearance.
    We’re at the first building, and Trent’s class is inside. He stops and we’re facing each other. What to say? I try to think…
    “You know, sometimes things do get serious too fast,” he says.
    “You think?” I smile, blinking up at him.
    “Yeah.” He smiles and looks down. Then he glances up and reaches forward to touch my cheek. Everything stops.
    “Look. An eyelash.” He holds it out to me. “Make a wish.”
    I stare at the delicate brown hair on the tip of his finger as he waits for me to blow it away. But I can’t do it. My only wish has always been to kiss him, to be here like this with him, to have him touch my cheek. I don’t know why I’m hesitating.
    We stand there a moment longer, but before I can recover, a soft breeze blows the lash away. He laughs once and shrugs. “Oh, well. Next time,” he says. “See ya, Harley.”
    And with that, he turns and goes inside. My shoulders droop, and it takes all my effort not to collapse against the building. I can’t believe it. Shelly’s right. When confronted with a hot guy, the guy of my dreams, I completely flake out. I did exactly what I always do. I went all distracted and aloof. I look around, wondering what my mentor would say if she’d seen what I just did. Assertiveness Fail! Cycle Unbroken. As I walk to my first class, I touch my forehead, wondering if a giant, invisible F has been stamped there.
     
    I don’t see Jason again until third period, and he doesn’t even look up when I walk into the room. I wonder if he’s mad at me on top of everything else. I made up the story I told Trent about us having an argument, but now that fake story feels real, too.
    “Hey,” I say softly as I sit in my chair.
    He glances up but doesn’t smile. “So?”
    “So what?”
    “Making progress?”
    I shrug and Mrs. Gipson enters the room to begin class. Jason turns his attention to our teacher, and I