The Truth About Faking

though I still feel conflicted, I demand my heart stop trying to sabotage me. Jason and I were only faking—we both agreed. And now it’s time to get back to reality. I get up and throw the pillow across the room. Then I punch up Shelly’s number.
    “Harley?” Shelly has to shout over her radio blasting. I hear the volume go lower.
    “Hey, Shel, got a minute?”
    She exhales loudly into the phone. “I can’t believe you still talk on the phone,” she says.
    I’m so not in the mood. “Will I ever be as cool as you?”
    “Probably not.”
    Ignoring that. “So you ready to start picking me up again?”
    “Sure,” she says. Then she gasps. “Wait. Does this mean?”
    “Jason and I are no longer fake—” I catch myself just in time. “I mean dating. We’re not dating.”
    “Jason’s available?” she cries into the phone. “Wait, who broke up with who?”
    “What?”
    “I’m just saying, if he broke up with you that’s one thing, but if you broke up with him—”
    “It was sort of mutual.”
    “Hang up,” she says.
    “Shelly.”
    “No, seriously. Someone that hot requires immediate action.”
    “Are you picking me up tomorrow?”
    “Of course! Now hang up!”
    I growl. “’bye, Shell.”
    Click .
    I refuse to be pissed at Shelly. That would also be ridiculous. I stick out my chin, swallow the knot in my throat, and reason away the pain in my stomach. I was never really dating Jason. It was all just a trick. To be mad would just make it more serious than it ever was. There’s absolutely no reason why I should have this sick feeling like I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Eight
     
     
    The next morning I find Ricky whistling around the kitchen. He even pats my head when I sit at the table to wait for Shelly. I didn’t sleep well, but preparing to see Trent has taken my mind off last night’s confusing emotional mix-up.
    “Hello, pretty lady,” he smiles. “You look amazing as always.”
    “Thanks,” I say, ducking away. It’s nice that he notices the extra time I spend getting ready, but he doesn’t have to mess up my hair.
    This morning I’d tried to recreate an instant-replay of last Monday, as far as my appearance goes. Only it’s Tuesday, and there’s no luau this weekend. Still, I have it all planned out. I’ll dash over to algebra and accidentally bump into Trent. Then if he doesn’t do it, well, I’m going to ask him out myself. I’m going to open my mouth and Break the Cycle. The thought makes me nauseous and panicky at the same time.
    “You’re mighty cheerful today,” I say.
    “It’s true,” Ricky smiles.
    I frown at him. On Saturday night he was over here pleading with my mother and possibly even crying, although I’m not sure about that part. But even yesterday afternoon he was still down.
    “So what happened?”
    “Huh?” He pauses to look at me.
    “The change. The out with the gray clouds, in with the super-Mr. Sunshine. Did you get into Mom’s St. John’s Wort?”
    “Listen to you. I guess you’re the up and coming little herbologist!”
    “I’ve just been hearing about it for a while.”
    “Well, for your information, I have not been taking anything. I’ve just got a little dose of what’s been brightening your eyes.”
    “What?” Compulsive scheming? Completely confused emotions?
    “Let’s just say, it’s inspiring to see the world through fresh eyes.”
    I make a face. “What?”
    “A change in scenery can be exhilarating!”
    “Have you lost it?” I look around. “Where’s Mom?”
    “Oh, we traded up on some clients. She’s off seeing Ms. Simmons, and I’m taking some of her afternoon appointments.”
    At this point, I’m so confused. He’s acting like a giddy teenager, and Mom isn’t even here. Has she managed to get him off her back? I replay yesterday afternoon in my head. Ricky went to cover Ms. Jackson’s appointment, and then he said he was going home. Had he somehow gotten mixed up with Ms. Jackson?
    “So you’re here this morning, and Mom’s out seeing clients?” I clarify.
    “Yep.”
    “And who are you seeing this afternoon?”
    I actually see his eyes sparkle. “Ms. Jackson.”
    “Ms. Jackson?”
    “I am for reeal,” he sings.
    I hear a horn outside and go to the door. It’s Shelly.
    “Well, okay.” I shrug. “Whatever. Bye, Ricky.”
    “’bye, biker chick.” Then he makes big eyes. “Oops!”
    I wrinkle my nose and go out to the car. Shelly’s inside bouncing in her