The Truth About Faking

to my toes.
    “Jason!” I spin around to face him, covering the spot with my hand. “What are you doing?”
    My heart’s flying in my chest, and I can feel my cheeks turning pink. I quickly scan the halls, but it doesn’t look like anyone saw.
    “We’re not together anymore,” I say.
    He leans against the lockers and smiles at me like he knows his kiss felt amazing. “We never were.”
    I narrow my eyes and slam my locker door. He’s doing it again. Trying to wreck everything. “And now you’re dating Shelly,” I say. “Keep up.”
    I push past him and take off down the hall. I’m almost running. I need to find Trent, and there he is, waiting outside class for me when I arrive. It’s a nice change from before when I had to beat it to Mrs. Gipson’s room in the hopes of catching him before he disappeared. Now he actually waits around to see me.
    “Hi,” I say when I walk up and see him leaning against the lockers. He’s cute as ever, and so well-dressed. His faded jeans are rolled to the top of his boots, and he’s wearing a tan-plaid scarf over a dark v-neck sweater. Very J. Crew. I exhale and will myself to calm down and get over my unexpected detour into Jason-land.
    “Hey. I like your uniform.” He smiles. Perfect teeth.
    “Yeah, it’s very popular.” I smile back. “With at least half the student body.”
    Our cheerleading skirts are a bit short, I have to concede. But it isn’t like we don’t wear sport briefs under them. And mine are the boy-cut kind—my compromise with Dad.
    “I hate that I’ll miss the game. I always like watching you guys.”
    “That’s sweet,” I say, still smiling.
    “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”
    “Seven o’clock!” I chirp and do a little bounce.
    He laughs. “See ya.”
    I watch him leave, glowing with the knowledge that in just a few more hours we’ll have our first official date. And he seems really psyched about it now. I told Shelly she’s just too overpowering. Trent’s one of those quiet types. You have to coax him out. Use a little patience. I’m so encouraged I do a little skip into class. But I stop when I see Jason’s eyebrows rise. I narrow my eyes at him and slide into my desk. He leans forward.
    “Now, see. You complain about the car, but why didn’t you ever wear that when we were fake dating?”
    “Shh!” I frown at him. “That’s not to get out. Ever.”
    “I’m just sayin.”
    “There weren’t any home games when we were together,” I hiss.
    “Well, shit, H.D., you could’ve given me a few more days!”
    I frown at him. “You know, just because we broke up doesn’t mean you can start cussing all over me again.”
    He grins and leans back in his chair. Mrs. Gipson comes in and starts class. I pull out my notebook and give her my undivided attention. I do not look to my left once.
     
    I don’t really mind cheering at basketball games. For one, I understand what’s happening much better than I do at the football games. Football has so many odd penalties that are always changing, and the point system is so bizarre. I usually just watch my fellow cheerleaders during them and start yelling after everyone else does. But basketball is straight-forward. I know what’s happening, and the games are super-fast. We’re finished in less than two hours compared to football’s four.
    Mom drives me to the gym tonight because Dad has to do a hospital visit. She’s only staying for the first half, and I tell her I’ll catch a ride home with Robin or Meg. I do my banana jump, and she smiles and does a thumbs up from where she sits. I smile back and shake a pom pom at her. Then I notice Shelly arrive with Jason. They go high in the bleachers and sit. Her hand never leaves his knee, and his eyes never leave me. But I ignore them. Sort of.
    Then I notice Ms. Jackson walk in with Ricky… and Trent! He made it after all! I skip over to where he sits.
    “Hey!” I say, smiling, slightly breathless. “I didn’t think you’d make it to the game!”
    “Yeah,” he says. “Mom had her massage, and then we were just sitting around.”
    “I thought she had something?” I guess he forgot he’d told me that.
    “No,” he says. He seems a little nervous tonight. Or excited. That has to be it—he’s excited to see me and anxious like I am about tomorrow night.
    “So you decided to come here?” I ask.
    “Well, we were just sitting around.”
    “Yeah?” He already told me that part.
    “And I suggested we go to the