The Truth About Faking

down to look at him. He smiles back, and I almost decide to forget the whole Trent thing and give in. But I don’t.
    “What?” I ask.
    He starts to say something, but then he seems to change his mind. “We can talk later,” he says.
    I nod and close the door.
    Inside, I go straight to my room and close the door. Images of me with Jason are pressing on my mind, but I sit on my bed and try to refocus, to get my head back in the game. Today’s the day I’ve been waiting for. I’m finally going out with Trent. I need to think about that. Be more excited about it.
    Suddenly, I have an idea. I pull out my old list and read over it again. Then I take out a new sheet of paper and start to write:
    “Traits of Mr. Wrong (a.k.a., My NOT-Ideal Husband)”
    1. He crashes into me with his car.
    2. He wrecks my personal life.
    3. He’s a bad influence.
    4. He listens to me when I talk.
    5. He refuses to give up…
    …
    I stop and sigh. Then I wad up the paper and lie back on my bed. Dad always says you should pray when confronted with a difficult decision. This seems kind of minor for praying, but maybe it isn’t. I close my eyes, but I’m only able to think God, I’m so confused … before I fall asleep.
    I open my eyes again and it’s after four. The house is still quiet, and when I sit up, the piece of paper’s still a ball in my hand. I walk to the kitchen and throw it in the trash. Where the heck is Mom? My head was so fuzzy before breakfast, I didn’t feel like investigating, but now I’m starting to come around. I walk through the house looking for signs of anything. Then when I get back to the kitchen, I see her note. Meeting with Ricky, back soon.
    Hmm. She never meets with Ricky on Saturday. I remember last night at the game and her strange comment about the client problem. I’ve been so preoccupied with Jason and Trent, I actually forgot to worry about her. Now I’m not sure what to think.
    My phone goes off, and I answer it before I even look to see who’s calling.
    “Isn’t it great to be in love?” Shelly gushes.
    “Oh, hey, Shel.” I’m not really in the mood for her right now. “I thought we didn’t talk on the phone anymore.”
    “Don’t be a pest. Are you going to ask me about last night?”
    “Huh?”
    “My date with Jason? Are you going to ask?”
    I’d actually forgotten about that part, too. “Oh, right. How was your date with Jason?”
    “Amazing!”
    “Really?”
    “He is so super hot,” she says. “I’ve got to go out with him again tonight. We almost kissed.”
    “You did?” I try to sound impressed, but this is so far past awkward.
    “What if we all catch a movie or something?”
    “Oh!” My stomach does a clench. “No.”
    “What?”
    “I mean…” I’m panicking but trying to stay cool. “I mean, what a buzz-kill. We’d all be out with our recent exes.”
    “Hmm, I guess you’re right. I was just strategizing. So you excited about finally going out with the love of your life?”
    “I don’t know,” I say, not really listening.
    “What?”
    “What? I mean yes! No, I can’t wait.”
    “You’re being weird, but I want all the details. Got it?”
    “Yes. Details.”
    She hangs up and now I really think I’m going to vomit. I am not the kind of person who sneaks out in the middle of the night with my best friend’s date. And Shelly would flip out if she knew what I was doing last night—drinking wine and kissing Jason. A little charge of excitement hits me at the thought. As if I needed more proof! Jason is clearly a bad influence. And now I’m supposed to go out with Trent and be able to judge my feelings for him. But I don’t have to judge my feelings—I know my feelings for Trent, right? Nothing’s changed!
    This is not happening.
     
    Only it is happening. Trent texts me to say he’ll pick me up at 6:45, and I’m still fussing with my hair. I look in the mirror, and of course! A zit’s popping out on my chin. Perfect. I dash across to Mom’s bathroom for concealer when she finally appears looking distracted. I don’t have time, but I ask her if anything’s wrong. She dismisses me with a wave and some comment about client business—her way of saying she doesn’t want to talk about it—and I let it go. Dad’s visiting at the nursing home in Glennville, so I’m left to myself, and by the time 6:45 rolls around, I’ve almost decided to call the whole thing off. But I don’t, and Trent’s very punctual.
    “Hey, Harley,” he