The Truth About Faking

“It’s your perfume,” he says. “You always smell like honeysuckle.”
    I sniff the flowers. “You’re right,” I say softly. I can’t believe it. He didn’t seem to notice any of that on our real dates.
    “You know you can pull them apart and there’s a little drop of nectar inside?” He pinches a tiny blossom off a stem and then slides the green tip off the bottom. I watch as he pulls the thin white string through the flower and stops at the end. A clear drop appears on the thin strand. He looks at me and smiles.
    “Yeah, I’ve done that before,” I say, thinking. “You know, about Friday—”
    “I’m looking forward to it!”
    “Right. We’re meeting for coffee. Meeting.”
    “That’s the plan!”
    I study his white smile thinking how there was a time, like a week ago, when I dreamed of a moment like this. Of Trent giving me flowers, chatting, noticing my perfume. Now all I wish is that he’d stop. Soon. Before Jason comes around the corner.
    “Well, anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that it’s not really a date. Just friends meeting up to chat.”
    “Good friends.”
    “Um… sure. So you want to meet at the Shadow Java or something?”
    “Great idea! They have this really great macchiato. And a decaf skinny latte—”
    “So we’re all clear then?”
    “You bet,” he smiles. “How does seven sound?”
    I bite my cheek not entirely convinced he’s clear. “Let’s make it six-thirty.” Somehow earlier seems even less date-ish.
    “Okay. And I’ll see you later?”
    “I guess. Oh, and thanks for the flowers.”
    He smiles and does a little wave. I head into class. I’ve done my best to establish that we’re not going on a date, but the whole Friday night part has me worried. I need to get Jason alone so we can talk in person, but my throat goes dry when he walks in the room. He looks so great, and he’s just in his usual faded jeans and t-shirt. His hair’s messy, and I think of pushing my fingers through it. But he doesn’t even look at me when he sits down. Worry twists in my stomach.
    Mrs. Gipson closes the door and walks forward to start the lecture. I glance over to see if I can catch his eye, but I can’t. He continues taking notes and listening. The whole class he’s like that, as if an invisible wall has dropped between our desks and he’s not even aware of my presence. I feel my eyes getting hot. He’s heard what they’re saying. And clearly he believes it.
    The bell rings, and it’s time for lunch. I stand slowly, wondering where to begin, but he stands up right next to me. He looks at me, and it’s like a light’s been switched on and he finally sees me.
    “Braids again?” He asks, lifting one and then letting it drop. I nod. “Those flowers from Trent?” He points at them with his pen.
    “Jason…” I say, still not sure how to start.
    He waits, looking at me.
    “Is something wrong?” Maybe if he goes first, I’ll know where to begin.
    “Nope,” he says.
    “There’s been sort of a misunderstanding…” I can not believe I’m using that word.
    His brown eyes narrow. The next class is filing in, and just as I’m starting my next words, Shelly sticks her head through the entrance.
    “Hey, kids,” she grins. “Jason! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come with  me.”
    She grabs his hand and pulls him out into the hall. He doesn’t look back as he allows her to drag him out. I slowly follow them, and when I reach the door, I turn toward the cafeteria. Looking back, I see Shelly slipping her hands into his back pockets and smiling, moving in close.
    Jason won’t even look at me, and I turn away, trying not to cry. I can’t believe this is happening. Clearly he thinks I’m going on a real date with Trent. Somehow the whole dumb school does. And clearly he thinks it means something to me, which it doesn’t. Shelly’s right. I’ve seriously got mental problems when it comes to guys.
    My eyes are damp, and I wish I could hit my own self over the head with my books. I should’ve told Trent no on Sunday. I should’ve told him no today. Forget the coffee, I don’t want to talk. Why is he so persistent? What could he possibly have to say?
     
    After school, Shelly’s bouncing in her seat again. “Fri-day!” she sings. “We’re going out on Fri-day!”
    “You and Jason?”
    “Ye-ah!”
    “Great,” I say looking down, feeling those tears again.
    “So what’s the deal, Harley? You didn’t even tell me about this