Page 83 of Hard to Fake

Brooke nods, squeezing my hand. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.

I lead her back down the hallway until we find an empty room and sit on the floor inside, leaning against the wall. The silence stretches between us.

“What kind of stories?” I can’t help asking.

“Back in junior year before exams, Caroline confronted me saying she found coke in my room. A lot of coke.”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean the drink.”

“I do not.” Her laugh is tired. “She reported it to the administration and aggressively tried to get me kicked out. It almost worked, too.”

The woman in front of me might be impulsive, but something about the story rings false.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” I say slowly. “But what aren’t you telling me?”

Her eyes lift to my face, the guilt and shame pouring out of her.

“It wasn’t mine.”

20

MILES

“It was Kevin’s,” she says on an exhale. “He said he was keeping it for a friend. I didn’t like it. He pressured me, and I told him it was fine even though it wasn’t.

“I tried explaining to Caroline that it was a misunderstanding. She claims she didn’t turn me in, but there’s no one else it could have been. It escalated so fast that my mom had to get involved.” Brooke shudders. “She couldn’t have a daughter getting charged or expelled or both, so she made a big donation to the administration. A week later, Kevin broke up with me.”

Her eyes cloud as though she’s reliving it.

“What did your mom say about covering for Kevin?”

She takes a slow breath. “I never told her. His family is a major campaign donor. It would have put her in an even worse spot.”

Fuck.

I pretend to be shocked.

The thing is… I’m not.

But I hurt for her like it’s fresh.

I get it—why she tries so hard to present herself a certain way, why she doesn’t feel like she can let loose even when she wants to.

We sit there for a while longer, holding each other and taking comfort in each other's presence.

"I should go back and face them." She yawns on the last word.

"Do it in the morning."

I rise first and help her up.

As we navigate toward the doors of the main building, Brooke leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder.

Outside, the cold night air hits us in a gust. I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her close.

The only sound is our footsteps on the gravel path as we head for our cabin. The moon is high in the sky, casting a soft light over the trees and cabins. It's a beautiful night, but it's hard to appreciate it when Brooke is hurting.

When we arrive at the cabin, I open the door and let Brooke in first. She heads straight to our shared room, and I follow her, closing the door softly. Brooke sits on the bed.

---