Page 74 of The Roommate Lie

The fact that she’s more qualified than me doesn’t help. When compared to Fiona Birdsong, I’m out of my league. There’s no way Principal Sutter would pick me over her—she’s been nominated for Teacher of the Year multiple times. If it was my decision, I wouldn’t pick me either.

My confidence and hope crumble before their eyes, and Mrs. Marks is loving every second. Though I once tossed her reading glasses out the window during nap time. So I get it.

“Charlie is applying for the job too,” she tells her niece, “but his résumé is a little…different than yours.”

I know where this is going, but I don’t have the energy to stop her.

“What grade were you in when you dropped out of high school to get your GED?” she asks.

“Tenth grade.”

“And college didn’t work out the first time, either?”

“Art school wasn’t a good fit.”

I’m not much of a blusher, but my face burns, and I feel sick to my stomach.Goodbye, dream job. Hello, shame.

Fiona cuts her off and tries to help me. “It happens,” she says kindly. “College is just like that sometimes. I was a biology major when I started, and we all see how that turned out.”

It’s a noble effort. She seems genuinely mortified her aunt is acting this way. As if Fiona has just realized she accidentally brought a demon with her to Ponderosa Elementary instead of her beloved aunt.

But there’s nothing we can do; that fork-tongued retiree is on a roll. We fight the good fight shoulder-to-shoulder, but there’s no stopping Mrs. Marks. That woman has the truth on her side, even if it hurts.

A truth I’ll never be able to get away from, no matter how hard I try.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHARLIE

“Explain it again,” Tyler says. “Why are we doing this?”

I’m surprised he’s here. That man is a workaholic, and he already helped me run the face-painting booth at today’s after-school carnival. Now he’s at my dining table helping me again.

Blank slips of paper surround us, and I explain the Fishbowl of Destiny one more time, the surprise I want us to make as a farewell gift for Alice. Lydia doesn’t need another explanation, though. She’s hard at work across the table writing down whatever tropes and plot devices she can, anything that might help Carrots if she gets stuck again once she goes back to Texas.

In the background, I can hear her upstairs, the steady clack of Alice’s new typewriter as she works on her book. She’s been up there since dinner, and I glance at Lydia, barely able to hide my smile. “She’s using the typewriter tonight?”

Lydia scribblesonly one carriageon a slip of paper before glancing up. “She was having trouble concentrating. She thought it might help.”

Trouble concentrating?I don’t know why that sounds so promising. Probably because of all the flirting we’ve done sincebreakfast, the fact that I’ve had a hard time concentrating today too.

Then an image pops into my head, the memory of a certain historic outfit, and I forget all about typewriters. And flirting.

I quirk my eyebrow at Lydia. “Is she…wearing anything special?”

Tyler drops his pen, and Lydia stifles a laugh. That sounded way more inappropriate out loud. Her brother lets me off the hook almost immediately, distracted by something on his phone, but Lydia’s a different story. She’s been onto me since Alice showed up.

Pretending to ignore my question, Lydia finishes writingtrapped in a wine cellarfor our Ziplock bag of fishbowl prompts. Then she makes a big production out of grabbing a few more blank slips of paper. Giving me a mischievous grin, she jots down two wicked little words:maid costume.Torturing me like the matchmaking monster she is.

Lydia adds that paper to our bag of prompts before I can stop her, mixing it in, and it’s going to take me forever to dig it out later, to find and destroy that very unhelpful prompt. But it’ll be worth it. There’s no way I’m sending Alice back to Texas with a smoking gun like that.

Lydia isn’t done. Masking another devious smile, she adds a few more prompts to our collection. She writes downroommatefirst, thenstranded in a small town,but she saves the best for last.The dreadedhe falls first.She adds it to the bag with a flourish before finally answering my question.

“I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a very adorable maid costume. All I can say is…she looks amazing and you’re missing it.”

My interest is officially piqued. Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I glance at the stairs. “Does she need anything—should I check on her? Being a good host is very important to me.”

Lydia laughs. “Leave that girl alone. She’s trying to work.”

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