Page 51 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
I run my hand along one of the mosquito bites on the back of my neck. “It’s a long story.”
Not a lie, I even have the battle scars to prove it. She shakes her head, finishing her coffee before pushing away from the table. “You two are weird.”
Understatement of the century.
She grabs the back of my shirt, tugging me out of my seat. I open my mouth to protest, but brushing her off so I can work won’t do me any favors.
Andy greedily eyes my abandoned slice of toast, his glass of orange juice way too close to my also abandoned sketchbook for comfort. I pull myself out of Maya’s grip, making a dash to pull my sketchbook out of harm’s way before trudging back to her room.
Once Maya locks the door, I take my usual seat at the foot of her bed. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” she announces proudly.
“That never ends well.”
She rolls her eyes, chucking a pillow at my head. “Shut up.” Once I’ve ducked, she turns back around to examine the whiteboard above her vanity, our training schedule written in pink and blue marker. “I think we need to change our approach.”
I pull my battered knees up to my chest. The aftermath of my bicycling lesson left me more sore this morning than Ithought was humanly possible. It took fifteen minutes just to butter my toast. “What does that mean?”
She paces across the room, tugging one of her curls taut before wrapping it around her finger. “Has Julian told you anything?”
I shrug, ignoring the ache in my shoulders. “He’s told me lots of things.”
Thankfully she’s out of nonlethal objects to throw at me. “I meanpersonalthings. Things he wouldn’t tell any ofus.”
Neither her tone nor her question sits right with me. “Why?”
My eyes follow her warily as she continues pacing. “If we can’t find out what they’re planning, then we should think of something on our own.” She stops, letting her curl spring free. “Something that’ll stop them.”
The flicker in her eyes is familiar, as vicious as the day she proposed her original idea. But there’s something harsher to it this time, angrier. “You want to cheat?”
For a flash of a second, the fire fades away. She shakes her head, but I know her well enough to see right through the façade. “I want to get creative.” She grabs one of the markers off the whiteboard, scribbling some ideas in a corner. “Weigh their bags down with rocks or stick something in their shoes.”
“We were already being creative, Maya.”
Spying on them wasn’t easily justifiable, but we talked ourselves into it. Things were different, the stakes higher, and they never played by the rules, so why should we? Except we hadn’t broken the rules; we just found a way around them.There’s no justifying this, though. No telling ourselves that we’re better because we’re honest and fair. Not if we stoop down to their level.
I march over to the whiteboard, taking the marker out of her hand and circling the ideas she’s already written down. “Thisis cheating.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she replies too quickly, as if she knew this was coming. “You’re the one spending all day at Casa del Cabrón. It’s not just one asshole—it’s a house full of them. You’ve seen what they’re like. We could turn them against each other, make them fall apart before we even get to the games.”
The worst part is that she’s right. Sabotage would be so easy. It would only take the truth—telling Julian’s dad about Princeton, that he and Stella want to move with Mrs. Seo across the country—and they’d crumble. An argument that would leave them so fractured there’s no way they’d be able to stand against us, a united front. We could even go the blackmail route—force Julian to sabotage his own family in exchange for our silence. Stella and Henry are still guilty of making our lives hell, but they’re way more innocent than I thought they were two weeks ago. Their dad is our real enemy, but I can’t tell Maya that. Not when it means sharing the very same things she needs to tear them apart.
“Jesus, Maya.” I run a hand through my hair, willing my voice to stay even, but I can’t help losing control. “This is about a fucking game; we’re not destroying a family.”
“It’s notjusta game!” she shouts, flushed down to her collarbone. The silence is consuming as she glares at me withwhat’s either disgust, disappointment, or both. “Or did you already give up on this place?”
Now,thatshuts me up.
A knock at the front door is my saving grace. The idea of visitors is so foreign the sound makes both of us jump. We crack Maya’s door open enough to peek out into the living room. Dad and Isabel exchange puzzled looks, nearly leaping out of their seats when there’s a second, much louder knock. Dad grabs a baseball bat from the coat closet and approaches the front door with caution.
What’s waiting behind the door is ten times more terrifying than anything we could’ve imagined.
“Happy holidays, neighbors!” Mr. Cooke exclaims.
Dad discreetly hands off the bat to Isabel before pulling the door open the rest of the way. “Happy holidays, Paul,” he replies with a stiff smile. “Going for a hike?” Dad gestures to the hiking backpack at Mr. Cooke’s feet.
“Just got home. Shame Devin couldn’t join us, though.”
I gag. My name sounds so off-putting when he says it, like it’s a profanity.
