Page 33 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
That’s the first time she’s mentioned California without grimacing or rolling her eyes. Scheming against the Seo-Cookes, while stressful, has worked its wonders on closing the gap that’s grown between us. Granted, I haven’t had a moment’s peace to work on my mentorship application this week. Having the Seo-Cookes’ place to work will definitely help, but with three weeks left until my deadline and zero progress, I’ll have to work on my art piece around her at some point. Until then, I can revel in the temporary. Us, the way we used to be.
“I’m notthatbad.” I’m definitely not as stylish as she is, but at least I don’t dress like I walked off the set ofRiverdalelike Andy. I snatch the plaid shirt out of the hamper, ignoring her huff as I hang it back up.
“For a regular teenage boy, yeah. But you’re my twin. Fraternal or not, you should know that this”—she holds up a shirt patterned with tiny rocket ships—“is unacceptable.”
I pout, snatching that shirt too. “I thought it was nice,” I mumble under my breath.
She ignores me, flipping more frantically through my options. “You’re lucky Julian’s bougie ex didn’t kick you to the curb when you showed up in this,” she says when she gets to the dinosaur-print shirt. Well, hedidtry. “How are you eighteen years old and don’t own a single blazer?”
“Are you here to insult or help me?”
She hums in thought, replying, “Both,” before handing me a shirt to try on.
We settle on an outfit Maya deems “acceptable, at best”—a royal-blue button-up and black jeans—before she drags me off to the bathroom. She lathers an obscene amount of mousse through my curls, artfully twirling the dark brown coils around her finger until they look effortlessly windswept instead of overgrown. Once she’s happy with my hair, she dabs a tasteful amount of concealer under my eyes. Just enough to cover up the imperfections. I’m still nervous, but it’s comforting to let Maya thrive in her element and work her magic—transforming me from an anxious wreck to a slightly more attractive wreck. It’s so easy, teasing and cracking jokes like there’s not still something tense and strange lingering between us. My world is so much brighter, so much less daunting, with her in it.
But once she leaves to finish getting herself ready, the panic settles back in. I turn to the mirror with a sigh. Considering how much I’m sweating already, an extra layer of deodorant wouldn’t be a bad idea. A small green bottle catches my eye, buried in the back of the medicine cabinet—the tea tree oil Julian gave me. I’d shoved it in there without a second thought. I examine the bottle again, scanning the ingredients and giving it a tentative whiff. The seal is still intact, so itshouldn’t pose a threat. I use the dropper to squeeze a bit out onto my nose, wincing at the burn. I blink up at my reflection once the pain passes, the skin around the piercing an angry shade of red.
I hope this works…
Once the doorbell rings, the flush has spread down to my collarbone. When I open the door, I see Julian looks as terrified as I do, which is oddly comforting.
“Hi.” Julian shoves a plastic-wrapped bowl into my hands. “I thought I should bring something.”
“Uh, thanks.” I can’t really tell what’s beneath the plastic wrap, but there’s a concerning amount of orange and blood-red. “What is it exactly?”
“Parsnip confit with pickled currants.”
I have no idea what half of those words mean. “Currants?” I ask, at the risk of embarrassing myself.
“They’re like raisins,” he replies, loosening his tie before he’s even inside.
I consider asking about the other words, but ultimately decide against it. Google is my friend. “That’s really sweet of you, thanks.”
“Well, at least one of you knows how to put together an outfit,” Maya praises as she steps into the living room decked out in a velvet minidress and her finest wig—a honey-blond bob she made for our prom. “Nice loafers.”
The compliment soothes Julian’s nerves. He’s certainly dressed up for the occasion, wearing an emerald suit jacket paired with a simple white button-down and matching green slacks. For someone who doesn’t have a favorite color, he has a surprisingly vibrant wardrobe. He blushes as hestares at the leather loafers. “Thanks, my sister got them for me.”
Maya sneers at the mention of Stella, looking as though she regrets giving the compliment. I clear my throat before she can say something cynical. On cue, she loops her arm through Julian’s and guides him to the couch, forcing him to sit down beside her and Andy, where she can keep an eye on him. For all we know, he could be sneaking behind enemy lines with an agenda of his own. Julian glances at me for help, his eyes wary and his expression desperate, but I trust Maya not to kill him—not tonight at least—and excuse myself to the kitchen.
I set the wrapped bowl in front of Isabel. “Do you know what a currant is?”
She shakes her head. “Is it like an anchovy?”
“Julian said it’s like a raisin.”
She hums, pulling back the plastic wrap covering the bowl. “It looks pretty good,” she says before spearing what I think is a parsnip. She moans around her first bite, eyes blown with wonder as she licks the glaze off her fork. “That is amazing.” She helps herself to another forkful before pushing me out of the kitchen with a wave of her oven mitt and a promise that dinner will be ready in ten.
Maya and Andy are still on their best behavior, giggling with their heads together as they watch something on Maya’s phone. Julian doesn’t seem any less tense, though. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, as if he’s ready to make a run for it. His hands are clasped primly on his lap, a layer of sweat dotting his brow.
“Calm down, we’re not going to roast you over a fire andserve you for dinner,” I tease, tossing him the TV remote as I settle into the armchair across from him. “Control over the remote is the highest honor we can bestow upon you in this house. Use it wisely.”
He sets it back down on the coffee table. “Thanks, just nervous,” he replies, wiping his brow on the hem of his sleeve.
Maya snorts. “Yeah, we can tell. You look like you’re going to shit your pants any second now.”
“Hey, I get it.” Andy nudges his fist against Julian’s shoulder in solidarity. “I sorta freaked out the first time I came over for dinner.” He nods his head toward me and Maya. “These two are super intimidating.”
Maya and I turn with matching indignant looks. “We are not!” we reply in almost perfect unison.
