Page 13 of Fake Dating Adrian Hunter
I’m staring humiliated at the photo, surrounded by a sea of laughter from all the guests.
The next slide skips forward another couple of years. I’ve put on weight next to ballerina Tory. Fast forward a few more years, I’m fifteen with a face full of zits and my pink hair makes its arrival. Mom tells some joke about Tory ugly crying in the photo because she didn’t win first place in her dance competition. Yet still, her ugly crying was prettier than me.
I was wrong about returning to Sitka being the equivalent of reliving my most embarrassing moments all at once. It seems that can happen in Australia too.
There’s more laughter, even from Tory. Jake is the loudest of all. He’s standing close enough to call out to me. “Verena, how have I never seen these photos of you?”
I shoot back my champagne and grab another one off a waiter’s tray. My eyes disobediently search for Adrian across the circular bar. I bet he’s having a field day, taking a walk down memory lane. But the bar is empty. I can’t find him among the crowd. He has to be here somewhere, hiding at the perfect angle while recording the slideshow, planning on leaking it to the public.
Nope. That would be Jake, holding his phone up and snapping a photo of the screen. I rush up to him, realizing that I’m far more than pleasantly dizzy from alcohol now that I’m on my feet, and snatch the phone from his hand.
Jake takes his phone back. “Babe, come on. It’s just some fun.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He doesn’t hear me speak. He’s snorting. Tears of humor gather in his eyes at the next slide. “Verena the Vagina! That’s golden.”
My mouth gapes as I turn to the screen. There’s a photo of Tory and Phoebe kissing in the school cafeteria. They’re the focal point of the image. Leave it to Jake to find me in the background. In the photo, I’m standing behind the two girls with my back to the camera, unaware that Adrian stuck a chunk of paper to my shoulders with the wordsVerena the Vaginaon it.
Now that Jake has drawn attention to me in the image, everyone else in the restaurant notices the name and laughs with him. I shoot laser vision at my parents. They know how traumatized I was coming home from school that day. How could they choosethisphoto of Tory and Phoebe?
“Oh dear.” Mom seems to be the last person to realize what everyone is laughing at. Her fingers fumble over the projector remote, struggling to change the slide.
“Get that photo off the screen, Vanessa,” Dad tells her.
“I’m trying. It’s not working. I didn’t realize Verena was in this photo.”
Jake bumps his hip to mine. “Babe, I’m learning some secrets about you. I love it. Teenage Verena was so precious.”
“Don’t touch me.”
Jake’s face drops, hearing me this time. His hand slips into mine. “Verena…”
I rip my hand from his, growling through my teeth, “Isaiddon’t touch me. Is she here with you? Are you her plus-one?”
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
His Adam’s apple rises up and down as he swallows with an apology in his eyes. “Yes.”
That one word breaks everything in me. I should have known Jake would be here with Her the second I saw him approach me at the bar, but I’d been too shocked to comprehend anything other than that my worst nightmare was walking toward me. How is it She even knows Tory and Phoebe? This is all too much to deal with.
I spin around and race for the bar, ordering an entire bottle of champagne from Samaya.
Jake’s on my tail. “Verena, we can talk about this like adults.”
“Talking to you is the last thing I want to do. Get away from me.”
With my bottle of champagne, I slip past him and escape the welcome dinner altogether. My wobbly legs lead me out onto the beach. This resort is cursed and I want nothing to do with it. Only distance will fix this disaster. And alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.
I abandon my shoes and head for the water. I’m stumbling over the sand with the champagne bottle in my hand, which takes talent with this much alcohol in my system. The wind blows my dress high around my thighs, flashing my ass again, but I couldn’t care less. Visibility out here is poor. The moon is dim and the torches back at the resort are like little matchsticks from this distance.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” someone groans. Probably Jake, come to drag me back to the restaurant.
“Me?” I raise my voice. “You’re the dickhead!”
“Verena?”
