Page 27 of Fake As Puck
He stares at me, and I realize what I just said. How it sounded.
“I mean—” I start.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For caring. About how I look. Wanting me to look good. Like a real boyfriend.”
Something twists in my chest at the way he says it. Like he’s genuinely surprised that someone would want him to look good.
“Of course I care,” I say. “We’re supposed to be convincing, right?”
“Right. Convincing.”
We buy the shirts and the dress, and then somehow end up at the food court, sharing a pretzel and people-watching like we’re normal people doing normal things.
“Remember that one time when we got ditched at the mall?” West asks, pulling apart a piece of pretzel.
I smile at the memory. “I was fourteen? When Brett and his friends left us after that movie?”
“Yeah. You were so mad.”
“I was pissed,” I admit. “So was Tessa.”
“You called them all assholes.”
“They were assholes. Who ditches people at the mall without a ride home?”
“Assholes,” he agrees, grinning.
“We ended up having fun though,” I say, remembering what it felt like to have no ride home and freedom to play around.
“We did. You made me try on ridiculous outfits at that goth store.”
“Me and Tessa made you try them on. It was her more than me. She was really into Hot Topic. Remember?”
He laughs. “Yeah. I was worried she would pierce her eyebrows, her nose, her tongue. She wouldn’t stop looking at all the stuff at the piercing area. Didn’t you buy that shirt with a skull on it?”
“We all did.”
He laughs again. “That’s right. I looked like I was going through a midlife crisis.”
“You looked like you were exploring your goth side with your sister.”
We’re both laughing, and it feels easy. Natural. Like we’re just friends hanging out. It feels nice. After Tessa’s wedding, Ithought I ruined everything by getting drunk and dancing too close with her brother. Turns out, we can ignore that like normal people and be friends.
“How’s your mom doing?” he asks suddenly, and the question catches me off guard.
“She’s... better. The cancer’s gone. Has been for two years.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. But she’s been different since then. Depressed. Like surviving scared her more than dying did.”
He takes a moment to look at me. I pretend not to notice as I eat the pretzel.
“That must be hard.”
