Page 86 of Faux Real
God,Ihatethesound of my own voice.
Why is it so squeaky? Do I actually sound like that? This can’t be accurate.It can’t.Maybe a voice recording is like a camera but instead of adding ten pounds... it adds ten octaves?
Wait, what did I just say? What was the qualifying age to be a representative in Congress? Twenty-five?
Shit. No. Focus.
A deep grumble slips past my lips and penetrates the silent hallways as I rewind the recording of my US Government notes back one minute.
“Elected every two years. Must be at least twenty-five years old. Must be an American Citizen. Must live in the state they represent.”
Okay. Got it. I got it. I take a sip of lukewarm coffee as I continue to pace back and forth, mindlessly strolling down the empty hallways of Hilton, hoping that my brain soaks up every statistic, every fact, every singleboringpiece of information. I need to ace this midterm.Need. But it’s only 6 a.m., which means I have two and a half hours before my test. Plenty of time. Plenty. As I get to the end of the third recording on the Senate, a thud coming from the emergency exit door draws my attention. Pausing the voice memo app, I squint at the rattling handle and take a calculated step toward the noise. What the... Before I get a chance to investigate, the door swings open and slams against the rubber stopper.
Seriously? Again?
“Oliver!” I whisper in a harsh tone, peering down at the idiot sprawled on the floor.
“Kennedy!” he snaps back, mimicking my tone.
I scowl at him, suppressing a grin. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Opening a door,obviously,” Ollie slurs, pulling his limp body up to his feet. He runs a hand through his messy hair as he leans against the frame— to keep himself upright, no doubt. “That’s what doors are made for, Kenny,” he continues, wiggling his brows, “Opening and closing.” He arches closer to me, the scent of his cologne dizzying my senses.Asshole. “Next week, I will go over windows with you; same concept but slightly different uses.”
He pokes his index finger in the middle of my forehead, snapping me out of a momentary daze.
“What?” I mutter, swatting his hand away.
He snorts, tossing me a smirk. “You’re losing your touch, love. You’re what we callbooksmart. Not a lot of basic day-to-day knowledge, yeah?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Midterms start in two hours.” I sniff the air around us, narrowing my eyes as I astutely point out, “And you’re drunk.”
“No? Really?” Oliver gasps sarcastically, covering his mouth as he takes a step into the hallway, gait swaying. “What will I ever do? How will I ever be anyone or do anything of importance or value if I don’t pass this standardized high school test? What will become of me?” He feigns crying. “What will my parents think?”
“Oh God, we need to sober you the fuck up,” I say, clicking my tongue as I grab his wrist and drag him toward the boy’s bathroom. “This way. Let’s go.”
“Bossy Kennedy Live at The Globe Theatre!” Oliver proclaims, his voice far too loud for my liking. I stop in front of the sinks and set my phone on the counter as he continues, “Get your tickets, folks!”
“Ollie!” I state, holding out my hand. I only know of one way to sober up a drunk person. If it works on Max, it’ll work on Oliver. “Give me your phone and wallet.”
“Will you please relax?” he says, surprisingly following my directions. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take a little power nap and be good as gold before my first exam. You needn’t worry so much, I’ll surely be able to pass with a D.” He lets out a snorting laugh as he loses his balance. “Okay, maybe a D minus.”
“AD? That’s your standard?” I grab Ollie’s phone and wallet and place them next to mine. “Ihavenevergotten a D and I thinkyou’recapable of getting much better grades than that.”
A sly smirk creeps up on Oliver’s face. “I know you’ve never gotten the D.”
I blink, clenching my jaw together. “AD, nottheD.”
“A, D, B, C,” Ollie chuckles, clearly amused with himself. “So many letters, in fact, there are twenty-six. Might I offer you a D?” He arches down, eyes locked on mine. “Perhaps in exchange for yourV?”
“Holy shit,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You didnotjust say that.”
“Oh, someone’s blushing,” Ollie sings. “Pink’s a nice color on you, love, really brings out your eyes.”
“And blue’s a nice color onyou,” I retort, scanning his face. “Would you like to wear itaroundyour eye?”
He snorts. “Your tiny little fist would barely leave a mark. It would be like being punched in the face by a beautiful butterfly.”
