Page 1 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

SMALL-TOWN SEMANTICS

Leah

I can hardly make it downstairs to my pot of half-brewed coffee

without my life falling apart. Ainsley comes running downstairs

before I can grab my favorite mug out of our white-washed wooden

cabinets in the kitchen. Her hands clutch a piece of paper while her

eyes are filled with tears. I assume it is something terrible at first,

still reeling after the phone call I had to make to our extended family

that our father had passed.

But that was months ago, and I’ve grown accustomed to shoving

those painful sensations away. Ainsley hands me the letter she’s

obviously just ripped out of our growing pile of mail on the front

table. I flick through the bold type, my tired eyes reading half of the

words but comprehending less.

“Wait,” I whisper, holding the paper closer with the morning sun

hovering over the hills of the horizon outside the kitchen window.

“When did this come in, Ainsley?”

“It was stamped a few weeks ago,” she breathes. “Why didn’t you tell

me I had a letter, Leah?”

“I get fifty letters a day about Dad’s business, Ainsley. I haven’t

checked through them all yet.” I tuck my unruly blond hair behind

my ear, reading the type more carefully this time. “It’s the fashion

school you wanted to attend, right? The one in New York?”

Her hazel eyes flicker in the chaos, her body taut while she thinks her

dreams may shatter before her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t know if I’ve

missed the deadline, Leah. They need that money in soon, and I

haven’t had enough time to finish saving up. I have to make a deposit

now, or they will cancel my tuition scholarships.”

I scratch my head, wishing I had a bit of coffee inside of me before

dealing with this today. “Okay, okay. Relax. How much do you

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