Fake Page 10

“You heard?” I ask.

  “We don’t have the energy to worry about people like that,” he says. “That’s what I’ve always admired about you.”

  Trying to smile, I touch his arm. “And that’s why we’ll always be best friends. Even if your jokes aren’t funny.”

  He holds up a hand to his forehead and makes a mock salute. “Froot Loops forever.”

  I mimic his movement. “Froot Loops forever!”

  When we get to chemistry, Jesse is already there. He’s been busy. Just not in relation to anything useful or remotely related to our actual assignment. He’s in his seat and zoned out, listening to music on his earbuds as usual. But a piece of paper is on the table in front of my stool.

  Apparently, Jesse did his own sketch. It is a stick figure with a huge head. Above it he drew a word bubble that says, “I am obviously the smartest person in the world.” The word obviously has three black lines drawn under it for emphasis. The stick figure has long dark hair and a T-shirt on that says “Froot Loop.” Like I didn’t know it was supposed to be me. My face burns. At least he didn’t try and draw my body.

  He pulls his headphones out of his ears and I hear the sound of some kind of jazz music playing loudly before he clicks the phone to silence. He grins, making that dimple appear again in his left cheek. “Do you like your portrait?”

  “You’re very talented.” I will not let him see that his stupid little sketch got under my skin.

  “Well, I know you like to draw. And since I think you really ARE the smartest person in the world …”

  “Obviously,” I say. My eyebrows rise. There is an ask coming. I can feel it. But if this is Jesse’s way of trying to get something from me, he’s not very good at it.

  “So, I need a favor.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I was thinking maybe you could help me with this big lab write-up?”

  The lab write-up is our main assignment for the semester. Mr. Vance gave us worksheets for it, and we’re supposed to start work on it today.

  “You mean do it for you?” I sweep the drawing off to the side and sit down on my stool.

  “No, I mean help me. I’ll do my part. Promise.” He holds up his hand like he’s swearing on the Bible in a court of law. The well-practiced flirt comes back into his voice even though it’s completely wasted on me. He just can’t stop. I can feel my mood starting to shift. Jesse Santos needs me. I feel a certain sense of control.

  I scowl at him. Game on.

  He says, “You know, you look prettier when you smile.”

  Ugh. And just like that, he reverts back to his usual, obnoxious self.

  “I smile,” I reply sharply. “Just not at you.”

  “Why not?” He sounds hurt.

  “Because you draw mean pictures and make fun of me.”

  “That?” He motions toward the picture. “It was just a stupid joke. Because you’re good at drawing and I’m really bad at it and … I thought it might make you laugh.”

  There might have actually been a compliment buried in there somewhere?

  “It didn’t.”

  “I can see that now.” He leans back on his stool, his arms crossed, his gaze focused on the ceiling.

  I ask, “Do you want to pass this class or not?”

  He looks at me. All the fake, put-on smolder is gone. “I don’t want to pass it. I have to.”

  “Then let’s get to work.”

  He wraps his earbuds up carefully and puts them in a special zipper case, then back in his backpack.

  “What were you listening to?” I ask, remembering suddenly that I need more information for Sienna.

  “Steve Coleman and Five Elements.”

  “Who?”

  He stares smugly at me, his thick eyebrows raised. “Only one of the best jazz saxophonists you can ever see live.”

  I shrug. “Never heard of him.”

  “Not surprised,” he says. “But to be fair, most people in this room haven’t.”

  And there’s the attitude again. I make a vow to listen to as many Steve Coleman songs as I can get my hands on.

  “Enough of this fun stuff,” he says. “What do we do first?”

  I shove the lab worksheet across the table at him. “Read it.”

  Jesse sits up straighter, a frown of concentration crossing his face. “Use the equipment you have available to make observations of the components and determine their properties,” he reads aloud. He looks at the box of materials in front of us. “So what do we have available?”

  “These four substances.” I take each item out of the material box one by one. “And a hot plate, paper towels, can lid, and a Sharpie.”

  We spend the rest of the time trying to figure out the melting point for four solids—dextrose, wax, sugar, and salt. According to Mr. Vance, the lab will help us apply the concepts from his last lecture on bonding and intermolecular forces.

  When we finish, I say, “Okay. Shock me. Say something intelligent.”

  “You’re on,” Jesse says. He opens his notebook and reads aloud from his class notes: “At the melting point, particles that are in a specific solid structural arrangement gain more motional freedom without changing chemical composition. ”

  “Aww. It’s so cute when you try to talk about things you don’t understand.”

  He just laughs. “And that’s exactly why you’re here.”

  “So tell me what that means in your own words,” I say.

  “Basically, things can change shape, but they are still the same thing. Inside. Where it counts.”

  The truth of his statement sucks the breath out of me. “Do you believe that?” I manage to ask.

  He looks at me for a moment, then taps the notebook in front of us. “Of course I do. That’s exactly what we just proved in our lab. Science doesn’t lie.”

  But I do.

  “So we have to find the time to work on this lab write-up,” I say. “We could split things up. Do you want to do the procedure and I’ll do the conclusion?”

  Jesse shakes his head. He fills the dropper up with the liquid from the beaker. “I can’t risk screwing this up. I need your help.”

  I can tell it’s killing him to admit it. A little smile forms on my lips.

  “Okay. How about Saturday?” I offer. The thought of spending time with Jesse outside of class is stressful, but we don’t have much of a choice. Not if we want to pass this assignment.

  “I can’t,” he says. “Football game. It’s an away game. I won’t be home until late.”

  I sigh. “You have to give somewhere.” I check the calendar on my phone. “What about Sunday afternoon? Three o’clock?”

  “Can’t,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “I have a standing appointment.”

  I look at him incredulously. “On Sunday afternoon? For what?”

  Jesse looks away, frowning. He’s hiding something. What does he do every Sunday afternoon? Maybe there is a mystery girl somewhere. Maybe Sienna can get to the bottom of that.

  Eventually he sighs. “I just can’t do it at three.”

  The bell rings. I shrug, then stand up and pick up my book bag. “Okay, but if this is important to you, you’ll have to make time for it.”

  I don’t get halfway to the door before he stops me. “Maisie. Wait.”

  I turn and look at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “What about earlier on Sunday? We could meet at the downtown library?”

  I don’t have the energy to argue with him. “Okay,” I say finally, turning back toward the door.

  “So Sunday, then? One o’clock?” I can hear the grin in his voice. I put my thumb up over my shoulder on the way out the door.

  CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE

  JESSE: HOW’S YOUR DAY GOING? AM BORED AT LUNCH.

  SIENNA: HA. SAME.

  JESSE: CAN I TELL YOU SOMETHING?

  SIENNA: ?

  JESSE: I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU.

  SIENNA: WHY? YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME.
r />   JESSE: THEN LET’S DO IT.

  SIENNA: WHAT?

  JESSE: LET’S GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER. FAVORITE COLOR?

  SIENNA: THE COLOR OF A MERMAID’S TAIL.

  JESSE: IS THAT GREEN OR BLUE?

  SIENNA: MORE GREEN. YOU?

  JESSE: THE BLUE OF THE SKY RIGHT AFTER SUNSET. IT’S NOT GOING TO LAST. IF YOU DON’T NOTICE IT, YOU’LL MISS IT.

  SIENNA: THAT’S A GOOD ONE.

  JESSE: THANKS. FAVORITE SMELL?

  SIENNA: BACON. DEFINITELY BACON. YOU?

  JESSE: BABIES.

  SIENNA: ???? WHY?

  JESSE: I VOLUNTEER AT THE HOSPITAL ON SUNDAYS IN THE PREEMIE WARD. IT’S MY HAPPY PLACE.

  SIENNA: REALLY?

  JESSE: YEP. MY MOM IS A NURSE SO SHE GOT ME STARTED ON THAT.

  SIENNA: COOL.

  JESSE: YOUR TURN TO ASK A QUESTION.

  SIENNA: OK. FAVORITE FOOD?

  JESSE: PROMISE YOU WON’T LAUGH?

  SIENNA: NO.

  JESSE: PURPLE PEEPS.

  SIENNA: …

  JESSE: YOU’RE LAUGHING, AREN’T YOU?

  SIENNA: MORE LIKE GAGGING.

  SIENNA: WAIT. DO THEY HAVE TO BE PURPLE??

  JESSE: ABSOLUTELY.

  JESSE: BIG FAN OF THE EASTER BUNNY.

  SIENNA: NOW I’M LAUGHING.

  JESSE: WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

  SIENNA: CHICKEN ADOB

  SIENNA: … I MEAN CHICKEN.

  JESSE: CHICKEN?

  SIENNA: YEAH.

  JESSE: ALL KINDS?

  SIENNA: YEP.

  JESSE: MAYBE WE CAN GO OUT FOR CHICKEN AND PURPLE PEEPS SOMETIME.

  SIENNA: SOUNDS FUN. OOPS THE LUNCH BELL IS RINGING. GOT TO GO.

  Owen has soccer practice after school, but he texts me to meet him at Old Firehouse Books. I love this place. It’s tucked away inside a historic redbrick building across from the town square.

  I nod at the woman behind the counter on my way into the store. My thoughts are still on Sienna’s latest ChitChat with Jesse, and all she—and I—learned about him. None of it adds up with the Jesse I know. I have to get my mind off of him and Sienna for a while.

  I don’t slow down to look at the greeting cards or T-shirts. The walls are crowded with books, and I make my way through the narrow aisles that lead to the children’s section in the back. In an arched opening between the two sections, I grab a reading chair and make myself comfortable with one of Lexi Singh’s latest graphic novels and my sketchpad. Within minutes, I immerse myself in Lexi’s world, my own notebook lying open and blank in my lap.

  I pull out of my Lexi trance about thirty minutes later with the realization that Owen is late. He is never late. It makes me nervous, and suddenly not even Nosy Parker’s newest adventures can keep my concentration. I pull out my phone and text him.

  ME: WHERE ARE YOU?

  OWEN: AT PALMER’S FLOWER SHOP

  ME: WHY?

  OWEN: WILL EXPLAIN. ON MY WAY NOW.

  When Owen finally arrives, he has a bouquet of red and yellow zinnias wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string.

  Stranger and stranger.

  The first thing out of his mouth is “You see any new joke books?”

  I relax, thinking that some things have not changed.

  “I wasn’t looking for them,” I say, staring pointedly at the flowers.

  He ignores my obvious question. “I’ll look later. Let’s go next door to Happy Lucky’s Teahouse.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re not going to even look?”

  “Not today.”

  Happy Lucky’s connects to the bookstore through a side door beside the bestseller wall. I’m not a big fan of tea, but Owen went through a self-study of the history of tea some time ago and never went back to coffee or soft drinks. Today he immediately orders a Black Dragon oolong from the girl at the counter before she can even ask what he wants, which again seems off. Normally Owen would smell his way through all the green and black teas at least once, then carefully sip the samples on the small table by the door before finally making a decision. I order a French press coffee and earn a slightly disappointed frown from the cashier for not being a tea aficionado.

  I grab an empty table in the front with a view of Walnut Street and the shops across the way. While I wait for Owen to finish paying, I watch the action across the street. A guy steps out of Spoons, the soup and salad place, with a big sack of takeout and quickly dodges a woman pushing a baby stroller with one hand and guiding a toddler with the other. A row of women sit in the window seats of the salon Studio Be, with foil-wrapped hair and black capes, waiting for the beautification magic to happen. Out on the street, a red SUV waits patiently for the first open parking spot.

  My fingers tingle. I want to capture it all on paper—the normalcy of the scene would make a perfect backdrop for fantasy. I can imagine my main character striding along the sidewalk in all her superhero magnificence, her bright red cape flopping along in the wind behind her. She would stand out like a shining beacon of hope in an otherwise completely ordinary world. I can almost see the look of wonder on the toddler’s face as he stares up at my caped crusader.

  The idea of adding my bully-fighting superhero to this world starts the creative process going in my mind. I want more. Instead of the SUV waiting for a spot, I’d draw a dragon puffing smoke out its nose impatiently. And an assortment of peacocks would replace the women in the beauty shop chairs, their plumage decorated with tiny tinfoil hats. I smile. Maybe Lexi sat here one day in this very spot and created her world.

  Owen appears, breaking into my thoughts. He carefully places the bouquet of flowers on the table, and we wait for our respective drinks to brew. I turn over the tiny hourglass provided and set it beside one of the bright yellow blooms.

  “So.” I watch Owen sniff at his steaming pot, and then ask, “What’s up with the flowers?”

  “They’re for Grace.” He pushes a stray curl out of one eye, looking eagerly at me. His intensity is laser-like. “Do you think she’ll like them?”

  “Sure. I guess so.” I frown. There’s a lot to take in here. Flowers? Does Owen like Grace? Seeing the earnest way he wants to please her makes me wish someone felt that way about me. It also makes me feel more than a little jealous. “Is she sick?”

  “No. I just think they are …” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Cheerful.”

  “I guess so,” I mutter. “If you like that kind of thing.”

  The day after the Froot Loops locker incident, Owen showed up at my house with a beautifully wrapped present. Inside was a hardback collection of The Legend of Wonder Woman, a digital-first series by Renae De Liz. It was wondrous, powerful, and inspiring. And somehow Owen knew it was exactly the right thing to put in my hands that day.

  The last of the grains trickle into the bottom of the timer and I push the plunger down on my coffeepot.

  “I was thinking you could help me,” Owen says.

  I pour the coffee into my cup and add a dose of cream, stirring the blackness into a rich brown. “With what?”

  “I need some … relationship … advice.” His voice sounds strange, high and wobbly.

  My hand stops with my cup halfway to my mouth. Relationship? Owen and Grace? I never thought about Owen as being someone’s boyfriend before.

  There is a brief, thick silence. His tea sits untouched in front of him.

  I take a sip and swallow. “What kind of relationship advice?”

  “I was just wondering if someone wanted to go on a date, how they would ask … someone.” He doesn’t say her name, but we both know exactly who he is talking about. Grace. “Where would they go? That sort of thing.”

  I swallow hard. Owen looks down at the table and stops talking abruptly, messing with his tea bag. A red flush climbs up his neck and into his face.

  I put my cup on the table, lean my head back against the wall, and look up at the ceiling. I feel him watching me. “And you’re asking me for this advice?” />
  Owen nods.

  I think about that kiss we shared years ago, under the mistletoe. Did Owen like me back then? I don’t know. Maybe. But that was so long ago. And in the end, Owen and I were never going to work as anything more than best friends.

  I put a hand out and touch his arm, forgetting for a moment his aversion to random touching. “First things first. Just relax. Ask her if she wants to hang out with you sometime.”

  “Wait.” Owen holds up a hand to stop me from talking, then pulls out a yellow legal pad and pen from his backpack. He writes on the pad and I read it upside down. Ask her to hang out.

  “Okay. What’s next?” He cocks his head and looks at me expectantly. “What would you like to do on a first date?”

  I realize I don’t know that much about Grace other than she can be the most obnoxiously happy person on the planet. “I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

  He flinches, a worried little wrinkle between his eyes.

  I can’t avoid the conversation, even though it makes me uncomfortable. It’s only going to frustrate him.

  “Movies are never good for a first date. You can’t really talk to each other,” I say slowly. I swirl the spoon around in my coffee, letting myself dream for a minute about the idea. If I were wearing my Sienna disguise, there would be so many more options. I need to think more like her. “You could hike to the top of Horsetooth Rock and watch the sunset. Take a class together—pottery, maybe. Or cooking. I think there’s a special cooking school at Ginger and Baker.”

  Corn maze. Farmers’ market. Escape room. I start to feel the limits lift from my mind, imagining how fun all of it could be with the right person. But just as quickly, I shut it all down.

  Owen thinks about it for a second, then looks pleased. “I like it. Anything else?”

  I shoot him a sideways glance. Maybe Grace hasn’t said anything to him about the three of us going to the homecoming dance together? “Well, if you want to go more traditional, there’s obviously the big homecoming festivities coming up. Bonfire. Parade. Dance. Lots of opportunities there.”

  Meeting Lexi Singh, I think. Although that’s not really a date idea.

  He writes on the paper in front of him and I give him a thumbs-up when he looks up from the pad. He stretches out his long legs and stares at the toes of his sneakers. I wait. Owen finally pours his tea into the cup and asks, “But what if she says no?”