Fake Read online

  GRACE: WE’RE DOWN AT THE CORNER OF OLIVE. SAVING YOU A PLACE.

  ME: OK. RUNNING LATE. BE THERE SOOn.

  Lies come so easy to me now.

  Two giggling girls pass my bench, a cloud of competing perfumes trailing behind them. They wear matching Catwoman costumes and high, spiky heels instead of their sweaters and jeans from earlier in the day. Three band boys hang out under the trees on the far side of the street, heads bowed over the screens in their hands. The girls’ greeting is the only thing that makes them look up. Together they head off farther down the route to get a good seat for the show.

  Behind the final row of drums in the band is a line of cars decorated with hand-lettered posters. The red mustang convertible near the end is completely covered with life-sized Nosy Parker cutouts and bright blue streamers. The sign on the driver’s-side door says LEXI SINGH, announcing proudly who will soon be sitting in the back seat waving to the crowd. Normally, that’s what I’d be focused on—waiting to see Lexi sitting in the car and hoping she would wave in my direction. But all my attention is on the final float in the parade, a flatbed trailer pulled behind a big orange tractor. The culminating masterpiece of the annual homecoming parade, the decorations have grown more gaudy and ostentatious with each group of seniors eager to outdo the last. Two huge, oversized gold thrones sit up on a raised platform for the homecoming king and queen. To the right of each throne is a smaller, undecorated chair for their escorts. On the lower level, twelve similar, slightly smaller thrones and chairs sit waiting for the court.

  A group gathers around the front of the float, beside the tractor and directly in front of me. Divinity, who is homecoming queen, and her escort, William, talk to the junior homecoming prince, Sean Grier, and his escort and longtime girlfriend, Brie Knight. Then Jesse walks up to the group, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and jeans. In one hand he holds a bouquet of roses tied with a glittery gold bow. I can feel the thorns piercing my heart from here.

  While I watch, Jesse throws back his head and laughs at something the freshman homecoming prince says to him. I realize I’ve never really seen him laugh in such a genuine way. Smarmy smiles? Definitely. Gut-busting laughter? Rarely. The sight of him, face lit up with sheer joy, gives me a strange little pang I want to immediately dismiss. He won’t be laughing for long.

  The band director shouts out directions, and the flute players sitting on the curb stand up and get back in line. Jesse checks his phone several times and watches the stream of people passing. Several people congratulate him, slapping his back and high-fiving. As the music cranks up, he stands, walking up and down in front of the trailer.

  The dance team takes a break and Dezirea heads over to the float, dragging Graham along beside her. Her short flared skirt shows off her toned brown legs perfectly. Bella and Hunter follow closely.

  “Why aren’t you up there already, Prince Jesse?” Dezirea asks.

  “More importantly, where is this girl we’ve heard all about?” Bella demands. She wears her hair in a fishtail braid I know took her an extra hour of prep time. The bright red sweater over her cheerleading uniform is totally nonregulation, and she claps her mitten-covered hands together periodically as though they are freezing.

  “She’ll be here,” Jesse says confidently.

  My heart sinks. This is harder to watch than I expected.

  “She’s driving up from Denver. Might have hit traffic,” he adds, glancing around at the crowd. I sink a little farther down on the bench.

  “Uh-huh,” Hunter says, like he totally doesn’t believe it. “Probably imaginary traffic.”

  Bella giggles. Graham shoots him a look, but Hunter’s just getting started. “Who’d have thought Prince Charming would end up being the biggest loser today?”

  Bella boos loudly and Graham joins in, cupping his hands around his mouth to intensify the sound.

  “Photo op,” Dezirea says, obviously trying to change the mood. They pose and snap pictures, pulling a reluctant Jesse into the group shot. They take another. Then one more. The group gets restless, and finally Dezirea and Graham step up to take their places, waving good-bye. The king and queen ascend to their thrones, handing bouquets of roses to their respective dates.

  “Are you getting up there or not?” Bella looks back and forth from the float to Jesse.

  “Look,” Hunter says, putting his arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “I can pick someone out of the crowd for you. Sort of like a placeholder. There are plenty of girls dying to be beside you.”

  Jesse shakes his head. “I’m going to wait down here a few more minutes.”

  “Dude,” Hunter tells him. “Face it. Mystery girl is not coming.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m still going to wait for her.”

  Hunter shrugs and leaves him. “Whatever,” he says, and then he and Bella head down the side of the street toward the start of the parade route.

  Casey Austin, the drum major, steps up front and signals the start of the parade. The drum line—three snare drums, two bass drums, and a set of cymbals—keep everyone in step as they start to move down the street. I watch the trumpets in their blue tunics decorated with gold braids and tall hats. Jesse was right. No football players in helmets and pads.

  Everyone but Jesse is on the float, dates in place holding their bouquets. Only two places are empty. His phone is out in his hand where he can see it constantly, and he paces back and forth quicker with each turn. Every so often, he looks up and scans the street, and each time he does, I sink deeper onto the bench. Finally, his shoulders sag and he steps up on the float. He briefly taps at his phone before climbing up farther to take his place. He lays the bouquet of roses on the empty chair beside him, saving a spot for someone who is never going to come. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  It’s a ChitChat message for Sienna.

  JESSE: DID WE GET OUR WIRES CROSSED? ARE YOU RUNNING LATE?

  My brain is on fire. This moment should feel so right, so beautiful. This is why I created Sienna. So why am I feeling so sorry for him?

  I don’t respond. I put my phone away.

  The band reaches the middle of the next block and they break into the fight song, trumpet players swinging left, right, up, and down in perfect rhythm, just missing the heads of their fellow bandmates. The crowd along the route starts to sing along, chanting with raised fists.

  I slip off the bench and through the crowd, overwhelmed by the image of Jesse’s face and that wistful, hopeful look as he scans the crowd looking for … me. But not me.

  My plan to manipulate Jesse into falling for Sienna worked. Now she’s hurt him. But I don’t feel happy about it. Just the opposite. This is not like a two-dimensional sketch with characters I can control. These are real people with real feelings. My shape-shifting is cruelly complete. I have become something different.

  A fraud.

  A liar.

  A fake.

  I press my lips together tight. I have to end this now, before it goes any further.

  CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE

  JESSE: SIENNA? WHERE WERE YOU? WHY DIDN’T YOU SHOW UP?

  JESSE: HELLO?

  I created a monster and her name is Sienna. She has to go away. The plan is simple. Sienna can disappear and this whole world I’ve created can disappear, too. Of course, Dezirea will be sad. And Jesse? I don’t want to think about it. It will be the end to a great adventure. I was in control when it started, and now I will create the ending. The story isn’t turning out the way I intended.

  That night, I scan through the fake accounts I created, my foot jiggling nervously under the desk. Brittany, Sienna’s bestie—the girl whose face I took from the acne cream ad—has the most comments on Sienna’s posts. I log off of Sienna’s profile and log on as Brittany.

  BRITTANY: SO WORRIED ABOUT MY FRIEND SIENNA!! SHE WAS IN A CAR WRECK YESTERDAY AFTER SCHOOL. EVERYBODY KEEP HER IN YOUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS.

  I tag Sienna on the post so Jesse and Dezirea are sure to see it, then spend the
next hour logging in and out of all my imaginary Sienna friend accounts to post various messages of support on Sienna’s page. My heart is beating crazy fast, but I tell myself this is what I have to do.

  Around and around we go. Where we stop no one knows.

  Of course I feel guilty, but it’s better Sienna goes away now before things get even more complicated. She’s not going to die or anything that serious. Because that would just be cruel. And horrible. And I’m not a cruel and horrible person.

  Am I?

  I log out of ChitChat and shut down my computer before I can change my mind. Sienna is gone. I squeeze my eyes tight. The mystery of what happened to her might linger for a while, but people have short attention spans. They will move on to the next drama—one that doesn’t involve me. There is no excuse now.

  I try to distract myself by drawing a Froot Loops sketch. In this one, I change into a fly. A fly might not be particularly glamorous in the shape-shifting world, but tonight I feel like a fly on the walls of Fort Collins High School. I see everything, just sitting there, watching and listening. Unfortunately, flies are also attracted by garbage—the worst of people’s drama and the smelliest of conflicts. Most of the time, people don’t even see the fly. The last frame sits empty, but I can’t think of a way to end it. There is nothing triumphant and redeeming about this story. It is just sad.

  When I turn out the lights and stare up at the ceiling, I can think of nothing else. Sienna is becoming too real. And worst of all, Jesse and Dezirea are becoming real, too. I know things now that make me see them differently. Like Dezirea’s dreams of still wanting to be a ballerina. And that Jesse spends every weekend rocking tiny babies to sleep. No one is the way I drew them—one-dimensional and shallow. Nothing is simply black and white anymore. My alternative world has exploded with colors I never knew existed.

  There is a soft thud on the end of the bed and Katy Purry stalks up the covers toward my chest. She curls up, not quite touching my side, and begins to lick the fur on her fluffy black tail as though I don’t exist. Finally, I get up, earning an outraged glare from a displaced Katy Purry, and dig my earbuds out of my backpack. I plug them into my phone and hit play. By the time the trumpet starts to play, tears are streaming down my face and soaking my pillow. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of my lonely heart.

  “You lie awake and think about the boy.”

  CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE

  DEZIREA: HI SIENNA. ARE YOU OKAY?

  DEZIREA: I SAW YOU WERE IN AN ACCIDENT. I’M THINKING OF YOU.

  CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE

  JESSE: I’M SORRY I WAS ANGRY ABOUT THE PARADE.

  JESSE: I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE ACCIDENT.

  JESSE: PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU’RE ALL RIGHT.

  JESSE: PLEASE?

  JESSE: CALL ME. TEXT ME. SOMETHING???

  On Friday morning, Jesse seems distracted. His eyes are red rimmed and he looks exhausted. I don’t say anything about the parade, but there was a buzz in the hallways this morning about the empty seat beside him. The rumor is he was stood up by his online girlfriend, and his unsettled appearance this morning is only adding fuel to the fire.

  “You okay?” I ask, but I think I know. He’s not.

  He shrugs. “Just worried about a friend.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know her.”

  But I do.

  “What happened to her?”

  “A car accident.”

  I wait, a hollow smile pasted on my face. The guilt is so sharp I can hardly breathe. This is for the best. “Is she going to be okay?” I ask, because I think I should.

  His jaw is set hard and there is a tiny pulse in his cheek. “I don’t know.”

  “Is it the girl you were telling me about? The one online?”

  He nods. His eyes are so broken. All the breath goes out of my lungs. I feel an almost-irresistible urge to comfort him. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted? Then why does it feel so bad?

  I blink a couple of times and fiddle with the pipette in front of us. Silence falls for a few seconds, and then I say, “I’m sure she’s fine. You’ll probably hear from her soon.”

  He looks down at the table and shakes his head.

  Pull it together, I tell myself.

  I bite a nail, rearrange the papers in front of us, and try to look as casual as possible. “Have you ever done anything really bad to someone?” I suddenly ask. “And you don’t know how to fix it?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Everyone messes up sometime.”

  “I’m talking really bad.”

  “Look who you’re talking to.” He grins at me, and a glimmer of the old Jesse comes through loud and clear. “In case you don’t know it, I can be a real jerk sometimes.”

  “No. Really?” I act shocked.

  “I know it sounds lame, but sometimes it helps to say you’re sorry,” he says. “When you really mean it.”

  “Yeah,” I say, rinsing out the beaker. “Thanks.”

  Camila suddenly appears at Jesse’s side and we both jump. “Oh. My. God. I just heard,” she squeals.

  “What?” Jesse asks.

  “You tried out for band? Tell me it’s not true. Jesse Santos, band geek?” She punches his shoulder playfully.

  Jesse smiles proudly. “I didn’t just try out,” he says. “I made the band. I start right after football season ends.”

  I stare at him. My heart fills with some kind of wonder. I helped make this happen. Well, Sienna made this happen. But still. She—I—gave Jesse the confidence to go for his dream. Maybe everything I’ve done hasn’t been all bad.

  Camila clasps her hands to her heart. “Next thing you know you’ll be marching at halftime.”

  “Would if I could,” Jesse says smugly.

  Camila laughs and walks away, and my thoughts return to Sienna’s “accident” and all the lies. I manage to avoid saying anything else to Jesse for the rest of the class.

  I meet Grace and Owen after class outside the chemistry lab. I barely manage a nod, my mind still on my conversation with Jesse.

  “So we’ll pick you up for the game at about five?” Grace asks.

  “I’m not going to the game,” I say.

  “Then we’ll swing by and pick you up afterward for the dance,” Owen says. “My dad said I can use his car.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I thought the two of you are going together.”

  Grace looks confused. “We are. But you’re going with us, too. It’s already decided.”

  “You have to go to the dance,” Owen says. “Lexi’s going to be there, and you might get the opportunity to meet her face-to-face.”

  He’s right. I have to go. If I don’t, I’ll never have the chance to meet Lexi. She’s my ticket out of all this mess I’ve created. Once I’m her protégé, everything will work out somehow.

  “Okay,” I say. “But I’ll drive myself and meet you guys there.”

  Owen nods. “Cool.”

  “What are you going to be?” I ask.

  “Ant-Man and the Wasp,” Owen says proudly. He winks at me.

  “What did you decide on?” Grace asks me.

  “I’m not sure yet.” But I know one thing. I won’t be myself.

  CLAIRE: HEY MAISIE! SO I’M THINKING I MIGHT COME UP FOR THE DANCE. CAN’T FIND THE INVITATION, THOUGH.

  CLAIRE: CAN YOU GET ME ANOTHER ONE?

  CLAIRE: OR GET ME IN?

  CLAIRE: HELLO?

  The cosplay masquerade ball is a huge hit. The gym is decorated with purple balloons and streamers. Green floodlights illuminate the walls with a ghostly glow, giving the impression of some underground hideout for all the superheroes in attendance. And the costumes are the main focus. Everyone enthusiastically supported the theme.

  A couple of stormtroopers hang out by the double doors with Archie and Veronica. Spock and Superman dance together by the refreshment table. Not surprisingly, I immediately spot at least four versions of Nosy Parker. Two are wearing Nosy’s plaid s
chool uniform with her signature pearls. The other two dress in sleek black gowns with high heels and huge sunglasses—Nosy when she’s dressed up. Bella is impressive as Mystique in her blue body suit and blue face paint. Dezirea is an ultra cool Jessica Jones, complete with a camera strapped around her neck, buckled motorcycle boots, and a black leather jacket.

  A DJ is playing music on the stage at the far end of the room. In front of him, a small cluster of enthusiastic dancers are jumping around to a fast song, hands waving wildly in the air.

  When I was a child, I loved costumes. Veronica and I went all out every Halloween, making elaborate costumes based on our favorite characters. My sister was usually a flavor-of-the-month kind of princess, but I always went for the darker side. Even then, monsters, villians, and vicious beasts were much more my style.

  Tonight, a Catwoman mask covers the top half of my face, and the rest of my body is cloaked in a loose black top, black jeans, and black boots: an easy costume to gather together from my closet. I relax a tiny bit behind the security of the mask, following Ant-Man and the Wasp—Owen and Grace—through the crowd. The costume gives me the illusion of making my very visible body a little more invisible.

  My eyes adjust to the dark and I see the football team make their way into the gym to the accompaniment of cheers and high fives. Our team won by two touchdowns, and everyone is in the mood to celebrate. The team’s group costume is simple—they each wear Superman capes with a big red S taped on the front of their blue T-shirts. I know Jesse is there among them but I look away before I can see him.

  The music slows and some dancers leave the floor. Others partner up. Dezirea runs up to Graham and gives him a quick kiss, then links her arm through his to pull him out on the dance floor.

  “Do you want to dance?” Grace asks Owen. He nods and they leave, hand in hand.

  I move into the shadows, my back pressed flat against the wall. I watch as the Wasp wraps her arms around Ant-Man’s neck and they slowly sway to the music. My throat gets tight and it feels like I’m standing outside looking in the window of a fancy restaurant—drooling and hungry. I look away.