“Why were you on campus? Why not go back to class?”
“Well...” my voice trails off. “I can’t really tell you all the details. But my mom’s house in Malibu got burned down. They had to go into hiding and they were worried the... um... that... well... they were just worried. They kept me there in case we needed to run. I asked Estaine to stay the day because I was upset, then Uncle Matty called the school, and the story was that my cousin died and Estaine went to the funeral with me. It didn’t make sense for him to go to the funeral unless we were dating, so...”
Brooks nods. “I get it. I don’t understand, but I get it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault. This just sucks,” he says.
“Do you remember what happened at that school in Texas last week?” I ask. “With those two people dying?”
Thankfully, the third person is going to live. She’s still in the hospital, but expected to make a full recovery.
“Yeah,” he says. “I remember hearing about that.”
“Well, the CIA left a false trail to that school,” I say. “The... umm... shooters followed the trail there, thinking that I was a student.”
“Back up,” he says, looking at me, confusion clearly painted on his face. “You’ve got the CIA and Secret Service helping you out?”
I nod.
“Are you in the Witness Protection Program or something?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. “I didn’t witness a crime or anything like that. It has something to do with my dad, kind of. He’s important, or whatever. So, here I am. Just don’t try to figure out who I am. I promise you that my online existence before I came here is no more. If anybody from my old life posts a picture of me, it’s gone within seconds. You won’t find anything.”
“Wow,” he says.
“Yep.”
“I get why you and Estaine are fake dating, so why not fake break up?”
“I told him to dump me,” I answer. “I told him I’d even let him do it in a very public way and I would shed a few tears. But we’re friends, and nothing would really change if we fake broke up. People would think it was weird if we just kept hanging out like we always do. It’s best to just let people think we’re dating.”
“You guys don’t... kiss... right?”
I shake my head. “No way.”
“What if somebody else wanted to date you?” Brooks asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Nobody ever gave me a guide to fake dating somebody. Things are really complicated right now.”
“You like him. I know you do.”
“He’s my friend. Of course I like him.”
“I mean as more than a friend.”
“Maybe,” I answer, trying to be as honest as I can.
“Do you like me?”
I nod.
“As more than a friend?” he asks.
“What I feel for you is definitely more than what I feel for a friend,” I answer. “But it doesn’t matter, Brooks. Everything is crazy right now. I’m literally hiding and trying not to get caught by crazy people who have a vendetta against my dad. I don’t even want to think about having a boyfriend or dating right now.”
“I understand,” Brooks says. “So, Estaine invited me to hang out with you guys today.”
My mouth falls open. “He invited... you?”
“Yep.”
Wow.
“I thought he hated you,” I say.
“Oh, he does,” Brooks says. “Today is definitely going to be... interesting.”
Interesting?
I’m hanging out with Brooks and Estaine today.
AT THE SAME TIME!
This is not good.
10am.
I’m good at sarcasm.
I am riding in a car with Uncle Matty, Jake, Estaine, and Brooks. And it is so awkward.
Jake keeps turning around and giving me these looks. And Uncle Matty keeps saying really awkward things. And I am in the back seat, sitting between Brooks and Estaine, trying to keep calm.
Uncle Matty opens his mouth to say something else, so I cut him off.
“Can we listen to some music?” I ask.
“Sure,” Jake says, pulling out his phone.
I quickly hold my phone out for him. “No. Play my music. Please.”
Jake listens to music that was popular in the 90’s. And not to hate on the music from that generation, but I seriously can’t handle the music. It’s so... whiney, and reminds me of something you’d hear at a college coffee shop. Though, I can’t say that for sure because I’ve never been to a college coffee shop. But in my head, they play 90’s music, do slam poetry, and wear lots of flannel.
I wonder if I’d be any good at performing slam poetry.
“What the heck kind of music is this?” Jake asks, as he looks through the music on my phone.
“Just hit the shuffle button,” I answer.
“Fine,” he says, hitting it. “But most of the titles aren’t even English titles.”
“Still better than the stuff you listen to,” I say.
“Hey, don’t hate on...”
Uncle Matty cuts him off. “I agree with Phoenix. I can’t handle 90’s music.”
“Like 80’s music is any better,” I say. “Nobody wants to listen to a two minute long guitar solo in the middle of a song.”
“And you call this music? I can’t even understand what they’re saying,” Uncle Matty says.