Fake Page 4

  I lower my gaze in case he sees my interest, but I’m hyperaware that Sebastian Elliot is standing close. My heart rate has dialled up from its usual pace and I’m trying to ignore the strange stinging in my eyes.

  I think I’m doing okay until he edges closer to peer right into them.

  That’s when I feel the tear oozing down my right cheek. Ducking my head, I wipe at the wet, sticky trail and then wince.

  ‘Have you done something to your eye?’

  I lift my head. He’s close. Real close. I catch his gaze and can’t look away. ‘Is it red?’

  He nods. This close I can almost count the dark grey flecks in the green of his eyes. My breath jerks in my chest as my mind races.

  Think.

  If only I’d lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes longer. Or at least looked more closely. I flinch as I brush the corner where it stings most. ‘Crap that hurts.’

  If I had any hope of projecting a cool, composed facade, it’s gone with the agony that radiates from my right eye. Embarrassed heat rises from my neck to meet the wave of pain.

  Sebastian’s left hand lifts and for a second I think those tanned fingers are going to touch my cheek. In that moment I don’t breathe at all. I swear I can count every thump of my heart against my chest cavity as he decides. Then it drops back to his side and I breathe again, but his not touching me becomes another ache in my heart.

  ‘Is it from … crying?’ He’s being sympathetic even as his eyes dart around the still-empty courtyard. The awkwardness of the whole situation is obvious in his desperate scan for someone to help him with a teary girl.

  ‘No!’

  Or not the crying he thinks. Not directly. It has to be the slimy cucumber. If I wasn’t so rattled earlier I would never have put something that smelt that bad on my bare skin.

  In an irony that makes me look a liar, tears well in my stinging eyes. All that effort not to give Lana and Joel and the entire student population the idea that I cried myself to sleep last night, and here I am about to walk into class red-eyed and puffy.

  And for extra points in the game of self-humiliation, Sebastian is witness. Again.

  The laugh begins deep in my chest. It rises like bubbles in my favourite cola and explodes as an unladylike, uncool, uncomposed guffaw that sends a light spray of snot through my nose. Only because my hand is already up near my eye do I manage to catch it.

  I sneak a peek at Sebastian and the wide-eyed panic in his face makes me laugh harder until I’m gasping for breath and doubled over. Now the tears streaming from my eyes are from laughing. The hot liquid cleans them out and the stinging sensation eases off a little.

  The laughter quickly subsides to the occasional giggle. ‘Sorry,’ I manage, still trying to force air back into my lungs.

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘No one has ever described me as crazy before.’

  His brow arches.

  ‘Really.’ I have the laughter under control now. ‘Usually it’s “ordinary”. Sometimes “boring” – if it’s Chay doing the describing.’

  Why did I say that to the most interesting guy in the whole school?

  I’ve just admitted that even my very best friend thinks I’m boring, but he doesn’t seem to care. ‘You’re nothing like ordinary.’

  I don’t have heaps of experience reading the opposite sex – I mean, look how great my instincts were about Joel – but I swear it’s admiration in his tone and wonder in his eyes.

  Eyes looking into mine. At me.

  The thick, stupid thing happens again with my mouth and it doesn’t matter because it’s not like I have a clue what to say.

  Sebastian doesn’t seem to have that problem. ‘Do you need to go see the nurse?’ He gestures to my eye.

  The tears of laughter helped wash out my eyes but I can tell from his concerned expression it must still be red and swollen.

  If I go see the nurse she might send me home.

  Everyone will assume I’m running away and the whole plan not to be a victim will be ruined before it really starts. Besides, the white envelope is lurking for me somewhere at home and I’m in no real hurry to see it again.

  But the other option is walking around all day as the poster girl for the broken-hearted.

  ‘No. I won’t go to the nurse.’

  ‘You sound unsure.’

  ‘I didn’t plan to look red-eyed today.’ Of all days. Stupid cucumber. ‘If only I’d worn a hat. Or a paper bag.’

  His lips twitch. He rubs the back of his neck again and then pulls off his hoodie. He shoves it toward me. ‘Here.’

  As soft and inviting as the material looks, I don’t take it. ‘I’m confused.’

  He chuckles, a rumble of sound I feel through to my bones. ‘Me too.’ His gaze slides up and down my body. ‘That jacket you’re wearing is great. Cool and all. But with mine you could put the hood up and hide your eye a bit.’ He shifts his weight to the other foot. ‘If you want to.’

  Want to wrap myself in this boy’s hooded jacket? Yes please. Just carrying it will distract people from my eye and create the impression I’ve not been sitting home pining over Joel.

  Somehow I stay casual and control the instinct to grab it out of his hands. ‘You won’t be cold?’

  ‘No,’ he insists. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  So this is about him feeling guilty on behalf of his little sister.

  My enthusiasm wavers. He thinks of me as a charity case. The boy I thought of as Mr Aloof is really Mr Responsible for his family. I don’t know whether it makes him more or less attractive.

  Before I can change my mind he hands over his jacket. The material is still warm from where it rested against his lean body. My body warms in response. Strange when all my casual – okay, maybe contrived – brushes against Joel never had this effect.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll get it back to you … After.’ If I survive the next few hours.

  His mouth stretches and shows a flash of almost straight teeth. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Is that interest in his eyes? Something more than the prospect of his hoodie being returned? Like maybe that he’ll have to see me again.

  My heart trips at the thought but I manage not to blurt out any of the questions cascading through my brain. ‘Great,’ I say inanely instead.

  The trill of the bell cuts off whatever he’s about to say. He jerks his head to the new building behind. ‘Better go, computing first up.’

  ‘See ya.’

  ‘You too.’ But from him it doesn’t seem like a throwaway line. I imagine he never says anything he doesn’t mean. My heart swells, pushing out the last of the dread about my upcoming meeting with Joel.

  I don’t want to watch him walk into the IT labs just across the yard so I look down. The squiggle in the dust isn’t just a random pattern. A glance at the doors shows he’s gone in already and I take a step around to where he stood a moment ago.

  Clutching his jacket close to my body, still glowing that he gave it to me, I look down where his shoe traced lines in the dirt. It’s not a pattern or a word as I expected but numbers. There’re three: 4, 0, 4. What do they mean?

  The question fills my walk through the rapidly emptying hallways and takes my mind off the boy I’m about to see. The nerves only build again as I round the very last corner. No Lana. No Joel. There is, however, Mrs Butler, my teacher. If she beats me to the classroom and the second bell has already rung it’s a trip to the office.

  I’m a few feet away.

  I break into an ungainly jog, my hopes of a dignified entry to the classroom fading fast.

  But her eyes behind the steel-rimmed spectacles flicker in recognition and she slows, allowing me to reach the classroom door ahead. I shoot her a grateful smile and step inside.

  In all the hurry I forgot what would be waiting on the other side.

  The heads of my classmates swivel as one, all their eyes focused on me, like I’m the ball in a slow-motion tennis repl
ay as I scoot through the door a pace ahead of Mrs Butler. From a murmur to a whisper to a volcano of sound, they commentate as I walk to my seat. Some are replaying the events of yesterday, others analysing how bad I’m hurting.

  I take my seat. Diagonally behind Joel’s.

  The nerves are back in belly churning force. I breathe slowly, trying to halt the flood of heat through my cheeks and keep my hammering heart to a survivable tempo.

  He alone says nothing. I force my gaze to skim over him like he’s nothing to me. Keeping my head high is easier with Sebastian’s hoodie in my hands. The black material becomes a barrier to the scrutiny.

  ‘Cold outside, is it?’

  I can’t see who asked the question, and with Mrs Butler clearing her throat, there’s no time to answer, but I don’t have to fake the secretive grin spreading across my face. I couldn’t begin to explain why I have my enemy’s brother’s hoodie if I tried.

  At the last second, when everyone else has moved their attention to the teacher, Joel turns. There’s a question in his eyes. And maybe an apology.

  I turn away. I don’t want either from him.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Chay waits for me under our tree. She stands tapping her foot with her oversized sunglasses pushed up on her head. ‘Took your time,’ she says as I sink into my usual spot on the ground.

  I roll my eyes rather than pointing out that, unlike her, I’ve had to walk from the other side of the school. Nor do I mention the missed meeting from this morning.

  Chay paces a flat path in the grass. Today she’s in a black jumpsuit with a dark green cardigan.

  Dark green like Sebastian’s eyes.

  ‘Earth to Kathleen.’ Now she’s crouching in front of me, her glasses not hiding the deep frown creasing her brow. ‘Are you even listening?’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ Only Mum gets away with my full name, and only when I’m in the kind of trouble that requires a lecture. Then I usually cop my middle name of Mary too. At the start of high school Chay and I decided to cool ourselves up. Her hair transformation from mousy brown to bottle blonde stuck, but my attempt at Kat or even Katie failed. Chay was disappointed for me but I didn’t really mind.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mutters from behind the glasses. ‘But I was trying to tell you why I didn’t make it to the science block bathroom this morning.’ Her lips puff up into a pout. ‘I thought you might want to know.’

  I almost don’t. The pain in my eye has lessened but it’s been replaced by a pounding in my skull. Too many tears, too much thinking, too much of everything to handle Chay’s dramatics. But she’s been my best friend for as long as I’ve been in this town and she’s the one who stood by me yesterday.

  ‘I did. I mean … I do.’ I try to stop thinking about Sebastian but can’t resist hugging his hoodie a little closer.

  Distracted from her guilt trip, she reaches for the sleeve and I fight the urge to tug it out of her grasp. ‘A master stroke by the way.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard you were carrying some mystery guy’s clothes through the halls. People are talking about it.’ For the first time there’s support in her smile. ‘Which means they’re not talking about Joel and Lana. Or not as much.’

  ‘It’s Sebastian’s.’ Saying his name aloud is strange when it’s been echoing silently in my head since our meeting.

  Her jaw actually drops open. ‘How did you score that?’

  Now I’ve mentioned who gave it to me, I wish I hadn’t. Why didn’t I just pretend I found it on the way to school? Or maybe that I brought it from home?

  Probably because she knows my wardrobe better than I do and because I’ve always shared everything with Chay. And she with me. It’s what being best friends is all about.

  Like she told you Lana stole her boyfriend?

  I shake my head to clear the disloyal thoughts. She was embarrassed. I, of all people, understand how that feels. She’s waiting for an explanation.

  ‘I bumped into him this morning on the way to class.’ I pause, unsure how much more to say. Our conversation was about nothing in particular and at the same time everything.

  I settle back against the tree trunk. ‘We talked for a while.’

  ‘Brilliant. Did people see you? I wonder if Joel’s heard yet?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ When I was with Sebastian I wasn’t aware of anyone else. I wasn’t trying to score points or win anything. ‘It was by the IT building so there weren’t many people around.’

  ‘And the clothes exchange?’

  ‘He thought I might need it.’

  She whistles. ‘Must have been some conversation.’

  I’ve known her long enough to hear the prodding in her tone but I pretend not to. ‘So, why were you late?’ I ask, knowing once she starts her tale she’ll forget the inquisition. Nothing distracts Chay like a drama, even better when it’s her own.

  She leans forward, eyes rounded with the enormity of what she’s about to tell me, showing off thick black eyeliner and matching mascara. ‘I was on the early school bus and the driver totally, and I mean totally, was looking me up and down. He had to have been like forty and so completely not cool.’ She adds an exaggerated shudder. ‘I told him to keep his greasy paws to himself.’

  ‘He touched you?’

  ‘No.’ She tosses her long blonde hair over one shoulder. ‘I could see he wanted to though. It was in his creepy eyes.’

  I wince, at both the image and her description. ‘Nice.’

  ‘Not. Anyway, Principal Tyrant has given me a Saturday detention for being rude to the bus driver.’

  ‘Saturday detention for a smart mouth?’ Our town school bus is run by volunteers and I imagine Principal Bryant would have been less than impressed, but …

  Chay rocks back and purses her lips. ‘I was apparently on my last warning.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Anyway, you have to help me.’ Her red-painted fingernails press lightly into my wrist. ‘I need you, Kath.’

  I pull my arm back, sensing trouble. ‘How?’

  ‘Be-me-on-Saturday.’ The words come out in a gush accompanied by a wide-eyed, hopeful expression.

  ‘But no one is going to believe I’m you.’

  ‘I’ve worked it out. Mr Jones is on duty and he’s always hung over on Saturdays. Wear a hat, scarf, some of my clothes and he’ll buy it.’

  ‘What about the notes home and the call to your folks?’ Our school has a system to make sure any trouble is reported to the student’s parents. The sinking feeling in my gut tells me I’m grasping at excuses. It’s hard to argue with Chay, especially knowing what her dad is likely to do if he finds out she’s got another detention.

  And it’s not like I can afford any trouble on my own record.

  She’s already moved on. ‘Don’t worry. I have that under control. All you have to do is turn up, sit, and study for two hours. I knew you would do it for me. Thank you so much.’ Her smile turns saccharine. ‘Like I stood up for you yesterday.’

  ‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet.’

  ‘You will. It’s what best friends are for.’ Her smile flashes a white strip between red lips. ‘I’ll bring the clothes around tonight after dinner and we’ll work on Aaron some more.’

  I glance around to make sure no one heard her mention the fake guy. The one I’m already having second thoughts about. I spot Sebastian walking into the maths building across the courtyard. I’d know his walk anywhere even if I hadn’t already seen him today. I hug his hoodie a little closer.

  Maybe if Chay comes around we can cancel the whole revenge idea. But I know better than to broach the subject before I have my argument sorted in my head. She’s pretty convincing.

  ‘You’re always welcome at our place, but what about your dad?’

  A shadow darkens her eyes but only momentarily. The smile replacing it is bright and wide and doesn’t fool me for a second. ‘Working late.’

  * * *

  Another late
client in the salon means I get to throw together a stir-fry for dinner without any heavy non-comments from Mum about the envelope or Joel or her death-blog friend Colin.

  I leave her a bowl of honey soy chicken to be reheated later and eat while trying to finish my English assignment. I know once Chay arrives study won’t be on the agenda. Having never actually seen her crack open a book, I figure she’s either a secret genius or scrapes through with whatever she can manage at school before the morning bell.

  By the time she dumps a pile of bags on my favourite rug I’ve done enough to have the rest of the evening off. Mum is pretty cool with Chay coming around during the week as long as I keep my grades up. She met Chay’s dad once. Only once in all these years of friendship but it was enough.

  ‘What’s with needing …’ I make a show of counting ‘seven bags for me to be you for one morning?’

  She twirls in front of my mirror, having changed the jumpsuit for a long gypsy dress with a plunging neckline. ‘You think style like this just happens?’

  ‘Do you really want me to answer that?’

  Our polar different wardrobes have been a standing joke between us since we hit high school and Chay discovered the effects of revealing clothes both on her male classmates and in pissing off her father. A double win.

  She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead itemising the bags. ‘Outfits one, two and three are here. Then we have the shoes and then of course there are the accessories.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The glittering silver scarf she throws at my head flutters harmlessly over my toes. ‘The hair is the tricky part. The forecast is for a cold morning so I’ve gone with hats and scarves to cover you up.’ Her eyes sparkle. ‘And my signature red lipstick.’

  ‘I have my own make-up.’

  ‘And it’s great … for you.’

  I ignore the jibe and look through the bags. I lift out a miniskirt that’s more like the width of a belt. ‘Really?’

  As if I wasn’t worried enough about fooling the teacher, I’m also going to be showing more leg than I do at the beach.

  ‘At least he won’t be looking at your face,’ she says with a smirk.