Faking Reality Page 8

  Chapter

  8

  “We are not a couple,” I clarify for Lindsay as we leave Japanese class the next day. “Despite what it may have looked like yesterday.”

  “Is that why Leo was sitting on the opposite side of the room today?” Lindsay glances back over her shoulder at Leo who is talking to Jax.

  Not gonna lie. It stings. “Yeah. Leo said he needed some space.”

  Lindsay cringes. “So, you’re saying that if I started dating Leo, you wouldn’t come at me?”

  I need to get out of Leo’s way. Let him take a step forward. Why does it have to hurt so much though?

  “Of course not.” Well, it’s a half-truth.

  “I’m going to ask him then.” Lindsay pulls out her phone.

  We are barely halfway down the hallway toward the cafeteria when Lindsay’s phone pings. She lets out a defeated sigh. I wish I could say I were a big enough person not to feel smug about that. But today is not that day. A surprised, muted squeal follows the sigh, and suddenly I don’t feel so smug anymore. Leo runs up from behind us and puts a hand on each of our shoulders.

  “Is that okay?” Leo says, nodding toward Lindsay’s phone. “I work all day on Sunday.”

  “Sure. I’ve been wanting to see that movie.” Lindsay’s smile lights up the entire hallway.

  Leo has a matching smile. “Awesome. I’ll pick you up on Monday about five then.”

  I roll my third wheel all the way over to Leo’s and my usual lunch table, where I sit alone for the rest of the period. The Friend Zone suuuuucks.

  * * *

  Leo and I continue to give each other space for the rest of the day. It’s so weird that even Aurora notices.

  “What is with you two today?” Aurora says.

  “Nothing,” Leo and I say at the same time.

  “Bull—” Aurora says.

  “Can I have some personal space?” Leo cuts her off. “I am all sistered out right now.”

  “Whatever, Leo.” Aurora shoves Leo and then links her elbow through mine. “Koty, my sister from another mister, think you could volunteer to work Sunday’s lunch shift for me so I can spend the night at Nevaeh’s house after the Homecoming dance tomorrow night?”

  “No, Aurora.” Leo drops his skateboard on the ground and puts a foot on it.

  Ignoring Leo, Aurora bats her eyelashes at me. “You can keep my half of the tips.”

  “Sorry, I have plans on Sunday. Maybe another time. I gotta run. We’re shooting today.”

  I drop my skateboard and hop on. Life throws me a bone, allowing me to make a swift and smooth exit.

  Aurora’s voice echoes down the sidewalk as Leo rolls in the opposite direction. “What did you do to Dakota?”

  * * *

  “Just in time for tea, Dakota.” Stephanie stands in the hallway with a large box in her hand.

  Stephanie digs through the packaging and pulls out an expensive-looking decorative tin. When she pops open the top, a sweet, buttery, sugary smell wafts through the hallway. My empty stomach roars enthusiastically. I put my hide-in-my-room plan on hold and follow Stephanie to the kitchen, like my cat Lita used to follow me when I opened a can of tuna.

  “Having a bad day?” Stephanie puts a chocolate-dipped shortbread cookie on a rose-patterned china plate and hands it to me.

  “I’ve had better. And worse.”

  Stephanie adds another cookie to my plate. She pats the stool. That’s never a good sign.

  I slump down on the stool and let out a sigh. “Okay, hit me.”

  “You know how your sixteenth birthday is close to the final, live send-off episode? The Network wants Phil to lean into the DIY Princess idea and throw you a Sweet Sixteen extravaganza.” Stephanie adds jazz hands on “extravaganza” to mock Phil.

  “Pass.”

  “I haven’t even told you the whole idea yet.”

  “Still pass.”

  “C’mon, Dakota. Listen to me for a sec. What’s your favorite car right now?”

  I sit up straight. “Shut up.”

  “Don’t be rude.” Stephanie hands me a cup of tea. “Doug said that he’s going to restore the broken-down ’69 Ford Mustang fastback currently in your garage after he retires in May. Since Ford is one of our major sponsors, they asked if you and Doug want to participate in their ‘History Restored’ campaign next spring. You get a retro-inspired but state-of-the-art, customized Mustang for your birthday, Doug finally gets around to his passion project, and The Network makes a tidy sum on the ad-sales integration with Ford. Win-win-win.”

  I admit it. I can already see myself driving the Mustang.

  “Wait, I know there are strings attached.” There always are.

  “You have to agree to the Sweet Sixteen party idea in all its tacky glory. Doug agreed to do the ‘History Restored’ campaign, but his part and your part are two different things. He said he’d support whatever you decide.”

  “Hmmm. Can I think about it?”

  “Of course.” Stephanie’s phone pings.

  As Stephanie texts away, I slip into a cookie-induced daydream. I’m flying down US 60—doing the speed limit, of course—with the top down on my brand-spanking-new, cherry-red Mustang convertible, my hair flying wild in the wind. I’m getting my jam on, thanks to the killer sound system custom installed in my ride. I lean over and high five—

  The wheels fall off my fantasy. Ever since Leo got his full driver’s license in August, we have talked about the convertible dream, though his version contains a dog in the backseat and himself in the driver’s seat. Now that I’m on the verge of making it a reality, the one given thing might now be the least likely one. I nibble on another cookie and imagine the fantasy with a chocolate lab that we don’t own in the passenger seat. Nope. I try Aurora in the passenger seat instead. And then Nevaeh. Better, but not quite the same.

  Stephanie taps on my arm, breaking my bubble. “Do you want to hear the fine print about the Sweet Sixteen party to help you decide?”

  “Yeah.”

  “At least half of the episode will be a highlight reel of your life from birth on, minus the you-know-what. In between the ‘Growing Up with Dakota’ clips, fans will see you prepping for the big party. There will be heart-tugging scenes with your parents, followed by product placements. We’ll give America one last peek into your life before you close the door.”

  My stomach tightens even as my heart lightens. Should I give viewers some fan service—the most G-rated version, of course, because this is HGTV—then take my car and drive off into the literal sunset? Stephanie is on her second cup of tea before I decide.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Fantastic!” Stephanie claps her hands together. “I’m thinking about pitching Chez Versailles for the venue. We can squeeze a lot of people in there.”

  “Wait. I do have friends, but not enough to fill Chez Versailles. Probably not even ten percent. Maybe twenty-five percent if you count people who follow me on social media, but we’ve never had a conversation in real life.”

  “Hmmm. We’re going to need it to be at near capacity. Not to worry. By the time we’re done, it will be standing-room only.”

  “We are not going to hire actors to pretend to be my friends. Couldn’t we pick a much smaller venue with fewer gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers and have an intimate evening with Dakota with my JCC peeps and a few others instead?”

  Stephanie’s phone rings.

  “No. It needs to be somewhere between gloriously tacky and utterly ridiculous.” She pats me on the head. “I need to take this.”

  Stephanie dips out of the room, mouthing the name of the person she’s talking to to Mom, as they pass each other. Mom lasers in on the opened tin of cookies.

  “How are you feeling, Koty?” Mom pours herself a cup of tea and joins me at the kitchen island.

  “Jumbled.” It’s the best answer right now.

  “Are we talking about the Sweet Sixteen party idea or whatever happened at last night
’s Homecoming Carnival that Phil is mad about not getting on film?”

  I cringe. “You heard about that?”

  “Not from your father, mind you. Thankfully, Steph gave me a heads-up before Phil came in this morning.” Mom sips her tea. Fitting. “Phil asked me to work on the Matsudas so that he can get you and Leo on film together.”

  “There is no Leo and Me.”

  Mom pulls up a picture on her phone and shows me—a sweaty Leo kissing me on the forehead. “Not according to today’s TMZ special report.”

  The hot tea in my stomach freezes over. I knew it was a high probability based on the number of phones out last night. Part of me wouldn’t have even minded if the disaster in the walk-in refrigerator wasn’t such a fresh wound.

  “Publicity stunt, Mom. Leo’s business was bombing. Nevaeh and I wanted to help him.”

  “Now that the cat is out of the bag, at least you and Leo don’t have to hide your true feelings anymore.”

  That cuts me even worse. “We are not a couple. Like I said, Mom. It was all a publicity stunt.”

  “Oh, but I thought … Oh. Oh.” Mom puts her hand on mine. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, but I’m here for you. Anytime. Or Dad. Okay, maybe not Dad. He totally didn’t read the room correctly last night, or he chose not to. He still thinks you and Leo are five.”

  Stephanie pokes her head back into the kitchen. “They’re ready for you, Dakota. Phil needs you to do a couple of voiceovers and pickup lines, but that should take no more than thirty minutes tops. Come back to the office when you’re done. I want to go over the potential sponsor list with you for the party.”

  Since I’ve already established that I am not above a publicity stunt for personal gain, I feel slightly less conflicted about selling out my dignity for a car. But it’s not just a car. It’s a cherry-red Ford Mustang convertible I can drive around long after the TV show is done.

  I pull up a new fantasy: Me rolling up to school solo. It’s not quite the same, but it’s growing on me.

  “Will you come with me, Mom? I might need some backup when I refuse to elaborate on what happened last night.”

  “Of course.” Mom squeezes my hand.

  I finish my tea and put on my mental armor. Though I don’t want to share my truth about Leo, I also don’t want to continue the lie we created last night. The lie that my best friend is in love with me too.

  Chapter

  9

  “If I threw a ridiculous party for my sixteenth birthday, would you come?” I ask Nevaeh when they pick me up for the JCC movie night at the local independent theater. Now that all the sponsors have officially signed on, I’m allowed to talk about the piece of news I’ve been sitting on for the last three weeks.

  “Like you really have to ask me that,” Nevaeh says, their turquoise-tipped bangs flopping into their unnaturally violet eyes.

  “You wanna be my date?”

  “You’re not my type.”

  “As friends, Nevaeh. You can wear an over-the-top ball gown. Or a tux with sequined accessories. Shoot, wear your kilt-and-wings combo. I don’t care. I just want you to be there with me.”

  “I will. Not as your date though. Because you are going with our Cinnamon Roll Prince.” Nevaeh holds up their hand in front of my face. “I have spoken.”

  I scoff. I haven’t had more than a two-sentence conversation with Leo in the last three weeks. Matsuda Mondays, gone. Kitsune Mask Wednesdays, gone. Even lunchtime hanging, gone. What twists the knife in my chest even more is every time I see Leo, he has a big, sappy grin on his face. I want to hate Lindsay, but I can’t. She makes my best friend deliriously happy, even if she makes me miserable. So instead, I’ve been self-isolating.

  After I numbed my aching heart by binge-watching all three seasons of Tanabata Wish in one week, I started rebuilding. The first step was getting the professional-grade, handheld video camera I received from HGTV out of the box and reading the directions. Well, at least for the first five minutes. Then I started playing around. Dakota is a tactile learner, but she still needs to learn how to follow instructions, my fifth-grade teacher once famously said. I’m not dyslexic like Dad, but I still have a hard time following written instructions. If you show me, though, I can pick stuff up quickly.

  “I learned how to use the editing software you recommended,” I say to change the subject. “I want to tweak the ending a little bit more, but I should have my first demo video done by the end of the week.”

  “Cool. Can’t wait to see the final product.”

  I twist my dirty hair up and pull my baseball cap over the top of it. Nevaeh’s wardrobe might be odd sometimes, but they always leave the house with an intentional look. Meanwhile, I look like I just rolled out of bed in my yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Then again, I did.

  “Also, glad to see you aren’t still growing mushrooms in the Emo Corner of Woe after the whole Homecoming Carnival thing,” Nevaeh says.

  It takes me a few beats before I can squeeze out, “I’m happy that Leo is happy.”

  “Yeah, you’re going to have to work on your acting skills, my friend.”

  “No, really. Lindsay is very sweet.” That is the truth, as weird as it sounds coming out of my mouth. “It’s complicated.”

  “No, really, it’s not.”

  “Noted.” I crank up Nevaeh’s sound system, so we can’t talk about Leo anymore.

  * * *

  “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Lindsay says when she intersects us at the door of the indie movie theater.

  “Nevaeh said the JCC had to guarantee twenty-five seats to get the discount for the club, so here I am. Number twenty-five.” I decide to leave out how much coaxing Nevaeh had to do to get me out of my room tonight.

  The tiny theater is already three-quarters full. Iwate-sensei waves from the other end of our row. I match my ticket to my seat. I’m on Lindsay’s left. Of course I am, because the universe hates me. Wait. Is this Leo’s seat? For a hot second, my heart leaps at the idea that Leo and Lindsay might be broken up.

  “Where’s—” My question breaks off as Lindsay jumps to her feet.

  “Back in a sec,” Lindsay says. “Don’t let Jax eat all my popcorn while I’m gone, Koty.”

  Jax stands up so Lindsay can scoot down our row. As soon as she’s gone, the lights go down. This theater has fancy, high-tech chairs. I slip my shoes off and slide my seat backward until it’s like I’m in our home theater. I put my box of overpriced popcorn and accompanying soda on the removable table between Nevaeh and me and offer them some. I’ve seen Howl’s Moving Castle a dozen times, so I close my eyes to listen to the Japanese instead of reading the subtitles. We’re five minutes into the movie before Lindsay comes back.

  “Sorry,” Lindsay’s voice cuts through the dark.

  I look down the row to see Lindsay holding the hand of a tall boy with closely cropped hair. Of course, he’s holding her hand. They’re dating. Dating people do that. And much more. Ugh. I take a sip of soda to wash that idea out of my mind.

  “Sorry,” Leo says as Jax moves farther down the row.

  “It’s okay, babe.” Lindsay sits down.

  I choke on my soda. I pull my baseball cap down, trying to obscure my identity. Out the corner of my eye, I see Lindsay whisper something to Leo. A second later, they remove the tray between them and recline their chairs. Lindsay pulls her feet up and wiggles closer to Leo. His arm wraps around her shoulders. I pull my right hand up to block my peripheral vision. It doesn’t matter. My brain fills in the blanks. Especially during the quiet part of the movie when I can HEAR THEM KISSING.

  I jump to my feet. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

  I don’t care that I have to interrupt more people by leaving through the left side of the row. I have to get out of here. I hang out in the bathroom for several minutes before I get a text from Nevaeh.

  NEVAEH

  Are you sick?

  ME


  Sorta. Need fresh air. Meet you outside after the movie.

  NEVAEH

  Text me if you need me to drive you home.

  ME

  I’m okay. Just need some headspace.

  I walk out the front door and sit on the wall between the movie theater and the hair salon next door. And breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I shake the invented visual of Lindsay and Leo kissing out of my mind. It wasn’t a kiss on the forehead. That’s for sure. Not with that amount of noise. Gag. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

  I sit in the cool late-October air and scroll through my feed to pass the time until the movie ends. That is until I hit Lindsay’s picture from earlier today during lunch—a selfie with her arms around a genuinely smiling Leo. Ugh.

  My stomach growls. I kick myself for retreating without my expensive popcorn and soda. As I round the back corner of the movie theater, the smell of doughnuts tickles my nose. Diagonally across the parking lot behind the movie theater, BoSa Donuts is doing brisk business.

  I’m standing in line contemplating if I should order a dozen to bring some home when Ojiichan comes out of the bathroom. I duck my head and busy myself on my phone. Instead of leaving, though, Ojiichan sits at a table with a cup of coffee and a plain cake doughnut already on it. He pulls out his phone. Kudos to Aurora, who convinced Ojiichan to finally give up his dinosaur of a flip phone so that he could read current, baseball-themed manga from Japan on his smartphone.

  “I’d like a dozen, please,” I scoot down the counter, so I don’t have to raise my voice. “Three bear claws. Three butterflies. Three apple fritters and…” Out of habit, I almost order three cinnamon rolls. Nope. Can’t do it. Not tonight. “And three maple bars.”

  I peek over my shoulder. Ojiichan is deep into his manga reading and coffee drinking. I pay for the doughnuts and sweep right past him out the door without him noticing. I power walk to the front of the movie theater again and hop onto the wall to enjoy my dinner.