Fish Out of Water (12 page)

My phone chirps. I glare at Shreya’s name.
Did Dylan call u yet?

I’m so sick of his name I could scream. And I can’t stand how everyone in my life seems happy to shove me right into his arms.

When I don’t reply, Shreya sends another message.
Are u mad @ me?

Pressing the power button, I turn off my phone.

#

The next day, Betty sits on my bed while I rifle through my closet. I don’t know why I feel the need to dress up, but I do. Maybe I want to prove that the AnimalZone uniform is not my best look. I swear it adds ten pounds.

“You have a lot of fish,” Betty says. For the third time.

“Yup.” I pull out a blue top and some black skinny jeans. Normally I’d be running my outfit by Shreya and Olivia, but I’m still mad at Shrey and Olivia needs to stop being in Tahiti. At least I can count on Betty for brutal honesty. “What do you think of this?”

She scrunches her face. “What are you trying to say? Because that says, ‘I want to impress you.’”

“Ugh.” I throw the clothes on the floor. “Not that then. I want to look…pretty, but not in a seductive way. This isn’t a date.”

She nods thoughtfully. “You look pretty in everything, though.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised she’d say something like that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. Thin, nice legs, exotic.”

I hold in my laugh. Yes, I’m so exotic. Next I grab a black tank and red jeans. “What about this?”

She frowns. “You’d look tough in that.”

“Tough. I’ll take it.” I shoo her out for a moment while I dress, hoping she doesn’t do anything while alone. We had a scare earlier today when I took a bathroom break—came out to find her hand in one of our aquariums. She had a fit when I told her she couldn’t pet the fish.

Luckily, she’s standing right in the hall where I left her. She comes back in, appraising my look. “What shoes?”

I smirk. Maybe she’s more useful than I thought she’d be. “How did you know I was about to ask that?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve gotten ready for a date, Mia.”

“It’s Mika, and this isn’t a date.” It’s preparation for a fake relationship. “Sneakers or flats?”

She points to the flats. “In case you have to buy shoes, too.”

“You have done this before.” I slip them on, spin around once. “So I look okay?”

For a second I think I’m seeing things, but Betty is tearing up. I get the sense that she’s…proud of me. Weird. “You are beautiful, and a very good person. Even if you are Oriental.”

I deflate. She has a gift for balancing out those nice words with horrible ones. I hear a door slam and then footsteps. “Sounds like Mom and Dad are home. How about you go see them while I finish my makeup?”

“Sure.”

I stand at my closet mirror, applying blush and eye shadow and wondering if I’m overdoing it. Part of me wants to rebel and wear grungy clothes, but my bet is we’ll be going to a nice store and I don’t want to stand out. Why is my insecurity suddenly winning?

The doorbell rings, and my heart doubles speed as I run to get there before my parents. I pull it open, and there, standing next to Dylan, is Shreya.

Chapter 17

Shreya shrinks under my glare, looking genuinely remorseful, though I’d rather not admit it. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just excited to surprise you with food and thought it would be fun. I didn’t think you’d freak out—I had no idea what it was for.”

“It’s true,” Dylan says. “I totally lied to her.”

I’m not sure how to react, because I’m fairly certain he brought her to help make up for having to do this. Which is really considerate of him. I’d much rather have her help with clothes than his. “Why am I not surprised?”

He shrugs. “Old habits die hard.”

“Is this Dylan?” my dad says. I spin around, finding my parents looking on curiously.

“Yup. I’ll be back in a few hours.” I grab my bag and hurry out before my dad can ask any embarrassing questions about Cypress Point.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Dylan says as we head toward Clark’s non-descript silver car, which I usually see parked behind AnimalZone.

“Yes, that, plus my dad fantasizes about Cypress Point. I’d rather not have him latching on to you.”

“I see.” He opens the door for me, and I stare at him as the reality of this arrangement sinks in. He really is trying to make it look like we’re together…and it doesn’t seem like he minds as much as I do. Why are his eyes so soft as they take me in? Cue freak out.

“What?” he asks when I don’t get in.

“Nothing.” I move to the backseat door and open it myself, determined to make this look nothing like a date. “Shrey, go ahead and take shotgun.”

“Can you be more stubborn?” She rolls her eyes but gets in.

Dylan looks like he wants to say something to me, but he shuts Shreya’s door and heads for the driver’s side. I get in back, happy to have space. He starts the car, and we’re off. No one talks as he heads for whatever shopping place he’s decided to go to, but from his direction I’m guessing we’re headed to Carmel. Of course we are. Carmel is where rich tourists like to hang out and take themselves too seriously.

My phone chirps, and I grab it, relieved that I have something to busy myself with. I try not to laugh when I read Shreya’s name.
Please don’t be mad anymore.

I’m fine. This is just weird
, I type back.

It is. I’ll give u that. He really asked u to be his pretend gf?

More like told a lie and now has to cover his tracks.

I need details.

Later. It’s involved.

“Are you guys seriously texting each other so I can’t hear what you’re talking about?” Dylan asks.

“Maybe.” I look up. He’s eyeing me in the rearview mirror.

“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Shreya laughs, and I can’t restrain my smile. I expect Dylan to glare at me, but when his eyes meet mine again they look sad. For some reason this makes it impossible for me to send another text, but I’m not planning on starting a conversation, either. Was he expecting me to give in and embrace this? He has another thing coming if he did. I plan on dragging my feet every step of the way.

#

In complete predictability, Dylan parks at the Carmel Plaza, a ritzy shopping center full of designer stores. I’m glad I at least tried to look nice. He takes in a deep breath, looking practically giddy. “I’ve missed this. Even if I’m not shopping for myself, this’ll be fun.”

I stare at him. “You’re weird.”

“You’re one to talk, Fish Girl.” He grabs my hand, and I reflexively pull back. He doesn’t let me go. “Just in case. London or other people who know her could be here.”

“You seriously expect me to buy that?” I growl, trying to get free of his grip. “What, does she live at the mall or something?”

“No.” He points past me. “But her parents’ second home is about five minutes that way. And they stay in Carmel every summer and hold all sorts of parties. London’s favorite place to eat is the Patisserie Boissere, which is here. So chances are good.”

I cringe because he has a point, but I’m not ready for this. The way his hand feels in mine…no, I can’t go there. “The deal was one day.”

“Which is twenty-four hours—Saturday will only be seven, tops.” He gives me a wicked grin. “That, plus three tonight, means I’ll still have fourteen hours left to use.”

Shreya puts her hand over her mouth, probably knowing I’ll kill her if she laughs. I relax my arm, but I refuse to hold his hand back. “Exploiting me, huh? You can’t make up extra loopholes.”

He pulls me along, seeming to have no problem with my resistance. “You should have specified terms if you didn’t want loopholes.”

“What are you? Some kind of lawyer?”

“My father hoped I’d get a law degree. After business school, of course.” His voice is colder than usual, but then he stops and clears his throat. “Never mind that. I’m guessing you can’t play golf, right?”

“She’s even bad at the miniature variety,” Shreya says.

“Thanks for pointing that out.” I put my free hand on my hip. She gives me a mock innocent look. “No, I am not interested in golf and thus I suck. My dad took me to Poppy Hills once and refused to let me try after the tenth dent.”

“Divot. Not dent,” he says with a surprising lack of condescension. He purses his lips, thinking. “Then the goal should be to avoid playing—I can’t have you ruining the green. London is really good, and she’ll tear your form to pieces.”

“I would prefer to avoid tearing.”

“So that means not golf attire?” Shreya asks.

“Precisely, but it still has to have the right look.” He starts walking again, and, kill me now, we end up at J. Crew. I was secretly hoping for Anthropologie.

Dylan and Shreya practically skip through the racks, picking out clothing that gags me with its stuffiness. Then I get thrown in a dressing room and am ordered to come out and show them every single outfit whether or not I think it’s ugly.

“Can you at least not frown?” Dylan asks. “It’s distracting me from the clothes.”

I glare at him as he analyzes the sweater and pants like this decision is life and death.

“Angry is better than pouting,” he says.

“I like the sweater. The teal looks nice on her.” Shreya touches my arm. “Ooo, soft.”

“It’s cashmere. Better be soft.” He puts his finger to his mouth. “I like the sweater, too, but not with those pants. Maybe with—”

“Dylan Wainwright, is that really you?” a woman says. She’s older, but the kind of older that also looks like she’s had a lot of work done. Her face lights up as she comes closer, while Dylan’s fills with dread. “It is!”

“Hi, Mrs. St. James,” he says as she does that European kiss greeting. “How are you?”

“Just wonderful. Carmel is always a nice break from the hectic school year. You know how the boys keep me busy.” She eyes me and Shreya suspiciously, but tries to concentrate on Dylan. “And how are you dealing with everything? Your parents have been very worried about you.”

His smile is tight. “Sure they have. You can tell them I’m fine if you want.”

She puts her hand on his arm, and now I’m really curious. She has to know him super well if he’d let her do that. “They’ll be happy to hear that. Truly.”

Dylan nods.

Finally, she turns her attention to us. “And who are your…friends?”

“This is Mika Arlington, my girlfriend, and her friend Shreya.” Hearing “girlfriend” out loud makes my stomach twist. He shouldn’t be telling this woman such a lie—she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who refrains from gossip.

“Oh? Well, isn’t she darling?” Mrs. St. James pastes on a huge smile as she comes to do the kiss thing to me, too. “Nice to meet you, Mika.”

“You too,” I say.

“I hate to cut this short, but I really have to get going. Need to pick out wine and cheese for our next soiree before the shops close.” She looks back at Dylan, and I can’t make out her expression. “Can I tell London you said hi?”

I force myself not to react, but I’m pretty sure I just met London’s mom.

“Sure,” Dylan says.

We all hold our breath until she leaves the store. Dylan plops down in a chair, practically hyperventilating.

“Was that as close as I think it was?” I ask.

“Yes. Told you we could see them.” He rubs his temples, and for some reason it makes me want to comfort him. “I hate that woman almost as much as her daughter.”

“I’m lost,” Shreya says. “Who was that?”

“Later.” I can’t seem to take my eyes off Dylan. He doesn’t look like the arrogant guy I first met, but instead like a guy who’s been through a lot. For some reason, I don’t like seeing him like this. “So if you like the sweater, Dylan, what pants should I try with it?”

He looks up at me, and in his eyes I think I see gratitude for the distraction. “The brown plaid, I think. Your butt looked amazing in those.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t look at my butt.”

“What should I look at then?” He leans back in the chair, his eyes locked on mine like he’s daring me to flirt with him. I rush back into the dressing room, and I don’t come out until my face stops burning.

With the sweater, pants, and a pair of admittedly beautiful red snakeskin flats, the total comes to almost nine hundred dollars. Which has to be Dylan’s entire paycheck from AnimalZone. I gulp as he hands over the cash like it’s nothing. He grabs the bag and my hand, and we head back outside. It’s dark now—I didn’t realize we were in there so long.

“I feel like I need to take out an insurance policy for these clothes,” I say.

Shreya snorts. “No kidding.”

He sighs. “Just take care of them, okay? I did work a whole month for them. First money I ever earned on my own, too.”

Now I feel like a jerk for giving him a hard time when today was all about me. He didn’t have to do this. He could have let me look stupid and poor on Saturday. I squeeze his hand, and he looks at me curiously but says nothing. He opens the car door for me again, and this time I comply. He takes Shreya home first and then heads for my place.

“What was with you back there?” he asks.

I know he’s talking about the hand squeeze. “Nothing.”

“You really suck at lying.”

I sigh. “Fine, I wanted to say thank you, okay? Even if I feel like a huge fake in these clothes, it’s better than London having another chance to laugh at me.”

There’s a long pause, and it feels like he’s looking at me though I don’t dare check. “Are you okay?”

“I’m scared.” My fingers run back and forth over the bag’s handle, as if I have to make sure the clothes don’t disappear. “This isn’t me. And you’re right, I’m a horrible liar.”

“Just follow my lead, and it’ll be fine.” He turns onto my road. “And really, there won’t be much lying involved anyway. It’s not like we have to spend the day making out to prove we’re in a relationship—unless you want to.”

I smack his arm. “You wish.”

“What if I do?” He stops in front of my house, stares at me in a way that makes me want to run and stay all at once.