The Trouble with Faking (13 page)

“Noah?”

“Yes, he came with me to Truth, and then we had dinner at his family’s house.”

“You … had dinner with his family? I didn’t realise you guys were so friendly.”

“Um …” I rub my eyes with the heel of my free hand. “I don’t know. I guess we are. He had to fix his gran’s TV. Then Carmen’s grandfather had a heart attack so I drove her to the hospital. We got back late. I guess I was so tired I forgot to check my phone. I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m glad you’re okay. I need to get going, so I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

***

I spend a large portion of my lectures replaying the phone call in my head—in between yawning, which I also do a lot of—and trying to figure out if Damien was upset about something. He said I shouldn’t be sorry, but he sounded a bit odd when he said he needed to go. When I’m done contemplating the phone call, I try to convince myself that I’m brave enough to tell Damien how I really feel about him. I start writing down what I should say, but I end up crossing most of it out. Nothing sounds quite right.

I don’t see Damien in the dining hall during dinner, so I type a message reiterating how sorry I am for making him worry about me. Then I remember I’m supposed to be restraining myself when it comes to texting Damien so I don’t appear too desperate for his attention. Then I wonder if I should simply be typing ‘We need to talk’ so that next time I see him I’ll be forced to tell him the truth. In the end, I delete what I’ve written and send nothing.

Carmen’s staying at home for the next few days so it’s easy for her to get to and from the hospital with her family. No Damien
and
no Carmen means I’m eating dinner alone. Not the most pleasant of experiences, even for someone like me who doesn’t care too much what other people think. After this happens two nights in a row—with little more than a ‘Sorry, I’m REALLY busy’ message from Damien—I pack my dinner into a container and head back to my room to eat it there. Before I reach F flat, Charlotte steps out of H flat and stands in front of me.

Oh great. This again.
“Don’t bother,” I say, holding my hand up before she can get a word out. “We both know how this exchange is going to go. You’ll tell me that my clothes are weird or that red hair is ugly or that Damien and I are doomed to fail because we’re both cheaters. Then I’ll inform you that I actually love both my clothes and my hair colour and remind you once again that Damien never cheated on you. So let’s just skip to the end, shall we?”

She frowns at me, somehow managing to remain annoyingly pretty while doing so. “What are you talking about? Your hair isn’t
red
. Nobody’s natural hair colour is actual, real
red
.”

“I see. Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ll be on my way.”

“What I
was
going to say,” she adds before I can step past her, “is that I noticed you’re now keeping company with both cheaters and drunks.”

“Oh, is Damien a drunk now as well?”

“Not Damien, you idiot. Noah Ferreira. Don’t you know anything?”

“Well I certainly don’t know
everything
, but I do know that Noah doesn’t drink.”

An irritated sound comes from her throat. “You really don’t know anything, do you.”

“I guess not.” I walk around her and continue on my way. No way am I going to ask Charlotte what she’s talking about. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

I eat dinner while sitting cross-legged on my floor and examining my pile of unread books, trying to decide which one to pick next. Then, since I’ve got neither Damien nor Carmen to hang out with, and no assignments, tutorials or Etsy orders to finish, I decide to get a head start on next week’s book review video.

I set up my camera beside my desk and pick up
The Italian Hoax
from my book shelf. I finished reading it yesterday morning just before I had to rush to lectures. I’m about to start recording myself and the book when someone knocks on my door. I drop the book onto my chair, cross the room, and open the door.

“Hey, Andi,” Noah says.

“Oh, hi. What’s up?”

“Just looking for Damien. Thought he might be here.”

“No, sorry, I haven’t seen him today.”

“Oh, okay.” His gaze slides over my shoulder. “Sheesh. Do you like cushions, by any chance?”

I turn around and consider my bed. “Yes. Apparently I’m a cushion hoarder.”

“Where exactly do you sleep? On the floor?”

“Look, I’ll admit it’s a challenge at times, but somehow my cushions and I manage to share the same space.”

“And what if there was a
person
hoping to share with you?” His cheeky grin surfaces.

“Well, that person would have a problem, because no matter how many cushions I remove, it won’t change the fact that residence beds are possibly the narrowest beds in creation. I think they rival prison beds.”

“Probably.” He looks over my other shoulder. “So. I see the camera’s all set up. Are you getting ready to gush over a book?”

“Yes, which is why you need to leave now.”

“Oh come on. Let me stay. I want to watch.”

“No. Way.”

“Okay, let me be in it then. I bet your subscribers will love me.”

“No.”

He walks past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. “Is this the book?” he asks, picking up
The Italian Hoax
from my chair. “Cool. Let’s do this.”

I cross my arms. “You haven’t read the book. How are you going to talk about it?”

“Well, you can give a review based on the content, and I’ll talk about the cover.”

I give in with a sigh and close the door. “Fine. But if it’s terrible, I’m reshooting the video when you’re not around.”

“Fair enough.”

I swing the tripod around until the camera faces the bed so Noah and I can both sit down. I reach for the camera’s remote control. “Okay, I’ll start off and you can … I don’t know. Add in your two cents whenever you feel like it.”

“Awesome.”

I start the recording and place the remote on the bed beside me. “Hey, everyone.” I wave at the camera, and after a second’s pause, Noah does too. “I’m Andi and this is Noah, and today we’re talking about
The Italian Hoax
.” I hold the book up for the camera to see.

Noah points to the cover and says, “Check it out, ladies. There’s a hot guy for you. If the story gets boring, you can stare at him instead.”

“I can assure you, though,” I say quickly, “that you won’t be getting bored. After having to wait almost two years, our favourite paranormal investigator Becky is back, and—”

“Woohoo!” Noah’s shout startles me. I stare at him with wide eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “Inappropriate response?”

“No, entirely appropriate, actually.” I turn back to the camera with a smile. “We fell in love with Becky in book one, our hearts broke when we read what happened to her in book two, and now that she’s back and just as badass as ever, you’ll have to work hard not to cheer out loud when she kicks this villain’s ass. Or—” I lean forward and lower my voice slightly “—if you’re like me, and you know you simply can’t contain yourself, make sure to read this book in private so you don’t startle strangers with your sudden exclamations of excitement.”

Noah regards me with raised eyebrows. “I wish I’d been around for that.”

“No you don’t. I might have accidentally hit you when punching the air and shouting ‘yeah.’”

Noah considers that. “Sounds like a risk I would have been willing to take.”

“Aaand back to the book,” I say, looking at the camera once more. “Mystery abounds, a new twist will shock you at every corner, and the romantic tension is delicious.”

“Plus there’s a sexy girl on the cover,” Noah adds, “just in case mystery, twists and romance aren’t your thing.”

“But they will be. Trust me. You should read this book.”

“You should
look
at this book,” Noah says. “I’m about to start drooling over it, that’s how amazing the cover is.”

I look at him. “Please don’t drool on my book. That’s gross.”

“Well, not
real
drool. Like figurative drool.”

“Figurative drool?”

And then we’re both laughing, and instead of picking up the remote I manage to knock it onto the floor and have to crawl under my bed to fetch it, during which time Noah says, “Is she like this all the time? This is really unprofessional. Crawling under beds. Honestly. I thought we were all serious book lovers here, but—”

I jump up and push him off the bed. “And that’s all we have time for today,” I say with a wide grin while Noah shouts from the floor, “Help! The cushions are attacking me!”

I stop the recording, then toss a few more cushions on top of Noah, laughing the whole time. “I knew there was a reason I kept so many cushions on my bed.”

“Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun.” He pushes all the cushions away and sits up. “Now what? Do you edit the video or something? Cut the embarrassing bits? Because I happen to feel that that video is
perfect
just the way it is.”

“You know what? I think I actually agree with you.” I remove the memory card from the camera and slide it into my laptop. “I do still need to add some stuff to it, though. I’ve got this little intro video with a jingle and my photo and the words ‘Andi’s Book Reviews.’ So that needs to go at the beginning. And there’s also a thing I put at the end of all my videos that has the URLs to my Twitter, Facebook, blog and Etsy store.”

“Cool. Well, you’ll have to change the intro video to say ‘Andi and Noah’s Book Reviews.’”

“Oh will I?”

“Of course.” Noah sits on the edge of my bed. “You know this isn’t going to be a once-off thing, Andi. The fans will love me, and they’ll be demanding more videos featuring me. You may as well make an intro that features both of us.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling, thinking to myself,
Why not?
This was the most fun I’ve had with a book review in a long time, so I’m probably going to ask him to help with another one. May as well make a new intro video now. “Fine. Okay, I need a picture of you.” I raise my phone and snap a picture of him just as he pulls a weird face. “Fantastic. This will do perfectly.”

“Wait, wait.” He stands and looks at the picture over my shoulder. “I think I should pose. Maybe take my shirt off. What’s the point in having all these muscles if I can’t show them off to the world wide web?”

I push him back onto the bed. “You’re on Facebook, aren’t you? You can show your muscles off there. I don’t have space for them in my videos. The only hot guys featured on my channel are the ones on book covers.”

“Well, well, well.” He leans back on his elbows. “Did Andrea Clark just call me hot?”

“Oops. Looks like I just did that thing where my mouth says words without letting my brain process them first. Hang on a sec.” I pause as I look over at him. “Yeah, sorry, now that my brain’s caught up, I can see you’re actually not that hot.”

“Oh well.” He stands up and pulls the old armchair across the room so it’s next to my desk. “I guess Book Cover Model isn’t in my future after all.”

“Guess not,” I say, being careful to keep my real opinion to myself this time. I haven’t seen Noah without a shirt, but I’m guessing he’d make an excellent model for the kinds of books that feature manly, muscular chests on the front.

I spend the rest of the evening making a new intro video—with a lot of unhelpful advice from Noah—and then adding it to the beginning of the book review we filmed. “Cool,” I say when it’s done. “I’ll upload it next Tuesday and send you the link. What’s your email address?” I create a new contact on my phone, filling in Noah’s email address and phone number and adding the picture I took of him earlier.

“Okay, that,” Noah says, “I have to watch.”

I look up from my phone and find him pointing to the thumbnail of one of my videos from last year. In it, I’m wearing an orange feather boa, a witch’s hat, and vampire teeth. Last year’s Halloween book review. “Yeah, um … no you don’t.”

“I do. I definitely need to watch that.” He clicks the video.

“No, wait, it’s not really—”

“Look, I’m gonna watch it anyway, whether now or later on my phone. Your videos aren’t exactly private, Andi.”

I groan and flop onto the bed, waiting for the part where I start dancing around and chanting from the ghostly paranormal book I read for Halloween last year. Noah just about kills himself laughing, and then he watches another one of my videos. And then a few more.

“Okay, that’s
definitely
enough,” I say, standing up and snapping my laptop lid shut after Noah’s been through at least ten of my videos. “I think you need to leave now, or I’ll—Oh, crap.” I squint at my phone. “Noah!”

“What?”

“It’s after midnight.”

“So?”

“So you can’t be in here. You were supposed to leave—” I check my phone again “—fifty minutes ago. Why didn’t we hear the warning beeps through the intercom?”

“Perhaps because we were laughing at you embarrassing yourself on YouTube?”

“Ugh, this is a disaster.” I tug at my hair and pace the floor.

“Why? I’ll just leave now.”

“NO!” I push him back into the chair as he attempts to stand. “You can’t leave now. If someone sees you, I’ll be in trouble.”

“I’ll leave on my own then. No one will know I was here visiting you. I came in during dinner, so it’s not like I had to sign in or anything.”

“You can’t leave on your own, dumbass. I have to swipe you out. The main door will be closed now.”

“Dumbass. Jeez.” Noah pretends to be shocked. “Such language.”

“You are
not
helping. Now you have to stay here all night, and what if there’s a fire drill?”

“Look, when there’s a fire drill at Smuts, there are often more girls who run outside than guys. It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not for Smuts, but it’s a big deal here. What if I have to have a disciplinary hearing or something?”

“Okay, so what’s your plan?”

“Um … you can …” I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this. “You’ll have to stay here. But you must be quiet.”

“Andi.” Noah sits back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “If you wanted me to stay the night, you should have just asked.”