The Fine Art of Pretending by Rachel Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

that we can still back out, tell everyone tomorrow that we’ve decided just to be friends, but then she adds, “Besides, the end result will be worth it.”
    Her eyes zone in on Justin a few yards away.
    I shove a sandwich in my mouth.
    The table fills, and as we eat, conversation revolves around graduation and plans for college. We all plan to stay in-state, heading to either UT or A&M. I’m too busy stuffing my face to contribute much, so it takes a while to notice Aly picking at her food. She’s not one of those girls who only eats salads either. She enjoys eating as much as I do, so I know something is up.
    “You okay?” I whisper.
    She looks up and then around the room. Her eyes pause on Lauren sitting in Justin’s lap before swinging back around to me. “I just feel like I’m on display or something. People keep looking over here.”
    I scan the crowd, meeting a few people’s eyes. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
    Aly fiddles with her napkin and shrugs. “Well, yeah, it is. But I don’t know what to do now.”
    “You eat.” To demonstrate, I wrap a thick portion of linguine around my fork. I lift it to her mouth, and, grinning, she opens for me to slide the fork inside. Pink lips close around the plastic, and as I drag it back out, it’s impossible to look away.
    “Funny.” She rolls her eyes as she dabs the corner of her mouth, and I shift back in my chair.
    “Look, forget about them,” I tell her, ignoring the stares around us. We’re definitely giving them a show. “We got their attention. The plan is working. Now, relax.”
    “Easy for you,” she says before releasing a heavy breath. “But I can try.”
    Smiling up at me, she takes her own fork and dives into her food like the girl I know. Her plate has a decent-sized dent in it when the sound of a foodgasm rocks the table. I look over to see Gabi elbow Aly in the side. “Girl, holy crap. These cookies are your best yet.”
    “Wait.” Carlos glances at his plate of crumbs. “You made these?”
    A blush creeps up Aly’s neck. She sucks at taking compliments as much as I suck at lying, but these cookies are seriously good. “It’s my recipe,” she admits. “Mom totally made them, though.”
    He steals a cookie from a disgruntled Gabi and garbles around a mouthful of chocolate. “Hot damn.”
    Stupid pride fills my chest. I had zero to do with Aly’s dessert, but a smug smile tugs my mouth anyway. “I know, right?” I squeeze Aly’s shoulder and say, “My girl’s gonna be a pastry chef.”
    The words just come out. My girl . Everyone, including Aly, looks at me, and I stuff another cookie in my mouth. If I had said that before today, no one would’ve blinked an eye. Aly and I have been friends forever. But now the words sound proprietary. Like I’m really saying she’s mine . And in their eyes, she is.
    After dinner, we agree to meet back for the bonfire in an hour, then head off to clean up. Aly and I hold hands walking out of the building. It’s weird how un weird that is.
    We stop when the path forks between our two cabins, and in my best impersonation of a lovesick idiot, I say, “I’ll see you in an hour, honey .”
    Aly laughs and gives me a playful shove. She heads toward her cabin but, after a few steps, turns to wave with a happy smile that takes up her whole face. In the shadows of the trail, she looks like the Aly I’ve been friends with for years, sans makeover. She continues down the path, her laughter trailing behind her, and I feel the answering smile on my face long after she’s gone.

    ALY
BONFIRE, 8:00 p.m .

    I stand at the edge of the raging bonfire in my pesky heels, balancing on the edge of an old log used for seating. I dart a glance at the crowd, pretending I don’t notice the groups huddled in conversation around me. My heel slips, I lose my footing, and I stumble. I try to sit down and then shoot back up again.
    Where’s Brandon?
    When the gawking happened at dinner, he was there to keep