pseudo

II

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"That was fucked up," Andy says as the credits begin to roll.

"Well, it's called The Dead End for a reason," I say as I get up.

"It was good, but damn," he says shaking his head.

We begin to walk out of the screening room when he asks, "So what's your deal with Jake?"

"Ex-boyfriend.  The breakup didn't go so well."

"Ah," Andy nods, "I guess the subject is a little sensitive."

"Very."

"So you're not over him?"

"The breakup is recent, to be fair."

"But it seems like he's doing fine."

"He broke up with me!  Of course he's fine!" I exclaim.

Andy puts his hands up in defense.  "Sorry, Emery.  I'm trying to figure it out is all."

I stop in the middle of the theater; feeling complete frustration with the topic of Jake.

I don't blame him for anything that happened. He didn't know. He acted in emotions rather than logic.

I let out a deep sigh. 

Looking down at my worn, gray shoes on the green carpet, I say quietly, "I'd appreciate it if you left it alone. It's not something I wanna talk about."

Andy is quiet for a while.  When I finally look up, he's eyeing me.  His face is in complete concentration; tongue sticking out, and his dark brows are furrowed. 

His hazel gaze and the lack of conversation make me feel awkward.  My eyes drop again, but this time I notice he is playing with a silver band on his right ring finger.

My head jerks up when he finally says something.

"I have a plan."

"Well, tell me because I have to pick up my sister from a birthday party across the street," I say.

"I'm going to pretend to be your boyfriend."

I'm in complete shock.  Words escape me in the moment, and when I find them, I manage out a weak, "What?"

"You know.  I wanna help you.  You're miserable, and he seems fine.  Let's make him jealous," Andy says.

"What?" I repeat, but stronger this time.

"I'll be your fake boyfriend."

"Honestly, I don't think you playing fake boyfriend is necessary.  I've got it, Andy," I say as we walk out of the theater.

"That's not what it seems like to me," he says.

"Look, it's fine," I say as he stops by a cherry motorcycle.  "It's nice that you want to help or whatever, but I got it."

"If you say so, Emery.  But if you need my help," he pauses as he pulls out the movie tickets from his flannel pocket.

"Do you have a pen or pencil?" he asks.

"Probably in my truck," I mumble as I walk towards the old blue vehicle.

"Didn't peg you as a truck girl," Andy says as he crosses his arms and leans against Felix.

"Well, Felix was my dad's.  Exactly ten years before I was born, Dad bought this Hilux.  He thought it was a miracle or whatever when I was born on its tenth birthday.  Gave him to me when I got my licenses," I say as I rummage through my glove compartment.

"And your dad named the Hilux Felix?" Andy questions.

"No. When I was five, I named the truck Felix," I say.

"Oh how creative," he says sarcastically.

"Shut up," I say, and I chuck a pen at him.  "I was five."

"Okay, okay," he chuckles as he picks up the pen.  "I'll cut you some slack."

I smile and Andy shakes his head.

He uses Felix as a surface to write on.  As he scribbles his number onto the back of our tickets, I take the time to examine him.

His outfit is causal.  He rolled up the sleeves of his unbuttoned black and mossy green flannel which exposes a plain white t-shirt.  He paired that with dark skinny jeans and black sneakers.  His ensemble seems to go along with his personality; laid back and easygoing.

"If you change your mind about me being your fake boyfriend," he says, handing the pen and tickets to me.  "Or if you just need someone."

I look at the number and then up at him.

He looks so genuine.  His smile isn't just shown by his crooked pearls, but it reaches his bright eyes.

"Yeah," I whisper.  "I will."

"See you later?" he asks.

I nod; a lost for words once again.

"Cool," he smiles brighter.  "Bye, Emery."

I give a small wave as he walks back to the cherry motorcycle.  I watch as he hops on it.

He puts on dark sunglasses.  Then looks my way to give me one last wave as he rides away.

I smile and say to myself, "Didn't peg him as a motorcycle guy."

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