The Perfect Pretend

Chapter 3:// Nick

Chapter 3:// Nick

 

 

Who would’ve thought that the girl has a large house? Actually, it wasn’t the point here. The real question is who would’ve thought that I was now living with Addison Dawson? When I told her that I knew her background, of course I was lying. I just know her name and her school status, that’s all. At least now, I’ve got the chance to know her well, because for goodness’ sake, we’re going to live together. Isn’t that nice?

She was the first one to get out of bed. No, silly, we didn’t sleep together. It’s just that, when I went downstairs, she was already dressed. Everything seemed fine, except for there’s not even a single spoon on the dining table.

“Where’s the breakfast?” I asked her while I look straight on her face. Thank God, she looks really decent this morning. She looked like she got sexually harassed last night—or maybe she looks like she was the one who’s going to harass someone. She looked creepy (but cute, I guess).

Her current expression appears like a psychotic woman who was trying to piss a five-year-old kid. “Breakfast? That word is not even included in the modern Dawson dictionary.  Don’t tell me you haven’t checked that out yet? Girl, you should go to the nearest bookstore in this town. That dictionary is updated; you’d probably turn into a smartass gay. When you got out of this house, walk straight, turn left, and when you reach the Elm Street sign, turn right. The bookstore is there,”

I gaped at her, shocked. Her family used to be that rich and smart to publish a dictionary? But I wonder how this family fell. Why is she living alone in this almost emptied house? But nevertheless, I think she’s kind of awesome, except for the ‘she-called-me-gay’ part. Blame that stupid part of me for thinking that lame excuse. “Wow,” I said almost out of breath. “I am amazed. But please stop calling me gay.”

“’Ya actually believed that?” she asked me, ignoring my previous remark about her addressing me as gay. Her expression now seems to be constipated— more like poop is stuck inside her large intestines. “Of course I made that up. If you’re going to ask me if I took a bath—“she said non-stop, so I cut her off.

“Wait, you didn’t take a shower?”

“Wait, you didn’t learn how to let a person finish what they’re saying? I repeat, if you’re going to ask me if I took a bath, the answer is yes, you gay cooties. But let me remind you, it was just a plain bath. When I said plain, what I mean is really plain; no soap, no shampoo. Just plain water; nothing more and nothing less. Mama told when I was young that simplicity is beauty. I took a simple bath. Therefore, I am pretty. No objections or I’ll cut off your unbalanced balls.” She talked like a freaking horse is running after her.

“You gross me out,” I said. I wasn’t lying when I said that. But maybe I was. Or just 50 percent.

She shrugged. “At least the water company hasn’t cut off the water yet. I haven’t paid for months.”

I sighed and took the wallet from my jean pocket. I took out one of the cards that mom lent me. “Use this card. Down payment for renting your house, I guess? Use that for grocery shopping. I’ll talk to the school head about your bills later. Including your other bills, and I am serious about this. I’m going to have a ‘plain’ shower now, I think. Are you going to head off to school?”