"I can't believe Jake is afraid of mice," I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
"Oh, believe it, darling," Grandma C replied. "Once, Mr. Biggles, may he rest in peace, caught a mouse and put it right outside Jake's bedroom. Do you know what he did when he saw it?"
Jake's eyes widened with panic. "No, no, Grandma, please—"
"He peed his pants!" Grandma C said, and I broke into a guffaw.
"I was three years old!" Jake argued, but I still couldn't stop laughing. Burying his face in his hands, he groaned, "Oh, God, this is a nightmare."
Throughout the dinner, Grandma C told me many interesting—and mostly embarrassing—stories about Jake. By now, I was 99% sure she saw right through Jake's lies, and this was her way of punishing him.
I had no idea why Jake had even thought he could fool the kind woman in the first place, but boy, was I glad he'd asked me to be his fake girlfriend.
Tonight was one of the most pleasant nights I'd had in a long time. Grandma C really was the world's sweetest grandma, and by the time the dinner was over, I found myself wishing I'd been her granddaughter.
"The two of you take care of each other, alright? I'll visit again soon." Grandma C stopped by the door and glanced at my stomach. "And I'll bring something for the baby as well."
Shoot. I almost forgot about that.
A ball of anxiety rolled around in the pit of my stomach, and a nervous laugh slipped from between my teeth. "Can't wait."
Jake and I plastered a grin on our faces as we waved Grandma C goodbye. Once the door was shut and we were the only people in the room, I shot Jake a death glare. "What the heck was that?"
His eyes widened for a moment. Avoiding my gaze, he spun around and scurried toward the kitchen. "If you're talking about that sperm story, then I swear I didn't know she would bring that up."
"Oh, you know that's not what I'm talking about," I argued, chasing after him. "I'm talking about your freaking imaginary baby!"
He let out a nervous laugh. "It works, doesn't it? She's going back to Boston tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, what are you going to do when she flies here seven months from now and finds me with a perfectly flat stomach, huh?"
"Relax. I'll tell her you lost the baby."
I gasped in horror, annoyance swirling in my stomach. "You're going to blame me for the death of our imaginary baby?"
He pushed his lower lip forward and shrugged. "We can always try to have a baby for real."
My mouth fell open so wide I heard my jaw crack. He didn't just suggest we have a freaking baby—a living breathing human being—just to fool his grandma, did he?
"That's a joke," he stuttered, blinking rapidly. "It's a joke, okay? It's a joke."
I released the breath I'd been holding. "It's not funny."
"I know, I know." He scratched the back of his head, an awkward apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry."
I put my fists on my hips and huffed. "What the heck were you thinking?"
"Well, I . . . I just . . . I . . ." He ruffled his hair in frustration and plopped into one of the chairs at the dining table. "You heard my grandma. When I was about to start chemo, the doctors told us I might not be able to have kids. Something about bad sperm or whatever. So when Grandma mistook you for being pregnant, I thought . . ." He heaved a sigh. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to prove to her that I'm perfectly healthy now and she doesn't have to worry about me anymore."
A wave of sympathy swept over me. Jake's reason might be bizarre, but I understood it. Even though Grandma C meant well, she had been trying to keep Jake in a bubble his whole life, restricting his every move. It must've been frustrating for him to be treated like a sick child when he was a perfectly healthy adult.
I lowered myself into the chair beside him. "She knows, you know? That we were lying."
He drew a sharp breath and whipped his gaze to me, his eyes widening in denial. "No."
"Why do you think she told me all those embarrassing stories about you, huh? She's smarter than you give her credit for, Goldilocks. Besides, she's your grandma. She's the one who raised you. I'm pretty sure she knows when you're lying."
"Oh, crab." He dropped his head into his hands.
I felt the strangest urge to give him a hug to comfort him, but the sane part of me stopped me from doing so. "Why are you so adamant about living in LA anyway? I mean, you can open a cat café in Boston."
As the words left my mouth, an odd feeling squeezed my chest. I couldn't tell what it was, but it suffocated me. Huh? What is wrong with me?
"I have my reasons," he replied, not meeting my gaze.
I gulped against the uncomfortable tightness in my throat. "Well, whatever your reasons are, you should tell your grandma the truth. I'm sure she'll understand why you want to stay here."
Jake slumped in his chair as if the weight of the world had been on his shoulders, and something stirred in me. I wanted to cheer him up or offer a solution to his problems like he'd done for me so many times, but I couldn't find the right words to say.
Silence stretched between us for what felt like hours. Uncomfortable silence that made it hard to breathe.
I was about to excuse myself when I remembered something I'd been meaning to ask him. "Hey, is it true what your grandma said? About you flying to LA to visit me after the accident?"
"You would've done the same."
A flutter of warmth swept through me, and a smile tipped my lips. "So . . . did you come to LA this time to search for me too?" I gasped as a thought popped into my head. "Did you stalk me? Or hire a PI to search for me? Is that why we end up living next to each other?"
"For your information, I've been living here for almost a year now. So if anyone's stalking anyone, it would most likely be the other way around."
"It was a total coincidence, okay? I didn't stalk you. I swear."
"Yeah, right."
His mouth curved into a soft smile, and the tension in his face relaxed. Seeing him smile sent a strange wave of contentment through me. It was strong enough to compel me to help him wash the dishes before calling it a night.
"Why don't you drink wine, anyway?" He glanced at the rinsed glasses on the drying rack as he walked me to the door.
"Are you kidding? My mom was an alcoholic who accidentally burned our house down because she was too drunk to remember to turn off the stove."
"Right. Sorry." He tucked his lips into an apologetic smile. "Thanks for tonight, Shrimp. For what it's worth, you're the best fake girlfriend I've ever had."
The simple compliment somehow made me want to grin like a clown, but I suppressed it. "Aww. I'm flattered. Thanks for the dinner. It was—" I stopped by the front door and made a chef's kiss gesture, earning a hearty laugh from him. "Good night."
"Goodbye. Don't come back," he joked, repeating what I'd said to him a few weeks ago.
"I definitely will!" I winked at him before I spun around and bounced into my apartment. I had no idea why, but I couldn't stop smiling.
Maybe I'd gone insane. But I didn't care.
I closed the door behind me and started singing the silly song I'd written for him eons ago. "You're like my sweet milk to my cookies. You're like my cheese to my macaroni. No matter where you are—"
The buzzing of my phone interrupted me. There were three new messages from Paris.
LINDS.
R U AWAKE?
HAVE U SEEN CHARITY & HARRIET'S NEW VIDEO?
An alarm blared in my head.
No, why?
Paris didn't answer right away.
Well . . .
You should.
She sent me a link to a TweetyTube video. Curiosity prompted me to click on it.
TweetyFox (ft. Eleanor Clarke)
A sense of foreboding shivered down my spine as I read the video's title. I had no idea what a TweetyFox was, but it couldn't have been good.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed play.
"Hey, Hollywood Lovers." Charity waved at the camera, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. "Today we're going to talk about an alarming phenomenon on TweetyGram. It's so much worse than TweetyWolves."
Harriet, who stood next to Charity, faked a gasp. "There's something worse than TweetyWolves?"
"Yep. Today we're going to talk about . . ." A drum roll sounded as the camera zoomed in on Charity, who narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together. "TweetyFox."
The video's title popped up above Charity's head as ominous music played in the background.
My stomach twisted into knots, and I started biting my nails.
"What's a TweetyFox, Cher?" Harriet asked, acting dumb.
"A TweetyFox is someone who lies on TweetyGram to make their life seem a million times better than it really is to provoke envy in others," Charity explained.
"Hmm . . ." Harriet tilted her head to the side and rubbed her chin, feigning confusion. It baffled me why Harriet would agree to play dumb to make Charity appear smart. But I supposed Charity would've kicked her to the curb if she wouldn't.
"Let me give you an example. There's this girl I've known ever since I was, like, six. Let's call her . . ." Malice shone in Charity's eyes, and her plump lips tipped into a wicked smirk. "Ginger."
My eyes almost popped out of my head. No, she didn't.
"Her TweetyGram posts include supposedly makeup-free selfies, junk food photos, gym photos, and photos of her with her . . ." She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "Bae."
The alarm in my head exploded.
"What do you mean supposedly make-up-free selfies?" Harriet asked.
"See," Charity replied, "I met her the other day, and I'm telling you, she looked nothing like her selfies."
I drew my head back and frowned. What does she mean I look nothing like my selfies?
"Wait a second. You're saying her photos are . . ." Harriet swallowed as if she was about to say something taboo. "TweetyTuned?"
Charity snapped her head toward the camera and arched an eyebrow. "To the max."
My jaw dropped at the accusation. I didn't edit my photos at all, you idiot. I suck at TweetyTune!
"And she always brags about getting her TweetyGrammable body by regularly working out at the gym," Charity continued, "but guess what?"
"What?" Harriet cocked her head.
Charity's eyes sparkled with gossip. "I caught her getting out of a famous plastic surgery clinic. Apparently, she just had body sculpting procedures."
Harriet gasped, and so did I. "No way."
"Yes, way. If you think carefully about it, it's obvious. Like, there's no way someone can eat that much junk food and stay skinny."
I clenched my fist and bit my lower lip. I supposed I could take Charity's insult as a compliment. She wouldn't have accused me of going under the knife had she not envied my figure. Still, rage boiled in my blood.
"Ugh." Harriet curled her lip in disgust. "This Ginger sounds like a terrible person."
"Tell me about it. I mean, she even lied about having a bae."
Great. They know. The pounding in my head intensified, and I rubbed my aching forehead.
"What do you mean she lied about having a bae?" Harriet asked.
"Well, she always posts about her supposed date with her bae," Charity answered, "and the last time I talked to her, she kept bragging about how awesome he was."
I rolled my eyes. Oh, please. I never posted anything about Jake, and I didn't brag about him either. If anyone was bragging about having a super-perfect, super-awesome boyfriend, it's you, you evil witch!
"But when I asked her to introduce me to him, she kept making some crazy excuses." Charity let out a scornful breath and tossed her long hair back. "Like, it's obvious she doesn't have a bae. She just pretends like she has one."
Charity—or rather, Harriet, considering it was obvious she had been the one who had written the script—got it right this time. Nevertheless, it didn't stop rage from heating my face and spreading to my fingertips.
"But, Cher," Harriet continued, "what do you mean by supposed date with her bae?"
Charity smirked. "Let me show you."
The video cut to a fancy restaurant. Eleanor Clarke sat alone at a table for two, her chin propped on the back of her hand. Her bold-red lip curled as she scrolled through pictures of happy couples on TweetyGram.
A sense of deja vu hit me as I watched her slam her skinny thumb on the like button. The red-haired woman snatched the glasses of red wine in front of her and gulped it down before slamming it on the table. Her grip tightened around her phone, her chest heaved up and down, and her nostrils flared. Smoke billowed out of her nose and ears, and her face flushed.
She looked as if she was going to transform into a 6-foot-7 supervillain with crimson skin and bulging muscles.
Just as she was about to explode, a waiter placed two plates of lobster risotto on the table, one in front of Eleanor and the other in front of the empty chair.
Eleanor's expression turned eerily calm, the kind that raised the hair on my nape.
Then, she smirked.
A wicked, fox-like smirk.
She snapped a picture of the food with her phone and posted it on TweetyGram.
You. Me. A table for two.
#DateNight
A like counter appeared at the bottom of the video, followed by a flood of comments. As more and more people expressed their jealousy toward Eleanor's imaginary relationship, she broke into diabolical, mad-scientist, almost-comical laughter.
The short scene reminded me of what Medusa Lindsey had told me to do a few weeks ago. If my conscience hadn't stopped me, I would've been that lying, shameless, like-obsessed maniac Eleanor portrayed. As much as I hated to admit it, Charity and Harriet were right. I was a TweetyFox.
Well, almost. But still.
As shame rushed up my neck, the video cut back to Harriet and Charity at the studio.
"That is so awful." Harriet set her mouth in a disapproving line and shook her head.
"Tell me 'bout it." Charity nodded. "So, PSA, for everyone who's watching this, you shouldn't believe everything you see on social media."
"People like Cher and I are completely honest about our lives," Harriet added. "But others aren't as respectable as us."
Completely honest? I let out a derisive laugh. Said the woman who lied about her own mom.
"Anyway," Charity said, donning a cheerful smile, "tomorrow is my birthday, and you're all invited! Don't forget to tune in to our TweetyTube channel at seven p.m. PST because we're going to stream the whole event live. I want everyone to be a part of my twenty-first birthday."
I rolled my eyes. Twenty-first, my butt.
Having repeated kindergarten, Charity was a year older than me. The fact that she'd blatantly lied to her viewers while preaching about honesty on social media caused my stomach to churn with disgust.
"Oh, and Ginger?" Charity said.
I furrowed my brow. Am I hallucinating?
"If you want to prove me wrong, bring your bae with you to my birthday party." Something wicked flickered in her eyes as she smirked. It was almost as if she was challenging me. "See ya, loser."
Oh, that's it! My body trembled with rage. I clenched my hand around my phone and bit my lower lip so hard I could taste blood.
I tried to stop myself from doing something stupid, but it was too little too late. Medusa Lindsey had destroyed the boulder that trapped her, flown out of her cave, and taken control of my body. The next thing I knew, I was reading the messages Charity had sent me a few days ago.
Hey, Ginger!
I'm having a birthday party this Saturday.
The messages came with a picture of the invitation. It featured a glamorous, close-up shot of her as well as the date and time of the party, the dress code, and the address of the TweetyMansion.
I'd LOVE to see you and your bae there.
It's gonna be so much fun! I promise!
See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!
As I read the messages, it became clear to me that I hadn't been hallucinating. Charity was challenging me. It wasn't enough for her to run a smear campaign against me online. She wanted—no, she had to humiliate me in public.
Well, I wasn't going to let her have the last laugh.
The snakes on Medusa Lindsey's head came to life, and determination burned through me like an unstoppable wildfire. I stomped toward Jake's apartment and banged on the door.
"Just a second!" Jake rushed to open the door. "Hey!" The smile on his face fell when he saw me. "Did I . . . do something—"
I gripped his shoulders, lips pursed in determination, causing him to flinch. He flicked his gaze to my hands, then slowly raised it back to meet mine. As a mixture of fear and confusion twisted his features, I dropped the bomb.
"I need you to be my fake boyfriend."
Author's Note:
So, any thoughts about Charity and Harriet's video?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to vote and/or leave comments! Thanks for reading!