Juliana Haygert - Playing Pretend

I closed that page and ended up on the images search. A new photo popped up—one from a gossip website. Charlotte arriving at tonight’s ball, her arm linked with that guy I saw her with. The caption read Charlotte McClain and her date, Donnie Williams, son of Senator Williams—voted the future’s most powerful couple.

I punched the table.

She was smiling in that picture, looking straight at the camera.

Why then? She didn’t look as if she liked this life when she was in California with me.

Charlotte

An involuntary pang of jealousy took hold of me each time I saw Liana working on a project for one of her art classes. This time was no different.

I sat in a chair across the kitchen table, playing with the box of pastels while Liana leaned over a large piece of paper, drawing away. My fingers itched to help, to work on an art project of my own.

With great effort¸ I stood and refilled my coffee mug. I inhaled deeply, savoring the strong scent. Since we had become friends, during an art class in middle school in Washington, before I left the public system to go to a fancy prep school, I nicknamed her mother’s kitchen coffeeland—the most perfect place in the world. Coffee was always ready, as was some kind of cookie or cake. The mismatching colorful cushions of the kitchen’s chairs added a happy note, and the tiny bay window let the sun shine through, bringing even more warmth to the place. Most importantly, her mother and her father were always around. Liana’s older sister lived in Texas now, but she had been a big part of this place too.

I certainly felt much better here than in my house’s kitchen, with the industrial stainless steel appliances and stark white cabinets, two cooks, and a server.

“What do you think?” Liana held the paper up, showing the pretty landscape drawing. She had used only black pastel and still the texture and shadows seemed lifelike.

“It’s amazing,” I whispered.

“It really is,” said Joan, Liana’s mother, as she entered the kitchen.

Liana pointed to four silhouettes on the corner of the paper. “It’s the four of us—MaryAnn, Becca, you, and me—in Cali.”

Oh, I saw it now. The rocks surrounding the beach were on the opposite corner. It was perfect. Almost as perfect as being there with Mason.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “It looks awesome.”

“Thanks,” Liana said, smiling.

Liana went back to the drawing’s touch-ups as Joan grabbed a few plates from the cabinets and headed outside, where Liana’s father was preparing the grill for the barbecue.

I glanced at the clock on my cell phone. Five in the afternoon of a Saturday. MaryAnn couldn’t be sleeping at this hour, could she? Well, if MaryAnn and Becca didn’t arrive soon, I would have to leave without seeing them.

“Where do you think MaryAnn and Becca are?” I leaned against the counter and sipped from my coffee.

Liana stood and stared at her drawing. “MaryAnn is flirting with the new guy working at the auto shop one block from here. They are probably there now, pretending there’s something wrong with MaryAnn’s car.”

I laughed. Typical. MaryAnn threw her charms left and right, and she usually had her basket full.

Liana’s eyes found mine. “Speaking of flirting, won’t you tell me more about Mason? I still can’t believe he was at the ball.”

I groaned. “Me neither.”

“Come on. Tell me more!”

“What’s there to tell?” I set my mug down and crossed my arms, irritated for feeling nervous just thinking of Mason. Five days had passed, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about him. “He was there. Just like that.”

Liana sighed. “It sounds like a fairy tale.”

“What?”

“Think about it. He’s here, in Washington! It can’t be coincidence.”

Yeah, that was one of the things that crossed my mind. It couldn’t be coincidence. Mason must have found out who I was and had come to torment me. “It has to be,” I whispered. The last thing I wanted was to find out he was a psycho, or a serial killer.

“What if it isn’t?” Liana said. “He was pretty great during spring break and he did tell you he was happy to see you again.”

Why had I told Liana that? “Well, you know it’s not that simple.”

“I know, but nothing in life is simple.”

I rolled my eyes, tired of the subject. I glanced at the clock—5:30 p.m.—and pushed away from the counter. “I can’t wait any longer.” I picked my bag from the floor. “Can I go to your room?”

Liana gave me an are-you-crazy look. “As if you needed to ask.”

With a smile, I made my way into the house, trying to clear my mind of anything that could remind me of Mason.

At Liana’s bedroom, I closed the door, settled my bag over my friend’s bed, and opened the zipper. I took a backless burgundy dress I had chosen because the material didn’t wrinkle, and my black pumps out of the bag. Feeling as if I was peeling off my true skin, I slipped from the jean skirt, the tank top, and my sandals, and put on the clothes my mother would approve.

I brushed my hair aside, leaving my back naked, and sat down in front of the vanity to apply more makeup when Joan entered.

“I wish you could stay for dinner with us for once,” Joan said.

I met her eyes through the mirror. “I wish I could to.”

Joan stood behind me and squeezed my shoulders. “Liana told me you aren’t feeling too good about the way you lead your life anymore. She said you’re complaining about having to hide more than a couple of months ago. Is there something bothering you? Did something change?”

I sighed. “I … I guess going on spring break with the girls spoiled me. But it’s stupid, isn’t it? Deep down I always envied people with normal lives, but spring break isn’t it either.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t only the trip. Perhaps it was the fact that your mother wasn’t there to tell you what to do, what to wear, what to say?” She shook her head. “Sorry. It isn’t my place to question these things.”

“No, it’s okay. I think you’re on to something.”

She smiled. “You know I like you the way you are when you’re with us, when you’re with the girls, but as a mother, I have to say it. Be honest with your mother. If you have changed, tell her how you really feel about your life now. She deserves to know.”

“I wish it was that easy.” I gazed down at the makeup kit in front of me. “Even if I told her about my real friends and my drawings and about roller skating, nothing would change. It would be worse, because then she would monitor me every second and I wouldn’t be able to sneak out, like now, and see my real friends. I would only have time for the friends she wants me to hang out with.”

Joan sighed. “I know. It’s just … I can’t imagine if Liana had a secret life from me.”

That was what set her apart from my mother. Joan cared. Peyton didn’t.

“Liana is blessed.”

“No, I am.” Joan leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I have two real daughters, and three adoptive ones.”

Joan patted my shoulder and exited the bedroom, leaving me alone with my unshed tears. A strong feeling of shame and sadness assaulted my chest, but I refused to give in. All my life, I was able to lock away my feelings and I would do it again.

I wiped away the tears and finished with the makeup.

Liana walked with me to the driveway, just as MaryAnn parked her car beside mine, with Becca in the passenger seat.

“You’re going?” MaryAnn asked as she slid out of her car. “Already?”

“You should have been here at least half an hour ago,” I said, trying not to be mad at her.

Becca walked around the car. “You have a party? I forgot.”

“Sorry,” MaryAnn said. “I didn’t realized your schedule was tight.”

I smiled, but it was a sarcastic smile. “When isn’t my schedule tight?”

MaryAnn averted her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I gotta go. You girls have fun.”

Becca hugged me. “It would be more fun if you could stay.”

MaryAnn stepped in beside me. “Are you sure you can’t be a little late?”

I laughed. “Only if I want to have my head decapitated.”

“Ugh, that mother of yours. We should get together and riot,” MaryAnn said.

“I would be up for that,” Liana said. I shot her a don’t-give-MaryAnn-any-ideas look. “What? It would be fun to defeat the evil queen.”

I flinched. Damn, I hated that nickname.

MaryAnn giggled. “Oh, it would.”

Becca stepped in, always knowing when to save the day or change subjects. “Well, take care.”

“Try and have some fun,” Liana said as I slipped into my car.

Waving, I backed out my car and drove away. I stepped on the gas, and turned the volume of the stereo loud and sang along, hoping my frustration would evaporate.

Thirty minutes later, I was on the other side of Washington, driving past the gates of Tracy Graham’s house. My mother loved Tracy, a rich girl, the daughter of a successful CEO of a large multinational, whose money always ended up in Peyton’s campaign fund.

I stopped the car before the steps leading to the front door. A valet opened my door and guided me to the host, before turning to my car and taking it away.

“Good evening, Miss McClain,” the host said, opening the front door for me. “Miss Graham is in the backyard with her guests.”

He led me through the foyer and then down a long corridor that opened to a solarium, and through French doors to a white porch.

Tracy, two other girls, and five guys were seated around a round fireplace, all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, crystal flutes in their hands, and smiles on their faces. Too picture perfect.