I boast.
“You talk about her so… sweetly.” She gazes around the room briefly. “Where is she, by the way?” Her arms cross against her chest as she becomes sweeter.
“I’m waiting to find that out, myself.” I quietly admit.
“Well, you know if you get lonely,” her arm reaches for my bicep.
“I’m not—” I start to retrieve myself, but Nick weasels his way in, barging through some people around us.
“Darcy, I wanna talk to you.” he grabs her hand.
Her grasp drops from my arm, pushing him away. She double takes a look at me, sincere, I think, then storms off.
Nick squints in my direction, following her like a lost puppy, leaving me standing there alone again.
The two of them in one sitting like that was enough to make me want to refill my glass one last time with champagne before it was my turn to play poker face in front of the crowd, the same way my dad does every time he has to be on the news.
It’s cringe and odd and feels like a Saturday Night Live skit in all the wrong ways. That’s whatthiswas going to feel like. A really, inexcusably bad skit that keeps going on longer every 251
FAKING FOREVER
time you think it’s over.
Approaching the champagne fountain that John had frivolously invested in, I slip my glass underneath the flowing golden stream, filling it up. Thereafter, it went straight to my lips. Shooting it back, I repeat that action once more, only filling it halfway the second time as Tate marches in my direction, smiling bigger than ever.
“Hey,” he waves, pointing to my glass, “Nervous?” he says, sounding ironically nervous himself.
Half smiling, I lie, “Sure. A little bit.”
He nods, acting cool as a response. Biting my bottom lip, I think of my words briefly before speaking.
“So. Did your sister say she wasn’t coming?”
“I thought she was here already, hiding somewhere like she always does. She’s probably on the way if she isn’t here by now.”
“Onthe way? Alone? Why didn’t you all come together?”
“She insisted she came later.”
He shrugs nonchalantly as if it’s the last on his list of things to be worried about.
“Has she texted you?” I ask for more information, even moving closer to his bubble, hoping it will help.
He repeats the shrug, this time bouncing his shoulders harder, “Dude, she barely likes me enough to speak in person.
I think she hates me for telling our dad about you guys.”
“She doesn’thateyou, Tate. Women go about things differently, is all.” I respond.
Looking at the floor, I suck on the inside of my cheeks, processing the thought. The only other people to have an answer would be her parents. That’s a mission in itself to find them in a room full of more than three hundred people. I’m 252
SOLID AS A ROCK
having trouble understanding why they would leave without her in the first place.
As my mind runs on, the lights begin to flicker, sending the crowd into an uproar. With a few more flickers, we all jump, scared by the sound of the weather siren, which is much louder from inside the building than I had initially remembered it being. My free hand slams against one ear, searching for a sense of relief but getting none.
“At this time, we will be moving all people into the weatherroom of the Firehall! This is not a drill—I repeat! Please followsuit to the weather room at this time!”
