Page 73 of The Fake Out

“So, then I’d move on to putting my arm around you, and telling you to lean in and hold on as tight as you want when we take off because I won’t break. Which you will do, even though you’ll tell me you don’t need any help.”

The plane engines began to rev; my heart rate followed suit. “This is happening. This is really happening. Skip to the third option.”

“It will be over before you know it,” he said in a disgustingly chipper voice as he curled an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him.

The plane began to race down the runway, picking up speed. I turned my face into Chris’s chest and closed my eyes, breathing in laundry detergent and warm, clean skin.

I knew this was ridiculous. I was a grown woman, for Pete’s sake. I had a college degree. I ran the only library in four towns. Sometimes I checked the mail barefoot in the summer in a hundred-degree weather. I was not a weakling.

Chris ran his fingers through my hair and that was kind of nice. He pulled me closer yet. Just then, climbing into his skin seemed like a very good idea. It was then I heard the singing, the words to “Hush, Little Baby” sung close to my ear. It was not good singing. In fact, it was terrible.

I lifted my head and looked up at Chris. “What are you doing?”

“Singing. It’s to soothe you.” He launched into another verse.

Laughing, I shook my head. “Please don’t.”

He halted mid-verse. “Excuse me? This is good stuff. I practiced.”

I laughed harder. “Stop it. You know you sound terrible.”

With a huff, he took his arm from around my shoulders and crossed them over his chest. “My mom thinks I have a nice singing voice.”

“So, your mother is tone-deaf too?” I asked, but I was laughing so hard at this point, I’m not sure the words made sense.

“This is the kind of thanks I get for helping you.”

I swiped at the tears. “Yes, you’re right. Of course. Sorry.”

“Well, good.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the window. “Because we’re already in the air now.”

“We are?” I leaned around him, taking in the fluffy white clouds. “I did it. Oh, my gosh, I did it!”

He tapped me on the nose, his eyes warm. “You sure did.”

THIRTY-ONE

Do you watch Star Wars? ’Cause Yoda one for me.

—JEREMY S.

“I have questions.” I tucked a leg underneath me, turning toward Chris.

He was in the driver’s seat of the SUV he’d rented at Tulsa Airport where we’d left Piper, who was visiting friends in the area, and Doug, who was headed back to New York. From the airport, it was about an hour’s drive to his parents’ house in a little town on Lake Eufaula.

“About?”

I pulled a folded piece of paper from my purse. “I did some research. I’ve never known anyone who had their own Wikipedia page.”

“Oh, great,” he grumbled.

“Ahem.” I smoothed the paper and glanced through my questions. “I read that your favorite movie of all time is Aladdin and that, for three years in a row, you dressed up as Aladdin for Halloween. In middle school. I hope your mom has pictures of that.”

“Don’t worry, she does,” he muttered. “And the only reason I dressed like Aladdin is because my sisters begged me.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself. Here’s another one. It says you took a goat to your senior prom? They’re KID-ding, right? Get it. KID-ding. A baby goat is called a kid.”

He groaned. “Yes, fine. I took a goat to my senior prom.”