Faking Faith

  For Alyssa and Emily, the best stepsisters

  Woodbury, Minnesota

  Copyright Information

  Faking Faith © 2011 by Josie Bloss.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Flux, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover models used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject.

  First e-book edition ©2011

  E-book ISBN: 9780738732664

  Book Design by Bob Gaul

  Cover design by Ellen Lawson

  Cover image © iStockphoto.com/Famke Backx Back cover image © Photo Disc

  Flux is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

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  Woodbury, MN 55125

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  Gratitude and appreciation for my wonderful agent, Kate Schafer Testerman, and to everyone at Flux who helped Faking Faith become a reality. It’s been a pleasure and a privilege to work with all of you.

  Special thanks go to the kind people who read early drafts of my weird Internet-obsession book, including Kelly Johnson, Emily Goodson, Kathleen Walker, Gayle Gingrich, and Mark Kaley.

  And I give endless thanks, as always, to my amazing extended family. Your encouragement and support has meant so much.

  ONE

  School was the same sort of hell every day.

  I went to homeroom and everyone ignored me. I went through my morning classes, everyone ignored me. I ate my lunch alone in a library study carrel (secretly, so the librarian wouldn’t yell at me about getting crumbs in the keyboard), and tried to do homework. Afternoon classes, more of the same. Ignored.

  And then home. Where I was also mostly ignored. In some grim way, I sort of appreciated the consistency.

  People still hissed “psycho slut” or “crazy bitch” at me in the hallways, of course. It happened less often as the months wore on, but still enough to make me feel a little insane and perpetually paranoid as I walked past groups of people on my solitary way to class. But really, most of my day was ghostly and quiet.

  It used to be different. I used to be busy—with dance classes and piano lessons and other activities typical of an over-scheduled, high-achieving suburban Chicago high school student.

  And I used to have a couple of kickass best friends—Kelsey and Amanda. The kind of friends who would stay on the phone with me until midnight, endlessly analyzing the nuances of a conversation with some crush. Who would lend me shirts and borrow my shoes and offer blunt opinions on my hair. Who had known all my secrets since fourth grade. Who would walk with me, arms linked, through the school halls between classes.

  Kelsey and Amanda and I had been a solid mass, an indivisible force to be reckoned with. Even if we weren’t part of the most popular crowd, we could hold our own in the high school hierarchy. If you messed with one of us, you messed with all of us. I didn’t even know how great I had it.

  Because now I was alone at the bottom, and my old friends ignored me like everyone else. Except for when I was being taunted, I might as well not have existed. For anyone, anywhere.

  The thing is, I deserved it. Even though I still couldn’t admit it out loud, I knew for certain that I deserved everything that came to me. I had been so stupid.

  . . .

  Blake Compton hit on me at a party last September.

  At first, I’d been sure it was a joke.

  Blake was one of those unattainable hot guys who seem to glide through the world like they run the place, oozing privilege and self-satisfaction out of every pore. He was the guy who nearly every girl lusted after, even the girls who rolled their eyes and claimed his player reputation made him ugly. He knew just how to work his charm and make anyone crumble to his will with one raised dark eyebrow or half a lazy smile. Blake could make people powerless.

  As a girl with a serious appreciation for the male form, I’d adored Blake Compton from afar since freshman year. I’d typed a series of humiliating entries in my journal about the exact glossy brown shade of his perfectly messy hair and the precise gold of his perpetually tanned skin. I’d even written a terrible poem about the shape of his lips and that little quirk in the corner of his mouth that made me feel shivery in the knees whenever I caught sight of him in the hallways.

  But I didn’t have any illusions that I’d ever have a chance with him or anything.

  I thought I was probably everyday-pretty and smart enough to get by okay in the world, but boys like Blake are attracted to the sparkliest girls. The gorgeous girls who also glide through the world like they own the place. And I was wholly resigned to the fact that I’d always be admiring the Blake Comptons of the universe from across the room where I belonged.

  It was just the order of things.

  But then suddenly there he was, in the flesh, standing right next to me at Caitlin Merriweather’s back-to-school party. Quirking his mouth. At me. And everything changed.

  “Dylan, right?” he said.

  I nodded dumbly, resisting the urge to glance around to see if this was a prank. Blake Compton knew who I was?

  “Hey, you know, I always thought that was a cool name. Can I get you another drink or three?” was all he had to say, with that lazy, heart-stopping smile.

  By the end of the night I was drunker than I’d ever been in my life, and had been easily persuaded to accompany Blake to one of the bedrooms upstairs to “spend some time alone.” Kelsey and Amanda texted me a half million times from downstairs, but I ignored my vibrating phone. This was bliss, heaven. A cute boy, the cute boy, with his tongue in my ear.

  Okay, so he really wasn’t the best kisser in the whole world, and he was a lot more handsy than I was totally comfortable with, but he was Blake Compton. He smelled like expensive spicy cologne and confidence.

  As he kissed me, I felt like I drifted out of my body and hovered somewhere up near the ceiling, watching the two of us on the bed below. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me.

  Guys in general had always made me kind of nervous and marble-mouthed, and I felt like a jackass every time I tried to flirt. At that point, I’d only kissed two boys at parties, mostly just to get the experience out of the way. Meanwhile, Amanda and Kelsey, who seemed to have some secret knowledge that I’d missed out on, had already racked up five boyfriends between them. They were just barely virgins anymore, and both knew far more then I did about the male species.

  S
o I guess I expected them to be happy for me as we started to hike the mile back to my house for the planned post-party sleepover. Or at least good-naturedly teasing about Blake choosing me out of the masses.

  “He said that we should hang out,” I said, still tipsy on my heels and giddy with my good luck. “Like a date … a real date! I mean, I know he has a reputation for being a player, but he said he really likes me and he sounded so … real.”

  Some small part of me realized I was being an idiot. My friends obviously felt this too, and they both gave me dubious looks that I chose to ignore.

  I continued babbling. “And you guys were totally right about this shirt! He said I looked really hot in it.”

  I glanced down to admire the gauzy piece of form-fitting fabric that Amanda had lent to me earlier in the night. It was the first time in my life I’d ever felt cuter than my friends, who I’d always secretly thought were much more stylish and magazine-pretty than me.

  Not that they made me feel that way on purpose. It was just the way things were.

  “Dude, Dylan,” said Kelsey, who was short, feisty, and prided herself on never sugarcoating a damn thing. “Everyone knows Blake’s an ass. He goes through girls like toilet paper. He’s just going to use you.”

  “What?” I said. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, for serious, we’re not just saying that,” said Amanda, in a surprisingly firm tone considering she was one of those sweet-voiced girls who seems to talk solely in question marks. She was compulsively wrapping her long brown hair around her index finger like she always did when she was upset. “Blake is totally bad news. You know that, right?”

  I stopped walking and blinked at them in disbelief.

  “What, you don’t think someone like him would want to be with me?” I said, my hands on my hips. “I’m not good enough or something? Is that it? Jealous much?”

  In hindsight, I’d come to realize this was not my best moment. In fact, it was possibly the dictionary definition of my worst moment ever. The moment I’d later turn over and over in my mind while cringing and wishing like hell for a time machine so I could go back and slap myself.

  Kelsey and Amanda gaped at me, and then Kelsey stormed back toward the party with a muttered “dumbass.”

  “No one said that you weren’t good enough! Look, Dylan, we just want you to be careful because we love you,” Amanda said, glancing after Kelsey with a frown. “I mean, you’ve never hooked up with a guy like him before, and—”

  “And what?” I spat back. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  Amanda looked down at the ground and shrugged. It was plain unavoidable fact that I was the least experienced of the three of us, which was something that I’d readily admit to on a normal day.

  But on that night, I was drunk and defensive and didn’t see why anyone had to throw my innocence in my face. Just because the hottest guy in the school happened to decide that he liked me instead of one of them? Just because neither of them were currently hooking up with anyone? Just because I was the one getting some attention, like that was the craziest thing that could ever happen?

  “When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it!” I said, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, irrational anger building in my throat at the sight of Amanda’s stricken face.

  “Dylan—”

  “I’m sick of being your tag-along ugly friend! You just keep me around to feel better about yourselves,” I burst out, then turned my back on Amanda’s shocked expression. “Just go. Go back to the party and leave me alone. You guys suck.”

  Even as I said it, I knew I was wrong. And I hated myself.

  “But Dylan … ” I heard Amanda say tearfully as I stalked away toward my house.

  “Just let her go,” snapped Kelsey from down the street, where she’d been watching us. “She’s out of her mind.”

  And that was the last time I talked to either of them. I was That Girl who let a stupid guy get between her and her best friends.

  TWO

  Blake and I lasted for two months.

  At the beginning, it was awesome. For the first time in my life, I was a tangential member of the truly popular crowd. I wasn’t actual friends with anyone else in that circle, but as Blake’s girlfriend I got to sit at the big kids’ table and was invited to the smaller and more exclusive drunken gatherings. Even though the girls in the group barely tolerated my sudden presence and sometimes said catty things right to my face, at least I wasn’t outright ignored.

  And then Blake would twine his arm around my waist and put his face in my hair as we walked through the crowded halls, and it was perfection. I felt desired and whole by his side, like I had found my one true place in the world and that was all that mattered.

  Everything else in my life swiftly fell away. I quit my dance classes, which I had been taking since I was five. I stopped showing up to piano lessons. National Honor Society meetings and volunteering seemed like a waste of time now that I had a boyfriend to make out with after school. My grades slowly started sinking. I got my first-ever C on an English essay.

  “Nerd,” Blake said when I told him.

  My parents fought me for a while, harping on discipline and my future and college applications in that clueless, tone-deaf way old people have. But they were both partners at a big law firm in the city and it’s not like they had time to monitor exactly what I was doing every minute of the day. Eventually, with huge sighs of deep disappointment, they stopped bringing it up. I was happily lost in Blake.

  Whenever I saw Kelsey or Amanda in the hall, I looked pointedly away and pretended like they didn’t exist.

  Of course, they didn’t try to talk to me either. I sometimes caught Amanda giving me one of her wide-eyed, wounded-animal looks, but she never actually tried to talk to me. And I got the distinct impression that Kelsey wouldn’t even stop to spit on me if I were on fire.

  Sometimes I wished we could all just get over it and be friends again, because deep down, below my pride and hurt feelings and Blake bliss, I really missed them. And I had questions. I didn’t realize relationships could move as fast as mine and Blake’s seemed to be moving. But every time I thought seriously about trying to make up with them and admit I’d been irrational, I got pissed off at what they’d said the night of the party. At how unsupportive and doubtful and dismissive they’d been.

  And shouldn’t my awesomely hot and devoted boyfriend be enough for me? Hadn’t he proven that he wasn’t just using me, that this was something good and real?

  My friends had been wrong, and they were still refusing to admit to it.

  “You don’t need those jealous bitches,” Blake said after I told him the story, wrapping my ponytail around his wrist and pulling gently. “You’re better off without them anyway.”

  And I’d agreed.

  Blake was my first everything.

  After we had been dating for only two weeks, he yanked me close and told me he couldn’t stand it anymore, that it was cruel and unusual punishment to make him wait. He wanted to make love to me so bad it physically hurt. That’s exactly what he said—“make love.” It sounded lovely and romantic to me. Just like what a first time should be.

  And I was flattered and thrilled, and tried to pretend I wasn’t freaked out by the fact that it had only been a few weeks since he’d first talked to me. I decided that I must love him, because I wanted him too. It had to be love, right? This whirlwind feeling of wanting to be as close to him as possible? Wanting to make him happy in any way that I could?

  So he snuck into my room—well, technically, he just walked into it on a night when both my parents were working late—with a bottle of vodka and a condom from his wallet.

  It was awkward and kind of painful and much quicker than I thought it would be. It didn’t feel particularly like love. More like something perfunctory and unexciting and biological.

  Though he seemed to enjoy it enough.

  After Blake kissed my cheek and left, I curled up in my bed an
d stared at my phone, which was sitting on the pillow next to me. I wished more than anything I could talk to someone about what had happened and get some perspective on my experience. But there wasn’t one person in the whole world I felt like I could call.

  One weekend when Blake was in Colorado skiing with his brother, he drunk-dialed me. He was flirting hard and things got a little heated up. Eventually he started trying to talk me into taking a couple of topless pictures of myself with my webcam and emailing them to his phone. And I wanted him to love me so much that I did it, even though I felt ridiculous and kind of gross.

  It took me fifteen attempts to get the angle right.

  “You’d never share these with anyone, right?” I said, hesitating for a moment before I hit send. “I mean, this is just between us?”

  “ ’Course! Who do you think I am?” he said, a smile in his slurred voice. “Now I’ll never be away from you, baby. You’re so good to me.”

  Obviously, I should have known.

  . . .

  My relationship with Blake ended horrifically, of course, as anyone other than me could have predicted.

  In November, Blake started acting chilly and distant. He wouldn’t return my texts for hours and mostly ignored me at lunch, angling away at the cafeteria table so I’d have to make conversation with the girls who didn’t like me. He’d give me improbable excuses about why he couldn’t come over to my house, even on the opportune nights when both my parents were gone. He stopped walking with me through the halls.

  I ignored the ache in my stomach and excused Blake’s behavior away for as long as possible. It was just a weird boy phase, I rationalized, trying not to give in to the panic. He’d get over whatever his problem was and things would go back to how they were before. We’d date until we graduated, and then go to the same college and get married when we were twenty-four before he started business school, and live happily ever after.

  And then one day after school, I caught Blake making out with Caitlin Merriweather up against his Range Rover.