Page 7 of The Fake Out

Ali didn’t drive—refused to, actually—so she walked most places. She lived off the main strip of town and could get to most places in minutes. As a result, she was often in a permanent state of sweatiness. Texas was not a state made for walking.

With a grin, she slid onto the stool next to me. “Hit me, Ollie.”

We’d been friends since I’d moved here in the fifth grade. Ali knew all my secrets.

Well, most of my secrets.

I mean, the ones I told her about.

Ollie grunted and slid two overfull plates in front of us. Ali wasted no time in taking a generous bite of her meatloaf.

“So good,” she moaned. “This is why I love you, Ollie.”

Ollie grunted but I could have sworn his cheeks pinked as he shuffled off.

Ali stopped inhaling her lunch long enough to point at me with her fork. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I swear you are on another planet sometimes.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. I’ll prove it. Do you know who Chris Sterns is?”

I shook my head. “Should I? Did he go to school with us?”

“There were sixty people in our class, and you were the yearbook editor. You know he didn’t go to school with us. How are we friends?”

“I think you followed me home from school one day.”

“You’re hilarious.”

I grinned. “Probably another reason we’re friends.”

Ali huffed, waving her fork between us. “I am the zany, unpredictable one in this relationship. You are the serious, responsible one. Stay in your lane.”

She wasn’t even a little bit wrong. Ali had a way of attracting trouble. It didn’t help that she had a deep sense of justice, which presented itself in creative ways. Often involving shaving cream, water balloons, lock-picking kits, prank calls, sophisticated catfishing schemes, replacing hair conditioner with glue, once a clown, that time she hired a petting zoo, and anything else that came to mind. She was kind of the MacGyver of revenge.

The lesson here: never, ever get on Ali’s hit list.

“I need that on a t-shirt.” I waved a hand across my chest. “The Serious, Responsible One.”

“Trademark forthcoming,” Ali said.

I laughed. Which was another thing I loved about her: she could make me laugh. “So, who is this Chris Sterns you speak of?”

“He’s only one of the most famous football players in the entire world.”

“So what?”

“So what? I’ll tell you so what. He’s here. Like, in Two Harts.”

I scoffed. “Why would a world-famous football player come here?”

“The word is he’s rented out the Wilson place for a few months for a little peace and quiet.”

The Wilson place didn’t belong to the Wilsons anymore. It had been bought several years ago and renovated. Now it was rented out as a vacation home. Although, why anyone would want to vacation in Two Harts, I wasn’t sure. Don’t get me wrong, I liked Two Harts. But I also hated Two Harts. It was a complicated relationship.