Free The Truth About Faking by Leigh Talbert Moore Page B

change clothes.
    I get under my covers and pick up a book, but I can’t read it. I lean back and close my eyes for a second. After a few minutes, I look around. It’s strange because I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m swimming in the creek. It’s dark, and I’m alone in the black waters. At least I thought I was alone. There’s a voice on the shore, a male voice. It sounds like Jason, but it’s too far away for me to tell. I start to swim toward it, but something grabs my legs and starts pulling me under. It’s scratchy like tree roots, and I struggle and kick. But it keeps grabbing me and pulling me down. My heart’s beating faster, and I can’t breathe. I try to cry out, to move my arms, but it’s too late. The dark water is pouring into my nose and down my throat. I’m drowning. I can’t lift my arms as I start to black out…
    I sit up fast. I’m in my bed, and it’s light outside. Sunday morning.
    Six
     
     
    I can’t shake the dream as I prepare for church. Slipping into my dress and brushing my hair, I can still feel the scratchy whatever it was pulling my legs, still feel the water running down my throat, and I shiver. Anxiety tightens my chest, and I worry it was an omen or something. Our quiet house isn’t helping either. I want to turn on the television or blast the radio to fill up the silence. Instead I wander into the kitchen and find Mom pouring a cup of coffee.
    “ Coffee?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened to the green tea regimen?”
    “ Hm?” She frowns, distracted. Then she smiles. “Oh, I needed a little kick this morning.”
    “ What’s wrong?” I ask.
    “ Oh, nothing. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
    She walks into the living room and sits on the couch, staring at the black face of the silent television.
    “ Maybe you should’ve gone to bed earlier,” I say, watching her for any sign of a reaction.
    She takes a sip and shakes her head. “It would’ve just been more time lying awake.”
    I can’t believe she missed my meaning. “Worried about something?” I ask. Then I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll tell me anything more about last night. Why Ricky was here or what “thing” he’s dealing with.
    She glances at me, and for a moment I think she might. But she only smiles and shakes her head again. “Just trouble sleeping,” she says. “I probably should’ve taken some melatonin.”
    I frown, but she turns back to the dark television screen again. I decide to try another approach and go to sit beside her on the couch.
    “ Let’s see what’s on,” I say, picking up the remote. “Maybe they’re touring another little village on Sunday Morning . Like that time when I was sick?”
    “ Harley,” Mom breathes, standing. “You know Daddy likes it quiet before church. He needs these last moments to pray and mentally prepare.”
    And with that she walks back to her room, leaving me on the couch frowning at her half-empty coffee cup. I’ve never thought of my mom as a great actress, but she’d win an Oscar for her performance today. She’s behaving like last night was the most ordinary Saturday evening of all time, and Ricky hadn’t been here crying and pleading with her when I got home. The pressure in my chest grows worse.
     
    During every church service there’s this part where we “Pass the Peace.” Basically we all greet each other and shake hands right before Dad gets up to deliver his sermon. As I shake hands with the lady sitting behind me, I spot Trent. He’s always in church with his mom, and he always looks amazing in a coat and tie. Our eyes meet and he smiles, and in spite of it all, my heart flutters. I give him a little wave and then catch Stephanie Miller watching us. I smile at her but she quickly flicks her eyes away. Then I see Trent’s mom watching my mom with a sneaky smirk on her face, and all my peace vanishes. But I also notice Ms. Jackson doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends at church. That