Free Pretending to Be Erica by Michelle Painchaud

balloon-chest, Merril is the other girl, and Kerwin—”
    “I know Kerwin. Hard not to when everything with XX chromosomes in the school can’t stop talking about him.”
    I shrug. “He’s got very stylish dark hair, the right height and build, and is very charming and easy to talk to.”
    “Top it off with that accent, and I’m surprised you aren’t all over him too,” James murmurs.
    “Not my type.” I smile. “I don’t even know if I really have a type.”
    “Every girl has a type. It usually starts with ‘tall’ and ends with ‘handsome.’ Why don’t you have one?”
    I need to lead the conversation away from my lack of romantic ideals. I can’t let him see I have no type—that I’ve never had romantic interactions. I’d never thought about dating. Living with Sal wasn’t the sort of life that permitted stable relationships. I never asked, but it was an unsaid rule that I could do what I wanted as long as I was ready to move, pull cons, and jump to complete what Sal asked. Normal teenage girls usually have relationships, and . . .
types
. I need to seem as normal as possible. “How’d you get here?” I ask.
    “I put gasoline in the tank of my car, got in, closed the door, turned the key, and drove, like everyone else.” He smirks.
    Merril waves. I wave back. James and I browse the bowling balls. Kerwin is still watching us. James palms a green bowling ball and tests its weight.
    “Thank you.” I pick a purple ball.
    “For what?”
    “Coming.” I put my fingers in the ball’s holes and mimic a throw. “I thought you wouldn’t.”
    His shoulders square, and his arm muscles tense. He wants to say something that’s hard for him but opts for the easier words instead.
    “Thanks for inviting me.”
    “Erica! You and your friend, get over here! It’s your turn,” Cass calls, all smiles.
    “James.” Merril nods. He nods back.
    Kerwin gets up and slaps James on the back. “Your turn, John.”
    No one bothers correcting him. Merril grabs my arm and whispers as we watch James walk up to the lane.
    “
He’s
the guy you invited? Why?”
    “Is there something wrong with him?” I raise an eyebrow.
    “No. He just never talks to anyone in class. I mean, he’s okay and all, but you can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t talk.”
    “He talks to me.”
    “I’m telling you, he’s a weirdo. Your choice, I guess.” She sighs. I want to tell her Kerwin’s weirder, but instead I cheer with Alex when James gets a spare. I run up and high-five him coming off the lane, and he smiles, his hand warm and soft.
    If I were going to stay, I would tell James to say what he means more. I would ask Kerwin what his deal is. I would tell Taylor to stop doubting me. But I’m not going to be here for long. Erica is a pleasant face-value sort of girl. She doesn’t tell people off or get involved deeply. She can’t risk people disliking her or growing too attached, because she’s not real.
    Erica has to stop smiling at James.
    Violet has to stop burning to touch him, touch Merril, touch someone, anyone, and make sure they’re really here.
    Because she’s not.
    “I beat you,” I inform James, collapsing on the chair beside him when the last round finishes.
    “Did you?” He quirks a brow, smile barely there. I point to the score screen—148. His is 122. He sighs. “Bowling’s hard.”
    “Don’t whine.” I slap his knee and rub my hand. “Ow. You’re all bony.”
    “Self-defense mechanism. Darwin is a cruel master,” he says jokingly, and leans his head back on the chair.
    “Wow, John.” Kerwin claps him on the shoulders. “This must not be your game.”
    “It’s obviously yours.” James shrugs him off.
    Kerwin got seven strikes. He sighs. “What can I say? Sometimes people just have a
gift
for things. But, hey, you’d know all about
that
.”
    James goes quiet. Merril sees an opening and dives for Kerwin’s arm.
    “Let’s get drinks! What does everyone