Free My Fake Boyfriend is Better Than Yours by Kristina Springer Page A

were. I open my mouth to speak.
    â€œMan, could you imagine if Antonio saw me like this?” Sea asks. “Talk about testing your love—”
    â€œOh, stop it already, Sea, geez,” I blurt out, completely irked that she ruined the moment with her incessant Antonio talk.
    Sienna stops eating chips and gives me a startled look. “Stop what?”
    All of this ridiculous made-up boyfriend bragging, I want to say. But I can’t get the words out. So I stall instead. “Er, um, double-dipping your chips,” I say, and pull the chip dip away from her.
    â€œSea? Sea?” I pause, listening for her breathing. “Are you asleep?” The room is dark and Sea and I are in our sleeping bags lying on the floor in my bedroom, head to head. I was talking about visiting my dad last weekend as a kind of lead-in to the Talk. I thought we could havea heart-to-heart about this fake boyfriend stuff now that we’ve had this nice familiar night and it’s dark and she can’t see my face and I can’t see hers to know if she’s mad or what. And if either of us cries, the other won’t know. But now she went and fell asleep. Well. She knows the rules of First to Sleep. Of course, we didn’t
say
we were playing First to Sleep tonight, but it’s been a pretty typical thing at our sleepovers so Sea should know better.
    I sit up on my knees and begin to rummage through Sienna’s backpack, looking for something to freeze. Perfect! Socks. Sea’s no stranger to going home in a frozen bra or not being able to brush her teeth in the morning because her toothpaste is a brick. And I’ve had my share of frozen T-shirts. But neither of us has done socks before. I quietly slip out of the room and head for the kitchen. I fling open the freezer door and toss Sienna’s balled up socks toward the back. I grab a lone cookie off a plate on the table on my way out and head back to my room.
    My alarm clock says it’s 11:34. Way too early for any good sleepover to shut down. I can’t believe Sea fell asleep on me like that. She must be really wiped out from all of her storytelling.
    Might as well go online. I launch my instant messenger for a quick peek to see if any of my friends are on. Dad!
    Â 
    TorItUp: What are you doing online at this hour?
    jbarnes: Hey! That’s my line.
    TorItUp: Sienna’s sleeping over and she already conked out. I’m bored.
    jbarnes: Would your mother let you on this late? Don’t respond to any messages from strangers.
    TorItUp: You neither!
    jbarnes: Did you two clear things up?
    TorItUp: Not exactly.
    jbarnes: ???
    TorItUp: Well, we had fun and everything. I guess things aren’t familiar enough for her though because she’s still lying.
    jbarnes: Hmm. I vote for getting things out in the open. Tell her how you’re feeling over breakfast tomorrow. But wait until her mouth is full to talk to her about it. That way if she feels ambushed she can think about what she wants to say while she’s chewing.
    TorItUp: Interesting technique. I may use it the next time you ask me what grade I got on my math test.
    jbarnes: All right, dearest. Now sign offand straight to bed. Remember, no talking to weirdos on the Internet.
    TorItUp: But I’m talking to you . . .
    jbarnes: Love you!
    TorItUp: Love you back!
    Â 
    I smile to myself and sign off IM per Dad’s request. He’s so cute when he parents via telecommuting.

13
    Pluck my feathers and stick a plastic timer in my butt because I’m a C-H-I-C-K-E-N.
    I had the best of intentions to take Dad’s advice and talk to Sienna over breakfast this morning. Really, I did. There we were at the kitchen table, a box of Fruity Pebbles between us, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt so confrontational, and I hate confrontation. And besides, why should
I
be doing all the work? She should be remembering old times and feeling like things are
normal
with us