The Trouble with Faking

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Most students in Smuts have one room to themselves—or half a room, if they’re unlucky enough to be sharing with someone—but as a sub-warden, Damien gets both a bedroom and a living room. His living room has a couch, a desk, a bar fridge, and a bookcase with a bicycle leaning against it and a kettle and microwave on top. Quite bare, according to my tastes, but I tend to like—as my mother calls it—an ‘overcrowded’ room.

“Uh, just make yourself at home,” Damien says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get you a towel.”

“Thanks.” I notice a frame on his desk housing a picture of him and Charlotte. I turn my back on it and walk to the window. No city-facing view for Damien. He gets to see the inside quad of Smuts. Below me, a guy and girl sit on the grass chatting.

“Here you go,” Damien says, tossing a towel to me.

I run it over my hair a few times before wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down. “So did you talk to Charlotte?”

He sits on the other end of the couch with a sigh. “She broke up with me.”

“What?” I struggle with the two conflicting emotions coursing through me. Half of me grieves to know that someone I care about is hurting, while the other half rejoices that he no longer has a girlfriend. “I’m so sorry. I tried to tell her there was nothing going on—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s actually a relief.”

“A relief?”

He nods. “I started to realise we’re not really right for each other. I spent the holidays trying to figure out what to say and how best to end it—you know, without hurting her too much—but I guess she got there before me.”

“I guess,” I say slowly. I certainly didn’t see this coming. I thought I’d probably be spending my university years the same way I spent my high school years: watching Damien with someone else.

“I mean, I obviously told her I wasn’t cheating on her,” he adds, “but she seemed intent on believing her own story.”

“Weird. How did the two of you end up dating if she isn’t really your type?”

“I suppose I didn’t know her that well.” He scratches his neck. “She’s hard-working, takes her studies seriously, but she’s also fun to be with, and I liked that about her. But I didn’t realise back then that she has a tendency to overdramatise things. It’s exhausting the way she overreacts to everything. And she gossips a lot.” He frowns. “And not in a nice way. It kinda made me feel guilty, listening to all the things she’d say about people. Especially when she kept expecting me to agree with her. Anyway. Sorry.” He shakes his head and looks up at me. “Enough about Charlotte. What about you? I haven’t seen you since … April last year? Is that when you found out about your dad and flew here to meet Livi?”

“Yes.”

“So how’s everything going? Are things okay with you and your mom now?”

Anger that wasn’t there a moment ago flashes to the surface. I push it down. “You know, I’d rather not talk about my mother.”

“Okay. Uh, are you still doing that blogging thing?”

I slide my lime green ballet pumps off so I can tuck my legs beneath me. “Vlogging. And yes, I’m still doing that.”

“And the crafts?”

“Still doing that too.”

“Awesome. I wish I were as passionate about stuff as you are. I watch your videos sometimes, you know.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. It’s fine if thousands of other people watch my videos, but for some reason it’s embarrassing to think of Damien watching them. Probably because I care way too much about his opinion.

“Hey, don’t be silly,” he says with a laugh. “Your videos rock. I love them.” I drop my hands as he stands. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks. “Some coffee?”

“Only if you’ve got the good stuff.”

He chuckles and turns the kettle on. “Still a coffee snob, huh?”

“Always have been, always will be.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you out then. Cape Town does have some amazing coffee shops, though. I can take you to some of them if you want.”

“I’d love that.” If it’s as close as I’m going to get to a date with Damien, I’ll take it.

He spoons coffee powder into a mug, then looks up at the sound of a knock on his door. He crosses the room and pulls the door open. Standing there is Mike, the guy who waved at us earlier in the dining hall.

“Hey, um, sorry. Oh, hi, Andi.” He leans into the room to greet me. “Um, yeah.” He gives Damien an apologetic look. “I sort of locked myself out of my room again.”

“Sorry, man, I’m not on duty tonight,” Damien says, not unkindly. “Go to reception, and they’ll call the right person. He’ll have to get the bolt cutter.”

“Right, thanks. Sorry to bother you guys.”

Damien shuts the door and turns to me. “I’ve already had to cut three locks since everyone moved in. And I’m one of four sub-wardens. I don’t know how many the other guys have cut. Why can’t people just keep their keys on them instead of leaving them inside their rooms?”

I hold up my lanyard and show him the student card and room keys dangling from the end. “I find it works pretty well to hang them around my neck.”

“For you and most other students. Why can’t everyone do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Smutsmen are too cool for that.”

He shakes his head, then pours boiling water into his mug. “Would you like water?” he asks, setting the kettle down. “I’m afraid that’s the only other thing I can offer you. Or milk.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” I run my finger over a seam on the couch. “So how are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re great.” Damien returns to the couch with his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, which reminds me that I’m missing the hot chocolate gathering on Jammie steps—if it’s still happening. I’d far rather be on Damien’s couch, though. “It’s only been a year since they left Joburg,” he continues, “but they’ve settled into Simon’s Town quickly and seem to be loving life there.”

“Cool. Do you see them often?”

“Every few weekends, I guess. It’s about forty-five minutes from here. In good traffic.” A ping sounds from Damien’s desk, and he gets up to fetch his phone. “Oh, great,” he says after looking at the screen. “A message from Charlotte’s cousin calling me a whole bunch of names I’d rather not say out loud.”

“Lovely.”

“Yeah.” He sits and drops the phone onto the couch between us. He tilts his head back against the wall and sighs. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“There’s actually this girl I really like.”

I sigh internally. Here it is. The reason I’ve never told Damien how I feel about him. And that reason is this: I know with complete certainty he doesn’t feel the same way about me. He’s told me about every girl he’s ever liked, and I’ve never been on the list. “Okay,” I say, trying my best to look interested.

“Her name’s Marie. She’s a third-year student in Fuller. Quieter than Charlotte, more my type. Back in first year, I tried to get to know her, but she didn’t seem interested. I don’t know, maybe I came across as too desperate,” he says with a laugh. “So I gave up trying. Then in second year, after I started dating Charlotte, Marie started paying attention to me.”

I chuckle. “That’s bad timing.”

“I know, but I think it was because I was dating Charlotte. As if being with someone else suddenly made her notice me.”

“Because you weren’t coming across as desperate anymore. Instead she saw you as desirable.”

Damien laughs into his coffee mug. “Right. Yeah. Anyway, then Marie became the target of some of Charlotte’s gossip—which was the cause of the first major fight Charlotte and I had—and Marie went back to ignoring me. But I’ve been thinking about her more and more lately.”

“Well, now that you’re single again, maybe it’ll work out between the two of you.” Or maybe you’ll finally notice me.

“Maybe,” he says. “I guess we’ll see.” He puts his coffee mug on the floor, while I lean back against the couch and arrange myself into a slightly more seductive pose—as seductive as one can be while wrapped in a towel. When his eyes are on me once more, I give him a smile that’s meant to be alluring. He opens his mouth to say something, but he either changes his mind or forgets his words. He watches me with those beautiful blue-grey eyes, and maybe it’s just my silly, wishful heart, but it feels like there’s something different about—

A loud knock on the door ruins the moment. Because there was a moment. THERE WAS DEFINITELY A MOMENT.

“Damien, you in there?” comes a voice from the other side of the door.

Damien jumps up. “Yashen,” he says as he opens the door. “Sorry, man, we were supposed to meet ten minutes ago. I just remembered.”

“Hey, if you’re busy,” Yashen says, spotting me, “we can do it tomorrow evening.”

“No, no, let’s get it done. Andi, I’m so sorry.” Damien turns to me. “I’ve got to organise this tutoring programme with Yashen.”

“Oh, no problem.” I get to my feet and hang the damp towel over the back of the desk chair. “I’m sure there’s some O-Week activity I’m supposed to be doing now.” Even though I’d like nothing more than to get back to THAT MOMENT.

“Cool. I’ll walk you out,” Damien says. “I’ll be there in a minute, Yashen.”

“Okay. Oh, and we’re meeting in Paul’s room, not mine.”

Damien nods, and the impossibly skinny Yashen runs down the stairs while Damien locks his door. We manage to say nothing as we walk back to reception, which is weird for us, because we’ve always had things to talk about. We stand by the front door of Smuts, he thanks me for visiting, I thank him for the towel, and then as we lean in to hug one another, his lips brush over my cheek.

HE KISSED MY CHEEK.

And then he’s looking at me awkwardly and mumbling goodbye and hurrying away before I can say a word. And I’m left feeling like I’m floating once more, because Damien Sanders has FINALLY NOTICED ME!