Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,16

the holiest of paladins such as yourself—”

“But then I thought of a solution,” I said.

Jamal stared at me sideways. “No,” he said slowly.

“Just listen,” I said. I crouched low and held my hands out. Milo and Jamal recognized this as my Idea Guy hear-me-out pose.

“I thought it was a question of maintaining a lie, which is unsustainable, or confessing to the lie, which is sociopathic,” I said. “But I have found a third path.”

Jamal took a step back. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Hear me out,” I said. “Bands break up all the time.”

“No,” said Jamal firmly.

I gripped the air tighter.

“I should be getting home,” said Jamal.

“This is your home,” said Milo.

“Hear me out,” I said. “It’s so simple. We learn a song or two. We hang out in the music room at school. Cirrus just happens to find us there. And we can be like Oh hey, Cirrus, what’s up, we were just practicing.”

“And how long do we do this for?” said Jamal.

“That’s the thing!” I cried. “The three of us pretend to have a fight. Creative differences, money, doesn’t matter. The band breaks up. Problem solved.”

Milo opened his palms like a book. “As the Immortals die, so does your lie,” he said.

Jamal aimed a long flat palm at my head. “You want us to help you so you don’t lose the girl.”

“Not that she’s even mine to begin with,” I said. “But something like that.”

“Listen,” said Jamal. “You know neither of us wants to see you get hurt by the situation you so inelegantly created in the first place.”

“Tough truths,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

Milo placed one hand atop the other. “You are talking about layering on a new lie to fix the old lie.”

“Only temporarily,” I said. I swiveled to aim my hands at Jamal like a turret cannon. “You could play bass.”

“Never before in my life have I played bass,” said Jamal.

“But you play piano!” I said. “How different can it be? Piano is essentially a percussive instrument, and many consider bass guitar to be one as well! Six of one!”

Jamal tilted his head this way and that, struggling with my reasoning.

I rotated to Milo. “And you’re athletic! I bet you could totally keep a beat on drums!”

“Never before in my life have I played drums,” said Milo.

“You could totally learn,” I said. “For just long enough.”

I glanced wildly between the two. Milo tapped a foot, then the other, then slapped perfect sixteenth notes on his thighs with his hands, as if testing his body’s capabilities. He shrugged his big muscly shoulders. He smiled.

“Could be fun,” said Milo.

“Stop,” said Jamal.

I clasped my hands. “I love you guys. So much.”

“You make it impossible when you say that,” said Jamal, squeezing his narrow head.

“We love you too,” said Milo. He brought me in for a crushing hug.

I stretched an arm toward Jamal. “Come on. Please.”

Jamal underwent a seizure for three seconds, then joined the hug. “You owe us.”

“No you don’t,” said Milo. “Don’t listen to Jamal.”

I pushed them back to regard their faces. “Thank you.”

“So we do this for a little while,” said Jamal. “Just long enough to make her believe it. And then it’s back to our regular DIY Fantasy FX programming.”

“I promise,” I said.

Jamal and Milo accepted, and I taught them how to share a fist bump and make the pledge To metal, just like Gray and his Mortals used to do.

I bid them farewell. I rode off into the night.

“Under the moonlight,” I sang, pumping my legs. The air felt great. Everything was a slight downhill from Jamal’s house, and the breeze was at my back, and I was flying free.

I would go home, hole myself up in Gray’s room, and fiddle with all his equipment. I would orient myself. I would prepare. I would practice guitar. Maybe even try singing at the same time. I would plan my big plan.

I reached home, activated the WhisperTrak belt-drive garage door, and dismounted. I entered the house silently so as not to wake anyone.

But everyone was still awake. I could hear them. When I walked into the great room, I could see them, too.

“Hey,” said Gray.

II

A snake sheds its skin as it stretches in size.

What’s left behind is a ghost with no eyes.

Regroup

Uh,” I said.

Mom and Dad sat on the couch with Gray, looking sleepy and pained.

Having Gray as a big brother was like being related to a teen pop star in hiding. Gray, with his sharp feminine jawline; his messy ponytail of blue carbon