Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,78

a bunch of pathetic nerds faking it to be cool.”

“I’s just tryna help,” said Gray.

“Help prove that we’re losers?” I said. “Because good job. We were already losers before, and we’re even bigger losers now.”

“You still get to be the front man,” said Gray. “Okay?”

There were so many comebacks I would think of later. Sharp, shameless, profane, profound. But right now I couldn’t think of any. All I could say was

“Thanks a lot, Gray.”

Finally a strong hand grabbed me. I turned.

“They can hear you,” yelled Milo.

He stabbed a finger at the mic in front of me, and its little green light. Green meant on.

“And don’t you dare call us losers,” Milo added. He threw his sticks aside and grabbed Jamal, who flung his bass down with disgust.

I stared with terror at my friends. My insides turned to ice that crashed apart in beautiful sparkling sheets.

I’d only ever seen Milo get mad—like truly mad—twice in our entire friendship. It was terrifying and exciting to behold, because Milo mad could cause serious physical damage unless he removed himself from the situation. Which was what Milo was doing right now.

I had just hurt Milo.

I had just hurt Jamal, too.

Someone—a volunteer mom with a headset—scooted us stage left with outstretched arms. “And we’re offstage,” she said.

The spotlight turned back on behind me.

“That’s one way to end a talent show,” said Mr. Tweed into what once was my mic. “Everyone give it up for the Immortals!”

Another spotlight followed me as I was escorted away, and in its rainbow glare I could discern a cringing audience clapping dutifully through their bafflement. I could discern Cirrus simply clutching fistfuls of hair in a kind of confused paralysis. On her shirt I could discern words that were losing meaning by the second:

THE IMMORTALS 2020

ONE NIGHT ONLY

SUNSET STRIP, HOLLYWOOD

Then I saw her vanish.

Pity

I came to a skidding halt outside. Around me, Sunset Boulevard busily went about being its famous self: drunks careening, rockers smoking, tourists poised with their cameras.

I spotted Cirrus as she dashed around the corner of the club. I could hear my heart beating everywhere. I ran, turned, and almost collided with her.

Cirrus had turned her shirt inside out. She stood before me like she could melt me down into gristle with just her mind.

Angel City howled its nightsong all around us.

“Tell me what I just saw is not what I think I just saw,” said Cirrus.

I had no idea how to do that, so I found myself saying precisely nothing.

“Have I been made the fool?” said Cirrus.

Again, nothing.

Cirrus’s eyes widened. “This whole time?”

Finally my mouth began to move. I wiped sweat from my forehead, my eyes, and saw my hands come away black with makeup. I probably looked like a mess of fingerpaint now.

I held my hands out in the weakest version of hear-me-out ever. “I didn’t want you to think—to think—”

“To think what?” said Cirrus.

“That I was a loser, so—”

“Why would I ever think that?” said Cirrus, angling her head with outrage.

“So I did what I . . . did,” I said, eyes dancing hard enough to make me dizzy. “And then I had to keep doing it, because otherwise, I don’t know. And I’m sorry, can I just say that? I’m so, so sorry?”

A limo went by, and two good friends leaned out the window and screamed at the world with joy. Everything was probably perfect in that limo.

Or it wasn’t, and everyone was just faking having a great time.

“Right now,” said Cirrus through gritted teeth, “all I can think is What else is this guy lying about?”

“This is it,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was saying such stupid words. But I kept going. “This is the only thing, I swear.”

Cirrus chewed her cheek. “What the hell am I doing here?” she muttered, inadvertently quoting Radiohead. “Why am I here, why do I even bother being anywhere?”

My hands grew heavy, but I held them up. “You have every right to—”

“You’re damn right I do,” cried Cirrus. “You lied for months. Months!”

She kicked a chain-link fence.

“If I put on my little Sherlock hat,” she said, “I can deduce that you lied within the first ten minutes that night when we first met. I’m right, aren’t I?”

I said nothing.

“And wait—Jamal and Milo, too?” said Cirrus.

Again, I said nothing.

“Oh no no no,” said Cirrus, in shock at my nonanswer answer. “Every stupid place I go, I have to figure out what the hell is going on, because every time, I go in knowing nothing. Knowing no