By the end of this trial, I would be able to write a whole book about the way Lizzie Hernandez texted. I'd call it "The Art of Barely Texting Your Fake Girlfriend Back and it doesn't bother your Fake Girlfriend that much because she finds the way you text absurdly cute". Lizzie Hernandez uses perfect grammar when she texts. She uses punctuation and never uses emojis, which leads me to believe she doesn't even know where to find them. If she made a mistake, she'd send another text with an asterisk to point that out:

1. She knows there's a mistake.

2. This is how she'd fix the mistake.

See? Very cute.

From the wings of the stage, I waved at the orchestra pit. Lizzie jumped, realizing my existence and overwhelmed by the attention. I blew her kisses, so she gave me the finger. Snickering, I disappeared back through the heavy curtain. It was after-school drama practice and the high school theater was buzzing from actors practicing lines, the band tuning their machines and the crew chatting about everything and anything before our director appeared.

There was something magical about an empty theater.

Despite nobody sitting in the velvet red seats, the air was still thick from past performances. History lined these walls.

"You're ridiculous," Ian said from the floor. He was putting batteries in the microphone packs. He was all limbs like a spider with boney joints. His hair sat hidden underneath his baseball cap with the Zelda logo. He wore a cartoon character wardrobe of similar sweatshirts, pants and the same pair of Vans every day.

"Since when were you and Lizzie tight, anyway?" he asked and I briefly eyed Camille, sitting close by and humming the Prologue's melody. I knew better than to try and joke around with Camille while she worked.

"I'd tell you about our torrid love affair, but I don't want to make you jealous."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes, but I couldn't stop smiling. He commented, "I give you guys a month."

Oh, he had no idea.

My phone buzzed.

I chuckled and tapped away a reply.

My entire existence wanted to go back out onto that stage, but Director Donnelly called for our attention. She was a woman made of soft round edges, who wore bohemian drapey clothes and a short blonde bob that never had a hair out of place. I adored her costume jewelry and smoky eye shadow. "I hope you all had a great weekend, but it's Tuesday and you're all on my time now. We have plenty of work to do. Honestly..." She bit her lip. "We're running a little behind...."

"I wonder whose fault that is?" I whispered to Ian, nudging his foot. I motioned to the piles of actors surrounding Norah. "I mean, they act like it's the first week of practice. If it were me, I'd just recast the whole thing-"

"Ssh," Camille shushed me, her eyes flashing red.

"What?" I whispered back when I looked around and realized I was using my stage whisper, not the one reserved for shit talking and secrets. Norah locked eyes with me and gifted me the meanest grimace I had ever seen stain her pretty face. From my chin to the tips of my ears, my skin caught fire. That was my bad.

"Uh, carry on?" I suggested and Director Donnelly just sighed.

We all broke apart and I gathered the box of shoes I still needed to bedazzle, planning to find a spot behind the orchestra, so I could bother Lizzie some more, but Ian asked, "Hey? You wanna go to the audio booth with me?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "let's do it."

I walked halfway across the stage when I heard someone say, "You know, if all I had to do was glue some cheap costume crystals to some clothes, I'd have enough done to outfit the whole schoolboy now." I whirled around to spot Norah shrugging and walking away with the Stepsisters. Norah muttered, "That's just me though."

My stomach twisted and their laughs warmed my cheeks back up. I watched Norah walk up to Camille and say something, somehow funny enough to make Camille laugh. A horrible thought ran through my head and I wanted to know if the joke was about me. No. No. Camille wouldn't let anyone make fun of me. No way.

The bin of shoes somehow doubled in weight.

I turned towards the crowd of empty seats and the band warming up. Lizzie sat at the piano and when she met my eyes, she made a twisted goofy face and stuck her tongue out at me. My heart wasn't into it anymore. I half smiled, bowing my head to the floor. For the rest of practice, I stayed hidden in the audio booth. This time, I was the one who didn't reply to Lizzie's texts.

#

It was weird for Parker not to return my texts, not after all that fighting about the necessary evil texting was in a relationship. I checked her Instagram too. Usually, she posted something about play practice, but there wasn't anything.

Emily posted—not that I care—a selfie, highlighting her new make-up thing or whatever.

When I asked Camille if she noticed anything weird about Parker, Camille shrugged. She came to my house all the time. She was the eldest in a house of little monsters running around, but her house was even smaller than mine. My room was her haven.

"Parker works today," Camille explained. She rifled through the dresser drawer I reserved for her stuff. She threw out a pair of camo leggings and a huge black sweatshirt.

"Parker has a job?" I blinked. The back of my neck grew hot. How did I not know that? Sure, we've only been dating for a day and a half, but I've known Parker since the beginning of the school year. It was weird that never came up. Plus, I couldn't imagine Parker working a normal job. My mind immediately went to some artist studio where she dipped her whole body in paint and just threw herself at canvases. That seemed like an Ashley Marie Parker job.

"Yeah," Camille spoke as she changed. "She works at Friendly Finds."

I'm thrown again. Just when I thought I could come back for air, Camille shoved my head back down into my pool of confusion. "Th-that's where I picked you guys up the other day."

"I know, I was there. You really didn't know?"

"Um..." I glanced in the mirror. I wore a darker pair of jeans and a loose striped turtleneck sweater. I hadn't even taken off my boots yet. My fingers itched. I snatched my jean jacket from the closet, something I wore on rare occasions. Whenever I tried to add cool little pieces to my wardrobe, it felt like I was trying too hard, like I was doing a handstand in a room full of people standing right side up.

"I'm starving... Do you want me to bring you a snack or something? I'm gonna grab something."

"Yeah," Camille chuckled. "I could go for something. How did you know something is now part of my top ten favorite food lists?"

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled and snatched my backpack. I told my mom the briefest goodbye and climbed into my car. Shoving my key into the ignition, I caught a glance of myself in the rear-view mirror and frowned.

A ghost took over my body. My hands unraveled my braid before I realized what I was even doing and I let my dark hair hang loose and wavy, a little frizzy but free. The strain of the braids relaxed the tension, pulling at my head. Still, my stomach didn't settle. I moved my hair over one shoulder and then the other.

"God." I rolled my eyes at myself and huffed. "Forget it. Whatever. I don't care."

I started the car, blasting my emo rock playlist, which really just contained every My Chemical Romance song ever created, and drove to Friendly Finds Grocery store.

This book was chosen as a Wattpad Pick for Pride! I'm geeking out. It's wild and I'm so honored and AH! There's not enough words in the world that could truly convey my feelings :))

Anyways! I hope you guys like the update. Don't forget to tell me what you think of the chapter. I appreciate all comments ;)