Undercover Mother

It started out fun -- everyone believing Jacqueline and her mom are sisters. But after two years of attending the same university, Jacqueline is having hard time keeping the truth undercover.

    

     Every nerve ending in my body wants to burst out of my skin as I unsteadily make my way down the stair case. I don't like the way I'm feeling. Why did I let myself get talked into coming to this party? I feel hot, cold, shaky, and nauseous. As I round the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Someone who's been walking behind me smacks into me and spills beer down the back of my shirt. I can't comprehend what's happening. This is partially because I've had three Smirnoffs and am working on my fourth. It could also be the Salvia I smoked. The music is so loud it's vibrating the windows. People are laughing and talking, making out, playing drinking games. Those things have blended into the background as I watch the couple dancing in the middle of the living room. It's not even dancing. It's grinding. You know the way they danced in the movie Dirty Dancing? They're dancing like that.

     I imagine myself turning green, muscles exploding through my clothes, as my fury transforms me into a monster. I want to march right up to her, wrap my hands around her neck, and throw her down on the floor. I want to choke her til she dies. That's how much I hate her right now. She's dancing with my guy. Okay, so technically, he's not “my guy,” but she knows how I feel about him " that I want him to be my guy. She knows! And yet, there's Mason Powell, the guy I've been hot for since January, getting down and dirty with none other than my mother.

     Of course, nobody knows she's my mother. They all think we're sisters. Or room mates. She can definitely pass for 25. She's porcelain-faced and petite. Always has been. She had me when she was fifteen so we've basically grown up together. My grandparents took care of me after I was born so that my mom could finish high school. Then, instead of going to college, my mom worked full time. I never knew my father. My mother doesn't talk about him. All I know about him is that “he was a mistake.” That's not to say that I was a mistake. I was just a “surprise” " a surprise that my mother handed off to my grandparents, who accepted me with open arms. My mother became my big sister, even before we got the wild idea of going to college together. From the time I was a toddler, I called my mom by her first name " Hailey. It's what I'd heard my grandparents call her, so that's what I called her. Nobody ever corrected me. My grandmother is Mama and my grandfather is Papa.

     “Your sister...,” someone beside me says, adding a suggestive moan after “sister.”

     I feel like I might throw up. I don't even look at the person standing next to me and say, “My sister is a dirty tramp.” Then I set my Smirnoff bottle down on a table and run out of the house. I run until my vision is so blurred by my tears that I can't see. The apartment that Hailey and I share is off campus, but it's located within three blocks of the college. We can walk everywhere. It's convenient, especially in circumstances like this one. Lately, this has been happening a lot. Hailey and I go to a social event, she gets all the attention, I get mad, and I leave. When she comes home, she apologizes for making me feel bad, I forgive her, we have a dance off or down a twelve pack, and everything is all better between us... until the next time.

     There have been so many times when I've been tempted to tell everyone that Hailey McKay isn't my twenty-five year old sister. She is my thirty-five year old mother. But I won't do that to her. I won't do it because Hailey McKay is my best friend. I won't do it because of guilt. After all, it's my fault that she never got to finish being a kid, never went to college after high school, never got married. She's had lots of boyfriends, but not for long periods of time. Most guys don't want to date someone who has a kid. That's not to say there weren't a few who stuck around for awhile, but Hailey always ended things before they got too serious. She'd dump them before they dumped her.

     My cel phone rings as I unlock the apartment door and let myself in. It's Chelsea. She lives next door. I don't want to talk to anyone. I'm drunk, I'm high, I'm angry. I toss my phone onto the couch and walk into the kitchen. I open the fridge and peer inside. I don't know why I do this. I'm not hungry. I sure as hell don't need another drink. I reach for a Mike's Pink Lemonade, then snatch my hand back. No. I will not have anything else to drink. I close the door and rummage through the cabinets for something to eat. I don't think I've had anything to eat all day. No, wait. I did have that corndog at The Grill. But that was at 1:30pm. It's almost midnight now.

     My phone rings non-stop. I grab a bag of Cheese Puffs, and walk over to the couch and throw myself into it. I pick up my phone and see that it's still Chelsea. She's still at the party. She won't leave me alone til I answer. “What!” I bark, kicking my shoes off.

     “Where'd you go? Did you know your sister just went upstairs with Mason and Fonsie?”

     I feel my stomach lurch. “Are you serious?”

     “Yeah!” She launches into a rant about everything that's happened since I left the party.

     Fonsie Robbins is Mason's best friend. The two of them are inseparable. I wouldn't care if Hailey went for Fonsie. He's cute, but he's not as sexy as Mason. Mason is the one I want. Me and every other girl alive. He's probably slept with half the s***s on campus already, but he won't date anyone. I wanted to be the first girl Mason Powell “fell” for. I wanted to turn our story into a romantic chick flick. You know, the one about the bad boy who falls for the nice girl without ever intending to? That was going to be me. Us. But not now. Because at this moment my mother is with him... and his best friend. I know Hailey is a wild woman, but I never dreamed she was that kinky.

     “Jacqueline. Are you there? Hello?”

     I stare at the black television screen. My eyes are dry, but I feel like I should be crying. Why am I not crying? “I'm here,” I murmur.

     “Did you go home?”

     “Yes.”

     “Oh. Well, you want me to come over?”

     “No. I'm going to bed.”

     “We're studying for that Chemistry test tomorrow, right?”

     “Yeah. Sure,” I tell her, even though I'd quit listening a long time ago.

     “Okay. See ya tomorrow.”

     I hang up and drop the phone into the cushion. I'm sitting cross-legged, with the bag of Cheese Puffs between my legs. I can smell the beer on the back of my shirt, even though it's dried. I pull the shirt off and hurl it across the room. I can hear someone talking out in the hallway. The apartment complex is mostly made up of college students. People keep weird hours. This place is like its own little world. It operates on its own time zone. Sometimes I hate that about it.

     Why am I not crying?

     I stare at my reflection in the glass of the television screen and see a twenty year old girl staring back at me. Her long, black hair is disheveled. Her brown eyes are wide open, shadowed with dark circles. Her features are symmetrical, feminine, and yet, I see the flaws " the freckles on her nose, the slight gap between the two front teeth, the bony elbows and knees.... There's not enough cleavage pushing up from her bra. Her belly isn't as firm as she'd like. Her feet are too big.

     There's a picture of my mother and me sitting on the book shelf to the right of the television. We share some of the same features, but Hailey is more curvy. She's small-boned, but she's got what the boys like. Maybe that's why she got into trouble when she was so young. She's got these dreamy blue eyes and full, pouty lips that guys can't resist. She knows how to be sexy. I don't. I wouldn't know how to be sexy if someone paid me a million dollars. Not Hailey. I think she was born sexy, which is why she has been driving the guys on campus crazy from the moment she set foot on it.

     You're probably wondering how she ended up here in the first place. Well, it was my harebrained idea. During my Senior year of high school, I was looking at different colleges and Hailey made the comment that, if she had it to do all over again, she would never have gotten involved with my father (meaning, she would never have gotten pregnant with me) and she would have gone to Georgia State. During her Senior year in high school, she'd been in love with a guy who was going there after graduation. She would have followed him, if she'd had the chance. Instead, she had me to take care of.

     She finished high school and found a job with a cleaning company. They cleaned houses and business complexes. It was back-breaking work that didn't pay all that great, but since my father wasn't paying child support, she needed whatever money she could get. She wanted to get us our own place, be self-sufficient. Unfortunately, that isn't as easy as it sounds for an eighteen year old and her toddler. My grandparents said they'd rather us live with them and be safe and warm than to be living in some shady part of town where something bad could happen, or we'd get sick from drafts or lead paint.

     I was in the first grade when Hailey found us a nice little apartment across town, and we moved out of Mama and Papa's. I had a hard time adjusting to being away from my grandparents. I cried all the time and had anxiety attacks. Hailey also found out that she had no clue how to be a parent. She didn't know how to cook or clean or take care of me. In the end, I wound up staying over at Mama and Papa's more than I stayed with my mother. It worked out better for us all.

     As I got older, the time I spent with my mother was like going to a sleepover at a friend's house. I looked forward to our weekends together. We'd stay up watching teenie bopper movies, eating popcorn, playing video games, ordering pizza. When I entered high school, we'd stay up half the night watching horror movies and drinking alcoholic beverages. We started the weekly Friday Night Dance Off routine, where I'd come over and we'd crank up the latest club music, turn on flashing colored lights, and see who could come up with the most original dance moves. Sometimes she'd let me invite some of my school friends over and we'd have a Girls' Night. She was just like us, just one of the girls. And because I called her by her first name, everyone assumed we were sisters. We'd giggle and share knowing glances: It's our little secret.

     My text alert chimes. How long have I been sitting here like this, Indian style, with a bag of Cheese Puffs in my lap? My legs are numb. I pry them apart and stretch them out in front of me. I lift my phone to my face and see it's Travis. Travis is my bestie. I met him during Freshman orientation. He was scared of girls. I was scared of guys. We hit it off. And, thank God, Hailey wasn't interested in him. He wasn't “bad boy” enough to suit her tastes. But Travis has been my lifeboat in the middle of this crazy storm called college life. I read his text: Hey. Heard about Hailey and Mason. How you holding up?

     I smile. Sometimes I feel like there is a sixth sense that Travis and I share. He seems to feel my pain without me ever saying a word. And I can read his mind. We have a relationship that no one else understands.

     Life sucks right now, I type back.

     Travis knows how bad I have it for Mason. Travis is constantly telling me that I deserve better " that I shouldn't waste my time on someone like Mason. When he talks that way, I punch him in the shoulder and tell him to shut up. He doesn't know what it feels like to be head over heels about someone who doesn't know you exist.

     Do you want to talk about it? he replies.

     No. I'm just gonna go to bed. Let's meet up tomorrow.

     Okay. Goodnight then.

     Goodnight.

     I used to think it'd be so cool, having Hailey with me in college. I wouldn't have to go through Freshman year by myself. We'd hang out, make friends, party, study together.... And it has been pretty cool. At least it was for the first couple of months. It's been a game " this whole “undercover mother” thing: Let's see if we can pull this off. Make people believe we're sisters. And we did! We've totally pulled it off. People assume we're room mates. Most don't even know we're related. And here's how closely the college professors look at their students' personal files: none of our teachers have caught on that we're mother/daughter. The ones who have picked up on the fact that we have the same last name assume we are sisters, or that we just ironically have the same last name. It happens all the time. Lots of students have the same last name, but are in no way related to one another.

     The thing is, I didn't think Hailey would become so popular with everyone my age. When the two of us walk around campus together, eyes automatically gravitate to her. She wears skinny jeans and baby doll T's like they are tailor-made for her. Every curve on her body contrasts with the lack of curves on mine. I'm not dissing myself, really I'm not. I'm pretty cute, in my own way. But I'm not hot like Hailey. I must be built more like my father's side of the family. I don't know what he looks like or what the girls on his side look like, but I sure didn't get the body measurements of my mother's side. Do you have any idea what it feels like to walk around with your mother and have cute guys drooling over and cat-calling at her instead of you? It's humiliating! I've got a hottie for a mother. Ugh.

     I stifle the impulse to call Mama and tell her how much I hate college life and want to come home. That's probably just the drugs and alcohol talking. Some people drunk dial boys they aren't brave enough to talk to when they're sober. I always find myself wanting to drunk dial my grandmother and confess to her just how much I miss her. Is that weird?

     It's going on two o'clock. I abandon the Cheese Puffs on the couch and shuffle into the bathroom. I go through the motions of getting ready for bed while my mind replays the sensual way Hailey was dancing with Mason tonight. I can't stop thinking about it. Why did he choose her over me? I mean, I was there at the party, too. Why couldn't he find me sexy?

     “It's because you don't sleep around,” I hear Travis say in my head.

     That's the kind of relationship Travis and I have. I hear his voice in my head talking to the “me” inside my head. It's like I'm friends with a physical version of Travis and a mental version of Travis. I have long conversations with both. And what's awesome is that when I tell the physical Travis that the mental me had an enlightening conversation with the mental him, he totally gets it. He doesn't say I need to go on medication or anything. He actually takes credit for whatever good advice the mental version of himself gives me.

     And he's right. I don't sleep around. I'm one of those girls who thinks the idea of having a sweaty, stinking boy rolling around naked on top of me is disgusting. Even worse, that he would stick any part of his body inside mine makes me cringe. Can you imagine the amount of germs I'd be exposing myself to? Not to mention the possibility of contracting STD's, infections, and viruses! Yuck!

     “And yet, you want to swap bodily fluids with Mason Powell, who is probably carrying ten different strains of bacterial grossness on his epidermis,” mental Travis tells me.

     “You're talking Nerd again,” the mental me retorts.

     “You're talking Nonsense again,” he argues.

     I wriggle out of my jeans and crawl into bed. I hug my pillows, wondering what it would feel like to spoon against Mason this way.

     “Mason Powell doesn't spoon. He forks,” mental Travis says.

     “Not funny,” mental me yawns.

     “None of this is funny. You need to do something.”

     This voice doesn't belong to Travis. This voice is Mama's. In my head. In my heart. And I realize just how deeply I love and miss her. The tears finally come.

                                   * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     I'm heating up some pizza for lunch when Hailey walks through the door. Her hair, which she dyed auburn last month, is piled up on the top of her head haphazardly. She doesn't wear much make up, but the little she had on last night is smudged under her eyes. She has red and purple blotches on both sides of her neck. Despite the fact that she probably got zero sleep and is hungover, her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed. How can she look so damn happy with herself after what she's done? Disgusted, I turn my back and watch the seconds count down on the microwave.

     “I'm gonna take a shower,” she announces.

     I sit down on the couch and turn on the television. As I eat my pizza, I flip through the channels mindlessly, my anger seething like an angry wasp in a jar. I want to turn the hot water on full blast, flush the toilet, toss a poisonous snake into the shower " anything to hurt her the way she's hurt me. There's a stupid Will Ferrell movie on Comedy Central. I remember watching it with Hailey when I was thirteen and thinking it was hilarious. Right now, though, the raunchy humor just pisses me off. I grab my phone and text Travis. I ask him if he wants to meet up in a half an hour.

     The bathroom door opens and Hailey goes into her bedroom to get dressed. When she comes out, she looks like a Hollister model " stonewashed blue jeans, a lacy white tank top, wet, tousled hair. It's April and she looks beach ready. I catch a strong whiff of her Victoria's Secret perfume as she walks to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. I try not to stare at the marks on her neck. I wonder who put them there " Mason or Fonsie. Or both.

     “How was your night?” she asks, placing a slice of pizza on a paper plate. She sticks it in the microwave and pushes the Start button.

     I give her a hateful stare that openly conveys my hostility, then glance down at my phone. Travis texts that he'll meet me in the park, at our favorite spot near the creek. Thank God. I have to get out of here.

    “That good, huh?” Hailey says, unfazed by my silence.

     Very ugly names bounce around my head as I lace up my Converses and shove some dollar bills into my back pocket. I don't bother turning off the television as I head for the door.

     “Where are you going?” she calls after me.

     I slam the door on my way out.

                             * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Travis walks up to the bench where I've been sitting for the past five minutes. He plops down beside me and stares at the water in the creek. He waits to see if I'll speak first. When I don't, he says, “What's up, J?” He never uses my whole name. He says it has too many syllables. “J” is much simpler.

     “I don't think I'm coming back here next year,” I blurt, surprising even myself.

     “What? But you've already registered for Fall classes. You're halfway done! In two years, you'll graduate and get a great job and "”

     “I can't keep doing this!” I wail, shaking my head.

     Travis looks stunned. “Doing what?”

     I look at him and see fear in his eyes. He thinks this has something to do with him. I feel bad that I've caused him any amount of distress. “This whole thing with Hailey. I can't keep doing it.”

     “Your sister?” He lets out a sigh of relief, runs his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. “Look, J, you can't let her intimidate you. If you want to finish school here, do it! Don't let her stop you.”

     “You don't understand!” I argue, balling up my fists in frustration. I wish I could tell him the truth. If only I could explain to him the way things really are with Hailey and me. I take a deep breath and say, “I will never be able to shine as long as she keeps stealing my light!”

     He smiles with approval. “That was majorly poetic, J. Wow. I knew you were good with numbers, but I didn't know you could do that with words.”

     I try to appreciate his affirmation, but my spirits are too low. “I have to get away from her,” I say flatly.

     “Then why don't you move out? Get a new room mate?”

     I shake my head. “It's bigger than that, Trav'.” I look at him, at his clear aqua eyes and gentle countenance, and I come close to telling him about the big lie I've been living. But I can't. I can't blow Hailey's cover, because this is her time. These are the experiences she missed out on when she was my age because she chose to give birth to a baby she didn't want. She chose to work full time to buy my diapers and baby food and Infant's Tylenol. I can't rob her of her happiness. And she does seem to be truly happy. She is in college, she's popular, she's making decent grades, and she's making good tips waitressing part-time at a local bar and grill. Oh! And let's not forget " she's got Mason Powell eating out of her hand.

     Travis elbows me and scoots closer. I can feel the heat radiating from the right side of his body. “You can't leave me. You're all I've got,” he says.

     I roll my eyes and laugh. “That's not true. I am not your only friend.”

     He nudges me with his shoulder several times, then says, “You're my only best friend.”

     “Trav', you're well on your way to becoming Campus Stud. You don't need my guidance anymore. You got this.”

     “I'm a slow learner!”

     I snort, bump against him a little too hard. He shoves himself against me, knocking me sideways. I sit up and shove him good and hard. We start wrestling on the bench, almost falling to the ground. A gentleman in a dress shirt and khakis stops to ask me if I need any assistance. I guess he thinks I am being attacked by Travis. I assure the man that I am fine, and then, once he is out of ear shot, Travis and I burst out laughing. We stand up and start walking.

     “Don't leave school just because your sister is hogging all the players for herself,” Travis tells me as we stroll beneath the shade of the trees. The park is bustling with college students, parents with young children, joggers, walkers, and picnickers. We ignore everyone as we meander along the walking loop.

     “And by 'players' I assume you mean Mason?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

     “Yeah, but before that there was Dylan. And before that, it was Ryan. And who was that guy you were crushing on in Anatomy class?” He pretends to rack his brain several minutes before saying, “Oh yeah! Filbert Mallone.”

     I give Travis a hard punch in the shoulder. “Phillip Mallory! You are such a moron! He was a nice guy!”

     Travis holds up his arms in mock defense. “He was not! He cheated on Monica Larue with that skanky girl " what was her name? You know, that Kelly chick from World Civ class!”

     Oh my gosh. Travis is right. Every guy I've been interested in since I came to college has been a bad boy. A player. And then it hits me " I've been going after the kinds of guys Hailey likes. I never would be interested in guys like that ordinarily. In high school, I was drawn to the quiet, shy guys. I like the studious, nerdy types.

     As if he is reading my mind (which is my sixth sense, not his!), Travis says, “It's like you're in some kind of competition with your sister.”

     I stop walking and pluck a dandelion. The white head is full and fluffy. Before Travis can stop me, I blow it all over him. The white petals stick to his shirt and hair. He growls and grabs me, playfully boxing and punching me. We chase each other around a couple of trees, then collapse in the grass. Once we've caught our breaths, I say, “I don't think I'm trying to compete with Hailey. I think I just don't know what I want.”

     “I don't think she knows what she wants, either.”

     “Oh, she knows what she wants,” I sigh. I lean against a large tree trunk and let my eyes wander over the grass, the people, the pooping dog. “She wants to stay young forever.” I point at the squatting terrier. “Do you think that man is gonna pick up his dog's t**d?”

     Travis shrugs his shoulders and watches as the dog finishes, then tears at the grass with his back paws. Tufts of grass fly up into the air. I've never understood why dogs do this. The owner looks around to see if anyone has witnessed the deposit that's just been made. Seconds later, he and the dog flee the area. “Nope. The t**d stays,” Travis says.

     “People are so lazy,” I complain.

     “You know, maybe you should stop worrying about everyone else's turds and start worrying about your own.”

     I sit up and look at Travis with the best offended face I can muster. “Excuse me?”

     “I just mean, you're so worried about what your sister is doing that you're depriving yourself of your own experiences. Why don't you stop comparing yourself to Hailey and just live your life, J?”

     It's not that easy! I want to scream. Instead, I fiddle with my shoelaces and think about how insightful he is. For a guy, I mean. “You're right,” I mumble. I glance up at him and purse my lips. “I need to stop comparing myself to her.”

     “Let her make her choices, and you make yours,” he tells me.

     I nod. I think this is a great idea. But I wonder if it's possible when you're so closely related to someone. I wonder if I'm strong enough to be my own person, to make my own light. Can I create a name for myself, a label outside “Hailey's Little Sister?” I laugh to myself as I think about what it would be like if I wore my true label: Hailey's Little Girl. I wonder how everyone would react if they knew she was an irresponsible mother who lost her innocence when she was fourteen, had a baby when she was fifteen, and never learned how to be a grown up. That would certainly dethrone her in the eyes of all her worshipers, wouldn't it? I'd love to see the looks of shock on their faces when they discovered Hailey McKay is just a thirty-five year old poser. A liar. A fraud. I could even go as far as to say a cougar. What woman her age parties with college students? Hooks up with twenty year old guys? Women who are still adolescent girls on the inside, that's who. Women like Hailey McKay.

     Am I evil for thinking such mean things about my mother? After all, she gave me life. She brought me into this world. I should be thanking her, shouldn't I? But I hate her. I hate her for being thirty-five and prettier than me, sexier than me, more popular than me. I hate her for not knowing how to be an adult. I hate her for confusing me about who I am. Most of all, I hate her for not loving me enough to be a mother to me. I know it's not her fault. She was a just a kid herself when she had me. But she could have learned. She could have tried to figure it out.

     “J, you okay? You look like you're about to cry.”

     I jerk back to reality and see Travis watching me in concern. “I just... I have a lot on my mind.”

     “Maybe it would help to talk about it.”

     I may only have known Travis for a little under two years, but he is the closest friend I've ever had. Something about him fits me in a way no one else ever has. I think I can trust him, but it terrifies me to consider exposing my secrets to him. I lift my eyes to his and say, “Trav', have you ever had a secret so deep and dark that if it ever got out in the open, it could destroy someone's life?”

     Travis' eyes get big. The color drains out of his face. “No,” he admits.

     “Well, I do.”

     Travis looks around self-consciously, then scoots himself directly beside me. He speaks in a low voice as he says,“Gosh, J. Did you kill someone?” Before I can answer, he adds, “Geezil peezil! Did you kill your sister?”

His face is so close to mine that I can smell the peppermint gum he's chewing. He could kiss me if he wanted to, his mouth is so near to mine. I don't pull back from his closeness. I am rather unnerved to discover that I like it. I like him being this close to me. “I didn't kill anyone,” I whisper, our eyes locked.

     “Then, what's the big secret?”

     “I'm afraid to tell you. I'm afraid that if I tell you, I'll ruin everything.”

     Something in his expression, in the way he's looking at me, shifts. It's a subtle transition I might have missed if I hadn't been staring directly into his eyes. Is it fear? Hope? Curiosity? I wish I really could read his mind because not knowing what is going on behind those blue eyes is driving me nuts.

     “You can tell me,” he swallows hard, then continues, “anything.”

     “You have to swear not to say a word about it to anyone else.”

     “I swear.”

     “You realize that if you break your promise, I will kill you,” I say in my most serious tone of voice.

     “I understand,” he replies in an equally serious tone.

     This will be the most terrifying conversation I will ever have, exposing my family's dysfunction to a guy I haven't known for very long. I'm taking a huge risk. But the way I see it, if he does tell anyone, I can ditch this school and transfer to another one. My life wouldn't change much with Hailey's exposure. Just hers. But maybe ripping the mask off would finally force her to grow up, accept the truth that Jacqueline

McKay is her daughter, not her little sister. And if Travis is able to keep my secret, then at least I've got one person on campus that I can talk to about all this. I won't be alone. Three of us will be playing the Undercover Mother game, not just two.

     So I tell him everything. When I'm finished, I realize his hands are holding mine. When had that happened? I look down at our hands, then up at his face. Question marks shoot from my eyes. He blushes, then quickly releases my hands.

     “You scared the hell out of me,” he confesses, scooting away from me, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I was afraid of what you were gonna say.” He takes several deep breathes, laughs uncomfortably.

     I'm confused and don't try to hide it. “I'm the one who was scared to death. Why were you scared?”

     He gets to his feet, offers me his hand, and pulls me up. I brush the grass and dirt off my jeans. He sticks his hands in his pockets and says, “The way you were talking, I thought the world was gonna end after this. But it's not so bad. This isn't so bad.” He shrugs casually, then withdraws a hand and slings his arm around my shoulder. “It's gonna be alright, J.”

     We start walking and I feel a hundred times lighter inside. “It's weird, though, right?”

     “It's the weirdest thing I've ever heard,” he says. “You guys are pretty screwed up. Like, seriously. I don't know if we can still be friends. I might turn into your 'undercover brother' or something.”

     I screech and poke him in the ribs. “I'm gonna find that dog t**d and push you down in it, Travis!”

     He laughs and tackles me. “I'd like to see you try!”

     “You wanna go over to Chelsea's and study for Chemistry?” I ask him.

     “You're so random.”

     “I know.”

     He waits a couple of beats, then says, “You sure your mom will be okay with us going over to Chelsea's to study?”

     I pull away from him and point at him accusingly, “Oh no you didn't! Travis! You butthead!”

     “I know, I know. I couldn't resist!”

     “Shut up! You promised.”

     He grabs my hand and pulls me towards him. “I did. And I'll keep that promise.” We start walking back to the apartment complex.

     “Stop holding my hand. It's weird,” I tell him, and he lets go.

     “Sorry. Just trying to be 'the sensitive guy' and all that.”

     “Well, don't,” I tell him. I lean into him and add, “Just be you.”

     “Okay. But only if you'll just be you.”

     “Deal.”

      Dedicated to Jacob, who came up with the term “Undercover Mother” and gave me the idea for this story.

Author's Note

Any feedback would be welcome =)