39.1

Confusion flooded me. I was sure I’d never felt this way, but starting out pretending had muddied everything up. “But once we stopped faking it, it was hard to trust what was real,” I blurted, not realizing my mistake until Mom’s face had blanched.

“Faked what?” She sat up straight, her I’m-not-mad-I’m-just- disappointed face in place already.

“No, nothing.”

“Faked what, Lincoln?” She still had the power to freak me out. Did moms always retain that power? “You and Hannah faked what?”

A noise escaped my throat that was halfway between a throat-clearing and a cry of desperation, and I was reminded of the time when Mom had learned about how I’d taken the salamander out of the tank in fifth grade and planted it in the desk of a girl who’d made fun of my little brothers at the bus stop. Only this time, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be proud.

“You and Hannah faked being together?” Mom was smart, she was working it out without me even saying anything.

“Only at first,” I tried.

“Why?” she as