The Fake Boyfriend Experiment

  The Fake Boyfriend Experiment

  By Stephanie Rowe

  ***

  “Stop, drop and rock-n-roll....Stephanie Rowe has created the new teen queen with Lily Gardner! The Fake Boyfriend Experiment gets under your skin, like a pop song on the radio, you find yourself wanting to go back to it over and over!” ~ Guilty Indulgence Book Club

  ***

  ISBN-10: 0985179252

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9851792-5-0

  Copyright 2012, 2006 By Stephanie Rowe

  First published in 2006 by HarperCollins under the author’s pen name of Stephie Davis and the title THE BOYFRIEND TRICK. The novel has been extensively revised and expanded for the 2012 publication.

  Cover design © 2012 by Pete Davis. Cover design and layout by Pete Davis at www.loszombios.com. Cover photos courtesy of iStockphoto.com.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews.

  Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist.

  For further information, please contact Stephanie@stephanierowe.com

  Dedication

  For my daughter, the most brilliant and amazing person ever. I love you, sweet girl!

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to my core team of amazing people, without whom I would never have been able to create this book. Each of you is so important, and your contribution was exactly what I needed. I’m so grateful to all of you! Your emails of support, or yelling at me because I hadn’t sent you more of the book yet, or just your advice on covers, back cover copy and all things needed to whip this book into shape—every last one of them made a difference to me. I appreciate each one of you so much! Special thanks to, Jeanne Hunter, Sharon Stogner, Summer Steelman, Teresa Gabelman, D. Alexx Miller, Holly Collins, Janet Juengling-Snell, and, Jenn Shanks Pray. There are so many people I want to thank, but the people who simply must be called out are Denise Fluhr, Alencia Bates, Rebecca Johnson, Karen Roma, Nicole Telhiard, Denise Whelan, and Ashley Cuesta. Thank you also to the following for all their amazing help: Judi Pflughoeft, Deb Julienne, Julie Simpson, Mary Lynn Ostrum, and Mariann Medina. You guys are the best! Thanks so much to Pete Davis for such an amazing cover, and for all his hard work on the technical side to make this book come to life. Mom, you’re the best. It means so much that you believe in me. I love you. Special thanks also to my amazing daughter, who I love more than words could ever express. You are my world, sweet girl, in all ways.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sneak Peek: PUTTING BOYS ON THE LEDGE

  Sneak Peek: STUDYING BOYS

  Sneak Peek: WHO NEEDS BOYS?

  Sneak Peek: SMART BOYS AND FAST GIRLS

  Stephanie Rowe Bio

  Select List of Other Books by Stephanie Rowe

  CHAPTER ONE

  Old dead men had nothing on the hot guy jogging across the parking lot of the Mueller-Fordham School of Music right now.

  I immediately abandoned practicing my sixth rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth to watch the boy I’d never noticed before lope across the asphalt, his dark hair just long enough to make me think he didn’t waste time playing by the rules. His body was lean and athletic in his black jeans and tee shirt, and he ran with the cool confidence of a guy moving on his own time. A boy who really didn’t care what anyone else wanted him to do. He wasn’t just cute; he was hot with an attitude.

  He was completely the opposite of the other two hundred students at Mueller-Fordham, home of some of the geekiest musical prodigies in the greater Boston area.

  And after my summer, I was seriously afraid that included me. Geek, that was. Not a prodigy. Not anymore.

  I leaned forward, craning my neck for a last sight of him as he disappeared around the corner of the building, out of sight and out of my life before he’d even managed to jumpstart it into something worth living. He was out in the sunshine, running freely. Where was I? Rotting away in the gloomy shade of practice room number five. Were there going to be any last minute tanning episodes to launch my freshman year? Not so much.

  I laid my forearm across the piano keys to compare colors. My skin was almost the exact same shade as the ivory. Was that what I was supposed to look like on the last day of summer? No, I was supposed to be tan and happy, not looking like pancake batter that had been left on the counter for too long.

  Tomorrow I would be starting high school. How could I start high school the same color as egg white? My arms were going to be a dead giveaway that I’d had no life this summer.

  Spending three months on a tour of New England with my piano teacher and six other students from the Mueller-Fordham School of Music was torture that should be reserved for serial killers and people who wear ribbon barrettes. I might not have the world’s best social life, but I didn’t fall into either of those two categories, so I deserved some kind of decent summer, right?

  “Good afternoon, Lily.” My piano teacher, who I’d dubbed Crusty on her most annoying days, strode into the private practice room before I could dive under the piano and hide.

  Crusty was my current piano teacher, and had been for the last three years. The rest of the world called her Miss Jespersen. Not Ms. Not Mrs. Miss. As in, I’m like one hundred years old and still unmarried because I’m so evil that I suck the life out of any man who comes near me.

  Today she was wearing a straight black pencil skirt, high laced black boots that looked like they’d belonged to her great grandmother, and a plain white blouse that made her already pale face look even more washed out. Make up? Not so much. She didn’t even wear lip gloss or mascara. Her only jewelry was a set of tiny gold studs in her ears and a silver watch with a brown leather band.

  She reminded me of a vampire: walking around like she was alive, but in actuality? Dead and soulless. Just an empty body trying to suck the life out of anyone who crossed its path.

  Crusty set her square purse on the floor beside the piano and carefully removed her white cardigan. “Well, Lily?”

  I managed a smile. “Hi.”

  She narrowed her eyes at my less-than-enthusiastic response, as if she could see the sparkly purple nail polish hidden under my sensible and completely unfashionable pianist-worthy shoes. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but I still caught a whiff of mothballs. Why would a human being always smell like mothballs? Seriously. Did she sleep in her attic with the bats or something?

  Yeah, this was the way to spend my last day of summer vacation, hanging out with Miss Jespersen instead of at the pool with my friends, checking out guys, or even getting a second glimpse of the guy from the parking lot. Lucky me. According to my parents, being a piano prodigy was a gift. After three years of workin
g with Crusty, it was a gift I was ready to give back.

  “Well, I have news.” She waved a newspaper past my face, too quickly for me to see what it said. “You received a review from your recital in Rhode Island last weekend, along with a photo.”

  “Really?” I snatched the clipping from her hand, then nearly gagged when I saw the picture. “Where did they get this?” The picture was from at least two years ago, before I managed to overrule Crusty’s strict dress code for recitals. I was wearing an ugly corduroy jumper with a white lace collar, and my nose looked enormous. My bun was total old lady style, carefully tucked in at the nape of my neck with that horrific velvet bow.

  “I sent it in, of course. A photo always attracts more interest in the story.” She smiled fondly at the photo, her pale green eyes looking way too happy. “It makes you look so polished, don’t you think?”

  “It doesn’t look like me anymore.” Maybe no one would know it was me… Oh. My gut sank as I saw my name in the caption beneath the photo, spelled correctly and everything. They even got my hometown of Westway, Massachusetts correct. “What paper is this?” Maybe it was the newsletter from the nursing home I’d performed at. That wouldn’t be so bad…

  “The Boston Globe.”

  “The Globe?” I croaked, horror welling over me in cold lumps of misery. “As in, circulation, seventy gazillion? As in, delivered to the doorstep of every single house in the state the day before school starts?” What if my friends saw this photo? They would totally disown me!

  “Yes, unfortunately.” Crusty sighed dramatically. “We finally get a review in the Globe, and it’s not good.”

  “Not good?” Ugly picture and a bad review? Because the day wasn’t going well enough, right?

  Miss Jespersen picked up the clipping and read from it. “Lily Gardner has some skill, and with more experience, she has the potential to develop several years down the road.” She set the paper down with a guilt-inducing sigh. “Lily, we’ve been working too hard for you to get lackluster reviews like this. A year ago, every review proclaimed you an immediate star. Now, you’re reduced to having potential.”

  I bit my lower lip, feeling even less like playing piano than I had five minutes ago. “It’s not that bad of a review. They could have said I should give it all up and start collecting snakes instead.”

  “Snakes? Really, Lily. This is not a joke.” Miss Jespersen set the clipping on the piano, so it could mock me for the whole lesson. It was just sitting there, that little piece of paper, right in my line of vision, taunting me with that humongous velvet bow. “Your audition is in three weeks, but your performance has been declining all summer.”

  I felt myself tense up at the mention of the audition. According to Crusty, if I didn’t make it into the secondary school program at the NorthEast Seminary of Music, my piano career would be over. Forever. As would my life. This was my chance to ensure my future, and I was blowing it. If that photo hadn’t destroyed my life already, of course.

  Personally, I was afraid that making it into the program would be the final blow to my life. Starting with the winter term, I’d have to spend four to six hours a day at NESM after school, and all day on the weekends. My social life was pathetic enough now, but if I made it into the NESM program, it would be over. There would simply be no time left for anything but piano and classes.

  My stomach turned and loneliness welled up in my throat. I had no good friends in the music world. My friends were all at school, and I’d barely seen them all summer. All I wanted was to be back at school with them, back to a life of at least some level of normalcy. If I got into NESM, I’d never see them. I would lose them. Tears burned in my eyes, and I turned my head away from Crusty so she couldn’t see. The thought of never spending another minute with my friends outside of classes was making me sick, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Lily.” Miss Jespersen tapped the piano to get my attention. “There’s no passion in your music anymore and without it, you’ll fail at the audition. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Maybe I did. I mean, no, I didn’t. What would I do if I didn’t play the piano? It was all I knew. It was who I was. But I didn’t want that to be all I was. I didn’t want to get sucked into this conservative, lonely world, like a black hole that would rip me from my life until my friends gave up on me.

  I was already nervous about seeing them tomorrow. What if they’d changed over the summer? What if they didn’t know me? What if—

  “Lily! Do you want to fail?”

  “No!” I barely resisted the urge to cover my ears and block her out. “I’m not trying to fail,” I snapped. “I’m trying to play. I’m just so tired and—”

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re tired. A top performer doesn’t let something like that stop her.” Crusty turned the picture of freakazoid me, so I had to stare at my ugly mug shot in the cruelest form of torture. “If I don’t see some improvement in the next week, we’ll need to think about taking you out of classes until the audition so you can devote yourself to piano all day—”

  “No!” Panic hammered at me, and my palms started to sweat. Take me out of school? The only thing keeping me going all summer had been the promise of going back to school and hanging with my friends. “I can handle school and piano, I promise.” I would go insane if she made me spend 24/7 trapped in a room with her for the next three weeks. “I swear, Miss Jespersen. I can do both. I promise.” A huge lump formed in my throat. “Please.”

  “Perfect!” Crusty nodded approvingly. “That’s the kind of passion I like to see. Put it into your music and we won’t need to talk to your mom about school.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. I promise.” I shuddered at the thought of her suggesting anything like that to my mom. Since Crusty had spotted me at an audition when I was eleven, my mom had fallen under her evil spell. I was my mom’s chance to be the piano diva that she’d never managed to be. She loaded the guilt on all the time about the opportunities I had that she would have killed for, and Miss Jespersen played on that big time. Even my dad’s attempts to keep them reined in weren’t always enough. I was sure Crusty would be able to talk my mom into taking me out of school. What then? Would I get held back a grade and be sent back to middle school if I missed enough school? Oh, dear God almighty. No.

  “Okay, then, let’s get to work. Make the walls of this room tremble with emotion.”

  “Oh, sure. No problem.” I stared at the sheet music, rested my fingers on the keys, and all I wanted to do was cry. Instead I lifted my chin and started to play. The notes were correct and precise, but I could barely read the music I was so upset. The music was stiff and uncomfortable, and Crusty bowed her head in disappointment after I’d played only three bars.

  Oh, come on! I was trying! I banged harder on the keys, biting my lip as I fought for the music—

  There was a loud knock on the door.

  “We’re in the middle of a lesson,” Miss Jespersen called out.

  “Come in!” I yelled at the same time, desperate for an interruption. I knew I couldn’t do this. Not today. Not right now. I was just too upset.

  The door opened, and I sat up so quickly I almost fell off the piano bench. I grabbed the edge of my seat for balance as the hottie from the parking lot walked into my practice room.

  Holy cow. My piano lesson had just become my best one ever.

  Up close, he looked even better. His dark hair flopped over his left eye, his black jeans had a hole in the right knee, his long-sleeved tee shirt had a sweet cartoon of the band JamieX on the front of it. JamieX! That was my favorite band ever, and I knew every single song by heart. I had three JamieX tee shirts, but I wore them only to bed because my mom thought they were too radical for a classical pianist. But he was wearing one!

  A flash of bright colors peeked out from the cuff of his right shirt sleeve, and I blinked at the show of red, blue, green and black. Tattoo? For real? It looked like it wrapped all the way around his forearm down to his wrist. How
far up his arm did it go? So freaking cool.

  The uptight Mueller-Fordham School of Music was not the kind of place where well-muscled guys with tattoos hung out, but here he was. Barging in on my piano lesson.

  He strode unapologetically into the room, his gait easy and confident as he took over my practice room like he owned it. This rocked. As he walked across the room, I stopped playing and leaned to the left so I could see past Miss Jespersen and get a really good look at him. I mean, why not? This moment was going to be the best moment of my summer vacation, so I needed to make it count.

  His jeans were just the right looseness over his butt, and there were a set of car keys hanging out of his back pocket, like he’d shoved them in there without bothering to make sure they were going to stay put. He was a guy who didn’t bother to make sure things were right, because he just assumed that he could handle whatever happened.

  I wanted to be him.

  Crusty gave an annoyed sniff. “We’re in the middle of a lesson.”

  “I know.” He tossed a cocky smile in our direction. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to grab a few chairs.” He didn’t sound at all sorry, and his apology was so breezy that I realized he wasn’t at all afraid of Miss Jespersen.

  I sat up straighter and checked him out more closely. Who was he?

  Crusty drummed her fingers on the piano top. “Just be quick, Rafe.”

  Rafe? Totally hot name. I bet he’d never worn a tie in his life. I sighed and leaned on the piano as he hoisted four chairs like they weighed nothing. Cute and strong. He had to be at least sixteen because of the car keys. Plus, of course, I couldn’t forget the tattoo. This guy was at my music school? How was that possible? Why had I never seen him before? I was there all the time. My hot guy radar should definitely have picked him up before now.

  “Rafe? Are you coming or what?” A girl strode into my practice room. Her chest was huge, her shirt was twenty sizes too small, her hair was long and highlighted. Her white shorts showed off tanned legs, and her wedge sandals were about two inches higher than I’d ever been allowed to wear. She was wearing gold dangling earrings that reached her shoulders, and her nails were neon green with black stripes. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she walked the same way Rafe did: oozing confidence and not caring at all what anyone thought about her.