A Fabrication of the Truth Read Online Free Page A

mansion – none of which ever made me step out my front door. You know, a day in the life. I always had an excuse handy when someone at school asked what I would be doing for the evening.
    So my grandma answered with a surprised, “Really?”
    “Yep.”
    “You don’t look too enthused.”
    “I am, really, look at the smile on my face,” I said, forcing a frightful smile, bugging my eyes and stretching my lips wide.
    My grandma laughed. “Make sure you eat something before you go.”
    “Will do.”
    I headed up to my room to decide what to wear. It was a party, so people generally dressed a bit nicer, right? But then I didn’t want to look like I tried to dress up too much just because Dalton said I should go. I didn’t want anybody to get the wrong impression.
    I stood in my room thinking about my clothing choices. My room was small and cramped, but I liked it. It oozed my essence in the form of fabric and old clothing pieces strewn everywhere. My sketchbook and colored pencils sprawled out in a mess on the floor because I always tried to draw my fashion creations beforehand. I stress tried because I usually started with one intention and ended up somewhere totally different. My closet had no doors – my grandma and I took them off long ago so I could cram more in there. Clothes haphazardly stuck out in odd directions from hangers jammed on the rod. Under my window sat my sewing machine, piles of clothes stacked high upon my shelves: made, to be remade, and ones that didn’t turn out so well. I flopped onto my bed debating what to wear – something that shouldn’t have been so hard. Maybe I just needed to close my eyes, stick my arm in my closet, and pull something out. Hours passed before I finally got dressed.
    I ended up wearing a shirt composed of two different t-shirts – each with their own pattern – and a loose crocheted sweater over that. I put my hair in a pile on my head with a couple of pencils stuck in it. I looked nice but not too fancy. Caroline picked me up – she was fortunate and had a car. I had a bus pass.
    The party was in the cramped, hot basement of an old house. I could already tell I was not going to have a good time. Why did I even go? Deep down, I knew I went because of Dalton.
    “Luiz said they’re having an actual live band playing,” Caroline said, leaning in close so I could hear her. Caroline had her hair swept back and wore just the simplest amount of makeup. She had such a natural beauty—she didn’t even need the light touches of makeup.
    “Ooo, wow, so awesome.” The live band was pretty obvious because you could hear them warming up or whatever – tuning their instruments, playing with the amps, that kind of stuff. It would be so loud in there when they started – I was not looking forward to it.
    “Shut up. No, she said her brother said they’re actually really good.”
    “Yeah, we’ll just see about that. I think I’m going to suffocate in here.” I pulled on my shirt collar and stuck out my tongue. I wasn’t normally such a Debbie Downer; I was just in a mood. A mood that started the day before, highly affected by Dalton Reyes. Why did he have to whisper in my ear in front of Caroline and Luiz?
    “Um, hi. We’re Macaulay and we’re going to play some songs,” we heard.
    “Let’s get closer,” Caroline said, grabbing my hand as the band started to play a fast song, like punk mixed with indie rock. Was that a thing? I wasn’t well versed in musical genres. The lead singer’s voice wafted through the air, lingering in my brain—it was so familiar. When Caroline and I popped out near the front of the crowd, I saw why. Dalton Reyes sang into the mic, playing guitar and looking hotter than all get out. Caroline grabbed my sleeve. “It’s him,” she said, pointing to the band.
    “Of course it is,” I said.
    Luiz appeared at our side, wearing a dress that might have actually been a child’s t-shirt. I didn’t even know where you would go to buy