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Never before had I even considered the possibility that I'd ever be involved in a situation like this. I had completely forgotten about my fake name I'd given to Ben. And didn't know Sky had remembered the nickname Ginger frantically screeched earlier this morning. In truth, I'd almost forgotten that entire incident happened in the first place.
Do I continue to lie and say that my real name is London? Then what plausible excuse would I provide for Ginger calling me Angie? Was that my middle name? An inside joke? A nickname? There were quite a few options, but none of them felt right. And maybe that's because they weren't.
How long could I continue a lie? Why did I have to lie in the first place? Why did Tracey have to leave? Why did I have to spill that lattè all over Ben Cook? Thankfully, that memory seemed to be temporarily forgotten.
"Uhm---" I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just admit that my actual name was Angelina. A random idea popped into my head.
"It's Angelina, actually, but London is my stage alias. You know, like how Judy Garland's birth name was Frances Gumm."
Well, that was a random---but true---fact.
What the heck was I doing?
"You're an actress?" Joshua asked, a twinge of interest lacing his voice. He took a silent sip of his drink and sat back in satisfaction.
"Uh---sort of." If you could consider you're an actress after portraying three minor roles throughout my high school's productions.
"Like, professionally?" asked Ben, tapping his index finger against the mug. His blue eyes seemed to pierce my own, making me become nervous once again.
I simply shrugged and felt like a complete idiot. How could I say I was an actress and not admit it was professional? Why else would I call myself that?
They cast unreadable glances at each other, taking occasional sips of their favored drinks. After several, awkward, moments of silence, I decided it was a decent time to leave the scene.
I closed my eyes in embarrassment as I walked briskly away from their mahogany table. Why did I have to be so awkward? Replaying the scene, I must've seen so uninterested with the conversation topic; shrugs for replying and vague answers. Only an extremely bored person did that.
Shaking my head, I entered into the coffee room and set the tray on the counter with a clatter. I felt a burning embarrassment rise to my cheeks as I leaned against a wall.
The only question that circled endlessly in my brain was why.
Why. Why. Why.
Just then, as I was sulking in my stupidity, the idea of texting Ginger suddenly came to me. I reached into my pants pocket and retrieved my thin phone. I unlocked the screen with a simple passcode and tapped the Message app---Ginger's name being the first to pop up.
