“Do you play, too?” Emmett asked, sounding shocked that I knew my way around the game.

“I used to. Years ago.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed. I mean, you’re so . . .” He gestured to my light pink maxi dress, neatly curled hair, and glossy pink lipstick, struggling for an adjective that wouldn’t offend me.

“Girly? Dainty? Out of shape?”

“The first two.” He appraised me again with renewed interest. “Why did you stop? Playing, I mean.”

I shrugged and looked away, the universal signal for Not even worth discussing. I didn’t like to admit it, to myself especially, that I’d stopped playing because of some stupid, ignorant comments made by a couple of gossipy soccer moms who didn’t even know me. I’d not only quit sports, but changed my entire image on top of it, all because I wanted people to stop assuming I was somehow maladjusted and in need of female guidance. No, I’d much rather Emmett get to know me as I really was—someone who’d been raised by two men but was just like any other girl. Only with a different type of family from most people.

 

“A great story of an underdog finally coming out
on top as she learns to love each flaw she has,
one at a time.”

—RT Book Reviews on Faking Perfect