Lies My Girlfriend Told Me Part 10

I wake to the smell and sound of bacon sizzling downstairs. My nose leads me to the kitchen, where Dad's fixing Sunday breakfast. Mom's there, feeding Ethan a bowl of watery baby cereal. Her beeper goes off and she curses under her breath. She says to me, "Would you mind?" Meaning taking over the feeding. That I can do, as long as other people are around in case I screw up. I slide into her chair as she hurries to the phone to call the hospital.

Dad sets a plate of eggs, hash browns, and bacon in front of me.

"Thank you." I rub my hands together. "I'm starving."

He plants a kiss on the top of my head. If I hadn't felt it, I wouldn't have believed it.

Mom hangs up and says, "I'm sorry. I have to go." She hustles over to Dad and gives him a peck on the cheek. Slowing behind me, she pats my shoulders. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

Is there an answer to that? "Okay."

Dad sits down with his plate and says to me, "What's on your agenda for today?"

Sleeping. Zoning. "Nothing. Why?"

"I thought we'd all go tubing at Winter Park."

"Seriously?" My spirits lift. We haven't done that since I was a kid.

"Depending on how long your mom has to work."

I slump. She'll be there for hours, and by then it'll be too late to drive to the mountains.

Ethan clamps his lips together every time I lift the spoon to his mouth. Like he's afraid I'm going to poison him. Meanwhile, my eggs and bacon are congealing. I give up on Ethan and dig into my breakfast, and Ethan lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Alix," Dad says.

"Well, he won't let me feed him."

Dad scoots his chair down to take over, and suddenly Ethan is all smiles. It hurts that he hates me. What'd I ever do, except nearly kill him?

After eating and cleaning up, I go to my room and dig Dad's old fis.h.i.+ng-lure box out of the closet. I sit on my floor to make jewelry. In the box are rolls of colored wire and dental floss, beads of every shape and size, old b.u.t.tons I've collected over the years. I have squares of colored paper for origami, along with posts and gold loops. There's an earring on top that I started and never finished. It's braided wire with colored beads in the order of a rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.

It was for Swanee, of course. I don't know why I kept making them for her when she never wore them. Except she did always say she loved them.

I can't finish this one; I can't even stand to look at it. I set it aside. The b.u.t.tons I've collected over the years have come from clothes I bought at thrift stores and Goodwill. I sort through them for a matched pair to make earrings for someone-maybe Jewell. She wears lots of beads and bangles. Or Joss. I feel guilty about not defending her to Liana.

Joss texts me around nine AM to tell me they're home AT LAST!!!! She asks if she can come over. I text her that we're going to Winter Park today.

She texts: Can I go?

I don't want her to. Not today.

I lie: Dad says he wants it to be just family A minute later she texts back: Then can you drop me off at a friend's before you leave?

I can do that.

Sure Mom's still at the hospital, and Dad's in the living room, giving Ethan a bottle. "I need to run out for a minute," I tell Dad.

He glances up. "How long's a minute?"

I mock sneer at him. "Like, half an hour."

"No more than an hour," he says. "And if your mom gets home early, we'll call you."

I take the keys and dash to the garage. When I ring the bell at the Durbins', Joss answers.

"Hi," I say. "How was your trip?"

"Awesome," she deadpans.

Genjko pa.s.ses behind her with his duffel and heads for his room, giving off an aura of live ammo. Lost his Zen, I guess.

"We're outta here," Joss mutters.

Jewell snags Joss's sleeve. "Where are you going?"

Joss scowls. "None of your business."

"Hi, Jewell," I say as her cell rings. She ignores me to answer it.

Asher's cell bleeps and he disappears into the living room. A moment later he reappears and says, "I have to go out for a while."

Joss follows me to the porch. "And we all know why."

Why? I wonder.

Jewell's car emerges from the garage.

As her parents head off in opposite directions, Joss says, "I don't know how they waited this long."

My eyes ask the question, and Joss answers, "They have an open marriage."

I must look flabbergasted.

Joss smirks. "Mommy and Daddy have f.u.c.k buddies." She studies my face as if to gauge my reaction. I try my hardest to regain some sort of impa.s.sivity.

Swan never mentioned that, but then it's something that wouldn't come up in casual conversation. She might've been embarra.s.sed. I know I would've been.

Joss says, "My own f.u.c.k buddy awaits."

I think, She's kidding, right? She's barely fifteen-not old enough to have s.e.x. But then, how old is old enough? I sort of wish I'd done it earlier so I won't be a virgin the rest of my life.

She gives me directions, and as we're driving she pulls out a cell. I see her text OMW, for "on my way." Whatever he texts back makes Joss giggle. I wonder if whoever she's seeing got her the phone. It's actually a relief; maybe she'll stop bugging me about Swan's phone.

When she disconnects, I say, "Will you please look in Swan's room for a ring?"

Joss's voice hardens. "I told you. There. Is. No. Ring."

We drive for fifteen minutes, and then half an hour, and more. "Where are we going?" I ask. Because this is longer than the quick trip I expected.

"Right here." She points to the entrance of a trailer park. "Stop." She unfastens her seat belt and opens the car door.

The guy who's waiting in the doorway looks at least thirty. Isn't it illegal to date a minor? And if they're having s.e.x, that's statutory rape.

G.o.d, Joss, I think. Aren't you in enough trouble?

Before I can ask if she'll need a ride home-like, right now-she's ushered inside and the door shuts behind her.

At home I remote open the garage door and see that Mom's back from the hospital. It's after eleven, too late to drive to Winter Park. "Where have you been? I've been calling you," she snaps as soon as I walk through the door.

If Joss's "friend" hadn't lived in Kansas... If I'd been thoughtful enough to call... I go to fish my phone out of my bag, but grab Swanee's instead.

"Whose cell is that?" Mom asks.

I drop it back in my bag and avoid her eyes, and the question, while I'm searching for my phone. I have voice mail. "My cell's dead," I lie. "I forgot to charge it."

"You didn't answer my first question." Mom holds out her hand.

I'm not giving her Swanee's cell. "It's Betheny's. She left it in the cafeteria on Friday, and I picked it up to give it back to her." This sense of Swanee envelops me. Once you start to lie, it's hard to stop. In fact, it almost becomes a game.

Just then my cell vibrates. s.h.i.+t. I glance at the caller ID and it's not a number I know offhand. A knot of resentment forms in my chest because I'm not Joss's chauffeur. Then I feel bad because I should get my a.s.s over there and save her. I shrug at Mom, like I don't know how my phone magically recharged itself. "h.e.l.lo?" I answer, walking around Mom and toward the stairs.

Liana says, "It's me. You can hang up if you want to."

My pulse races. "Oh, hey, Betheny," I say. "Yeah, I have your cell. Can I bring it over later? We're going to Winter Park."

I check with Mom for confirmation and she shakes her head no.

"Or I could do it after I'm ungrounded for life."

Liana doesn't respond. She must think I'm crazy.

"My mom says hi." I lope up the stairs, adding, "He did? Cool."

Liana disconnects. I want to call her back so badly and find out why she called.

I start to dial, but can't. We shouldn't be in contact. Obviously, Swanee didn't want us to know about each other, and I think she'd be freaked to find out we'd met.

Score one for us.

Why does it matter what Swanee might've thought? I just don't want Liana to think... whatever she does at the moment. I don't get her, though. Why does she unfriend me and then call? I send her a text: Sorry about that. My mom was standing right there I key: Do you want something?

Duh. She wouldn't have called otherwise. I delete that line and try to think what else to say. Nothing comes to mind, so I press Send.

She doesn't text back. I wait five, ten minutes. Mom comes upstairs and opens my door. "I'm going to lie down for a while. Your dad might conk out in front of the TV, so if Ethan wakes up, would you mind giving him a bottle?"

If he'll take it from me. Which he won't.

"I need to go to Betheny's," I say, "and drop off her cell."

"Why can't she come here?"

"She's... grounded."

"Betheny?" Mom arches her eyebrows.

Think fast. "She's been so busy with cheerleading and all her clubs that her grades have dropped."

"Which reminds me." Mom folds her arms. "I looked online at your grades and noticed you didn't turn in several a.s.signments. And you missed five days of school in January. I don't know why the school didn't call your father or me."

"Their records are wrong." In fact, Swan called in for me, pretending to be my mother. She'd perfected her "authoritative" voice over the phone. I remember this one prank call she made....

Mom's looking at me like she doesn't believe a word of it. She goes on, "I can understand how difficult these last few weeks have been for you, but please don't let your schoolwork suffer."

A lump clogs my throat. She must see that I can't explain. I can, but the reason is sitting in an urn on a mantel.

She relaxes her arms. "I'm sorry we didn't get to go to Winter Park today."

I pick up my backpack and unload a pile of books on my bed. "Doesn't matter. You're right. I have a ton of homework."

Mom says, "If you need a break from studying, you can go to Betheny's. But just for a little while."

"Mom." I catch her before she leaves. "Don't athletes have to have physicals before they can partic.i.p.ate in sports?"

She gives me a blank look before she understands what I'm asking. "They do," she says, "but ventricular fibrillation, which is the usual cause of sudden cardiac arrest, may not be detected in sports physicals. I think the rules are changing to be more thorough, but don't quote me on that."

Before closing the door, she adds, "Sometimes it's just out of our hands."

Chapter 12.

I'll only be gone a couple of hours, and in the realm of eternal salvation, who marks time?

I almost miss her red car as I drive past it in the rear of the mall lot. I feel happy she's here. Why? Probably because if she wasn't I would've driven to Greeley for nothing.

The mall is almost empty because it's Sunday. I head down the center aisle-the only aisle-through a seating area where a couple of older people are reading newspapers and drinking coffee.