Lies My Girlfriend Told Me Part 15

Liana says, "Hi. It's me. Are you okay?"

Immediately, I call her back.

She answers on the first ring.

"My cell got confiscated in cla.s.s," I tell her.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I know the rules."

"So do I. I shouldn't be texting you during the day."

"No. It's fine."

"It's weird, but I feel better talking to you. More hopeful that life goes on. I hope you don't mind," she says.

"I don't mind. I feel the same way." Which is true.

"Where are you now?" she asks. The halls are filling and ears are everywhere, so I slip into the restroom and lock myself in a stall.

"In the bathroom."

"Before cla.s.s or after?"

"Between. English and lunch."

Liana says, "English. Lunch," like she's writing it down. "I sent a request to friend me again on Facebook. But if you want me to go away and leave you alone, just deny it. I'll understand."

Someone comes in and takes the stall next to me. I have to face the wall and m.u.f.fle our conversation, which creates a time lapse.

"Okay," Liana says. "Sorry for bothering you."

"No." I lower my voice. "I don't want you to leave me alone. It's just..." I whisper, "Somebody's in here."

"With you? Are you wearing the merry widow?"

I smile to myself. "I wear it every day. Hoping to get lucky, you know?"

She laughs. "Anyway, if you want to talk, I'll need your schedule so I'll know when it's safe to call. And vice versa."

Two things strike me instantly: 1. She plans to call again. 2. Swanee never could remember my schedule, no matter how many times I told her or wrote it down. I knew where she was every second of every day. Or at least I thought I did.

I ask Liana, "Where are you?"

"In the locker room, getting ready for a pep rally."

"Why the locker room?"

"So I can pick up my poms and run a brush through my hair. Gotta be glam, you know."

I love her hair. It's thick and curly. I'd give anything to have hair like hers instead of my flyaway mop, which won't even hold a braid.

"Where's your game?" I ask.

"Berthoud."

Before I can verbalize my thought, she preempts it by saying, "Don't come. You've seen us play."

She knows I wouldn't be going to watch their team.

"I'm on in two minutes," she says. "By the way, I took my ring back for a refund? Since I had it sized, they wouldn't give me the total amount, which bites, but I did find out something interesting."

"What?"

"Liana, the band started," I hear in the background.

"I'll tell you later," she says. "You'll die. Sort of the way I did."

Chapter 16.

As I veer up the sidewalk, I see that Joss is waiting for me on my front porch. She skipped out on detention, which will only prolong her sentence.

Every time I see her now, I feel guilty that Liana blames her for the texts. She looks like she wants, or needs, to talk. "Would you like to come in? I have Double Stufs."

That was the exact wrong thing to say.

She brushes past me and clomps off down the walk.

I notice she's gone from goth to s.l.u.t. She's wearing the shortest jean skirt I've ever seen over holey fishnets with this skimpy, low-cut s.h.i.+rt that shows every bulge. I always think girls who dress like that are crying out, Notice me!

I have this sudden urge to run after her, to hold her, to tell her it's okay to cry, to be angry, to grieve, to scream and curse the world for taking her sister and best friend from her.

Even though I don't know Joss that well, Swanee would want me to help her through this. I dump my backpack on the porch and dash after Joss.

She's gone. Disappeared. I call out her name and get no response, so I turn back toward my house. Inside, I find Dad in his office with Ethan, rocking him to sleep. Peeking in, I say, "Okay if I borrow the car for a while?"

"Just be back by dinnertime."

I drive in the direction Joss headed, but it's like she vaporized into thin air. I could talk to Jewell, share my concern about Joss needing someone to talk to about Swanee's death. Yeah, right.

As I wonder what to do about Joss, my brain automatically sets Dad's GPS to Berthoud. An hour. Yikes. Being back by dinnertime may be a problem, so I chisel a mental memo to call my parents when I get there so they won't worry.

Liana's right. The final score is fifteen to one, Berthoud. And I only glanced at the scoreboard to make it less obvious how focused I was on Liana during the game. After it's over, as she's slugging down her Gatorade, I come up behind her and go, "Boo."

She jumps and drops her bottle. We both crouch down to retrieve it. She says, "What are you doing here?"

"It was on the way."

"To what?"

"Um, Wyoming?"

We laugh in unison. She says, "We have a better track team. Come to those meets." Her face freezes. "If you can."

We stand there for a minute, not saying anything. My heart starts cras.h.i.+ng against my ribs.

"Liana, the bus is leaving in, like, a minute," a cheerleader with brilliant aqua hair says, breaking the spell. "I could use your help with the cooler." She closes the lid.

"You said you found out something when you returned the ring," I say to Liana.

She holds my eyes, and then looks away.

I should've listened and not come. Now I feel I'm being presumptuous.

She swallows hard and her voice goes hollow when she says, "Can we talk about it later?"

She's gone before I can answer.

s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t. I don't get home until after seven, and Mom and Dad are thoroughly p.i.s.sed. Naturally, I forgot to call. They don't ask where I was, which is a relief, but it also makes me feel like they don't give a d.a.m.n anymore.

Mom says, "I phoned Jewell to ask if she'd bring over your T-s.h.i.+rt."

"Mom, you had no right!"

"I had every right. I'm your mother. Jewell said she thought you'd already gotten everything you wanted out of Swanee's room." She finishes loading the dishwasher and starts the wash cycle.

I slide into my chair at the table. "I'm sorry. I do have everything. I also figured out they're the most dysfunctional family in the world."

Mom doesn't reply. I think she and Dad figured that out a month ago.

Mom says, "I left you a bratwurst and some sauerkraut in the fridge to warm up."

"Okay. Thanks," I say. "I'm really sorry again about being late and not calling. If you want to take the keys away-"

"Don't give us ideas."

I sit alone at the table with my nuked dinner and think about Liana, whether she lured me to Berthoud with the ring story.

No, that would be more of a Swanee ploy. Liana is nothing like her.

I can't keep placing blame on everyone else. It was my fault for not listening to Liana, my fault for not calling home. We choose our own actions, like Liana said.

Thoughts of my poor choices conjure up the image of Joss. As much as I want to distance myself from the Durbins, I can't seem to erase Joss. Her image, her unresolved grief, my guilt surrounding her.

As if Swanee's taunting me, that night I see the glow of her cell in my bag. I know I should get rid of it. So why can't I? I should give it to Joss, but then she'd know I am the thief and the liar.

I don't know why I'm not ready to relinquish that stupid cell. It's been more than a month, and no doubt the phone is dead or the service canceled. Having it only reminds me of what I've lost.

I can't sleep. I go downstairs to make some hot cocoa and as I pa.s.s Dad's office, I see the light on. Mom's in there, working on his computer. She must sense me behind her because she says, "Yes, Alix?"

That sixth sense freaks me out. Maybe I need to change deodorants.

I enter and sit in Dad's "thinking" chair. It's actually where he naps when he thinks no one's looking. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

Mom stops typing and wheels around.

"What would you do if you knew someone was in trouble and you didn't know how to help them?" I ask her.

She says, "Let me guess. Joss?"

Make that a seventh sense.

"Yeah."

Mom says, "Is she on drugs? Because if she is, I think Jewell should know."

What good would that do? Jewell wouldn't care.

"I think she's having s.e.x with a guy who's, like, twice her age. But that's not the problem."

"That's not the problem?"

"Mom, please. Okay, it's a problem. But it's not the worst problem."

"What could be worse?"

"No one's talked to her about Swanee's death."

Mom says, "I'm sure Jewell and Asher have."

I'm sure they haven't. "I think she needs professional help. Like, grief counseling."

Mom holds my eyes for a long time, and then picks up the phone. She must know a slew of psychologists and counselors. When the call is answered, she says, "Is this Joss?"

Oh my G.o.d.

Mom asks, "Is either of your parents home? This is Dr. Van Pelt. Alix's mom?" She listens a minute. "Will you leave a message for Jewell to call me-" Mom holds the phone away from her ear. Slowly, she hangs up. "Does she always talk to people that way?"

"Pretty much."