Little Lies

by H Hunting

  “What’re you taking?”

  “Costume and set design.”

  “Really? Me too. We can go together.”

  “Sure. Great, thank you. I’m so freaking blind without my glasses, I can’t read the numbers on the doors unless my nose is almost pressed against the wall.” That’s a slight exaggeration, but not much.

  My new friend taps his glasses. “I’ll be the eyes for both of us. I’m Josiah, by the way.”

  “I’m Lavender.”

  “That’s a cool name.” He smiles blurrily. “It’s nice to meet you, Lavender.”

  “You too, Josiah.”

  We rush the rest of the way up the steps. Thankfully, our class is close to the entrance, and we slip in with a minute to spare. It smells like rich fabric and the metallic tang of electricity, sewing machines, wood, and paint.

  “Oh my God,” I half moan in a whisper. “I wish I could see this room clearly. It smells like heaven.”

  I follow Josiah to the blob of students arranged in a semicircle on one side of the room. We take the last two seats at the edge, and Professor Martin starts calling names. As usual, I’m last on the list.

  Once roll has been called, our professor reviews the syllabus. Luckily, I have a tablet, and Josiah lends me his glasses for a minute so I can make the font huge enough to take notes I can read. Basically it’s a sentence a page, but it’s better than nothing. We spend half the time playing icebreaker games, and in the last twenty minutes, we have to write a couple of paragraphs on what we hope to get out of this class.

  Most of the students in this course are super outgoing. I’m the exact opposite, since all I ever want to do is hang out backstage or work behind the scenes, but I survive.

  “Are you a theater major?” Josiah asks when we’re on our way out the door.

  I shake my head. “I’m undeclared until next year.”

  “Really? How’d you manage to get in that class? It’s supposed to be for drama majors only.”

  “Uh, usually that’s true. I have special permission. I did a lot of costume and set design in high school and community theater, so they let me take it.” It’s partly the truth.

  “Oh, well that’s . . . cool. What other classes are you taking?” He sounds genuinely interested.

  “Um, hold on . . . I’ll show you my schedule, and you can tell me if we have any together, since I can’t see anything right now.” I set my bag on a bench, retrieve my binder, and pass it over to him. It would be nice to know someone in more than one class. The whole getting-to-know-people thing is stressful, and I’m always inclined to say dumb, embarrassing things when I’m nervous, which is a lot of the time.

  “Looks like this is the only class we have together. But I’m meeting some friends for coffee now, if you want to come?”

  “Oh, I would really love to, but I have to go home and pick up my spare glasses. Otherwise I’m going to have a killer headache by the end of the day.” I tap my temple. “Maybe if you’re going after class on Wednesday, I could come with you?”

  Josiah smiles. “Yeah, sure. Should we trade numbers?”

  “That’d be great. You’ll have to add yours for me, though.” I pass my phone over as it vibrates.

  “Uh, Twinsie is texting you?”

  “That’s my twin brother.”

  “You have a twin? That must be kind of cool.”

  “It can be. It can also be a giant pain in my ass.”

  I use the text-to-speech function to find out where River is hanging out between classes. He’s all the way on the other side of campus, still with his football buddies, and Maverick has my car keys.

  Thank the Lord for speech to text. Mav is in the quad, which isn’t far away, and Josiah, being the nice guy he is, offers to walk me over since I can’t see well enough to make out the names of buildings, or read any of the posted signs unless I’m six inches away from them.

  As we draw near, Maverick’s laugh can be heard through the entire quad, along with the sound of simpering girls. At least River isn’t around to act like a rabid, angry guard dog, snapping at Josiah’s heels. He’s adept at scaring off guys.

  “Thanks so much for being my guide,” I say.

  “It’s really no problem. I’d be in the same predicament if I broke my glasses.” Josiah pushes his up his nose.

  “Holy shit, Lav!” Mav shouts and is suddenly all up in our personal space. He grabs Josiah’s hand and starts pumping it. I half expect water to come spraying out of his mouth, it’s so vigorous. “This is so exciting! You made a friend!”

  “Oh my God, will you shut the hell up?” If I could see properly, I’d kick him in the nuts.

  He finally lets go of Josiah’s hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “I’m just so proud of you. I’m Lavender’s embarrassing-as-fuck older brother Maverick.”

  “I’m sure he’s already figured out the embarrassing-as-fuck part. Can you lower your voice and turn your younger-sister-humiliation dial down from a ten to a more respectable two or three?” As annoying as this outburst is, Maverick is probably the least overprotective of my family members.

  “I can maybe take it down to a five, at best. You gonna stage a formal introduction, or what?”

  “Maverick, this is Josiah. I tripped this morning and broke my glasses, and Josiah has graciously lent me his eyes so I could find you, although I’m sure he’s very much regretting that now.”

  “Just imagine how much more he’d regret it if it was Riv he was meeting.”

  He has a point.

  I turn to Josiah. “Anyway, thanks so much for helping me out today. I know you’re meeting friends, and I don’t want to hold you up.” I’m 100 percent giving him an out and hoping he takes it before Mav says something else embarrassing.

  “Honestly, it’s no problem. I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

  “For sure.” I nod.

  “Nice to meet you, Maverick.”

  “You too, man.” He waits until Josiah walks away. “Look at you! Making new friends on day one. Just don’t introduce him to your feral twin, and you’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know what was worse, living at home last year or living with you two now.”

  While River went to Chicago and lived on campus, where literally everyone we know is, I got to live at home in Lake Geneva with my parents and take a general year at the local college. In hindsight, I think it was the right move for me. Did it suck to miss out on all the stuff that comes with living away from home? And was it hard knowing that pretty much my entire network of friends and cousins were out here? Yup. But it was nice being away from my overprotective brothers. I even had a boyfriend that no one threatened to murder. It was an experience I needed and wanted. That relationship only lasted a few months, but I managed to get in some great experimental learning since he had his own room on campus.

  “At least now you have some freedom.” Mav tosses my keys at me. They fall to the ground because I can’t see them, and my ability to catch is questionable on a good day with glasses.

  “I can’t see to drive, Mav.” I point to my face and nearly poke myself in the eye.

  “Oh, shit, right.” He bends to retrieve them. “Huh, well, I have class in ten. I could take you after that?”

  “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll take her.” Kodiak’s deep voice makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  “See, perfect? Thanks, K.” Mav is all smiles and cluelessness as he pats Kodiak on the back, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and takes off.

  “You don’t have to drive me home. I probably have a spare pair in the glove box,” I mutter. I’m sure my face is on fire. The humiliation from the last time I was alone with him comes flooding back, like blood rushing to a fresh wound.

  “You’re gonna need to know where the car is parked, regardless.” He’s so close, it’s hard to breathe.

  I’m glad I can’t see him clearly. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but the words get t
rapped in my throat. It didn’t used to be like this. For a long time, Kodiak was my safe space. We used to tell each other everything. I thought he was my soul mate—until I screwed everything up and made him hate me, and then he went and made sure I hated him back.

  “Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

  I practically run to keep up with his long strides.

  I want to make some kind of cheeky remark, but the last time I spoke to Kodiak, the results were less than desirable, so it’s better for me to keep my mouth shut. Besides, there’s a good chance I’ll trip over my words like I trip over my feet.

  Tears of frustration and embarrassment prick at my eyes. I feel stupid. Clumsy. Unwanted. A nuisance. Girls whisper his name as we pass, and one falls into step beside him, asking about some party on Friday.

  He barely acknowledges her, aloof as always.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asks.

  I don’t bother to look at her or give any indication that I’m aware I’m being talked about as though I don’t exist.

  “No one you need to concern yourself with. See you at the party on Friday.” He snaps his fingers at me, like I’m a dog. “Come on, pick up the pace.”

  I follow him across the parking lot, teeth clenched, fighting the urge to scream or cry. This is so humiliating.

  My car beeps, and I rush around to the passenger side, but Kodiak has only unlocked the driver’s side door, so I yank on it twice and then have to wait until he feels like hitting the button a second time.

  “Please let there be glasses in here somewhere.” I slide into the passenger seat and flick open the glove compartment, pulling out the manual and insurance papers in hopes that I’ll find something, anything. Even an old pair with the wrong prescription would be welcome. Or forgotten contact lenses.

  Kodiak opens the driver’s side door and bends over to slide the key in the ignition and roll down the windows before he closes the door again and leans against it, talking to yet another girl.

  Suddenly my car is filled with sound. But it’s not music. It’s one of my audiobooks. Specifically, a smutty audiobook. And it’s right in the middle of a particularly smutty chapter. Because that’s what I was listening to last night when I went to bed, and my phone automatically syncs to the sound system.

  Some people read books or listen to music before bed. I listen to sexy books. It’s way better than porn. The guys are always super attentive, and the women always have seven billion orgasms. And the hero always gives great oral. It’s the ultimate fantasy. Except last night I decided to try out a new genre: reverse harem. It seemed like it might be female-empowering, which is alluring when you’re me—not the actual reverse harem-ing, but feeling empowered.

  “You wanna ride our cocks, baby?” the very sexy, gritty male voice blasts through my amazing sound system. “Both of our cocks?”

  “Oh my God.” I frantically search for my phone, but it falls to the floor and slides under the seat. Of fucking course. I slap blindly at the dash, trying to find the volume button, but instead of turning it down, I turn it up, right as graphic penetration happens.

  I finally find the volume control and mute the damn thing, but it’s too late. Anyone within a mile radius has heard the literary porn. My mortification is extreme. I sink down in the seat, hiding behind my hair, the sound of laughter outside the car like needles under my skin.

  I feel like I’m a kid again—standing in the middle of the playground, someone making fun of me, calling me weird. Why doesn’t she talk above a whisper? Everyone looking at me. Laughing. Until River stepped in. Or Kodiak, before he hated me.

  But River’s not here. And Kodiak can’t even stand to look at me. Why he offered to drive me home is another huge question mark. Unless he’s just looking for an opportunity to torment me.

  My face is on fire. My entire body breaks out in a cold sweat. I can’t get out of the car, not with all these people around. It makes me feel trapped, and I hate it.

  Kodiak finally opens the driver’s side door. “You find your spares?”

  I shake my head, refusing to look at him.

  “Is that a no?”

  I purse my lips and remain silent.

  Kodiak sighs. “I gotta take this one home. See ya Friday.”

  He gets in, closing the door with a slam. He takes his time adjusting the mirrors, and it hits me how close he is. Some things haven’t changed in the past two years: same deodorant, same body wash, same cologne, same hair product, same asshole.

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not give Kodiak the satisfaction of seeing me cry ever again. I hate him so much for so many things, but this unnecessary humiliation is currently at the forefront, the things he said to me two years ago a very, very close second.

  “Didn’t realize you’re into the whole tag-team thing.” His voice is flat, apathetic.

  I focus on remaining still. On breathing.

  “Is that what you and all the drama geeks get up to backstage? You find a nice quiet spot behind the curtains and get yourself good and fucked?”

  I want to say something scathing, like I’m surprised that’s not his thing, since his dad was into threesomes back when he was Kodiak’s age. Although, the version of Kodiak’s dad I know is a really good guy, and doesn’t seem like the type who would bang two girls in a hot tub. However, there’s a really, really old video floating around on the internet that proves it’s true.

  There are also about a thousand pictures of my dad with his tongue in different women’s mouths. Apparently he didn’t sleep with all the puck bunnies, he just made out with them in public. Including my mom. Having a famous parent can be a real pain in the ass, and far more informative than is normal.

  My throat is tight, and anything I say is going to come out a pathetic whisper, if at all. So instead, I clench my fists to keep from fidgeting and try not to focus on Kodiak’s hurtful words, or the memories being close to him incite.

  “You got words for everyone else, but none for me?” he taunts.

  I stare straight ahead, unwilling to look at his horrible, beautiful face. I weigh my response before I speak, trying to inject some steel into my spine, so it doesn’t come out a weak whisper. “Why would I give you my words when all you do is twist them into something ugly?”

  “Still living in the past?” Real emotion hides under his ire, a waver in his voice that I recognize: anxiety.

  I let the things I want to say sit on my tongue like bitter pills and finally ask, “Why are you doing this?”

  “To remind you nothing has changed, Lavender,” he grinds out.

  The boy I used to love never would’ve embarrassed me or talked down to me like this. And his current actions prove that what happened two years ago wasn’t a mistake. He meant to hurt me then, and he means to hurt me now.

  He pulls into the driveway, and I yank on the door handle, but it doesn’t open, because the child locks are still engaged. “I hate you.” I spit the words like nails.

  He leans over the center console until he’s so close, his face is clear and beautiful and so, so hideous in its perfection. His pale green eyes burn with emotions I don’t understand, and the flecks of gold shine like refracted sunshine. “I don’t believe that. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten into this car with me.”

  I can feel his humid, minty breath on my lips.

  He drapes his arm across the back of my seat, and his fingertips brush my neck. I jerk back and slap his hand away.

  Kodiak frowns and grabs my wrist, prying my fist open.

  I hate the way my body responds to the contact, a shiver working its way down my spine, soothing but igniting at the same time.

  “What the fuck?” He twists my hand so I can see what he does. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t quite match, an emotion I can’t put my finger on—maybe because he’s touching me and I hate it as much as I crave it.

  Four cresce
nt-shaped marks line my palm, and I’m mortified all over again when thin lines of blood well from the fresh cuts. I yank my hand away. “Let me out.” It’s barely a whisper.

  “Lavender.” Dismay lurks in my name.

  I find my voice, finally, and its strength is fueled by my anger. “Let me out. Now.”

  “I should’ve known better,” he gripes and hits the unlock button.

  I throw the door open and clamber out, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

  Kodiak cuts the engine and gets out of the car, calling my name again.

  I give him the bird without looking back. He doesn’t deserve any more of my words.

  Present day, age 21

  LAVENDER STALKS UP the stairs to the front porch, jabs in the code, and disappears inside the house. The door slams behind her.

  She leaves a bloody smear on the doorknob.

  I glance down at the back of my hand, also streaked with her blood. It takes me back to when we were kids and makes my stomach turn.

  Instead of acting like a normal human being, I humiliated her. Again.

  Publicly this time.

  And she took it out on herself.

  Nothing ever changes with Lavender. Except that’s not entirely true. She’s definitely not a gawky, gangly teenager anymore. That much is obvious.

  I scrub my face and debate my options, which are limited. I knew this was coming. Just before high school, my family moved across the country. Since then, I’ve spent more than half a decade avoiding every possible situation in which I might inadvertently run into Lavender. It was easier when we weren’t living on the same street, going to the same school. And I was managing fine, until the holidays two years ago when she showed up drunk, dressed like goddamn Wonder Woman.

  At the time, I’d stupidly thought I could handle seeing her after years of nothing. I’d obviously been wrong. The last time I’d seen her—prior to the Wonder Woman fiasco—she’d been a middle schooler, and I’d been on the verge of starting high school. A lot changes between the ages of twelve and seventeen, and that was extra true for Lavender.