Little Lies

by H Hunting

  “I’m okay,” I mumble, not wanting to draw more attention to myself.

  They release me, but both shift at the same time, pulling one leg up so they can turn toward me, the movement synchronized.

  “You don’t seem okay,” Lovey says softly and tucks my hair behind my ear.

  “It’s been a long day. And to answer your questions, yes, my brothers are driving me nuts, my schedule isn’t bad, but today is heavy, and I didn’t know about Quinn and the fight. It’s not really a huge surprise, though.” I adore Quinn, but he has a short fuse. “There’s a nice guy in my costume and set design class who might be cute, but I couldn’t see him very well because I didn’t have my glasses, and let me think about the party. A sleepover would be fun, but we’ll see if I can deal with the meeting new people part.”

  “The girls in the house are really chill, and the guys who come to our parties don’t hang out with the hockey team, so you won’t have to worry about your brothers showing up, or anyone else.” Lacey chews her bottom lip and glances furtively at BJ, still passed out in the chair. He can literally sleep anywhere.

  “Maybe.”

  Lovey grins and claps her hands. “Maybe is almost as good as a yes.”

  “And there will be tons of cute guys.” Lacey waggles her brows.

  I laugh and shake my head. “We’ll see. As much as cute guys sound awesome, I’m not sure my brothers are going to make dating very easy this year.”

  “Hopefully they’re too busy with sports and classes to pay attention to what you’re doing.” Lovey twirls the end of her hair around her finger. “Thankfully Liam and Lane live closer to hockey row, so they can’t interfere with our dates.”

  Lovey and Lacey are the youngest of six, and they have four older brothers to my three, so they sort of understand where I’m coming from, but not completely.

  “They’re also super chill,” I point out.

  “This is true.” They nod in tandem.

  As much as the idea of a party excites me, the reality isn’t at all the same. I want to be social, to have lots of friends like they do, to join clubs and be part of things, but I get so stressed out when there are too many people around. People think I’m weird.

  Which I am, but in those situations, I end up looking weirder than average.

  My stomach growls loud enough to startle me. I glance at the line of students. There are at least ten people waiting to order.

  “Are you hungry? Do you want me to grab you a coffee? Something to eat?” Lovey offers.

  “I can wait.”

  “I was about to get a tea. Tell me what you want, and I’ll order it for you.”

  Even lines make me anxious. Sometimes people try to talk to me, and then I have to make polite conversation with strangers, and I don’t have the energy left for that today.

  I give her a grateful smile. “Okay. I’ll take a decaf, coconut-milk latte and a scone or a muffin.”

  “That’s it? They have sandwiches.”

  “A muffin is good.”

  “Nothing with raisins, though, right?”

  “Right.”

  As soon as Lovey gets in line, she strikes up a conversation with the guy in front of her. She isn’t even flirting. She’s just nice.

  Lacey and I talk about class schedules while we wait. Every few minutes someone stops to say hi. Lots of girls give BJ a sly second glance when they pass him. Like Lacey and Lovey, he’s a junior, but unlike most twenty-one-year-olds, he’s sporting a full, lush beard, better suited for someone at least five years his senior. He’s also sporting a sizeable tattoo that spans from his wrist to his elbow, and he has plans to continue the art until he has a full sleeve, exactly like his dad. In fact, BJ is almost the spitting image of his father, apart from his chocolate-brown eyes, which are very much his mother’s.

  The other big difference is that instead of being into hockey like his dad, BJ is a figure skater—a tattooed, bearded figure skater, who hangs out with a bunch of hockey players. He gives off a zero-fucks vibe at all times. Since our mothers are half sisters, we’ve always spent a lot of time together, particularly during holidays.

  When Lovey returns with food, BJ’s eyes pop open. He yawns loudly and stretches. “Lavender? When’d you get here? How long have I been out?” His voice is low and raspy with sleep.

  “A while ago.” I help Lovey unload the tray of food. She was smart not to let me go up and order myself. There’s no way I could carry the tray without spilling something. I’ll never have a serving job; that’s for sure.

  BJ leans forward to scope out the goods. Before he can reach for something, Lovey shifts to block him, her hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m hungry,” he says gruffly.

  “And? You think you can pick whatever you want without even asking?” There’s as much amusement in her tone as there is annoyance.

  “I was just looking. Besides, the one thing I really want to chow down on is you, but you keep denying me.”

  “Oh my God! You’re disgusting!” She shoves his shoulder.

  BJ flops back in the chair, his grin full of mirth. Lovey’s face is completely red as she huffs and throws herself back down on the couch, as far away from BJ as possible.

  It doesn’t matter that we’ve all grown up with him, or seen him in a full sequin leotard, he still hits on Lovey all the time. BJ isn’t related to the twins, so it’s not quite as squicky as it would be if he flirted with me like that. I can’t decide if he does it because it always gets a reaction or because he’s a compulsive flirt. Then again, he doesn’t do that with Lacey.

  Before I can take a seat in the middle of the couch again, BJ grabs me by the waist and yanks me into the chair with him.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I need you to save me. A girl I hooked up with last semester walked in, and she’s a stage-five clinger. Pretend like you’re into me.”

  I make a gagging sound and try to get out of the chair, but the springs in the seat are shot, and my knees are practically at my chest. “Seriously, BJ, that’s just wrong. We’re related.”

  “She doesn’t know that. Just stay put until she’s gone.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder to keep me seated.

  I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed or entertained or both. BJ is ridiculously charismatic, and girls throw themselves at him on a regular basis.

  A tall, blonde girl with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, fastened by a pink glitter bauble more suited to a six-year-old, wearing uber-short-shorts, a spaghetti-strap tank, and four-inch espadrilles sashays over, popping pink bubble gum. Interestingly, she looks a little like Lovey and Lacey, but a lot less wholesome.

  She glances at me, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns a creepy, megawatt, lip-glossed smile on my cousin. “BJ! How are you? You remember me, right? We hooked up at that party at the end of last semester. I texted you after, and then left you a voicemail, but maybe you didn’t get the messages.”

  “I got the messages.” BJ’s tone is flat.

  “Oh.” She twists the end of her ponytail around her finger. “I get it . . . end of year, you got busy with stuff.”

  “Uh, not really. I figured it was a one-off, so I didn’t think calling or responding to text messages would give the right impression.”

  I don’t know whether to be embarrassed for this girl and her obvious desperation or horrified by BJ’s easy dismissal.

  “Oh. Yeah. Totally.” She nods a bunch of times. “I thought maybe you’d want to hook up again, but, like, maybe you’re involved now, or whatever.” She shoots me another scathing look. “Anyway, I heard there’s a party this weekend, so if you’re there, and you’re, like, not attached, then we could hang out again or something . . .” The offer hangs in the air like a hot fart after taco Tuesday.

  “It’s probably not gonna happen. But you know, I appreciate the offer.”

  More nodding from the girl follows. “Okay, well, you can always text if you change your mi
nd.” And with that, she flounces off to the barista.

  I shudder in disgust. “I can’t believe that just happened. That was harsh.”

  BJ shrugs. “She’s tried to screw every single guy on our street, so don’t feel too bad for her. Three days ago, she tried to hook up with Liam when she was at our place, and when she realized he had a twin, she thought it would be fun to see if they were both game.”

  “Please don’t share the outcome of that story.”

  “You know that’s not Liam’s style. Laughlin, maybe . . .”

  Laughlin is their older brother, who has the personality of a vampire and the social skills of a gnat. It’s crazy because Uncle Miller and Aunt Sunny are quite literally the nicest people on the face of the earth.

  I shake my head. “Still, I don’t know how you guys don’t all have raging cases of incurable STIs at this point.”

  “Condoms are the answer to all of life’s problems,” BJ muses.

  “Or you guys could choose not to screw the same girls.” I try to pull myself out of the chair, but I’m wedged in.

  “Yeah, but then you run the risk of getting emotionally involved, and I’m not ready for that.”

  BJ is unapologetic about his prolific sex life, and he never leads girls on. They just can’t help but fall for him. The beard, the tattoos, the fact that he’s a figure skater? He’s also ridiculously well endowed, which I’ve been unfortunate enough to confirm with my own eyes, thanks to his lack of modesty.

  The bell over the door tinkles, and a ripple of excitement moves through the café. I don’t have to look to know who’s graced everyone with his majestic presence because I can sense him, like a shadow darkening my already-shitty day. Again.

  “Fuck my life.” I stop trying to get out of the chair and try to sink farther into it instead. I keep my eyes trained on BJ’s outstretched legs and will them to stay there.

  “Ballistic, we need to talk.” Kodiak’s voice comes from my left. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne.

  “Aboot?”

  Like my dad, BJ’s mom is Canadian, and for whatever reason, there are a few words where that accent bleeds through.

  “Who you let into the house.”

  BJ shifts beside me, his arm stretching out across the back of the chair. “You weren’t complaining this afternoon, from what I heard. And she wasn’t mine; she was Quinn’s.”

  I don’t want to be here. I want to disappear. I don’t want to listen to this, to be this close to Kodiak and hear him and BJ talk about the girls they have sex with. Particularly when only minutes before the girl currently in question, he was driving me home, making me feel like nothing. Then he hammered home the point by screwing a bunny right after.

  “How would you know since you were passed out in the living room?” Kodiak counters. “And I talked to Quinn. I know it was you who brought her by. There are better ways to cheer him up.”

  “Says the guy who filled the hole Quinn didn’t on our houseguest,” BJ scoffs.

  I’m almost glad I haven’t had a chance to eat much today. I’d puke all over BJ’s brand new trainers, otherwise.

  “BJ, have some class!” Lovey hisses.

  “Sometimes the truth is dark and dirty. Isn’t that right, Bowman?”

  I stiffen when Kodiak’s hand lands on the arm of the chair, his fingers curling around it, the tips going white with the pressure. There’s a brown smear on the back of his hand. He’s a compulsive hand washer. Sometimes when he was younger, he’d wash them so much, his skin would crack and bleed.

  “You have no idea what the truth is, and you really don’t want to push me today.”

  A heavy silence weighs down on me. BJ traces a figure eight on my shoulder, and suddenly I can’t breathe. It’s purposeful. An intentional reminder that BJ knows the history Kodiak and I share in ways most don’t.

  “What’s eating you today, Kody?” he asks. “You must’ve taken the extra-strength dickhead pill this morning.”

  “Fuck you, Balls.”

  “You’re not really my type, but thanks for the offer.”

  “You’re treading a thin line, and you know it.” Kodiak moves away, but the heaviness in the air is slow to dissipate.

  “Dude’s got problems,” BJ mutters and gives my arm a squeeze. “This isn’t on you, Mini Waters.”

  I finally pull myself out of the chair. “I should probably get going. My class is on the other side of campus.” I grab my latte and muffin, aware that class doesn’t start for another half hour, but I need to get away from Kodiak and the inevitable questions I’ll get from my cousins if I stick around. I can see Kodiak in the reflection in the windows, standing in line, making small talk with some starry-eyed girl.

  No one calls me on bailing, because they know better. All of them know at least a little about my tumultuous past with Kodiak. But no one knows how bad things got, or how it all imploded, except him and me.

  Age 11

  I’M SWEATY AND stiff from standing in the same place for long minutes. It’s dark in this room, and I’m tired of being stuck behind this curtain. It’s been too long. My hiding place is too good. Maverick is never going to find me.

  Just as I think this, the door opens and the light flicks on, sending shadows up the walls. Maverick’s footfalls are barely audible, but my heightened senses mean I can hear every tiny creak. I hold my breath, and a bead of perspiration trickles down my spine; anticipation makes my heart race. I need to take a deep breath to calm myself, but there’s a chance Mav will hear me if I do.

  I want to win, but anxiety slithers down my spine, making my skin itch. I always feel like I want to burst out of it when it gets bad—like I want to be outside of my body. I wish my brain would shut off every once in a while.

  I don’t think I can handle being stuck here with my thoughts if he moves on to another room without finding me. I missed a goal last night at hockey, and we lost. I can’t stop thinking about what I should have done differently. I feel bad about it, and it’s making me edgy.

  I want to be still and silent inside, like Lavender is on the outside. Just thinking about her usually makes the spinning thoughts calm, but right now, it sends another uncomfortable jolt through me. I’m done, I decide. I move three inches to the right, causing the floorboard to squeak. Silence follows for a few agonizing seconds, and finally the curtain shifts to the side, light pouring in. I shield my eyes with my hand.

  “Found him!” Maverick yells.

  “It’s about time. That took for-freaking-ever,” BJ grumbles from the doorway.

  I swipe my arm across my forehead. “You suck at this game, Mav.”

  “Whatever. This is boring and I’m hungry. Let’s get a snack.”

  I follow Mav down to the kitchen with Lacey and Lovey, the Butterson twins, tagging along, their matching pigtails swinging. Their family and BJ’s are visiting because it’s a holiday. That’s how it’s always been; all of our families get together and celebrate.

  Mav peeks around the corner, checking to see if anyone’s looking, before he sneaks into the pantry and grabs a box of cookies and a bag of chips without asking the nanny. He tosses each of us a can of soda.

  All of our parents are out for dinner, and that means the nannies get together and watch movies with the little kids while we get the run of the rest of the house. My mom would be mad if she knew I was eating chips and cookies after nine, but she’s not here right now. I’ll probably tell her later, though, because I don’t like the way guilt feels. It gnaws inside my head and makes me restless.

  We sneak back upstairs, creeping past Robbie’s room. The door is closed, but we can hear the TV from the hall, and it smells like the inside of a gym bag or a science experiment.

  Once we’re safely back in Maverick’s room, Lovey and Lacey cram themselves into the single beanbag chair and BJ sprawls on the couch. Maverick stretches out on his bed, and I take the gaming chair on the floor.

  We pass around the cookies first, cracking sodas
and munching on sugary treats. We polish them off in less than two minutes. Well, the twins are still nibbling theirs, but the rest are gone.

  “Where are Lavender and River?” I ask, passing BJ the bag of chips.

  “Probably watching a movie with the littles,” Mav says, swiping through pictures on his phone.

  “So you found them?” I press. That prickling feeling under my skin spreads, blanketing me.

  “Yeah. I found River where he always hides.”

  In his room, under his covers. He only plays because we force him to and because Lavender likes hide-and-seek, even though she always picks the most obvious places to hide.

  “And Lavender was with him?”

  “Huh?” Maverick looks up from the screen.

  “Lavender was with River?” I repeat. “You found her too?”

  “No, but she always hides under the bed, so there was no point in checking.” He rolls his eyes, annoyed with his siblings’ predictability.

  “Right.” I can’t swallow. My throat is suddenly all locked up. My palms sweat, and my hands ache. I push out of the chair and head for the door.

  “Where you goin’?” Mav asks.

  “Just to check.” I pad down the hall to River’s room, but he’s not in there. I check under the bed, in case Lav fell asleep while she was hiding. It’s happened before.

  I move on to the next room and knock on the door before I peek inside. Lavender’s room is peaceful chaos. Her artwork is tacked all over the walls, and her sewing machine sits in the corner, a pile of fabric on the table beside it.

  Lavender is beyond talented. Everything she feels she puts on canvas and paper or binds together with a needle and thread.

  But she’s not here, and that horrible itch under my skin grows until I want to claw myself out of my own body. I run down the hall, taking the stairs too fast and sliding down the last few on my butt. I sprint to the media room, grip the doorjamb, and scan the seats and mats laid out on the floor where all the littles are. My baby sister, Aspen, is curled up facing the movie screen, but her eyes are closed. My younger brother, Dakota, is right beside her.

  River is sitting in the front row, but there’s no Lavender. I spin around and head for one of the other places I might find her—the art room. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the overwhelming visual stimuli before I flick on the light. Every surface is covered in her ideas. Her thoughts are laid out in vibrant colors, pretty paintings, and designs that swirl and blend together. She told me once it’s what she feels like inside most of the time, but usually darker.