Little Lies

by H Hunting

  I stop, because he’s giving me the BJ fuck-off look. “He spiraled after winter break. So whatever happened was big. Kody went dark after that. He didn’t eat for days, and he’s always so rigid about everything. He spent hours at the gym, like he was punishing himself. And girls started talking. Like, he’d never been big on hookups, but there were rumors . . .”

  I don’t want to think about Kodiak with an endless stream of girls, but I can’t help but be curious. “What kind of rumors?”

  “Like, he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.” BJ blows out a breath. “I should not be telling you this shit.”

  “What do you mean he wouldn’t let anyone touch him? I’ve seen girls put their hands on him plenty of times.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just rumors.”

  “Which are usually built on a grain of truth.”

  “All I’m saying is whatever happened or didn’t happen between the two of you over winter break that year really messed him up—more than he already is, anyway. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live inside his head. It’s bad enough that he’s an elite athlete, but to be that smart too? It’s like he can predict his own mistakes before he makes them. It would drive me mental.”

  I nod. “His panic attacks used to be legendary.”

  “They still are; he just suffers silently now.”

  I don’t ask what that means.

  Present day

  A LITTLE WHILE later BJ and I realize that with the parents descending, we’re going to need the house not to look like a complete man cave sty so we rush around, cleaning up the worst of the mess. It takes us an entire hour to manage the kitchen and the living room.

  The backyard could be better, but there’s not a lot we can do with the limited time we have. BJ tosses the empties and the Solo cups into garbage bags before the doorbell rings.

  The second I open it, the air is crushed out of me, thanks to my mom’s hug. I sink into her, absorbing her love. We’ve always been close. We love a lot of the same things—minus math—and being the only girl, the youngest, and having some massive social anxiety has made me a bit of a mama’s girl. Which I’m totally okay with.

  “I am so, so sorry, sweetie,” she whispers into my ear.

  I pat her back. “We’re okay.”

  She gives me another squeeze and mutters, “No, I meant that Gigi and Pops are planning to stop by this afternoon, and she’s bringing you a present. I tried to tell her now is not the time, but she insisted, and honestly, you kinda want it because it’s awesome, but I’m still sorry. Just don’t open it in front of everyone.” She holds me at arm’s length, her expression somewhere between empathy, amusement, and worry.

  “Thanks for the warning.” My gigi is awesome. She’s also very, very liberal. I’ve amassed an entire drawer full of personal pleasure devices because she wants to make sure I know my own body before anyone else does. The message is a good one, but it can be embarrassing when she hands these things to me in front of my family.

  “I didn’t want you to walk into that scenario unprepared.” Mom cups my face between her hands. “You look tired. Are you sleeping okay? How about eating? Have you been moopy? I brought a new bottle of lactose pills for you.”

  “I’m fine, Mom, really.”

  She nods and scans the space beyond me, which leads to the kitchen. “What about the boys? Are they being slobs? They’re not having too many parties, are they? Are they being careful about who they invite over? Do you have mace? Maybe we should go out and get some, or you could take a self-defense class refresher. That might be a good idea.”

  “Mom.” I squeeze her shoulders. “Take a breath.”

  Her eyes fall shut for a few seconds, and she and I breathe a count of four and out again. When she opens them, she looks like she might get weepy on me. God, I miss her. She has always been in my corner, doing everything she can to help me be comfortable in my own skin.

  “I’m so glad no one was in that house.” She exhales another long, slow breath.

  “Me too.”

  “Lainey must be beside herself. She and Rook should be here soon.”

  I nod. “Aunt Lily and Uncle Randy left about the same time you did, so they shouldn’t be far behind you.”

  “And Lance and Poppy just had to pick up the girls from a friend’s house and then they were heading out, too.”

  “I’m surprised Aunt Charlene and Uncle Darren didn’t come along for shits and giggles.” I’m only half joking. Charlene and Darren aren’t technically my aunt and uncle, but our families are so close we might as well all be related.

  “Darren had to run a hockey practice for your dad and Charlene had to take Rose to rehearsal, otherwise they’d be here, too.” She fiddles with my hair. Her nails are a glittery purple, the color of my name. “How are things with Kody?”

  I shrug noncommittally. “I don’t really see much of him. The guys are always at practice, or games, or class, and so am I. I’ve been hanging out with Lacey and Lovey a lot, though.” I shift the conversation, because talking about Kodiak with my mom is never easy, and I don’t want to lie to her.

  She doesn’t have a chance to ask any more questions because the front door swings open again. “How’s my baby girl?” My dad swoops in and picks me up like I’m a toddler, folding me into a ridiculously tight bear hug.

  “Oh my God! You’re going to break my ribs, Dad!” He gives me a stubbled kiss on the cheek and sets me back on the floor.

  “I missed you, kiddo.” He holds me by the shoulders, and his lips thin. “Have you lost weight? You look tired, honey. Are the boys being a problem?”

  “Everything’s fine.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “And I miss you too.”

  I let him hug me for a while. Me going away for college has been tough for him. He tried to bribe me with a really awesome car to get me to stay in Lake Geneva. Then River’s head nearly exploded when I suggested I’d live in the dorm, so here I am. I still got a cool car out of the deal, though, because my dad didn’t want me to be without my own transportation. Obviously I haven’t mentioned to anyone that I signed up for the student housing waiting list. No need to invite unnecessary drama.

  There are more people waiting on the steps behind him, so we move out of the foyer. Lainey greets me with a huge hug. Kodiak is such a mix of his parents. He has his mother’s dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, but he has his dad’s dimple, rugged jawline, and size.

  “You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?” She squeezes my hands.

  I shrug. I’m severely lacking in height, but I’m not the gawky little girl she probably remembers. “Happens to all of us, I guess.”

  She laughs and her eyes soften. “I hope my son has been treating you well.”

  I fight to keep my smile in place. “I don’t see too much of him.”

  A shadow of sadness passes behind her eyes. “Really? I thought with him living down the street, you’d see more of each other.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Well, they’re all so busy with sports and classes.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  Fortunately, Uncle Randy and Aunt Lily arrive to end that uncomfortable conversation. I can’t tell Lainey the truth.

  By midafternoon, all of the parents are gathered on the back deck. My dad wanted to shock the pool, but my mom told him to hold off until right before they leave. He did, however, clean the hot tub. He was not impressed by the condom wrappers he found nearby.

  Lance and Poppy, Quinn’s parents, are the last to arrive, and they bring his younger sisters along. Heather is fifteen, and Celeste is thirteen, and I adore them. We jump in the pool while we wait for the guys to get home.

  Just as my dad and Rook head to campus to pick up the boys, Gigi and Gram-pot show up.

  “I have a special present for you!” Gigi hands me a small, wrapped box. Upon closer inspection, I realize the design on the paper is cartoon penises with faces. Thankfully, the presence of Heather and Celeste means I
can put off opening it, and I run it up to my room.

  My dad and Rook pick up takeout on the way home from getting the boys, and when they return, we all sit outside on the back deck, stuffing our faces while our parents figure out how to deal with the situation.

  Kodiak sits on the far side of the deck, beside his mom. His knee bounces a mile a minute, a sure sign he’s anxious. Not that I blame him. The kitchen in their house is destroyed.

  “I talked to a contractor friend on the way over, and he’s saying it’ll take at least a few weeks for the house to air out and the kitchen renovations to be done,” Uncle Randy says.

  “Yeah, I made a few calls too, and everyone I talked to said the same thing,” Rook adds.

  “Should we look at renting the boys a place?”

  “I can stay at a friend’s place for a while,” Quinn says.

  His dad gives him a look. “What kind of friend are we talking about?”

  “Just someone from class.”

  His mom gives him a look. “A female someone?”

  He shakes his head. “Just a buddy, don’t worry, Ma.”

  “BJ can stay with us,” Liam suggests, and Lane nods his agreement.

  “You have an extra bedroom?” Uncle Randy asks.

  “There’s a game room in the basement with a murphy bed,” BJ replies. “It’ll be fine for a few weeks.”

  “Well, that’s two out of three sorted,” Uncle Randy says.

  “What about the spare room here? Kody could stay with us. There’s already a bed and a dresser in there,” Maverick suggests.

  My dad and Rook exchange a look. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” my dad says.

  “It’s perfect, right, K?” Maverick’s eyes are alight with excitement over the idea of having his best friend in the room down the hall. “Then everyone has somewhere to stay, and you don’t have to deal with a rental. Besides, it’s only for a few weeks.”

  A few weeks of Kodiak in the bedroom under mine. A few weeks of potentially running into him in the hall, or the kitchen, or anywhere really. A few weeks of his constant awfulness. What if he brings girls home? What if I have to listen to him banging them through the vents?

  “Lavender, honey?” My mom squeezes my knee.

  “Huh?” I glance around to find everyone looking at me. Including Kodiak. His expression is flat, but his knee bounces a few times before he spreads his hand over his thigh to stop it.

  “Are you okay with that?”

  I shrug, going for apathetic. “It’s only a few weeks.”

  How bad could it be?

  But based on how things have been so far, I know it has the potential to be really, really bad.

  Age 13

  LAVENDER AND RIVER got cell phones for their eleventh birthday. I didn’t get one until I turned twelve, but Lavender is a girl, and her parents worry about her a lot. They wanted her to be able to contact the people in her support network, so they gave in and got them both one.

  It’s supposed to help with her independence.

  It also means we can text each other.

  Which is good, because sometimes she needs me and not everyone understands. It makes me anxious when I can’t be there to calm her down. I know what it’s like to be trapped in my head, unable to get away from all the spinning negativity. Once I’m in the spiral, it’s hard to get out.

  On the way to hockey practice, my phone pings, so I flip it over and check the screen. It’s Lavender.

  I used to have a photo of her attached to her contact. It was her at Queenie’s, our therapist, working on one of her pieces of art. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing a dress she made. Her expression was fierce with concentration.

  I changed it to an infinity symbol and switched her name to a boy’s because I don’t want my parents to know how much we message each other. I don’t think they’d like it, since it’s every day. I erase all the messages after we’re done chatting, because my mom and dad check my phone sometimes and go through all my conversations with friends. Most of the time, I talk about hockey and school, but with Lavender it’s different. We talk about other stuff, and I won’t betray her trust, because she confides in me.

  She tells me how sometimes River makes things hard for her. Or how everyone is so protective. I’m protective too, but Lavender doesn’t seem to mind as much with me.

  When she first got her phone and my dad saw how much we were messaging, he sat me down and talked to me about how Lavender is still mostly a little girl, and I’m a teenager, and I’m starting to grow up, but she’s not there yet. I didn’t want to hear it, even though I know he’s right.

  Lavender and I have always been close, and I don’t want anyone to take her away from me, so I promised him it wasn’t ever like that. I told my dad she’s like my little sister, only she doesn’t annoy me like Aspen.

  I understand why he’s worried, though. Sometimes at hockey practice, the older boys who play before us talk about their girlfriends and the stuff they do.

  Maverick kissed Abby Saunders at a party last month, and her braces cut his lip. But he still said he’d do it again anyway.

  I’m too focused on hockey to deal with girls right now. Lavender is the only girl I like hanging around with, and she’s the only one who really gets me, just like I get her. I don’t understand most girls. Or most people. I don’t like having to pretend I’m interested in what someone is saying, and most of the time people like to fill the silence with nonsense.

  Lavender doesn’t have a lot to say when we’re in big crowds, but when we’re alone, or with people she’s comfortable with, like her cousins, she’s animated and fun and funny and introspective.

  My mom says she’s going to be a knockout when she’s older and finds her confidence. Secretly, I don’t know if I want that to happen, because then she might not need me anymore.

  Lavender is what my mom calls an old soul. She sees people for what they are, and she feels everything really intensely. I think it’s why she has such bad anxiety attacks—the kind that make it impossible for her to get words out, because the fear chokes her.

  I know how to make that better. Not even Queenie is as good at calming her down as I am. Or River. And if I’m honest, I like that Lavender relies on me. I like that she needs me, that I’m the only person who can fix things for her when she’s out of control. It makes me feel like I’m actually in control, because most of the time my head is a big, jumbled, uncomfortable mess.

  The only time I really get any peace is when I’m on the ice, or when I’m helping Lavender. Occasionally my sleep is peaceful, but lately I’ve been waking up from dreams that make me feel bad, even though I don’t have control over my thoughts when I’m unconscious. I never tell Queenie about them. Or anyone. I know they’re wrong, so I keep them to myself.

  Sometimes my sessions with Queenie overlap with Lavender’s by a few minutes, and I get to see what she’s been working on. Mostly I’m early because the possibility of being late stresses me out, but it also gives me a glimpse inside Lavender’s head, which is a fascinating place. She’s brilliant; not in the same academic way I am, but she understands the world on a different level.

  I understand logic and math and reason. She understands people and feelings and emotions. I don’t know which one of us is more tortured because of it.

  My mom tells me we perseverate. I’ve learned it’s a nice way of saying we’re obsessive and overthink everything. The hard part about being a genius is knowing all the fundamentals but not being able to talk to anyone about anything mundane without sounding like an asshole.

  My mom sounds sweet and kind and genuine. I sound like I hate everyone. Because mostly I do. I like Maverick because he gets me, and we both love hockey. I like my dad because we share the same passion, and he pushes me to be better. I love my mom because our brains are the same, and she feels the same level of guilt I do when I’m not entertained by people. And I revere Lavender because she’s all the things I�
��m not. She’s sensitive and aware, kind and sweet, and she’s soft and compassionate. But she’s also a warrior.

  She knows how to exist in this world without always having to be part of it. Sure, she falls apart, but if she didn’t, I wouldn’t have the same role in her life, so I live for those moments when she needs me.

  I glance over at my dad, but he’s focused on driving. I key in my passcode and tap the message. Lavender knows my hockey practice schedule since I play with Maverick.

  I wait for a response, but one doesn’t come right away. Finally the dots appear, and then disappear and appear again. That familiar unsettled feeling makes my legs restless, like there’s an itch under my skin I can’t get to. I force my feet to stay planted on the floor and my knees not to bounce.

  I stare at those four words, willing them to shift and change into the truth. Lavender doesn’t usually message until later in the evening, especially when I have practice.

  The dots appear again. This time the message is more jumbled, as if she’s having trouble typing, which happens when she’s having an anxiety attack and her fingers won’t work the way they’re supposed to.

  I want to call her, but I can’t with my dad right beside me. I don’t want another one of his lectures about how it’s not good for me and Lavender to rely on each other like this.

  Lavender helps paint the sets because it’s what she’s really good at. She can sing, but she doesn’t like it when there’s too much attention on her. Any attention really. Teachers know not to call on her in class—not because she doesn’t know the answers, but because she can’t stand all of those eyes on her, and she can’t respond when everyone is looking.

  She loves the drama club, but lately she’s been having a hard time because there’s a girl who isn’t very nice to her.

  Our school is close to the arena. I check the clock. We can stop, and I can fix whatever is wrong and still make it to practice on time.