And that’s how this whole stupid thing began — with a lie that I, for once, hadn’t even meant to tell.
“Wait … so he thinks he was talking to me?” Amy turned to face me, stopping our Saturday morning trek through the hub of commercialism and public massage chairs known as Oak Hill Mall.
I gave her a sheepish grin, one I had perfected a long time ago. Amy didn’t look so much angry as … horrified.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were logged in. On the plus side, he’s not mad about the e-mail.”
I expected her to point out that it was her laptop and Ryder had e-mailed her so of course she was logged in and how could I be so stupid? But this was Amy. Ever-sweet, ever-forgiving Amy.
“It’s an honest mistake,” she said. We kept walking, dodging around a group of middle school girls who were emerging from Hot Topic. “But what does this mean? What did you two even talk about all night?”
“Nothing,” I said. “And … everything? It was bizarre. He’s obnoxious, but … maybe he’s not quite as awful as I thought?”
“Well, I guess that’s nice to know.”
We stepped into the food court and headed toward the closest counter. A bored-looking guy stood behind the cash register, readjusting his navy-blue hat that was, by far, the worst part of his work uniform. It made me wish I didn’t have to ask him my next question, but alas, a girl’s gotta make a living.
Or at least make enough money to buy a new cell phone.
“Hey,” I said to the bored guy. “This place hiring?”
“Yeah.”
That was seriously all he said. Then he stared at me, his eyes nearly as dead as his monotone voice. Dear God, I hoped something besides this job had been responsible for sucking out his soul.
“Can I get an application?” I asked.
“I guess.”
He turned around and went in search of an application, moving slow and stiff, like a zombie. A zombie that smelled like deli meat.
I turned to Amy and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.
“So, anyway,” she said. “About Ryder —”
“Amy!”
Amy jumped and we both turned to see a thin, blond girl waving. She was probably a few years older than us, and she was sitting alone, eating a burrito. She kept waving, then signaled Amy to come over and join her.
I looked at Amy. The smile she gave in return was fake, but only I would’ve known that. She raised her hand in a small, embarrassed wave and then turned away, ducking her head as if she hadn’t realized the girl wanted us — well, not us, Amy — to join her.
I glanced between the disappointed-looking blond and my anxious-looking friend. Before I could say anything, though, Zombie Cashier returned with my application.
“Here.”
Amy snatched it from him, said a quick, “Thanks,” then tugged me out of the food court.
“I was gonna apply at some other places,” I said.
“You can do it later.” She handed me the application. “You wanted to apply to the bookstore, too, right?”
“Yeah.” I frowned at her. “So who was that girl?”
“Madison,” Amy said.
“Who?”
“She used to date my brother. Before Bianca.”
“Huh.” I glanced back as we walked away from the food court. The girl, Madison, was still eating alone. And she looked rather annoyed about it. “For some reason I don’t remember her.”
“Weird.” She shrugged. “Anyway, about Ryder …”
“Right.” We walked into the bookstore and made our way toward the front counter. “I still can’t believe I chatted with him all night.”
“Do you think you like him?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “I just … maybe don’t despise him? Plus, it’s weird now that I know he thought he was talking to you. But maybe it’s not a big deal.”
We reached the counter and I asked the woman behind the register for an application. Once I had it in hand, Amy and I decided to browse the shelves for a while.
“So, what are you going to do?” Amy asked, picking up a copy of Cyrano de Bergerac. She was supposed to read and analyze a play for her drama class.
And then I said possibly the most ironic thing that has ever come out of my mouth. “I’ll just tell him the truth.”
Amy glanced up at me, and the surprise on her face did not go unnoticed. “That’s it? That simple?”
“I mean, it’ll be weird,” I admitted. “‘Hey, Ryder. So I know you thought you were talking to a smoking hot, boobalicious lady the other night, but actually it was me, her moderately attractive but still utterly charming best friend. Sorry about that.’”
Amy balked. “Sonny, don’t say that.”
“What? That you’re boobalicious?”
“Well, that, too,” she said. “But that you’re only moderately attractive. You’re beautiful.”
I laughed. “I love that you’re trying to boost my ego right after I refer to myself as utterly charming. But let’s be serious. Next to you, anyone looks only moderately attractive.”
She ducked her head and picked up another play in order to hide her face.
“Anyway, it’ll be fine. I’ll tell Ryder what happened. It doesn’t have to be dramatic.”
And the funny thing is, at the time, I really believed that.
* * *
When Amy and I returned from the mall that afternoon, Mrs. Rush drove me out to the high school. Luckily, it appeared that the battery had died because I’d accidentally left the lights on, not because it needed to be replaced — that would have been a nightmare. But with a little effort and a pair of jumper cables, Mrs. Rush managed to get Gert purring again. Or wheezing, which was a more accurate description. Either way, I was mobile once again.
Which meant I was able to park Gert in the grocery store parking lot, where she waited for me on Monday morning.
Amy had set her own phone alarm to my schedule, and while the shrill siren noise sent me bolting upright, Amy hadn’t even stirred. I’d reset the alarm to her schedule (and turned the volume up a little) before sneaking out of the house.
Most days, I got up early, got ready at Amy’s, then sat in the parking lot until it was time to head to school. Usually, I dozed off in Gert’s front seat, then had to rush to avoid being late for class. Not today, though. Today I forced myself to stay awake.
I knew Ryder always arrived to class early, and I wanted a chance to talk to him before Mr. Buckley started lecturing about the Crusades or the Inquisition or whatever tragic religious conflict we were learning about now. I was hoping to explain what had happened in our IMs, make it known that I no longer thought of him a complete tool bag (only a partial tool bag) and maybe, just maybe, invite him to sit with me at lunch.
Ryder had other plans, however.
As expected, he was already in the classroom when I walked through the door. He was flipping through the pages of our textbook and jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad as he went. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt with some strange logo on it that, even across the room, made his eyes pop more than usual. Once again, I was struck by how attractive he was. And now that I knew he wasn’t 100 percent awful … well, let’s just say there was an uptick in his hotness factor.
All of a sudden, I was nervous. I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off before walking over to him.
“Hey,” I said, sliding into my seat.
He didn’t look up, and I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. So I cleared my throat and said again, “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice was flat and he kept on working, not even glancing back at me.
Okay, so maybe this would be harder than I’d thought.
“So, uh … I need to talk to you about something. The other night —”
Suddenly, Ryder spun around in his seat, facing me. But the look on his face was less than kind. His eyes were narrowed and cold. Even in all our bickering, he’d never looked this pissed
. I was so surprised that I sat up straight.
“The other night,” he said. “You mean that e-mail I received?”
“Um …”
“Because I know that wasn’t all Amy,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t. But, Ryder —”
“For the life of me, I can’t understand why she’d be friends with someone like you, Sonny.”
No, this definitely wasn’t going as planned. I gritted my teeth. “Will you just shut up and listen to me for a second?”
“I’m done listening to you,” he snapped. “Despite everything you’ve said, Amy and I have a connection. We chatted online all night after that ridiculous e-mail.”
“I’m aware,” I muttered.
“She’s funny and smart and beautiful …”
I rolled my eyes. Because of course. Of course he mentioned how beautiful she is.
“And you,” he said, glaring at me. “You’re just a …”
I waited, knowing what he was going to say. A bitch. Amy was funny and smart and beautiful, and I, Sonny, was just a bitch.
But he didn’t say it. He just shook his head, turned back around in his seat, and mumbled something. I don’t think he meant me to hear it, but I did.
“And you’re not good enough for her.”
My fists clenched beneath my desk. “Yeah?” I said. “Well, neither are you.”
Just then, Mr. Buckley walked in the room, putting a stop to any snappy retort Ryder might have thrown at me next.
Fuck it, I thought. I’d been wrong. Ryder was an asshole. That all-night chat had clearly been a fluke, and there was no point telling him the truth about it. Even if he let me get a word out, he wouldn’t believe me. Or it would just piss him off even more.
So I got my textbook and went right back to hating Ryder Cross.
I don’t know how I met Amy Rush. I’d love to tell you this charming story about how we bonded over a shared box of crayons in preschool or something — and who knows, maybe we did — but I can’t remember. That’s how long ago it was.
I know we were young, three or four, maybe. It was before my dad was arrested for the first time. He used to drive me to her house for playdates on the weekends. Dad told me I could invite Amy over, too, if I wanted, but I never did.
Because even as a little kid, I was embarrassed. At that point, my parents and I were living in a trailer out on the edge of Hamilton. And Amy lived in a mansion. Plus, there was my mom, who, I was convinced, would forget to make us dinner or something. I didn’t want Amy to see where I lived. I guess there have always been parts of my life I kept hidden, even from her.
But that didn’t stop us from becoming insanely, maybe unhealthily close. We were two halves of a whole. We needed each other for balance.
She kept me calm, put me at ease when I was freaking out.
Like when we were seven and I accidentally broke the arm off my favorite doll. My dad had just been arrested, and Ramona was the last gift he’d given me. As I sat there, on the verge of an all-out tantrum, Amy gently removed Ramona from my arms, retrieved some glue from her dad’s desk, and put the doll back together. Sure, her arm was a little crooked after that, but that was okay. Amy had, for the most part, solved the problem.
Meanwhile, I spoke up for her, got angry for her, when she was too scared or embarrassed to. Like when we were freshmen and this gross upperclassman named Randy smacked her ass in the hallway.
Amy was so upset and humiliated, and I was pissed on her behalf. So the next time I saw Randy, I threw him up against the wall and gave him a swift knee to the groin. Who cared if I was half his size? Hell hath no fury like a girl defending her bestie. I got two weeks in detention for that, but he never bothered Amy again, so it was worth it.
Amy and I needed each other. Neither of us really had other close friends. We were the type who were friendly with everyone — excluding Ryder Cross, of course — but I think most people felt sort of left out when they spent time with Amy and me. There was too much history, too many inside jokes, and, yeah, maybe our closeness was a little bit weird to some.
But we were okay with that. It was just us. Sonny and Amy. Amy and Sonny. Where she went, I went.
Which was why I got a little panicked when I saw the stack of college applications sitting on her desk.
“Is it already time for these?” I asked, picking up a Cornell application.
“Yep. I got those from the guidance office today.” She’d just let me into the house after her parents had gone off to bed, so we had to keep our voices low.
“Wow.” I flipped through the stack. “Dartmouth, Stanford, Columbia … Very ambitious, Ms. Rush.”
“There are a few safety schools in there,” she said as she changed into her pajamas. “Have you thought about where you’re applying?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I figured I’d follow you wherever you were accepted and live under your bed in your dorm room.”
She laughed.
But I hadn’t exactly been kidding.
“You better start thinking about it,” she said. “These next few months are going to go fast. I know you get overwhelmed with paperwork —”
“False.”
She rolled her eyes. “You take three days to fill out a one-page job application.”
“I … like to be thorough.”
“Anyway,” she said. “I’d be glad to help you fill them out.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll see.”
The truth was, I was sort of deliberately avoiding thoughts of college. Sure, I had decent grades (I was an AP student, after all), but I wasn’t going to be able to afford tuition. Especially not to the schools Amy was applying to. In just a few months, we’d be separated.
She’d be off at some Ivy League university, and I’d be stuck here.
And that terrified me.
I’d been avoiding it, pretending college was a long way away and I had no reason to worry about it yet, but we were seniors now, which meant it was time to start figuring my shit out.
I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet, though.
Maybe that’s why I got so enraged when Ryder hated on Hamilton, because I knew this place was going to be my home for a very, very long time. Whether I liked it or not.
Amy finished running a comb through her hair. “Okay. You ready for bed?”
I shook my head. All the college talk had gotten me too worked up to sleep. “I need to work on a paper. Mind if I use your computer?”
“Of course not. It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the laptop and stepped out into the hallway. “Sleep tight.”
“See you in the morning.”
I’d barely gotten the laptop set up in the rec room when I heard a ping from the e-mail tab. I rolled my eyes, knowing before I even looked who was messaging me. Or Amy, rather.
“Not now, Ryder,” I mumbled. “Not in the mood.”
A minute later, there was another ping.
RYDER: How was your day?
RYDER: Are you done with that English paper yet?
I was determined to ignore him. After the way he’d talked to me in class that morning, he didn’t deserve my time. But five minutes later, there was another ping, and this time, I couldn’t ignore his message.
RYDER: So Pearl Jam is going to have a concert in Oak Hill.
ME: WHAT?!?! When? Where? Link????
RYDER: Ha. I knew that would get your attention.
I sighed, disappointed.
ME: Not cool.
RYDER: Sorry. I had to try.
ME: How did you know I like Pearl Jam?
RYDER: You love grunge, so I just thought of the most cliché grunge band I could. Other than Nirvana, of course.
ME: Wow. So now you’re calling me a cliché. Nice.
RYDER: You call me a hipster. It only seems fair.
He signed that one off with a smiley face.
ME: I’m a cliché, but you are the King of the Emoticons. Tell me, Ryder, how m
any selfies have you taken today?
RYDER: None. I don’t even have an Instagram.
ME: Hipster.
RYDER: I can’t win with you.
ME: This is probably true.
RYDER: That’s not going to stop me from trying.
Despite my better judgment, this made me smile.
And that was how I ended up chatting with Ryder — again — for most of the night.
RYDER: My mom is driving me insane.
ME: Welcome to adolescence. You’ll fit in well here.
RYDER: She won’t even let me watch the coverage of Dad’s campaign. It’s hard enough to find it anyway since he doesn’t represent this district, but if she hears one of his ads on my computer, she shouts at me to turn it off.
ME: Wow. Harsh.
RYDER: Hopefully I can get to DC for Thanksgiving next month. I’m desperate to get out of this stupid boring town.
ME: Again. Harsh.
RYDER: Sorry. I’m working on it.
ME: But I hope you are able to go back to DC. I’m sure your dad and your friends will be glad to see you.
I hated myself for keeping up the conversation. But as much as I wanted to despise him, Ryder was kind of being tolerable.
ME: So, you had a girlfriend in DC?
RYDER: Yeah. Eugenia.
ME: Whoa. Terrible name.
RYDER: It really, really is.
ME: So what happened?
RYDER: Nothing. We broke up when I moved and she’s already dating someone else. My best friend, actually.
ME: Oh. Ouch.
RYDER: I’m honestly not that upset about it. We dated for over a year, but it never really felt serious. More convenient than anything.
ME: So romantic.
RYDER: I don’t care that she started dating Aaron (my friend). That’s fine. I’m more upset that she and Aaron and everyone seem to have moved on without me so fast. They were the reasons I was upset to leave DC. They’ve been my friends since elementary school. And now, just a few months after leaving, I hardly hear from them. I get the occasional comment on my Facebook posts, but that’s it.
Lying Out Loud Page 4