Lying Out Loud

by Kody Keplinger

  I shook my head.

  “So how do you know that he doesn’t like you?”

  “Please excuse me while I have horrifying middle school flashbacks triggered entirely by this conversation.”

  He laughed. “Fine. Better question. Why do you like him?”

  “He’s …” I smiled a little as a snowflake drifted down and landed on the tip of my nose. “He’s a lot like me. He gets me in a way a guy never has before. And I think I get him, too.”

  Wesley grinned. “Wow,” he said. “That’s shockingly sentimental coming from you. I’ve never heard you say something so heartfelt about anyone besides Amy.”

  I might have blushed if my face wasn’t moments from becoming an ice cube.

  “You should tell him how you feel,” he said. It was so nonchalant. So casual. Like what he was suggesting was the simplest thing in the world.

  I had no idea he was so dumb.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “We’ve already established this.”

  I bit my lip.

  “From what you’ve said, it sounds like he might feel the same way about you.”

  “I’ve barely said anything,” I pointed out. “And, no. He likes Amy. She’s sweet and gorgeous and I’m …”

  “You’re what?”

  He wasn’t letting me off the hook.

  “And I’m … not Amy.”

  Wesley stopped and put his gloved hand on my arm, turning me to face him. I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

  “Okay,” he said. “Listen to me. First, stop comparing yourself to Amy.”

  “There’s no comparison —”

  “Stop.” He glared at me, daring me to speak again. I didn’t, and he continued. “You’ve got to stop sizing yourself up. I know it seems like it matters now — I used to think so, too — but it doesn’t. Trust me.”

  I rolled my eyes. That was easy for him to say. He was a Rush. He was gorgeous and well liked. And it wasn’t like I thought I was hideous or anything. I just knew that someone who found Amy attractive probably wouldn’t be as interested in me.

  “Second,” Wesley said, drawing my attention back. “Are you really going to let this get between you and my sister?”

  Guilt twisted my stomach, and I swallowed. “I don’t want it to.”

  “Then don’t,” he said. “This guy might be as great as you say, but you two have something special. You’ve been inseparable from the minute you met. Like peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Ew.”

  “Right. I forget you don’t like peanut butter and jelly … but Amy never forgets. Did you know that when our parents took you two to the beach as kids, Amy would make your sandwiches herself? Dad would always forget and make peanut butter and jelly for everyone. So Amy would make you a different sandwich and pack it herself.”

  I looked down at my feet. I didn’t know that, but it didn’t surprise me.

  “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you two,” he admitted. “I don’t know how this guy figures into it. But I do know that both of you will regret it if you don’t fix things.”

  “She won’t talk to me,” I said. “How can I fix things if she won’t talk to me?”

  “Be patient with her,” he said. “You know Amy. She’s not like you and me. Sometimes it takes her a while to put words to what she’s feeling. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sighing. “You’re right.”

  “I know. I usually am.”

  I snorted. “Whatever you say.”

  “Come on. Let’s head back to the house. Bianca will kill me if I die of frostbite at her grandfather’s cabin.”

  “But you’d already be dead, so …”

  “That wouldn’t stop her.”

  We got turned around a few times on the way back — in our conversation, both Wesley and I had forgotten to pay attention to where we were going. Just when morbid thoughts of the Donner Party were starting to pop into my head, we spotted the cabin and made our way toward it.

  We rounded the corner of the cabin just as his Porsche began making its way up the driveway.

  “Hey, Sonny. Seriously, just tell the guy how you feel,” Wesley said, even though that conversation had long since been dropped.

  “But —”

  “And don’t assume you know how he feels,” he said firmly. “You can’t read his mind. Give him a chance. He might surprise you.” He smiled, watching Bianca as she climbed from the car.

  “Hey,” she yelled, waving him over. “Are you gonna come help me with these groceries or not?”

  His smile turned to a grin as he hurried to her, our conversation clearly completely vanishing from his mind. “What’s in it for me?” he asked as she rolled her eyes and shoved a bag into his hands.

  I hung back, watching them for a long moment. Wesley’s words had left me a little a stunned. Ryder had said almost the exact same thing when he encouraged me to contact my dad.

  And he’d sort of implied it about me.

  Maybe Wesley was right. Maybe Ryder would surprise me if I just gave him a chance.

  And as for Amy, I just needed to be patient. She’d come to me eventually, and we’d work things out when she did.

  Bianca hadn’t disappointed when it came to snacks for the night. She bought candy, popcorn, and a gallon of chocolate-swirl ice cream. Not to mention more Cherry Coke than a person could or should even drink in two days, which was all that remained of our Appalachian adventure.

  The four of us piled into the living room, the fireplace blazing, to watch the ball drop. Amy stayed quiet, as she usually did when I was in the room now, but I tried to keep my spirits up. Partly because of what Wesley had said — knowing that when Amy was ready, she’d talk to me — but mostly for Bianca’s sake. This trip had been her idea, after all, and I hadn’t been the most pleasant guest.

  “You sure you don’t want any ice cream, Amy?” Bianca asked.

  “No, thank you,” Amy said.

  “Not everyone likes ice cream in the dead of winter,” Wesley said.

  Bianca shut him up by shoving a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He reeled back, cupping his hands over his head. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bianca teased. “Brain freeze?”

  Wesley took a few deep breaths, then looked up. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said just before leaping on top of her. She shrieked as he began to tickle her sides.

  It was too disgustingly adorable, and I had to look away. Which was when I caught Amy’s eye.

  She was watching me, I realized. I gave her a small smile, but it fell fast when she looked away.

  “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” she said, getting to her feet.

  Bianca and Wesley sat up, both still laughing.

  “It’s only eleven-thirty,” Bianca said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m a little tired. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, well … we’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Amy,” Wesley said.

  “Good night.” She started down the hallway, toward our little room, then stopped and looked back. “Hey, Sonny?”

  I turned to her, surprised and a little hopeful. “Yeah?”

  “Will you come talk to me for a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course.”

  I stood up, then looked over at Wesley, who was giving me a very I-told-you-so look.

  “Night,” I said, and left Bianca and Wesley alone in the living room, waiting for the ball to drop.

  I followed Amy into our room and quietly shut the door behind me. Amy sat down on the bed, chewing on her bottom lip. I remained standing, leaning against the wall.

  “So, I’ve been thinking … about this whole Ryder thing,” she said.

  “Amy, I’m so sorry about the texts,” I said, unable to hold it back. “I know it was wrong. I knew it even when I did it, and you have every right to be pissed at me. But
I swear, it won’t happen again.”

  “I appreciate that, but —”

  “I mean, you have your phone back now,” I said. “And I haven’t IMed Ryder in forever, so the catfishing is over.”

  “Good …” She took a deep breath. “But it’s more than just that.”

  “I know,” I said. “The texts were kind of dirty and that’s weird for you, and I’m really —”

  “Sonny, no,” she said. “I mean, yes. It’s weird. But that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

  “Well, then, say it.”

  “I’m trying.” She sighed. “I know you really like him. And I know you didn’t mean to upset me. You’d never mean to do that. But … this whole thing has gone on a lot longer than I thought.”

  “What whole thing?”

  “Your plan,” she said. “To make Ryder like you and not like me. Me acting weird and rude around him. I just … I really don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

  “I know,” I said. “I know. But we’re so close.” I moved to sit on the bed beside her. “Really, really close, Amy. It won’t take much longer.”

  “You’ve said that from the start,” she said.

  She wasn’t wrong about that.

  “But, Amy —”

  “Wait. Just … let me finish.” She tugged on a curl and stared at the wall for a second, silent. “I know you like him,” she said again. “But I don’t think I can do this anymore. I can’t keep lying. I’m not good at it the way you are. And I don’t like being rude. And I don’t like him thinking I’ve been sending those texts —”

  “I told you. I don’t do that anymore.”

  “But it’s already been done,” she said. “And he thinks it was me who sent them.”

  “So … what are you saying?” I asked.

  “I guess I’m saying that I want out,” she said. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “But you said you’d help me.”

  “It didn’t feel like I had a choice,” she admitted. “And I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m sorry, Sonny. I just … I can’t.” She wrung her hands in her lap and took another deep breath. “And … and I want you to tell him the truth. That none of it was me.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t seen that last part coming.

  “I just … I think he should know,” she said. Every word seemed to cost her something. “And I need him to know. It’ll be better for all of us.”

  I nodded, but inside I was a mess of feelings. Anger at Amy, guilt, regret, heartbreak. Because for all the good things Wesley had said on our hike that day, about Ryder maybe surprising me, I knew it didn’t matter now.

  If Amy wasn’t going to play along anymore, I didn’t have a choice. I was going to have to come clean, and that meant I had no chance with Ryder. All of our progress had been for nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “I understand,” I said.

  And I did. As upset as I was that she was bailing, I knew why she wanted out. This scheme had gone on a lot longer than either of us had expected, and I’d known for a while she wasn’t happy about it. I’d just hoped that if I pressed on, things would get better.

  They hadn’t.

  “So … you’ll tell him?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I will.”

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rested her head on top of mine. “Thank you for understanding.”

  As we changed into our pajamas and climbed into the bed, I tried to look on the bright side. Everything was about to crumble with Ryder, but at least I had Amy back.

  That’s what really mattered, right? It was like Wesley said. Amy and I had been together forever. We needed each other. It would be crazy to let a guy — even a great guy like Ryder — come between us.

  That didn’t make what she was asking easy, though.

  In the other room, Bianca and Wesley cheered as the television counted down. “Three! Two! One!”

  “Happy New Year, Sonny,” Amy whispered.

  “Happy New Year.”

  I was dreading history class on Wednesday morning, the first day back from break.

  Not only would it be my first time seeing Ryder since our almost-kiss in the Rushes’ driveway and my first contact with him since I’d promised Amy I’d tell him the truth, but we were also beginning our unit on World War I, which I — personally — found super boring.

  I hadn’t figured out yet when or how I was going to confess my myriad of lies to the boy of my dreams, but I had a feeling that doing it at school, with everyone around, was a bad idea. While part of me was glad to have a little more time, another part just wanted to rip off the damn Band-Aid and get it over with. It was going to be ugly no matter when I did it, and I knew, without a doubt, that it would end any hope I’d had of winning him over in the long run.

  Which was why seeing him smile up at me when I walked into class that morning was so incredibly painful.

  “Hey, Sonny,” he said, swiveling in his seat to face me as I sat down behind him. He gave me a slightly nervous smile and adjusted his thick-framed glasses. “How was the rest of your break?”

  “Good,” I mumbled as I pulled out my textbook. “How was yours?”

  “It was fine.”

  There was a long, awkward pause. I fidgeted in my seat and fiddled with the pages of my book. Finally, I looked up and caught him watching me. I expected him to ask about Amy, but he didn’t. “You okay?” he asked. “You seem a little … off.”

  He was right. Sonny Ardmore wasn’t known for avoiding people’s eyes. Or for mumbling. Today I was definitely “off.”

  I shook my head. “I’m good. Just … trying to get back into the swing of things. It’s always hard after a long break…. And you know how much I hate talking about World War One.”

  He laughed. “Yes. I think the whole class does. You’ve been pretty vocal about it. You actually asked Mr. Buckley if we could skip the whole unit last semester.”

  “And I’m going to ask again,” I assured him. “Persistence is a virtue.”

  “I thought patience was a virtue.”

  “A virtue I lack.”

  Oh, no. I was doing it again. Sinking into the rhythm of our conversation, letting myself get swept up in it. I needed to stop this. I couldn’t let myself fall any harder for him. Not when it was all about to go up in flames. Time to get started on that Band-Aid.

  “Hey, listen, Ryder,” I said. “Are you … are you busy this weekend?”

  He raised an eyebrow, and I realized with a jolt what my question must have sounded like.

  “Just to hang out … as friends,” I added. I almost told him that I needed to talk to him about something, but I knew that would just solicit too many questions. I wanted to tell him on the weekend, sometime when he wouldn’t have to see me the next day. I figured it would be kinder to the both of us.

  “Actually,” he said, brightening, “I was going to invite you to a party. I’ve somehow managed to acquire an invitation to Chris Lawson’s on Friday night. I guess my efforts to be less of an asshole have paid off.”

  A party wasn’t exactly the scenario I’d had in mind — again, too many of our classmates would be around. But at least the music would be loud enough that, hopefully, no one would hear him screaming at me. Or maybe I could pull him into a bedroom or somewhere outside. Or, even better, I could get him drunk before I told him the truth.

  Or maybe I just secretly wanted to go to a party with Ryder Cross at least one time before this all fell apart.

  “That sounds great,” I said. But then, knowing what he might say next, I preemptively added, “I don’t think Amy can come, though. She’s got plans this Friday. With her parents.”

  “Oh,” he said. But he didn’t look as disappointed as I’d expected. I tried not to read too much into that. “Well, that’s fine. We can still hang out, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sure. If you’re okay with that.”

 
“I am,” he said. He smiled. “It’ll be fun. I’m actually excited to go to a party here. Maybe finally make some friends. Show people I’m not a pretentious snob.”

  “Oh, Ryder.” I sighed. “You are a pretentious snob … but you have a few redeeming qualities. Namely that you’re rich.”

  “Ha-ha,” he said. “I was wrong. You’re not off today. You’re very Sonny.”

  “And by ‘Sonny,’ you mean delightful?”

  Mr. Buckley walked in then, and Ryder had to turn back around in his seat. I was relieved, honestly. The more I talked to Ryder, the less I wanted to tell him the truth. And not telling the truth wasn’t an option anymore. I’d promised Amy, and I was going to follow through on it. No matter how hard it might be.

  Or how much it might break my heart.

  * * *

  “So you’re telling him tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  It was Friday, which meant I’d survived the past two days seeing Ryder in class, knowing the end was coming. But here we were, an hour before the party, and I could almost hear the countdown in my head, ticking away like one of those time bombs on TV.

  Amy stood up and grabbed the pick from my hand. “You’re going to rip your hair out,” she said. “It’s gonna be okay, Sonny.”

  I stared at the mirror over Amy’s dresser as she took a section of my hair and began combing through the curls herself. I’d already done my makeup twice, but it still didn’t look right. Probably because I never really wore makeup. But waiting for the party for hours after school was too nerve-racking. I needed something to do with my hands. Something I could do and erase and redo to perfection. Not that I’d achieved makeup perfection.

  “It won’t be as bad as you think,” she said, moving to another section of hair.

  “He’s going to hate me, Amy.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “Just because you’re so forgiving doesn’t mean everyone else is.” I tugged on the sleeve of my sweater. It was too tight and the turtleneck was choking me. “He’ll never speak to me again.”

  Amy didn’t say anything as she finished with my hair. Under her careful guidance, my curls actually looked nice. She smiled at her handiwork, our eyes meeting in the mirror.