Lost In Lies

by Xavier Neal

  I watch as girls giggle at Justin, who is flirtatiously tipping his hat their direction, striking a small nerve of jealousy in me.

  “Don’t worry,” Belle slips her arm around mine, pulling me in closer to whisper. “It’s all a part of the plan. It’s how he flushes out information. Just watch.”

  We lag back and linger by a frozen yogurt shop, while Peter and Justin wander off toward a group of females who seem slightly lost but are dolled up with intention. My eyes wander down over the menu board filled with delicious choices that are so close yet so far.

  I turn just as Justin gets his arm stroked by one of the girls, while his smile sparkles in the early sunlight, “Do you ever get used to watching that?”

  Belle paints a smile on her face, glances over as Peter touches a girl on the cheek, raises her eyebrows, and sighs, “No.” After a pause, she looks back at me, and says, “I try not to stare. It’s kind of like a car wreck, I figure. If I stare, I’m probably not going to like what I see and just make the situation worse.”

  My lips press together as the guy running the shop saunters over to us with two shot-glass-style frozen yogurt samples. He smiles softly, his mocha skin contrasting in an enticing way with his yellow uniform shirt.

  “Ladies, treat?” The offer seems like the universe’s way of trying to balance out the boys getting hit on by letting this guy hit on us. This, I am OK with.

  “Sure,” Belle answers, accepting her chocolate and vanilla-swirl yogurt.

  I thank him in return, giggling to myself that, my first day as a Lost Boy, I’m eating frozen yogurt for breakfast. Is this some sort of preface to what I have to look forward to? Deliciously misplaced fun?

  He smiles and begins flirting with Belle, complimenting her choice of colors, her fantastic eyes, her sweet laugh, all while admiring how her beautiful body stacks up. I try not to focus on the fact it’s her he’s ogling over, creating even more anxiety inside of me.

  My attention slips over to the boys, who are of course hard at their job. Justin throws his head back in heavy laughter at something Peter says before they give each other a playful high five. Well, there’s a sight I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed aside from the first time I met Peter—the two of them getting along. Interested in the interaction, I continue to watch as the two of them elbow each other between jokes, painting the portrait of friendship I assume must have been more common before I came along.

  Suddenly, a hand touches my arm, and I flinch, “Excuse me.”

  Looking at Eiden, slightly confused, I say, “Yeah?”

  “I was just wondering if you and your friend would be interested in joining me and my brother for a party,” he tilts his head the direction of Aiden, who is stationed close to Justin and Peter.

  I glance over to the group to see Justin’s arm wrapped around the shoulder of a bikini-clad brunette girl wearing a bobbed haircut, long in the front, short in the back. Peter, being the selfish jerk he is, has the three other girls fawning over him, tripping over themselves to hold his hand or stare into his eyes. If they only knew.

  “We’d love to.” The words do their best not to come out tainted in irritation, but they’re having a hard time. “Belle ...”

  She kisses the yogurt guy on the cheek, grabs my hand, and begins slowly licking her portion of breakfast. Once we make it over to Aiden, Belle slides her arm around his as she instructs, “Take Eiden by the hand.”

  After doing so, I glance down at the uncomfortable combination we’ve created and look up, “No offense, Eiden, you’re a great guy to hold hands with, I’m sure. But, why do I need to right now?”

  “The con is simple. Peter and Justin find where the party is by manipulating some random group of beach trash,” she points at the next generation of NFL cheerleaders we’re following. “We follow behind them as the girls that Aiden and Eiden picked up. Once we’re at the party, they ditch the beach bunnies and return to us ... theoretically.”

  “Why is it theoretical?” My fingers touch Eiden’s, which are fatter than Justin’s. Doing my best not to judge, I can’t help but notice his hand is colder as well.

  “That’s the way it’s always gone, getting me into a party without having to worry, but Justin’s never had a girlfriend, so I’m just assuming he’ll return.”

  “Oh,” I try not to sound concerned. “Good assumption.” Though, I don’t know if I can stomach the embarrassment of being left by the guy pretending to pick me up as well as the one who is supposed to return to me.

  Suddenly, something hits me, something that I was thinking about on the ship, something that we probably should’ve discussed last night instead of just passing out—our relationship. I know Justin cares about me. He’s rescued me, supported me, and even told me the truth against his better judgment. His feelings for me are absolutely clear as far as I’m concerned, but how do I feel? I mean, obviously, you don’t just go giving up the chance of growing up and your family for a guy you have lukewarm feelings for, yet I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is love. I’m sure part of it is, and that’s why I couldn’t help but do what I did, but the other part of me wonders, can I ever really trust him? Should we rush into this, especially if we have more than a lifetime to figure it out?

  Making a firm decision, I sigh, “But, I’m not his girlfriend ...”

  Aiden, Belle, and Eiden turn to look at me with unsure looks before Belle responds with, “That’s not the way he tells it.”

  “To anyone,” Aiden clarifies.

  Before I realize it, we’ve walked a good distance away from where we set up camp to a different part of the beach that seems to be right up Peter’s ally. My eyes wander around at the girls barely wearing bikinis as they drink from cups overflowing with some sort of alcoholic substance. Most of them are wearing big-name labels, and those who aren’t openly wearing them on their chests are openly wearing them on their handbags. Just as I thought I had escaped this kind of world, here I am landed right back in, still on the outside looking in.

  The four of us head through a crowd of people toward a luxury beach home, where even more people are lingering. Eiden smirks at girls tanning, their strings untied but the material left on just enough to keep the imagination from having to work too hard. Moments before my feet hit the inside of the house, an amazing aroma hits my nose indicating to my stomach not to fear—food is indeed near. Once we’ve crossed the threshold and through to the other side into what I assume is the backyard, if you can call it that, I see a DJ on a deck mixing music, teens dancing wildly in the pre-noon sun, and food being grilled and served next to a buffet of treats that could easily suit anyone’s taste. There are benches, tables, and to no surprise, a pool area closer to the DJ, where even more people are gathered.

  “Looks like we hit the mother lode,” Eiden mutters in my ear.

  Suddenly, Belle and Aiden come to a halt, and I nearly run into them. Barely able to pump my breaks in time, I mumble over her shoulder, “Why’d you stop?”

  She nods her head forward, and I see a very brief hand motion before Justin and Peter part ways from each other, still holding the females’ attention. Belle leans back and she sighs, “This is the part where I follow Peter and become his new girl of interest. Excuse me.”

  Belle struts off, her don’t-screw-with-me attitude radiating enough to intimidate a clear path through the first part of her journey. I turn to where I thought Eiden was standing, only to realize that he’s disappeared. Jaw open, I turn back to Aiden to ask him where his brother slipped away to, and he’s vanished too. Geez, it’s like everyone in this group is really good at that Houdini trick except me. Note to self: Get better at that.

  My stomach growls, and immediately, I make my way toward the grill area, where I grab a fresh-made hot dog, a skewer, a small salad, some fresh pineapple, and a cup of water. Pleased at the sight overflowing on my plate, I escort myself over to an unclaimed high-top bar table, where I waste no time destroying the hot dog and damn near chug the water.


  Right as I’m about to bite into a piece of steak on the skewer, someone slides over to me, a little out of breath, snatches off his black fedora, and tosses it to the ground beside his feet. I can picture the warm, yet devious smile spreading across his lips. With a smile of my own I glance down at the fedora, flattered that Justin would want to relive our first meeting with a reenactment—a cute yet simple way to add a little romance to the day.

  “Do me a favor?” The boy ruffles his dark-brown, professionally blond-highlighted hair. “Pretend I’ve been here the whole time?”

  I blink twice trying to adjust to this unexpected, unfamiliar face. The last time a handsome stranger came up to me and asked me to do him this kind of a favor, it turned out to be a con. Now, mind you, what are the chances that this could happen twice in a person’s life, let alone twice in a few months? But, that’s not a question I want to risk getting an honest answer to.

  What is this guy up to? Knowing I should brush him off, knowing I should tell him to be gone, knowing I should just tell him no, I fall into his soft, honey-brown eyes that seem so harmless. They seem hopeless, sincerely desperate for a brief breath of help—willing just to take an inch, not steal a mile.

  Fighting deja vu, I croak out, “Where’d you get that hat?”

  He smiles, flattered by my response, and says, “From—”

  “There you are, Nick!” A shrill-pitched voice startles the remainder of my hunger away.

  “Yes, here I am,” he clears his throat and scoots closer to me.

  “I’ve been looking for you all over!” she coos, her finger twirling around the string on her lime-green bikini bottoms. My attention turns to her long, straight, bright-blonde hair, her out-of-the-package tan, the small “beauty mark” beside her nose (though if she were me, people would call it a blemish), and her slender frame that would make some of the biggest names in Hollywood jealous. This is what he’s hiding from? Yeah, this has to be some sort of con. No guy in his right mind would run from her instead of to her.

  “Well, I’ve been talking to my date,” his head slowly turns to me, his crooked smile revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

  “Peyton,” I wipe my hand and extend it for her to take. I decide to see where this is going. The last time I tried it, it didn’t turn out too badly.

  She looks me up and down before sneering, “Are you actually eating?”

  “That’s what people who have food in front of them usually do,” my snippy remark raises a chuckle out of Nick.

  “Do you have any idea how many animals were harmed for you to chomp down on that?”

  Sarcastically, I respond, “Two?

  “Do you know how they were butchered and slaughtered? Do you know how sad and lonely they were before they were massacred to make you, well...” she waves her fingers at my curves, which Justin has already reassured me are sexy and not disgusting, “look like that.” Now I understand why he’s hiding from her. She’s just a tad bit bitchy.

  “So, if the animals I ate were lonely and sad, how miserable and depressed were the vegetables you were eating to make you look like ... well, that?” My response raises Nick’s eyebrows as though he might have hit the jackpot.

  Annoyed, she snips, “Do you have any idea how many calories are in the food you’re consuming?”

  “Can you spell consuming?” The words slide off my tongue with disdain. Annoyed, she rolls her eyes, “That’s not the point!”

  “It was my point,” I clarify, picking my fork back up. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  Pleased with my self-confidence, I glance at Nick, who in any normal situation would be just the kind of guy I’d sketch in my notebook and then spend hours cataloging why he would never notice me.

  “Please,” Nick tilts his head at her, which forces her to stomp her foot in a pout. She huffs off back toward the house, where I assume she’ll bury her sorrow in anything with a fruity look, fruity name, or fruity taste.

  As soon as she’s out of sight, he breathes a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I push my skewer away, thinking about the increasing number on the scale. But in all fairness, I hadn’t eaten anything in the last couple of days, and one of those days was my birthday! “She’s definitely hot. Beautiful even.”

  Nick glances in the direction she wandered off to nurse her wounds and then looks back at me, “That’s what they say ...”

  “They?”

  “Magazines. Movies. Television. My friends.”

  Intrigued, I ask, “What do you say?”

  “That you don’t love a woman because she’s beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her.” The words sound soft and aimed my direction. He adjusts the white gold watch on his wrist, where I see bright rubies sparkling on opposite sides of its face. “Beauty is more than perfect makeup and forgotten calories. Beauty is the light in your eyes, the curve of your face, the sparkle in your smile—that ... that is true beauty.”

  Blushing, I wipe my lips once more, fold my hands in my lap, and look down. There’s no way he’s referring to me. He had to be speaking in general terms. I mean, how conceded am I to even consider the fact that he could be thinking of me as beautiful? Look at Justin, for instance. If it wasn’t for the fact he had to con me, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice.

  “And yes,” he kicks his hat up with his toes, catches it with one hand, flips it around, and tips the fedora at me, “I was talking about you.” I raise my eyebrows, startled that I was wrong. “You’re not from around here.”

  “That’s a firm statement,” I try to hide my smile. “What makes you believe that?”

  “You mean aside from the fact your wardrobe is what many here would consider overdressed?”

  Self-conscious, I adjust the top that I thought was too revealing. “Wow,” I whisper.

  “Hey, don’t worry about what they think,” he touches my hand gently, stopping my fidgeting. “Most people around here believe that Class can be bought at the market next to Respect.”

  “I can only afford that on sale,” I joke, knowing it’s not funny but getting a small chuckle from Nick.

  “Truth?” The word sounds foreign after being lied to for so long, learning to lie for an equal amount of time, and of course squirming with the small fact I’m in a way lying right now. “You have a little accent when you talk.”

  Oblivious, since I never realized it with all the moving I’ve done in my life, I tilt my head, “Really? Never heard that before.”

  “Then I guess no one’s ever really listened to you.” That idea knocks a little breath out of me. Hm. Is that true? I mean, why didn’t Justin ever notice it? Either it doesn’t exist, or Nick’s right—no one truly listens to me. Scooting a little closer, he whispers, “But I’m listening.” Nervous, I swallow, and he smirks, “Besides, I know faces. I’ve never seen you at one of my parties before.”

  “You caught me,” I confess, picking up my water glass. “Crashed with a friend. I’m in town visiting.”

  “Welcome to my kingdom, then,” he extends his hands out, presenting the party like it’s on some sort of silver platter. With a smile, I glance over and admire the way the sun is sitting picture perfectly in the sky, the water twinkling like little diamonds are sprinkled across it, and the sand barely touching it, the way it would in a sketch, the way it would in one of my sketches. I bet the sand would be the pop of color too.

  “You say that like you’re important,” I say playfully, turning my attention back to him.

  “What? Me? The son of fashion gods Nigel James and Noella Marie Mathews, world’s finest in runway shows, makeup, fragrance, and magazines? Why would I be important? It’s not like I’m part of a family that basically runs the entire industry with its eyes closed.” From the description, I can gather this would probably excite most girls, if not drop them to the floor, but there’s something about the tone he uses that makes me question if it’s really that much fun being the son of “gods.”

&nbs
p; Frankly, I mutter, “And if I told you that all meant absolutely nothing to me?”

  “I’d tell you I love you.” The words sound deep and honest, and I wobble in my chair a little. Nick tips his hat down, creating a familiar picture for me to admire, “Walk with me.”

  Feeling compelled, since it’s his party and he knows I crashed it, I allow him to take me by the hand toward the main part of the event, where he’s greeted by friends and foes alike.

  The way Nick struts with his head held high, his attitude even higher, I can tell something about it feels forced. He stretches his hands out the way celebrities do to fans, briefly touching them, lighting up their lives, leaving lingering memories that will stay with them for a lifetime, creating stories to be told to anyone who will listen. To my surprise, between the sculpted Gods of Football, Demigods of Models, and Angels of Makeup, I don’t cross paths with anyone from the crew. I’ll take that as another sign this party is entirely too big for its own good.

  As we approach the girls who look like they walked off the airbrushed cover of a magazine, he turns his body toward mine, continues holding my hand, and creates eye contact that makes my temperature rise. Noticing the high-density female population, he tips his hat to them, “Ladies.”

  “Nick,” they coo back and wave their manicured fingertips.

  Are there instructions that come with those hats that insist the men who wear them do that? Giggling under my breath, I try to stifle it when he stops, pulls me into him, and leans down so his face is unbelievably close to mine.

  “Congrats on winning class president,” a guy strolling by says, placing his hand briefly on Nick’s shoulder.

  “Thanks,” he nods.

  “You’re class president?” I ask as a couple strolls up to us.

  “We heard about the ’80s Fall Dance coming. It’s gonna be cray,” the girl giggles. Her date or boyfriend wraps his arm around her shoulder, his other hand nursing a red, plastic cup.

  “We’re bringing it back,” Nick’s head rolls around to say, his body language still focused on me.