by Robin Talley
But everyone was clapping, and smiling. Something had happened.
I’d changed people’s minds. I’d taken something that was so obvious to me it didn’t even need to be explained and, somehow, I’d explained it.
Drew must’ve been right. Not everyone thought the same way I did. Not until I convinced them to.
Christa was clapping and smiling in the front row. I was overwhelmed with that weird breaking-apart feeling again.
I’d thought this whole summer would be about her. About me and her, together. But maybe it was possible to have more than one majorly important thing happening at the same time. Maybe there actually was room in my brain, in my life, for all of it.
I said thank-you and goodbye to the crowd. They clapped again. For me, I guess. My face hurt from smiling so much.
We filed out of the courtyard and into the open air. It was another gorgeous night. Maybe gorgeous nights were all they had in Mexico.
People kept coming up to tell me about how much fun they’d had. Everyone who’d given a speech—even the ones who’d been mega nervous before they went on, and even the ones who’d lost the vote—were talking and laughing now. It was so strange that standing in front of people and talking about something that was important to you could actually be fun.
The chaperones and families drifted off toward their houses. Dad gave me a hug before he left. Even Reverend Perez came up to say he thought I’d done very well. Everyone else started walking in little groups toward the church.
I hung back. Waiting.
Soon enough, when almost everyone else was gone, she was there, looking radiant in a green polka-dot sundress.
“I wanted to tell you something,” she said.
I was feeling too many different things to smile at her. “What?”
She stared into my eyes, then dropped her head. She wasn’t smiling, either.
“I lied to you.”
CHAPTER 24
“You lied?” My head was buzzing. “When? About what?”
“Everything.” She looked miserable. “I understand if you never want to talk to me again.”
“Just tell me.” Had she been lying about liking me? Had she been pretending, when I’d been taking her seriously the whole time?
Did she know I’d lied to her, too?
I wanted to disappear. Melt away into the dark Mexican sky.
“It’s bad.” Her hands shook. “You’re going to think I’m horrible.”
“I won’t think you’re horrible. Please just hurry up and tell me.”
Her head was still bent low. I could barely see her face. “I made it all up.”
“Made what up?” I could barely choke out the words. “Did you make up how you felt about—me? Is that it?”
“What? No.” She glanced up, confusion flashing on her face. Then she hung her head again. “I made up Steven. I don’t really have a boyfriend. The truth is, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, either. It was only—I didn’t want you to think I was boring. But in reality I’m the most boring person ever.”
“You’ve never...” I took a step backward, trying to make sure I understood. Steven wasn’t really her boyfriend? “What about Madison? Isn’t she your ex?”
“Not really. We never actually went out. All we did was kiss a couple of times, and people found out, and it got blown way out of proportion.”
I thought about all those times I’d stared at Christa and Madison, worrying. Christa had definitely made it sound as if they’d been a couple.
She’d done that on purpose.
“Is Steven even a real person?” I shook my head. “Or did you invent him completely?”
She twisted her shoulders to one side. “He’s sort of real. I mean, there was a guy named Steven I had a crush on in Milwaukee when we visited there once. I haven’t seen him since we were kids, though. That’s why I made up the thing about him moving back. I was trying to think of a reason for me to break up with him, but—”
“But you made that up, too.” The pieces were falling into place. “I’ve never had a real boyfriend, either, much less a girlfriend. Do you think I’m boring?”
“No!” She looked up. Tears dotted her cheeks. “You’re the opposite of boring. That first night, you seemed so cool and sophisticated. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing, and I... I don’t know. I wanted you to think I was cool and sophisticated, too.”
I laughed, even though a massive cloud of anger was still taking up most of the space in my brain. “I thought you were the cool, sophisticated one. I had no clue what I was doing that first night.”
“Yeah, well.” She laughed, too, though she didn’t sound amused. “I didn’t know—I mean, I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I figured we’d never see each other again after this, so I might as well try out being somebody else. Then I got to know you, and I realized—I liked you too much. I wanted you to know the truth. But by then it was too late.”
I tried to take that in.
Now I felt guilty more than anything else. I’d lied to her, too. About the stupid pact. About applying to MHSA. About being a musician, even though I seemed to think about speeches more than songs now.
Her lie had been different from mine, but I wasn’t sure it was any worse.
Lori had lied, too. For that matter, so had Drew, when he hid everything that was happening last year at school. And even Dad had lied to us about Uncle Andrew for all those years.
Was no one ever straight-up honest? Was it even possible to be?
“I’m so sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m the worst person ever.”
“You’re not the worst person ever.” I had to tell her the truth now, whether I wanted to or not. And I did want to. “I lied to you, too. I should’ve told you about that dumb pact I made with Lori. The thing is, I stopped thinking about that pact after the first week. And I promise, it definitely wasn’t the reason I wanted to be with you, not ever.”
Christa looked up. Her eyes were bright.
“But that’s not all I lied about.”
Oh, God. I didn’t know how to say this. There weren’t any words that would make it better. Lying to Christa hadn’t seemed like a big deal that first night, when she was a cute girl with a pink streak in her hair and a flirtatious smile, but now she was so much more. Now she was kind of my everything. “The truth is, I haven’t played my guitar or sung or done anything with music except listen to it in more than a year. I auditioned for that school you wanted to go to, MHSA, and they wouldn’t let me in. I was so devastated, I quit music altogether.”
“God, that’s awful.” Christa looked aghast. “They’re total tools for not letting you in. They probably got the paperwork mixed up or something.”
I couldn’t help laughing, even though there were tears sprouting from my eyes. “But I lied to you. You said you thought artists were so much better than everyone else, and I didn’t want you to know I’m not an artist. I’m not anything special. I couldn’t even get into some dumb public arts high school.”
“But you are an artist.” Christa shook her head at me. “Even if you don’t play anymore, you’ve got art in your soul. Music is still a huge part of your life, even if you just listen now. Plus, that speech you gave tonight, about health care? And this whole huge event you organized? There’s definitely art in that.”
I was crying harder than ever now. I couldn’t talk about this anymore.
“Am I the only one you told about Steven?” I asked her, scrubbing at my cheeks. “Or is it a story you tell a lot of people?”
She looked away again. “My parents were the first.”
Ohhhh. “So is this whole thing about you not wanting them to know you’re bi?”
Christa stared at me, her chin quivering.
“Y
ou—you are bi, right?” My frustration was flaring again, but at the same time, a new thought crept into the back of my mind.
Christa had never actually told me she was bi. I’d just assumed.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. After all, people had been making the wrong assumptions about me all my life.
“I’ve been into girls and I’ve been into guys.” Christa shrugged. “So, yeah, I guess. Sometimes I think pan might be a better word for me than bi, but either way. And yeah, part of it is me wanting to make sure my parents don’t suspect. Not that it’s really been an issue, until you came along.”
That made my chest feel a little fluttery, but I ignored it. “So you made him up for them, then trotted him out again for me.”
This time she met my eyes. “You’ve got to understand. My parents think I’m a completely different person than you do. Not only because of—you know, that. It’s everything. With them I’m quiet, I’m sweet, I go to church, I do my homework, I want to go to a good college and be a rocket scientist or whatever they’ve dreamed up for me. But when I’m with you, I’m—well. Me.”
“Except not the real you.” I shook my head. “All summer you’ve been someone you made up.”
Tears flowed down her face.
“I don’t want to make things up anymore.” I was still crying, too. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been totally honest with you about everything, from the beginning. But there have been so many lies going around this summer, and none of them have done anyone any good. I’m done with lying.”
“Me, too.” She sniffed. “I mean, I still have to lie to my parents, but I’m not going to lie to you, not ever again. I didn’t think it would be this way. When we met that first night, I thought, well, maybe something will happen here, but it won’t be anything serious. I didn’t think you’d like me enough for that, and I thought it could be fun to, you know, maybe have a friend-with-benefits kind of thing this summer. I’d always wanted to do that. I thought it would be with a guy, though.”
I shifted. Her thinking back then sounded a lot like mine had been. “So what changed?”
“Everything.” She wiped her eyes again. “I didn’t think I’d feel—I mean, I hadn’t thought everything would be so real.”
I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. “I’ve never felt anything like what I’ve felt with you.”
For a long moment, we looked at each other, not speaking.
Then she blushed and looked away. “That’s why I had to tell you the truth. After—what happened in Texas, and you telling your dad. Suddenly everything seemed different. Now we’re leaving in two days, and I don’t know what I even want anymore. Except I knew I couldn’t handle never seeing you again. And I couldn’t deal with you not knowing the truth.”
I nodded softly.
“That’s what I thought, too, at first.” There was no anger left in me now. If there had ever really been any. “I figured if anything happened it would be really short-term. Honestly... I’m only really realizing this now, but deep down, I think I didn’t believe I could really like any girl seriously. I thought if I tried it once, I’d get it out of my system.”
Drew said that, too. About getting a feeling out of his system.
“You wanted an experiment.” Christa nodded.
It sounded bad when she said it that way. I shifted from one foot to the other. “Is that what you thought, too?”
She shrugged again. “When I kissed Madison before, I was definitely thinking experiment. I wanted to see what would happen. If it would be different from kissing a boy.”
“Was it?”
“Not really.” She blushed again. “Kissing you was different, though. But I don’t think that was because you’re a girl.”
Oh. Oh. “Kissing you was different, too.”
She paused for a long moment, watching me.
“I meant what I said before,” she said then. “I’ve always been the real me around you. I lied about having a boyfriend, and I guess about Madison, too, and I wish I hadn’t. But other than that, I was realer with you than I’ve ever been with anyone. You’re basically the only person who knows the real me.”
I stayed quiet. What did you say to something like that?
She’d lied to me. But now she was standing here crying, saying she was sorry.
I believed her. She’d made a mistake. I made mistakes all the time. I’d lied, too.
And what she’d said...about the way she felt about me...
At first I’d thought Christa seemed cool, and pretty, and fun. Now she was this entire complicated person, with good parts and bad. Just like me.
And I actually cared about her more now that I knew all that. A lot more.
So much I’d already forgiven her for lying. So much I wanted to hold her hand and never let go.
“Was this what you were trying to tell me during the debate?” I asked her. “Right before my speech?”
“Oh, no. That was something else.” She let out a short laugh. “I was going to tell you about Nick.”
“Right. Nick. You heard about that, too?”
“Yeah. Ugh, I’m so sorry I was ever friends with him. He’s turned into a complete loser.”
“Well, whatever he had planned, it didn’t happen. I tried to trick him and I guess it worked. I let him see me talking to my dad and he didn’t follow up on his stupid threat, so...”
“Oh, good.” Christa exhaled. “They totally did it, you know. They broke Juana’s guitar. I got them to admit it.”
I sucked in a breath. “You did? How?”
“I talked to him right before the debate started.” Her lip quirked up into a half-smile. “I reminded him how we’d always been friends, and I told him what he was planning was a really awful thing to do to a friend. He started looking like he felt really guilty. Then he said it wasn’t my fault you turned him in, so instead of standing up in the middle of your speech and showing the photo to everyone, he’d go up to your dad and just show it to him, so you’d see from the podium and freak out. He acted as though he was doing me a favor.”
Wait. What? This whole time I’d been so worried Nick was going to ruin Christa’s life.
I shook my head again. “So what happened?”
“I told him he could screw his favor. I said he was a complete loser and he needed to own up to what he’d done. He’d trashed some poor kid’s guitar and if he got in trouble for it, that was his own stupid fault.”
Wait. Did that mean—“Does that mean you’d already believed me, that he did it?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, as though it was obvious. As though it didn’t mean the whole world, knowing she’d believed me over her friends, after everything that had happened. “I didn’t think you’d say that if it wasn’t true. That’s not the kind of person you are.”
I smiled a little. “So you convinced him?”
“Yeah. I knew how important this debate was to you. I wasn’t going to let him mess it up. Also, I might’ve implied that if he said one word to your dad, I’d make sure everyone at church and school knew exactly what he did to that guitar. Even if he showed that picture to my own parents.”
Wow.
This was all too big. Too scary. I was feeling way too many things all at once.
“All right. I have an idea.” I took a step toward her and wiped my eyes. We were so close I could see the tear streaks on her face gleaming in the light from the house behind us. “We fly out the day after tomorrow. We both wanted a summer fling, so that gives us one more day to give it a shot. Are you up for it?”
Christa looked confused again. “What, you mean—what?”
“I mean.” I swallowed and tried to think. “I mean, let’s go back to the way things were, just until we leave Mexico. Well, not exactly how they were, because there’s nowhere for us to, yo
u know, have any real privacy. But we can be together anyway. If you want to.”
“Starting now?” She wiped the corner of her eye.
“Yeah, starting now.” We were so close it was nothing for me to reach for her hand. Nothing for me to thread our fingers together and swing our arms gently at our sides. Nothing for me to reach up and brush a tear from her eye. “But we’ll have to keep a watch out for coyotes.”
That made her laugh. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that sound.
I led her over to the row of trees that lined the little valley we’d snuck off to all those weeks ago. We sat with our backs against the widest trunk, our fingers still linked, both of us still drying our eyes.
We sat there, and we talked. We talked for hours.
We talked about our families—her parents’ rigid expectations, my parents’ subtle hints that sometimes felt like just as much pressure in their own way. We talked about school and our friends and church and how weird it was to be raised according to beliefs we weren’t sure we even understood. We talked about the future—the strange idea of high school as a finite thing, and the even stranger idea that there were whole worlds, whole lives, waiting for us afterward that we couldn’t even glimpse yet.
“I think you should be honest with your parents,” I said. “I mean, maybe not about all of it, not at once. But start with just one thing. Maybe tell them you want to think about culinary school. You’ve still got two years left before you have to go anywhere, so if you tell them now they have time to get used to the idea.”
I thought again about Drew. If he’d told our parents last year he was thinking about the military, the conversation between him and Dad might’ve been completely different.
And if Dad had told us the truth about Uncle Andrew, maybe Drew wouldn’t have wanted to enlist in the first place.
If Christa and I had been honest with each other all summer—and Lori, too—we could’ve spared each other so much pain.
All summer I’d thought what I wanted most was to have a fling. To have my first girlfriend, my first real relationship. To have sex for the first time.