The Thing About the Truth

by Lauren Barnholdt

  Headed for love . . . and trouble.

  Kelsey’s not going to let one mistake ruin her life. Sure, she got kicked out of prep school and all her old friends are shutting her out. But Kelsey’s focused on her future, and she’s determined to get back on track at Concordia Public.

  Isaac’s been kicked out of more schools than he can count. Since his father’s a state senator, Isaac’s life is under constant scrutiny . . . and it’s hard to live up to the pressure. Concordia Public’s his last stop before boarding school, and Isaac’s hoping to fly under the radar and stay put for a change.

  When Kelsey and Isaac meet, it’s anything but love at first sight. She thinks he’s an entitled brat, and he thinks she’s a stuck-up snob. So it surprises them both when they start to fall for each other. Kelsey’s happy for the first time in months, and Isaac’s never felt this way about anyone before.

  But nothing’s ever completely perfect. Everyone has secrets, and Isaac and Kelsey are no exception. These two may have fallen hard, but there’s one thing that can ruin it all: the truth.

  Lauren Barnholdt is also the author of Sometimes It Happens, One Night That Changes Everything, Two-way Street, and Watch Me for teens, and Rules for Secret Keeping, Four Truths and a Lie, The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney, and Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better for tweens. She lives in Waltham, Massachusetts. Visit her at laurenbarnholdt.com, follow her at twitter.com/laurenbarnholdt, and friend her at facebook.com/laurenbarnholdt.

  Jacket designed by Karina Granda

  Jacket photograph copyright © 2012 by Michael Frost

  Floral design copyright © 2012 by Thinkstock

  Simon Pulse

  Simon & Schuster, New York

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  the thing about

  the truth

  ALSO BY

  LAUREN BARNHOLDT

  Two-way Street

  Watch Me

  One Night That Changes Everything

  Sometimes It Happens

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Simon Pulse hardcover edition July 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Lauren Barnholdt

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered

  trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Karina Granda

  The text of this book was set in Cochin.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Barnholdt, Lauren.

  The thing about the truth / by Lauren Barnholdt.

  p. cm.

  Summary: In this story told from alternating viewpoints, seventeen-year-old Kelsey seeks to redeem her formerly flawless reputation with the help of a senator’s sexy but arrogant son, who has ulterior motives.

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3460-8 (hardcover)

  [1. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 2. High schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.B2667Th 2012

  [Fic]—dc23

  2011034799

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3462-2 (eBook)

  To the real Kelsey,

  who always reads the last page first

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1: The Aftermath

  Chapter 2: Before

  Chapter 3: Before

  Chapter 4: Before

  Chapter 5: Before

  Chapter 6: Before

  Chapter 7: Before

  Chapter 8: Before

  Chapter 9: The Aftermath

  Chapter 10: Before

  Chapter 11: Before

  Chapter 12: Before

  Chapter 13: Before

  Chapter 14: The Aftermath

  Chapter 15: Before

  Chapter 16: Before

  Chapter 17: Before

  Chapter 18: The Aftermath

  Chapter 19: Before

  Chapter 20: Before

  Chapter 21: Before

  Chapter 22: Before

  Chapter 23: Before

  Chapter 24: Before

  Chapter 25: The Aftermath

  Chapter 26: Before

  Chapter 27: Before

  Chapter 28: Before

  Chapter 29: The Aftermath

  Chapter 30: Before

  Chapter 31: Before

  Chapter 32: The Aftermath

  Chapter 33: Before

  Chapter 34: Before

  Chapter 35: Before

  Chapter 36: The Aftermath

  Chapter 37: The Aftermath

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, thank you, thank you to:

  Jennifer Klonsky, my amazing editor, for her brilliant insight and unwavering support.

  Alyssa Eisner Henkin, for being the best agent a girl could ask for.

  My mom and my sisters, for being my best friends.

  Jessica Burkhart, Kevin Cregg, and Scott Neumyer, for always being there.

  And Aaron, my husband, for grounding me, encouraging me, loving me, and making me a better person—I love you, AG.

  the thing about

  the truth

  The Aftermath

  Office of the Superintendent, 11:26 a.m.

  Kelsey

  I am in so much trouble. So, so, so much trouble. Seriously, I cannot even begin to imagine the kind of trouble I’m in. It’s the kind of trouble you hope you’re never going to be in, the kind of trouble you hear people talk about, and you go, “Wow, what an idiot. I’m glad I’m never going to be in that kind of trouble.”

  I’m probably going to get kicked out of school. My second school in three months. What will happen to me then? Where will I even go? The last school I got kicked out of was Concordia Prep, a private school, so of course I got put into public school. But where do you go when you get kicked out of public school? Reform school or something?

  God, that would be horrible. I could never last at a reform school. I have a pink Kate Spade purse, for God’s sake. I got it at the Kate Spade outlet, but still. Reform school would eat me alive. I’d be like one of those girls on those shows on Spike TV, where they take the teen troublemakers and put them in jail for a day to show them where they’re headed, and they all break down and start crying and completely lose their shit.

  I shift in my chair and look at the clock: 11:27. The meeting with the superintendent, Dr. Ostrander, is supposed to start in three minutes, and Isaac still isn’t here. Not that I’m surprised. Isaac is never on time to anything.

  The clock’s hand ticks over to 11:28, and I start to think that maybe he’s not coming. That maybe somehow his dad got him out of it, and that I’m going to be left dealing
with this mess on my own.

  But then the door to the office opens, and Isaac walks in. His dark eyes scan the room, moving over the secretary, taking in the closed door that leads to Dr. Ostrander’s office, and then finally landing on me. Without even talking to the secretary or telling anyone he’s there, he walks over and plops himself down in the chair two down from me.

  He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his gaze facing forward. I sneak a look at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s wearing pressed khaki pants, a light blue button-down shirt, and a red-and-blue tie. His black shoes are perfectly shined, his hair freshly gelled. He looks put together, in control, and, as always, completely gorgeous. There’s a slight scowl on his face, but it only serves to make him look more in charge of the situation, like he can’t believe what a total waste of time this whole thing is.

  He turns to look at me, and when he does, he catches me looking at him, and my heart stops.

  “Hey,” I say. I’m not sure if we’re talking, but the word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  “Hey.” His tone is clipped. He’s still mad at me for what happened, still hurt, still upset. Still probably doesn’t want to give me another chance.

  “I was starting to think you weren’t going to come,” I say. It’s a lame thing to say, but I’m desperate to keep the conversation going.

  “Why wouldn’t I come?” He looks like he thinks I’m crazy for doubting he would show up.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe your dad . . .”

  He rolls his eyes and looks away.

  “Anyway,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He doesn’t reply, just pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. His fingers move over the screen, checking his texts, reading something, typing a reply. I wonder who he’s texting with. Marina? Doubtful, but honestly, at this point, nothing would surprise me.

  “Mr. Brandano, Ms. Romano?” the secretary says. “Dr. Ostrander will see you now.” I take a deep breath and stand up. I smooth my skirt, a simple black pencil skirt chosen in an effort to make me look mature and trustworthy.

  “Here we go,” I say to Isaac, and flash him a smile. It’s an attempt to show that we’re in this together, that we’re both heading into the lion’s den, but that maybe we can be okay if we just depend on each other.

  But Isaac doesn’t say anything. He just turns on the heel of his superexpensive, supershiny black shoe and walks toward Dr. Ostrander’s office door. I stand there for a moment, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks.

  I’m upset because Isaac won’t talk to me, but mostly I’m upset because I know that this whole thing is my fault. The reason we might get kicked out of school. The reason everything’s so completely screwed up. And most of all, the reason we broke up. The reason I’ve probably lost him forever.

  I’ve spent so many hours thinking about it, going over it again and again in my mind. If I start doing that now, I’ll drive myself crazy, letting my thoughts become a tangled mess. And I need to keep my mind clear for this meeting. So I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand and then force myself to head into Dr. Ostrander’s office.

  Before

  Kelsey

  So, my first day at Concordia Public is definitely not off to a great start. First, I spilled orange juice all over the skirt I was wearing. Which was bullshit, since (a) I don’t usually even eat breakfast, and (b) I don’t even really like orange juice. But this morning when I came downstairs, my dad insisted that I “get something in my stomach” so that I would have energy for my first day at my new school. So I choked down a piece of dry toast and a glass of orange juice, mostly just to please him (that’s a whole other story—the doing it just to please him part), and then I spilled it on my skirt. And I had no time to change before the bus came.

  Which was another thing. The bus. Riding the bus, in case you don’t know, really sucks. But I don’t have a license yet (I’m seventeen, but I’ve failed my driver’s test twice—fingers crossed, though, for my next try!), and there was no way my parents were going to give me a ride to school. They were trying to teach me a lesson, I think. Which makes no sense. How was not driving me to school causing me to learn a lesson? I already learned my lesson when I got kicked out of my old school.

  Hopefully, I’ll be able to make some new friends quickly. New friends who won’t mind picking me up in the morning.

  But so far, the prospects at Concordia Public are not looking very promising.

  I’m sitting in the guidance office, waiting to have a meeting with my guidance counselor so I can get my schedule and locker combination, and no one here looks even remotely like potential new friend material. I mean, the girl sitting next to me has pink hair and five piercings in each ear. Which is fine. I might be preppy, but I’m not, like, discriminatory or anything.

  I can be friends with people who have piercings. Not that I ever really have before, but I have nothing against it. I love piercings. I have two in each ear, even. But it’s the girl’s bag that’s the real problem. It’s a camouflage print. Which again, whatever. Not my style, but fine. But what isn’t fine is the patch that’s sewn on the front. It says KILL ALL PREPS.

  I might not be prejudiced, but she definitely is. I quickly move my Prada shoes (borrowed from my friend Rielle) farther under my chair.

  The irony of the whole thing is that I kind of feel the same way she does. Preps do kind of suck. But at my old school, Concordia Prep, everyone was preppy. (Haha, preps at a prep school, big surprise, right?)

  Anyway, I was a scholarship student, so I was always trying to make sure I fit in. And that meant having Kate Spade purses and Prada shoes. Even when I couldn’t afford it, I would—

  The door to the office opens and a boy walks in. Dark blond hair. Sparkling white sneakers. Perfectly faded jeans. He walks with a swagger, the kind that comes from years of being confident. You can’t teach a walk like that. Trust me, I’ve tried to cultivate one. It’s impossible.

  I make a mental note to stay away from him. He’s probably the most popular guy in school, the kind who’s mean to everyone, the kind who, for some inexplicable reason, has all the girls wanting him. Why are girls like that, anyway? They’re always falling for the jerks. Which is ridiculous. Not that I don’t have experience when it comes to that kind of thing.

  I mean, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t fallen in love with a jerk. A jerk is the reason I got kicked out of my old school.

  But I’ve learned my lesson.

  I look over at the girl next to me, and she’s practically falling out of her chair, that’s how bad she wants this guy. Poor thing. She doesn’t know what she’s in for. And besides, I thought she hated all preps. I guess it doesn’t apply to hot male preps with perfect hair and perfect—

  Mr. Popular is speaking.

  “Hello,” he says to the secretary, leaning over the desk. “I’m Isaac Brandano. It’s my first day, and I was told to come to the office and pick up my schedule.”

  I almost choke on the peppermint latte I’m drinking. It’s this guy’s first day? And he’s walking like that?

  “Yes, Mr. Brandano,” the secretary says, all friendly. She gives him a smile. When I came in here, she totally scowled at me and acted like I was making her day into a big debacle. “Here you go.” She hands him a schedule. What, he doesn’t have to sit here and take a meeting with his guidance counselor like everyone else?

  Ohmigod. Probably only the rejects who got kicked out of their old schools need to have meetings with their guidance counselors. How humiliating.

  Mr. Popular thanks her, then turns toward the door, his eyes running down over his schedule. He frowns slightly, probably because he can’t believe they would dare to put him in math or something.

  He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. His are dark and slightly brooding, the color of chocolate, and I feel my heart skip a beat. I mean, I’m only human.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi,” the girl next t
o me says, totally butting in.

  “Do either of you know where room 107 is?” He smiles, showing perfect white teeth. Real white. Not the kind of white that comes from using those whitening strips or spending hundreds of dollars at the dentist. Rielle has that kind of teeth, along with tons of other girls at Concordia Prep.

  “No,” I say firmly. I’ve gotten ahold of my hormones, so I take another sip of my latte and then turn back to the book I’m reading.

  “No?” He sounds a little incredulous. I guess he’s surprised that I don’t want to help him. Obviously, he doesn’t know that I’m new and thinks I’m just being a bitch. Which I kind of like. That he thinks I’m being a bitch, I mean. It’s sort of amusing.

  “No,” I repeat.

  “I do,” the pink-haired girl offers. “I know where it is.”

  But Isaac Brandano isn’t paying attention to her. He’s still looking at me. The only reason I’ve even remembered his name is because he has the same last name as our state senator, John Bran—Oh. My. God. No freakin’ way. Isaac Brandano is our state senator’s son!

  There was all this talk on the news last night about how John Brandano was going to be sending his son to public school in order to prove that a public school education is just as good as a private school one. Of course, I doubt that’s really true. I mean, public school is—

  “You don’t know where room 107 is?” Isaac Brandano’s asking me. “You have no idea?” Now his incredulousness makes even more sense. I mean, not only is he gorgeous, but he’s a senator’s son. Which means he’s used to people doing whatever he wants and falling all over themselves to help him. Now I’m doubly happy that he thinks I’m messing with him.

  “No,” I say simply. “Sorry, I don’t. But I suppose that you expect me to find out for you.”