The Thing About the Truth

by Lauren Barnholdt

  Kelsey laughs. “He’s not dangerous,” he says.

  The doorbell rings for the third time.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, shaking my head and walking toward the front hall. Geez. Doesn’t this dude know it’s impolite to ring the doorbell more than once?

  “Yo, what took you so long?” he asks when I open the door. He walks into the front hallway without waiting to be invited in.

  “Come on in,” I say sarcastically, shutting the door behind him.

  “Here,” he says, shoving the package into my hands. Although, now that it’s in my hands, I can see it’s not a package. It’s a plate covered in foil.

  “It’s a chocolate sheet cake,” Marshall says, ruining the suspense. “I made it myself. Well, not from scratch. Used a mix. Betty Crocker.” He must mistake my incredulous look as surprise at the fact that he made a cake out of a mix, not that he made a cake at all, because then he says, “What? It’s just as good.” He sounds all defensive.

  “Why are you here so early?” I ask. “And why did you make a cake? I mean, not to be a dick, but—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Then he sighs like he can’t believe he’s being forced to explain himself. “I got here early so I could see if you needed help with anything,” he says. “And I brought a cake because it’s polite to bring something when you’re invited over to someone’s house, Isaac.”

  Apparently, now he’s all up on decorum, despite the fact that he rang my doorbell three times. He’s also obviously crazy. But whatever. “Fine,” I say, looking at the huge cake doubtfully. “Let’s take this into the kitchen.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’m starving.” He follows me into the family room. “Hey, Kels,” he says when he sees her. Kels?

  “Hey, Marsh,” she says, obviously not caring that he’s shortened her name. “What’s up?”

  “Nothin’.” He shrugs. “Brought a cake.”

  “Great,” she says. “I love cake.”

  I usually love cake too, but not when it comes at the expense of making out with my girlfriend.

  “Isaac’s going to slice it up,” Marshall reports.

  “I am?”

  “Yeah.” He looks at me, confused. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Not for this cake. “Well, shouldn’t we wait until—”

  “Sounds perfect,” Kelsey says, standing up from the couch. “I could use a break.”

  “Okay,” I say, “I guess we’re having cake now.”

  “And milk,” Marshall says. He walks into the kitchen and sits down at our breakfast bar.

  “Duh,” Kelsey says, pulling it out of the refrigerator. She grabs a few glasses from the cupboard overhead.

  “I guess we’re having cake and milk,” I say. I take a knife out of the drawer and pull the foil back. “Jesus,” I say, “what the fuck happened to this cake?”

  “What?” Marshall screeches, running over and looking at it. “Oh, yeah. It got a little smushed.”

  “A little smushed?” I ask. “That shit does not look just a little smushed.” One whole side of the cake is pushed down, almost to the plate.

  “Well, it fell a little while it was cooking,” Marshall says. “And then when I was bringing it over here, it got jostled in the car.”

  “How come the frosting’s all runny?” I ask, peering down at it. I’m starting to think it might not be the best idea to eat this. Who knows what kind of infectious diseases are lurking in there?

  “I had to put the frosting on before the cake cooled,” Marshall says, “because I didn’t want to be late.”

  I look at the clock on the microwave. “You’re an hour early.”

  “See?” Marshall says, grinning. “My haste paid off. I made it.”

  “I’m sure it tastes delicious,” Kelsey says. She has plates out now, and she sets them on the counter, waiting for me to cut the cake. I have to admit that I kind of like having her here in my kitchen, taking care of things. It’s like we’re married or something. I’ve never felt that way about a girl before. The only thing that’s messing up this whole scenario is that Marshall’s here. And, of course, that this cake looks like something you’d see on one of those reality cooking shows where everything goes horribly wrong.

  My dad walks into the kitchen then, ruining my little domestic fantasy even more.

  “Hello, everyone,” he says. He nods at me. “Isaac.”

  “Hi,” I say. “This is Marshall. And you remember Kelsey.”

  “Hello,” my dad says again, all smiles. He puts his briefcase down on the counter. “Isaac tells me you’re all working on a new group for school?”

  “Face It Down,” Marshall reports. He leans over and picks the knife up off the counter and cuts a huge piece of cake. He slides it onto his plate and then licks a stray bit of frosting off his finger. Kelsey looks appalled.

  “Yes,” she says, a little too loud, I guess so that she can try and distract my dad from Marshall’s bad table manners. “Isaac and I were just going over some questions we’re planning to ask the students from Concordia Prep.”

  “Sounds great,” my dad says. “I’d love to take some pictures for the school newspaper if you need them.”

  I roll my eyes. It’s so typical of my dad, trying to pretend like he’s doing us some big favor. Which, technically, I guess he is. But you can bet those pictures are somehow going to end up on his website or in the local newspaper. My dad doesn’t pose for any photos that aren’t going to further his political agenda.

  “That sounds great,” Kelsey breathes. How can she be taken in by this? Doesn’t she remember the first day of school, when she was so mean to me just because she thought I was a stuck-up jerk? Can’t she see that my dad actually is a stuck-up jerk?

  “Should we do it now?” my dad asks. “We could set up around the table.”

  Obviously, he has somewhere to be.

  “But we’re having cake,” Marshall says through a mouthful of chocolate. “You want some, Mr. Brandano?”

  This kid’s the best. I love that he called my dad “Mr.” instead of “Senator” and that he’s offering him his ghetto cake.

  “Cake?” My dad looks confused.

  “Oh yeah,” I say, “Marshall made this delicious chocolate cake, didn’t you, Marshall?”

  “Yup.” He takes another big bite. “You should have some, for real. It’s wonderful.”

  My dad’s looking at the cake doubtfully. “Are your parents registered to vote, Marshall?” he asks.

  Marshall looks confused. “Yeah,” he says, and swallows his cake.

  My dad reaches over and pulls a plate off the stack that Kelsey set out. “I’d love a piece,” he says.

  “Milk?” I offer.

  “Please.”

  Kelsey pours him a big glass, and as she does I catch her eye over the glass. She smiles at me, and I smile at her, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing—that it’s going to be hilarious watching Marshall interact with my dad. And I’m pretty sure that’s the moment that I realize I’m falling in love with her.

  Before

  Kelsey

  Isaac’s dad takes tons of pictures with us, on our cameras and his, and it’s all totally fake. Like, really fake. We spread out all our notebooks and stuff on the dining room table, and then Senator Brandano pretends like we’re all working together. He even loosens his tie before he does it, like he’s trying to pretend that he’s just relaxing at home with his son and his friends. It’s all very scandalous.

  But I don’t care, because now I have a picture of me and the senator working together. Isaac even made sure to take a picture of just the two of us bent over a binder, looking very intent. I wonder if attaching it to my college applications is going a little too far, but I don’t think you can really go too far when it comes to important things like that. And plus don’t they always say that a picture is worth a thousand words?

  Anyway, right after Senator Brandano left, Chloe showed up with that guy Dave. I knew things might be awk
ward between the two of them, since Chloe led me to believe that would be the case, but I really had no idea just exactly how awkward they would be. I mean, I kind of thought she was exaggerating.

  “So,” I say. We’re all sitting in the family room—me, Isaac, Chloe, Dave, and Marshall—and so far the conversation hasn’t been so great. After asking Dave the usual “How do you like college?” questions, no one’s really come up with anything much to say.

  “Eat your cake, Dave,” Marshall says. Everyone has a piece of cake sitting in front of them on the coffee table. But no one’s eating any. Probably because of the melted frosting.

  “You should,” Isaac says. “It’s good.” He reaches over and picks up his plate, and then I do the same with mine. I take a bite. The cake is actually really good, although I’m not sure I should be having a second piece. But I didn’t want to be rude. And besides, there’s so much of it.

  “Wow,” I say. “Marshall, this is delicious.” He beams.

  “Oh, great,” Chloe babbles. “I love cake. Cake is the best.”

  “Do you like cake, Dave, my man?” Marshall asks. Marshall is on his fourth piece of cake. His lips are coated with crumbs, and there’s a big smear of chocolate frosting on his shirt. This isn’t stopping him, though. In fact, the more chocolate he eats, the more he seems to want.

  “I like cake,” Dave says. “Who doesn’t?”

  Marshall starts talking to him about different kinds of cake, and what kind of desserts they have in the dining halls at college. Then he asks Dave if there are a lot of hot college girls at his school. Which is awkward since Dave just hooked up with Chloe. Which Marshall knows. Doesn’t he know better than to bring that up? Dave shifts on the couch and tries to answer the questions, all the while shooting Chloe nervous looks out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh my God,” Isaac whispers into my ear, leaning into me on the couch. “What should we do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, this is about to turn into a big debacle,” he says. I can feel his breath on my neck, and a little shiver runs up my spine.

  “What kind of debacle?” I ask.

  “The kind where everyone just sits around being awkward, and then when they leave, they all talk about how lame it was,” he says.

  Hmmm. He’s right. What were we thinking, planning an afternoon hangout with five people to try and get Chloe together with Dave? I know she didn’t want it to seem too obvious, but come on. Hanging out in the middle of the day eating cake? That’s, like, the least romantic thing ever. Maybe I should have a talk with her about being a little more assertive.

  “How do we fix it?” I whisper to Isaac.

  “Play spin the bottle?” he asks, one side of his mouth sliding up into a grin.

  I grin back, and he leans over and gives me a kiss.

  In the end, Isaac pulls out the Wii and we all start playing. It’s actually pretty fun. We get into a supercompetitive game of Dance Dance Revolution and then move on to Mario Kart. The conversation is flowing, and Chloe is actually starting to loosen up, flirting and having fun.

  And then, right in the middle of this weird jumping game where you have to jump over things that are being thrown at you, Marshall suddenly grabs his stomach and goes, “Uh-oh.”

  “What uh-oh?” Isaac says, sounding concerned. He hits the button to pause the game.

  “I dunno,” Marshall says, “I just . . . I feel like maybe I’m going to . . .” And then he leans over and pukes all over the floor.

  “Gross,” Dave says.

  “Gross,” Chloe says.

  “Gross,” I say. And then I feel bad, so I add, “Are you okay?” I’m trying not to look at the puke.

  “I’ll get some paper towels and a mop,” Isaac says, then disappears into the kitchen.

  Dave throws his Wii controller down onto the couch. “I should get going,” he says.

  “Already?” Chloe asks. She looks a little panicked. “We just got here.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up again,” Marshall says. He falls onto the couch clutching his stomach. He’s looking a little green in the face.

  “You ready, Chloe?” Dave asks.

  “Um, yeah.” She stands up and starts to follow him toward the door. “I’ll text you later, okay, Kels?”

  “Okay.” Even though the whole group hangout thing didn’t go so well, I’m psyched that she’s going to be texting me. My first public school friend! Well, besides Isaac. But he’s my boyfriend. At least, I think he is. We still haven’t had the whole “we’re officially together” talk yet. But we spend so much time together. There’s no way he would have time to see anyone else. Which must mean we’re boyfriend/girlfriend, right?

  But maybe it’s not a time thing. Maybe he just wants to keep his options open, like in case someone better comes along. Or maybe he’s one of those guys who doesn’t do the whole girlfriend thing. Maybe he just dates girls and doesn’t ever make it official. That way when he cheats on you, you can’t really call it cheating, because—

  “I don’t feel so good,” Marshall moans.

  “Maybe you should go lie down in the guest room,” Isaac says. He’s back with the mop.

  “I think I should,” Marshall says. He stands up and wobbles toward the hallway.

  “It’s the second door on the right,” Isaac calls. “And if you get sick again, use the guest bathroom that’s attached, okay?”

  Marshall nods, then goes stumbling down the hall.

  “Well,” Isaac says, “do you see why I wanted it to just be me and you? Everyone felt awkward, and the afternoon ended with me cleaning up puke.”

  “I don’t feel awkward,” I say, lying back on the couch and propping my feet up on the ottoman.

  “That’s because you’re not cleaning up puke.” He grins.

  When the floor is clean again, we check on Marshall, who’s sprawled out on the bed in the guest room snoring. And then Isaac takes my hand and pulls me down the hall toward his room.

  “Should we be going to your room?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

  “Why not?”

  “Won’t your dad care?” I ask.

  “My dad left.”

  Oh. Right.

  His room is totally clean, neat as a pin. He kisses me, and his lips feel amazing. The kisses intensify, until finally, he’s pulling me down on the bed next to him. I sink into the softness, and then his hands are moving up and over my shirt.

  We make out for a few minutes, until I pull back.

  “Wait,” I say, sitting up. My body’s on fire, and my head’s all cloudy.

  “It’s okay,” he says, rolling over onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. “We can stop.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I say. “I mean, it is that, but . . .” I swallow hard and look out the window.

  “What?” he asks, sitting up next to me. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m just having all this weirdness, thinking about what happened with Rex, and how I’m here now with Isaac, and just . . . I don’t know. “What’s going on with us?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” Isaac asks, looking confused.

  “I mean, are you my boyfriend?”

  He frowns. “I never thought about it.”

  “You never thought about it?” I start to get up from the bed, but he grabs me and pulls me back down.

  “Hey,” he says, “what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I just would have hoped that you would have thought about it by now. I mean, we’ve been spending pretty much every second together.”

  “Yes,” he says, his brown eyes meeting mine. “We’re together. And I didn’t mean that I haven’t thought about it because I didn’t want to be your boyfriend. I just meant that I assumed you were my girlfriend, and so I wasn’t spending a lot of time thinking about it.”

  “And why would you assume that?” Suddenly I’m all emotional. I feel like I want to pick a fight with him, and I don�
��t understand why.

  “Um, because of what you just said? That we’ve been spending every single moment together since I kissed you that day outside the mall?” He’s looking at me sort of worried, like he doesn’t understand why I’m all upset. Which makes two of us.

  “That’s the problem with you,” I say, still angry at him for no reason. “You’re always just assuming things. You’re always just taking it for granted that things are going to be the way that you want them.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t understand why you’re—”

  “I want to go home,” I say.

  “Okay.” But he doesn’t move.

  “You have to drive me home,” I tell him.

  “First you’re going to tell me what this is all about.”

  “It’s about you just assuming we were together and not even thinking that maybe I have a say in it too.”

  “No, it’s not,” he says.

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not stupid, Kelsey. You’re upset, I can see that, but it has to do with more than me. What’s going on?”

  I don’t say anything. Because the truth is, I don’t know.

  He takes my face in his hands and says, “Look at me.”

  I raise my eyes to meet his. It’s hard because it makes me feel really close to him. I feel like he’s looking into my soul, like he’s the first person who can see the real me. “I am falling in love with you,” he says. “And I am not Rex. Okay?”

  I nod. And then he kisses me again.

  And again.

  And again and again and again. His hands are everywhere, and so are mine, and my body is melting into his, responding to his touch, falling into the moment. And when he whispers in my ear, when he asks me if I’ve ever done this before, I tell him I haven’t.

  I lie.

  The Aftermath

  Isaac

  “Can I talk to you alone, please?” Kelsey hisses.

  “Who? Me?” I look at her with a faux innocent look on my face, like I have no idea what she’d need to talk to me about.