Lies I Told

by Michelle Zink

  But no. I hadn’t said anything incriminating—only that Parker couldn’t do everything, that I was part of the family, too.

  It could have meant anything.

  I shook off my unease and continued to the trash can, dropping the bag inside before heading back down the path. A gust of wind blew through the trees, and a commotion rose in the branches over my head, a cacophony of flapping wings as birds took flight. I looked up, but all I saw was the shadow of leaves and twisted branches.

  “Yes, yes!” the man next door called out, his voice magnanimous.

  I froze.

  “Take flight, my little parrots. Be free,” he continued. “As free as you can be in this gilded cage. As free as any of us can be.”

  I hurried to the back door, rubbing my arms against a sudden chill.

  Nine

  I was staring out the window the next morning, hoping for a glimpse of the birds, when my mom’s heels sounded on the tile in the kitchen.

  “Are there really parrots here, Mom?” I asked, still scanning the trees.

  “There are. I thought I told you.”

  I turned to her. “You didn’t.”

  She twisted the cap on a bottle of vitamins and shook a couple into her hand. “The Realtor said it started sometime in the 1980s. A bunch of people had them as pets, and they got out or were let go or something. Now they’re naturalized.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She thought about it. “They’ve been here so long they’ve gotten used to it. It’s like they belong here now.”

  I turned my eyes back to the window, hit with an unexpected pang of loss.

  My mother’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “You okay, Gracie?”

  I looked away from the window. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  She reached out and smoothed my hair. “It’s tough getting used to a new place.” She surveyed me with knowing eyes. “Maybe we can do takeout tonight, watch a movie on the sofa if you don’t have too much homework.”

  I smiled. Girls’ movie nights were my favorite. “That’d be nice.”

  I said good-bye and went upstairs to take a shower and get dressed. Luckily, the style in Playa Hermosa wasn’t that different from Phoenix. The girls were slightly less tan, and they wore less makeup, but with some minor additions most of my old clothes would work. I wondered if Selena would be up for a shopping trip to pick up a few things and then remembered that it wasn’t Selena I needed as a friend.

  It was Rachel Mercer.

  I chose something simple to wear, slipped the Chandler ID into my pocket, and twisted my hair into waves before meeting Parker downstairs. He was quiet as we made our way outside, but at least he’d ditched the angry edge from last night. I relaxed a little. When he brooded and sulked, I was alone all over again. Then I remembered why we had to stick together. Why I accepted the risks and sacrifices and self-loathing that came with what we did. Because the only people I had in the whole world did it, and I couldn’t be part of their lives if I didn’t do it, too.

  We pulled up next to the BMW in the school parking lot. This time when I got out of the car, I flashed Rachel a smile, forcing an expression of serenity on my face as I walked past the group. I saw Logan in my peripheral vision, felt his eyes on me. It took effort to avoid looking at him, but I kept walking, letting Parker get ahead of me with his long-legged stride.

  I was crossing the quad at the center of campus when a voice called out behind me.

  “Grace! Wait up!”

  I turned to see Selena and Nina standing near a bank of lockers in the outdoor hallway. Selena said something to the long-haired blonde and then hurried toward me, curls escaping from the loose bun at the back of her head.

  I smiled, genuinely happy to see her. “Hey!”

  “Hey! How was your day yesterday?”

  She fell into step, and we headed for the buildings at the back of the quad.

  “It was good. Everyone seems really nice,” I said. “What do you have first period?”

  “Government. How about you?”

  I made a face. “Precalc.”

  “Ugh. I barely passed Integrated Algebra. Math isn’t my thing.”

  I stopped in front of the building where my class was held.

  “This is me,” I said. “But I’m glad we ran into each other.”

  “Me too. I was thinking; would you want to hang out at my house sometime? We could swim if it’s not too cold, watch movies . . . whatever.”

  I smiled. “I’d love to. And actually, I might need a shopping partner. Someone to help me pick out a few things so I’m not hopelessly out of fashion in Playa Hermosa.” I batted my eyelashes dramatically.

  She laughed. “I think you’re doing pretty well, but I won’t turn down an excuse to go shopping.”

  “Great! I’ll text you.”

  I slipped into class as the first bell rang, my mom’s voice echoing in my head: Maybe you can use her. I felt a flush of shame. But that wasn’t what I was doing. I liked Selena. Liked her a lot. I would just keep everything separate, that’s all. Keep Logan and Rachel apart from my friendship with Selena. It would be easy. They didn’t even run in the same crowd.

  By fourth period I almost believed it was possible, and I slid into my seat in AP Euro, feeling more in control.

  “Hey.”

  I looked up at the sound of Rachel’s voice. It was confident, with a sharp edge that made it easy to imagine what she sounded like when she was annoyed or pissed off.

  “Hey.”

  “Think I could look at your notes from yesterday?” Rachel asked, smoothing her already pin-straight red hair. “I think I missed some stuff while I was looking for a pen.”

  “Sure.” I pulled the notes out of my binder and handed them to her. “I don’t know how good they are, but you’re welcome to them.”

  She bent her head and started writing. “So . . . you’re new here, right?”

  “Yesterday was my first day.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “San Francisco.”

  Rachel looked up. “What brings you to Playa Hermosa?”

  “My dad’s work.”

  She wrote silently, like I wasn’t there. Finally, she handed my notes back with a chilly smile. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Mr. Stein walked into the room, and I turned uneasily to the front of the class, wondering why Rachel’s questions felt less like small talk and more like an interrogation—and if it might be easier to move on to Logan after all.

  Ten

  I brooded over Rachel the rest of the morning. She was the queen of her little kingdom. It was a given that she would be selective about granting admittance. Still, forging bonds with people was more art than science, and I’d learned to listen to my instincts. Friendships could be built on a shared interest in rescue cats or French fashion, eighties punk rock or video games, bad horror movies or Japanese candy.

  At the same time, a mark could seem one way on paper and be completely different in person. I’d been assigned to get close to people who were a slam dunk in the subject files, only to discover that in person we were missing the mysterious brand of chemistry required for fast friendship.

  But I’d always been able to overcome it. Failure to connect wasn’t in my professional vocabulary, yet that was the only way I could describe the weird vibe between Rachel Mercer and me. Something about the inquisitive shine in her eyes, the appraising tip of her head, told me she would not be an easy mark. I could keep trying, but my gut told me it would be a waste of time.

  I decided to move on. Having Rachel on my side might make things easier, but it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I would switch gears, focus on the girls Rachel hung out with—Harper and Olivia—and most importantly on Logan Fairchild.

  I sat with Selena, Ashley, and Nina at lunch. Ashley and Nina shared a pair of headphones, talking nonstop about a concert they’d attended the week before (Selena’s dad wouldn’t let her go), while Se
lena and I planned a Saturday shopping trip. Rachel and her friends still occupied the table near the window, clearly “their” spot. Logan was there, too, throwing a foam football with a couple of guys when the lunch monitors weren’t looking.

  This time when Logan looked over, I smiled, making a point to meet his gaze across the cafeteria.

  Screw Rachel Mercer.

  I stayed after school to talk to my English teacher about the upcoming midterm. By the time I headed outside, there were only a handful of cars left in the parking lot. The Saab wasn’t one of them.

  My cell phone had buzzed while I’d been talking to Mrs. Kryzek, but I’d forgotten to check it when I left the classroom. I pulled it out now and discovered three texts from Parker.

  In the parking lot.

  Where are you?

  Assume you have a ride? Text if you need me to come back.

  Sighing, I sat down on the curb. I was texting Parker when a car approached from the left. It was almost in front of me when I recognized the black BMW.

  The car stopped, the passenger side window retracting with an electronic hum.

  “Hey!” Logan smiled through the open window. “Grace, right?”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  “Need a ride?”

  “My brother ditched me, but I can text him to come back.”

  “Don’t bother,” Logan said. “I can give you a lift.”

  I bit my lip, wondering if my heart was beating faster because of the unexpected opportunity to work Logan or because he had such a nice smile.

  “I live at the top of Camino Jardin,” I finally said. “Is that too far?”

  He laughed. “Nothing’s too far on the peninsula. Get in.”

  “Thanks.” I slid into the front seat and fastened my seat belt.

  Logan maneuvered through the parking lot and pulled onto the main road. Then we were winding our way up the peninsula, the wind blowing my hair around, the late afternoon sun warm on my shoulders as the ocean shimmered on our right.

  “Did you move here for your parents’ work?” Logan asked over the wind.

  I nodded. “My dad was part of a big IPO. Now he owns a venture capital firm. There are some start-ups down here he wants to invest in or something.”

  It was vague, but I wasn’t worried. Nobody my age was interested in what their parents did for a living. It was probably even more true in Playa Hermosa, where, as long as the new cars, trips to Europe, and credit cards kept coming, no one seemed to care where they came from.

  “Sounds interesting,” he said.

  “I don’t really know that much about it,” I laughed. “What about you? Have you lived here long?”

  He made a tight turn around one of the road’s switchbacks. “Born and raised.”

  Was I imagining the note of regret in his voice? I filed the observation away for later.

  “It seems like a nice place to be born and raised.”

  He glanced over, nodding. “I think you’ll like it.”

  “Yeah?”

  His smile was slow, even a little sexy, in a totally-unaware-of-how-cute-I-am way. “Yeah.”

  We turned onto Camino Jardin, the air suddenly cooler as we entered the shade of the thick foliage overhead. We were almost to the corner when I spotted something in the middle of the street.

  Logan slammed on the brakes, and I flew forward, stopped only by my seat belt. I braced myself against the dash as I tried to steady my racing heart.

  Logan looked over at me. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” I trained my eyes on the animal in the road. “Is that . . . ?”

  “A peacock,” he confirmed.

  “What’s it doing here?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t seen them yet?”

  I shook my head, and the bird suddenly fanned its tail feathers in an iridescent display of blue and green. It stood straighter, elongating its neck as if on alert.

  “Apparently, some explorer brought them here in the 1920s,” Logan explained.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

  “It is,” Logan said thoughtfully. “Although there are people in Playa Hermosa who would disagree with you.”

  I looked over at him. “Why?”

  “Well, they block traffic for one thing, and squawk like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a big fight about it.”

  “What kind of fight?”

  Logan inched forward, edging around the animal. “There’s an ordinance that says you can’t hurt them, but some of the neighborhoods want to opt out of it because the peacocks are so out of control.”

  “It’s that one, with the Saab out front.” I pointed out my house at the end of the street before turning back to him. “So . . . what? People would kill them?”

  Logan pulled to a stop in front of the house. “Or trap them and send them away.”

  I glanced back at the bird. “That’s sad.”

  “I guess they don’t know what else to do.” Logan turned to me, his attention shifting away from the peacock. “So there’s a bonfire at the Cove on Saturday. You should come. Bring your brother, if you want. I think he’s on our basketball team in gym.”

  “Sounds like fun.” I got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem. See you at school tomorrow.”

  I slipped my hand in my pocket, touching the ID card from Chandler High as I watched Logan drive carefully around the peacock, which was still standing, shell-shocked, as if it had no idea how it had ended up in a paved faux-haven like Playa Hermosa.

  Eleven

  I settled into a routine of meeting up with Selena in the morning and eating with her and the other girls at lunch. Ashley and Nina didn’t say much, but Selena and I never ran out of things to talk about. By the end of my first week in Playa Hermosa, I felt like we’d been friends forever. I was still careful not to say too much, not to step on the toes of my own lies, but I found myself telling her the truth about things, too.

  Like the fact that I opened every new book to random pages, reading sentences out of context before actually starting it. And how I hated my nose even though everyone else said there was nothing wrong with it. And that I’d wanted to cut my hair short for years but always chickened out at the last minute.

  The confessions were nothing big, nothing that would jeopardize the con, but they were things I’d held back in the past, if only to preserve some small part of myself to inspect when I started to forget who I really was.

  Now I started to feel the truth of it. Of me. Not the part I played in this job or in the last one, but who I really was. Like acknowledging things about myself out loud somehow made them—and me—more real. It was exhilarating, confirmation that there was something underneath the Grace who lied and stole. But it was terrifying, too. What if the real Grace didn’t want to stay undercover anymore?

  By Saturday I was filled with unfamiliar excitement, looking forward to both my shopping excursion with Selena and the bonfire later that night. It worried me. I wasn’t used to feeling normal. To being excited about parties and shopping. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t done the teenage thing before. I’d played more or less the same part in every con.

  This was different. Sometimes when I was talking to Selena or smiling at Logan across the cafeteria, I forgot who I was supposed to be, the always reliable script in my mind turning momentarily blank. I had to remind myself that the bonfire was work. Logan was work. Even shopping was work. Fun wasn’t supposed to be a part of it.

  But Logan seemed nice, casting glances my way at school, smiling when he caught my eye. It would have been a lie to say I wasn’t interested in him.

  I would have to work around it, like I was working around Rachel.

  I was in the kitchen Saturday morning, planning my outfit for the day and heating up a waffle in the toaster, when my dad came in dressed in plaid pants, a golf polo, and a hat.

  I laughed. “You’re either auditioning for the sequel to Happy Gilmore or you’re going golfi
ng.”

  He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I ran into Warren Fairchild when I took a tour of Mar Vista on Tuesday. He invited me to try the club before I join.”

  “Is it nice?”

  He nodded. “Gorgeous. Right on a bluff overlooking the water.”

  “Perks of the job, huh?” It sounded snide, even to me, which wasn’t what I intended.

  My dad raised an eyebrow. “Ouch.”

  I pulled my waffle out of the toaster and poured syrup over it. “Sorry. I guess I’m having a little trouble.”

  “Because of your new friend?” he asked. “Selena, is it?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, you don’t have to spend time with her if you don’t want to.” He was stepping around the issue, not wanting to violate the rule about talking outside the War Room.

  “I know. But that’s the thing: I do.” I cut my waffle, trying to think of a safe way to put my feelings into words. “I think I need it, you know?”

  He set his cup in the sink and pulled me close, kissing the top of my head. “We all need things, Gracie. Just be careful.”

  The words echoed through my bones like sonar. Careful of what? Careful not to be myself? Not to get close to anybody?

  But of course that was exactly what he meant. Both of those things and more. There were endless things to be careful about.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he said, turning back as he opened the door to the garage. “Warren invited us over tomorrow. The Fairchilds are having some kind of barbecue. Everyone will be there.”

  I forced a smile. “Great.”

  I carried my plate to the table and thought about the bonfire. There was no doubt that Logan was interested in me, but our time together was limited by the fact that I wasn’t part of the group. At lunch, Logan sat with the guys and Rachel, Harper, and Olivia. I still sat with Selena, Ashley, and Nina, and while I actually preferred it that way, moving to Logan’s table was a necessary move on the chessboard of the Playa Hermosa con.

  The bonfire was my way in. It was the first time I’d be around Rachel’s group for any length of time. I needed to make the most of it. Needed to win over Harper and Olivia and cement Logan’s attraction to me. If I had the three of them, I was in. Logan’s friends wouldn’t care one way or another—guys never did—and Rachel would be so outvoted she’d need a reason to keep me on the outside.