Only the Pretty Lies

by Rebekah Crane

  “You think this will work?” I ask her. “You think you can convince the Senate?”

  “Please,” she says with a callous eye roll. Then Ellis hugs me to her, like a best friend comforting her closest girlfriend. “Don’t worry, Amoris. I got this.”

  Every year, the incoming senior class votes in twenty students to be on the Senior Senate, the governing body of representatives for our final year of high school. The students that are voted in host the best parties, get good grades while still getting completely plastered on the weekends, are the good-looking people with nice cars and wealthy parents. The kids who come into the café and pay for lattes with credit cards for which they’ll never see a bill. It’s a teen cliché, but one that’s alive and well. And one I didn’t give much thought to. Until now.

  Of the twenty students, eighteen are White.

  This is who Jamison has to put his faith in. It’s no wonder he stayed quiet for so long.

  When Ellis begins the meeting, I might throw up from nerves.

  “Listen up, people,” she says. “We have a big fucking problem in this school. And we’re going to do something about it.”

  32

  PAID IN FULL

  We used to hold hands when we slept. Somehow in the middle of the night, in the darkness, my fingers would find Jamison’s and hold on tight. That’s all I keep thinking as he stands next to me in a room that suddenly feels filled with strangers. That’s what racial situations do—make even the people we think we know completely unpredictable.

  I should hold Jamison’s hand. It used to be so easy. So why does it feel so hard to touch him now? When he needs me. It’s amazing how freely we tangled with each other in our youth, and how complicated it feels now.

  Hold his hand, Amoris. My own voice echoes in my head.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Ellis, but this mural does depict history,” Paisley Phillips says, her wavy brown hair hanging down her back. “I’m not sure it’s right to just erase America’s dirty past. I say we leave it up as a reminder of how corrupt this country is. I mean, we are literally standing on stolen land. If you ask me, that’s a bigger issue. Maybe we should start a petition to give that back.”

  Hold his hand, Amoris. It’s right there, inches away.

  “Let’s not go down the indigenous rabbit hole, Paisley,” Ellis says.

  “Real sensitive, Ellis,” Paisley counters.

  “Just stick to the topic at hand,” Ellis says.

  Nash Ogden pipes up. “I disagree with Paisley. This painting clearly celebrates America’s past. Slavery shouldn’t be celebrated. That’s fucked up. I say take it down.”

  Michelle Hernández, who’s one of two kids of color in the Senate, speaks next. “While I also understand what everyone is saying, we’re missing a huge point.”

  “And that is?” Ellis asks, annoyed.

  Hold his hand, Amoris.

  “This is still a piece of art,” Michelle says. “We need to take that into account. Shakespeare may have been a raging racist, but we don’t go around burning his books.”

  “Shakespeare was a racist?” Sam says. He’s been hanging in the back, more observant than vocal, but he wanted to be here today. Insisted on it. To support Jamison.

  “Haven’t you ever read Othello?” Michelle chides.

  “Is it on Netflix?” Sam’s joke doesn’t work on her.

  She turns to Ellis. “Why is he here? He’s not on Senate.”

  “Don’t get off topic,” Ellis says. “And I think we can all agree this isn’t Shakespeare. I’ve seen graffiti better than this.”

  “Are you saying graffiti isn’t art?” Jamison says, his first words since the meeting began. This startles everyone into silence. Now is the time to take his hand, with everyone looking in our direction. Make a statement, show everyone how I feel.

  I reach out, my fingers about to find Jamison’s, when Ellis gently touches his arm.

  “Of course not,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that, Jay. I’m sorry.”

  My hand falls back to my side. What is wrong with me? Ellis is making all the right moves, saying the right things, being supportive, and I’m just stuck.

  “I don’t see it,” Tice Jennings says. “That just looks like a regular ship to me.”

  “You need glasses, Tice,” Maeve Higgins says, pointing at the painting. “Those are totally Black people on that ship.”

  “But if none of us has ever noticed this before,” Tice says, “is it that big a deal?”

  “The bigger problem is that no one has noticed it,” Nash says. “What does that say about us?”

  “And just because you’ve never noticed doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong,” Paisley says. “Would you think it wasn’t a big deal if you were Black?”

  “I don’t know,” Tice says. “I’m not Black.”

  “Real sensitive, Tice,” Paisley says, eyeing Jamison.

  Tice throws his hands up. “Whatever. Take it down. I don’t care.”

  “See, that’s a problem, too,” Paisley continues. “If it doesn’t get them more Instagram followers, people don’t care. That’s the state of America. You just have to look like you support a cause. You don’t actually have to do anything about it.”

  “Taking this mural down isn’t going to solve racism,” Michelle says. “You have to deconstruct the whole system. And I doubt we’ll see that in our lifetime.”

  “But it’s a start,” Sam chimes in. “People said the same thing about gay marriage. Imagine if everyone just gave up? Or gave in? If we allow this mural to remain hanging in our school, we’re essentially saying it’s OK to represent Black people this way.”

  “What, accurately?” Beckett says. “Let’s be for real, a lot of Black people were slaves.”

  Sam rolls his eyes. “You’ve always been small-minded, Becks.”

  “What’s small-minded about the truth?” Beckett counters.

  “First of all, call them enslaved people,” Sam says harshly. “Second of all, generalizing and treating Black people as a collective is a huge problem. That is racism. We don’t do that to White people.”

  “If we’re going to argue proper historical representation,” Paisley says, “we should start with the fact that this land’s history goes back a lot further than colonization.”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t see what the problem is,” Beckett says. “It’s a picture. Who cares?” He turns to Jamison. “Sorry, bro.”

  I can’t take it anymore.

  “He’s not your bro,” I snap at Beckett. “And he never will be. Using a condescending term of endearment to minimize the fact that you just said you don’t care about his feelings? That is exactly the problem. You think you can dismiss someone’s pain and then casually pat him on the back, like you’re friends, which only demonstrates what an inconsiderate, narcissistic asshole you really are.”

  People snicker. Beckett turns a bright shade of red. I’ve singlehandedly brought this meeting to a standstill.

  “OK,” Lori says. “Let’s stay on topic. One thing at a time. This is about the mural.”

  The Senate continues arguing, and Jamison walks away, hands balled into fits. I follow him, and soon we’re alone in the hallway. Jamison paces in long strides, his gaze on the floor.

  “Jay . . .” I start to say, but I stop when Jamison punches a locker, startling me.

  “This is bullshit!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have spoken for you. I was just so mad. And Beckett is such a dick, and it all came out before I could think any better of it.”

  Jamison gestures to where we came from. “They don’t get it, Amoris. They just don’t get it.”

  And he’s right. Most of the people in that room just want to hear themselves talk. They don’t understand the privilege they have, to debate another person’s humanity. But what other choice do we have? If we want this mural taken down, this is our only option. And that only solidifies the truth of Jamison’s reality. />
  He shakes out his hand, cringing.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask.

  “A little.”

  “Let me look at it.” And finally, I take his hand in mine. I turn it over, running my fingers gently along his knuckles. “You’re gonna have a bruise, but I don’t think it’s broken. You should ice it.”

  “Anything else you recommend, Doctor?”

  Jamison’s frustration has eased. He’s staring down at me. My knees go weak, along with my resolve.

  “What you said to Beckett . . .” Jamison says.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken for you.”

  Jamison presses a finger to my lips. “It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

  That might be my undoing. “You know, my mom always says a kiss makes the pain go away, though I’m not sure that’s medically proven.”

  “We should probably test the theory.”

  I pause, to savor the moment. “Only if it’s OK with the patient.”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  As I bring Jamison’s hand toward my lips, my anxiety disappears. My lips barely touch his skin when Ellis comes running down the hallway.

  “Jay! I need you!”

  Jamison steps back, and our hands fall to our sides.

  “What?” he asks.

  “The Senate voted, and everyone wants the mural painted over. Lori suggested we draft a letter to Mr. O’Brien. All the Senate members agreed to sign, but I need your help with the letter. You’re a way better writer than I am.”

  “Beckett agreed?” Jamison asks.

  “Believe me, he’s all bark and no bite. I should know. Now, come on. I want to get started on the letter. The sooner we get it done, the sooner that hideous thing disappears.” She pulls on Jamison’s arm, leading him away from me.

  “Just give me a sec,” he says. He turns back to me, and the anxiety is back and worse than ever.

  “This is good,” I say, forcing a smile. “This is what we wanted.”

  “It is.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

  “Go.” I nudge him toward her.

  “Jay, come on,” Ellis urges. She wraps her arm around his as they leave.

  And then it hits me. I was so naïve to think Ellis’s favor wouldn’t have a cost. A string attached. I just didn’t realize what that string might be. Who it might be tied to. But as they walk away together, I see it clearly now.

  The string is attached to Jamison.

  33

  THIS TOWN IS CRAZY

  The café is closed for the night. Shades pulled, chairs stacked on tables. All except one table for two, which is set for an intimate meal, complete with a candle at the center and a bag of food from Nicky’s Diner.

  Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and Marnie has the windows decorated in hearts and cupids. Tonight it’s Friday the thirteenth, though that doesn’t seem to be affecting the warm mood in the café. The smell of greasy takeout is starting to override the smell of coffee.

  Marnie gave me permission to use the café after hours, and Sam has promised he’ll clean everything up. Presently, he’s commandeering the stereo system.

  “I don’t understand why you hate country music so much,” Tucker says.

  “It’s not the music. It’s what it stands for. Beer, guns, misogyny, hillbillies, and homophobes.”

  “Is that what you think I am? A hillbilly?” Tucker shoves his hands in his jean pockets and rolls back on the heel of his boots. He’s even wearing a flannel, tucked in tonight.

  Sam waves off the question. “That’s just a costume.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Tucker says. “This is me.”

  “Get with the stereotype, Tuck,” Sam says. “Gays are into Betty Who, not Dierks Bentley.”

  Tucker walks right up to him, their faces inches away from each other. They couldn’t be more opposite—Tucker with his scruffy hair and bulky athletic body, Sam thin and delicate—and yet they make perfect sense.

  “Not this gay,” Tucker says. “You should know better than to judge people by how they look.” He swipes Sam’s phone to change the music. Sam grabs for it, but Tucker is taller and stronger, a fact he’s relishing. Country music fills the café as I flip the new sign Marnie bought. One side says “Closed, Come Back Soon!” and the other says “Welcome, All Sizes, All Colors, All Cultures, All Sexes, All Beliefs, All Religions, All Ages, All Types, All People.” She said she got it as a reminder to customers.

  “My ears!” Sam yells. “They can’t handle all this toxic masculinity! Turn it off!”

  Tucker sings along, even louder. When the song ends, he says, “Serves you right, Sam. I can like whatever music I want.”

  Sam swipes his phone back. “Why shouldn’t I judge? Hillbillies judge me.”

  “If no one is ever the bigger person, we all remain small-minded,” Tucker says.

  “What if I’m sick of being the bigger person?”

  Tucker runs his hand over Sam’s cheek, which instantly calms Sam. The gesture is so intimate, I turn away, wanting to give them privacy. “Then that makes me sad,” Tucker says.

  “Don’t I deserve a break?”

  “Heroes don’t get breaks.”

  “I’m not a hero, Tuck. I’m a labelless kid who wants to love whoever he chooses.”

  “You’re my hero,” Tucker says.

  “Stop trying to butter me up,” Sam says, “because . . . it’s working.”

  I turn just in time to see them kiss. Two bodies pressed closely, hands on faces, a beautiful intimacy. I can’t help but watch, though it makes my chest ache, knowing I won’t have that kind of intimacy tonight or tomorrow or anytime soon. But I can’t forget how it feels to dissolve into another person. Nothing can satiate the desire. Close isn’t enough.

  I take a bus bin full of dirty dishes into the kitchen. I run my hands under the tap and then splash myself. But nothing helps when Jamison is on my mind.

  Against my better judgment, I check my phone. No new texts. Jamison didn’t tell me if he had plans tonight, and I didn’t ask. I haven’t heard from Ellis either. She’s been quieter lately. Content. That should be a good sign, but I prefer vocal Ellis. Then at least I know where she stands. Silence has a way of eating at a person until madness takes over. And I’m teetering on the verge.

  Dishes, I think to myself. Focus on the task. At least I know what Ellis is doing tomorrow night. I can keep an eye on her. Matt and Darcy are away on a romantic ski weekend in Utah, so Ellis is throwing an Anti-Valentine’s Day party. She came up with the idea earlier this week, when she was feeling extra annoyed at Beckett and their current breakup.

  “No couples allowed,” she said. “It’s a hook-up only party. I want to take full advantage of my newly single status. Spread the word. I don’t care if the whole school comes. More people to choose from.”

  I said I’d make sure Jamison knew about the party.

  “Oh, I already told Jay,” Ellis said. “He’s the one who came up with the idea for the tents.”

  “Tents?”

  “I’m going to set up ‘hook-up tents’ all over the property. It’s brilliant.”

  “Jay came up with that?” I asked.

  “Why do you sound so surprised? He’s a guy, not a saint. Jay wants to have a good time just as badly as everyone else.”

  “I didn’t say he was a saint.”

  “No, you just treat him like one.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means you hold Jay to an impossible standard, Amoris. You idolize him. Like he’s some demigod from your childhood who can do no wrong. That’s a lot of pressure. Turns out, he’s human.”

  “Did he say that?”

  Ellis didn’t answer. She detoured back to the plans for the weekend, but her comment still eats at me. It’s none of my business what Jamison talks to Ellis about. I let him go. I’m not allowed to be upset.

  But every day, I feel as if I’m hovering one inch above a blade that’s pointed right a
t my heart. One wrong move . . .

  I scrub the dishes harder, my hands raw from the scalding water. I’m so focused that I don’t notice Tucker until he hops up on the counter next to me.

  “I’m almost done,” I say, picking at dried food on a plate. “Then you’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “You can stay if you want. There’s plenty of food.”

  I’m not so pathetic that I need to crash Sam and Tucker’s date. “Three’s a crowd.”

  Tucker swings his legs playfully as he watches me wash dishes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” But a wide smile grows on his face. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so happy, and that in itself should make me feel the same.

  I throw the dish towel over my shoulder and lean back on the counter to face him. “What?”

  “I was just thinking about how we could have kissed at homecoming.”

  I roll my eyes. “You didn’t want to kiss me.”

  “You didn’t want to kiss me either. But I wouldn’t have objected. It’s hard to constantly look at the person you want and know you can’t have them. It can make a person crazy. Crazy enough to kiss a girl when you’re in love with her best friend.”

  I know Tucker’s talking about Sam, but I can’t help but think about Jamison and Ellis, kissing behind the garage. How would our lives be different today if I had just told him how I felt back then?

  “I thought about ending our relationship, you know,” Tucker continues, his confession surprising me. “It’s not fair, what I’m putting Sam through. Most days I think he’d be better off without me.”

  “Tucker . . .”

  “I know it’s selfish. Not letting him go. But . . . I love Sam. And in this messed-up, shitty world where I have to deny my own being, shouldn’t I at least get to hold on to love?”

  “Yes.” Of course yes.

  Tucker slides off the counter. “Then why are you pushing it away?”

  “What?”

  Tucker gives me a sidelong glance. “Don’t play dumb with me. I may not live in this town, but I know what’s going on.”

  I go back to the dishes. “It’s not the same.”