Lying Out Loud

by Kody Keplinger

  He shrugged, but he didn’t move to get out of the car.

  “Do you need something?” I asked.

  “No. I just figured I’d stick around until Amy gets here … just to see you off safely.”

  I snorted. “Oh, yes. I’m sure my safety is a priority of yours. Stop wasting your time with this crush on Amy. It’s annoying and pathetic and, if you want the truth, she’s not into you. At all.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you spoke for Amy now.”

  “I’m her best friend. I know how she feels about pretty much everything. I’m just trying to save you the heartbreak.”

  “You care about my heartbreak about as much as I care about your safety.” He shook his head. “I’d rather hear Amy’s feelings from Amy, if you don’t mind.”

  “You won’t. As much as she can’t stand you, she wouldn’t tell you that. She’s too nice.”

  “Clearly it hasn’t rubbed off on you.”

  A second later, Amy’s Lexus turned the corner into the parking lot. I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the station wagon, Ryder not too far behind me. Amy slid into a parking space, and I heard the click of the passenger-side door being unlocked.

  “Later,” I said, hopping into the Lexus, but Ryder grabbed the door, sticking his head into the cab before I could close it.

  “Hello, Amy,” he said.

  “Oh. Hi, Ryder.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Which is code for ‘annoyed,’ ” I said.

  She elbowed me.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said. “It was really nice of you to come back and get Sonny.”

  “Of course. Thank you for letting Sonny use your phone to call.”

  “Sonny is right here,” I said. “And I already thanked him.”

  “So, Amy, are you doing anything this weekend?” Ryder asked.

  Amy glanced at me, her eyes widening in a way that clearly meant, Oh, dear God, help me get away from him.

  “Um … I don’t know,” she said.

  “Well, we should —”

  “Go,” I interjected. “I can see you’re trying to court my lovely friend here —”

  Ryder flustered.

  “— but it’s raining and you’re holding the door open and getting my right side soaked in the process.”

  “And she’s late for work,” Amy added.

  “That, too.”

  “Right. Sorry about that. I guess I’ll see you at school Monday?”

  “Probably,” Amy said.

  “Excellent. See you around.”

  Ryder stepped back, but he held the door open for just a second longer, ensuring the right leg of my jeans was thoroughly drenched before he closed the door. I glared at him out the window. Somehow, he didn’t seem to mind that he was sopping wet. And from a purely aesthetic perspective, I didn’t mind that he was either.

  “Why must someone so handsome be such an ass?” I asked as Amy pulled out of the parking lot.

  “All of the handsome ones are,” she said.

  “Not your brother.”

  “He used to be.”

  Amy’s brother, Wesley, was a few years older than us. He’d been blessed with the same godlike DNA as the rest of the Rush family. He had the same dark, curly hair as Amy, the same tall frame, only where she was slender, he was broad and toned.

  It would be fair to say I’d had a slight crush on Wesley growing up. It would be more accurate, however, to say I was madly, deeply, head over heels in love with him up until a couple of years ago.

  Throughout most of high school, Wesley had been what you might call a “player.” He hooked up with every girl who showed interest.

  Every girl but me. To him, I was little Sonny Ardmore, his sister’s troublemaking but undeniably adorable best friend. Flirt as I might, Wesley never seemed to see me as anything other than the nine-year-old who had once broken her arm attempting to ride the banister in his house.

  Not that it mattered much now. His senior year, Wesley had actually started dating someone seriously. Her name was Bianca, and now they were both off at college in New York City, still together.

  It was several minutes later when we pulled into the movie theater’s parking lot. I worked at a tiny movie theater in Oak Hill, the next town over from Hamilton, where all the big box stores, restaurants, and alcohol could be found. Hamilton was a dry, one-stoplight town with a minuscule population. Oak Hill was the closest thing to a “city” we had until you reached Chicago, which was a couple of hours away.

  The oh-so-cleverly named Cindependent Theater only showed foreign and indie flicks. And I had the honor of handing our pretentious customers their extra-buttery, fat-loaded popcorn. Not exactly my dream job, but hey, it paid.

  “Thanks,” I told Amy. “I’ll get a ride back to your place.”

  “With who? None of your coworkers live in Hamilton.”

  “I can hitchhike. There are some really cute truck drivers who come through here.”

  Amy swatted my arm, and I laughed.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Or I could just pick you up and drive you back to my place.”

  “But your parents —”

  “It’s Friday night. It’s normal for you to stay over. They won’t mind, and they won’t even think to check in with your mom. And tomorrow my mom can go jump your car.” She smiled. “It doesn’t always have to be complicated, you know?”

  I nodded. “Fine.” I leaned across the seat and hugged her. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  If anyone had said that to me, I would have made a funny quip or replied with something snarky — purely out of habit. But not Amy. She just hugged me back and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

  I climbed out of the Lexus and hurried through the nearly empty parking lot, toward the theater.

  “You’re late!” a voice yelled the second I walked through the door.

  “Sorry, Glenda.”

  “Not gonna cut it this time, Sonny.”

  My boss, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a chin-length black bob and cat-eye glasses, stepped out from behind the popcorn machine. Judging by the scowl on her face and the veins bulging in her thin neck, I had a theory — an inkling, really — that she might be pissed.

  “We just started screening that new sea turtle documentary and you missed the rush. You left us short staffed.”

  I glanced out the window. There were, at max, six cars in the parking lot. “Rush? Really?”

  “It’s Friday.”

  “It’s three-thirty.”

  “No. Three-thirty is when you’re supposed to be here. It’s almost four.”

  “Glenda —”

  “I’m sick of this, Sonny. This happens all the time. I told you last time you were late that if it happened again, you’d be fired.”

  She had, that was true. But I’d kind of figured she was blowing smoke. She’d threatened to fire Grady, one of my coworkers, a thousand times, but he was still here. I’d honestly thought it was impossible to get fired from Cindependent.

  “On top of that, you come in here looking like crap. Look at you, Sonny. You’re soaking wet. No one wants you handling their food like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Glenda. My car broke down and my phone isn’t working. I was trying to get help, but then it started raining —”

  “Stop. Your lies don’t even sound believable anymore.”

  “But I’m not lying!” Not this time, anyway.

  “Why should I believe you?” Glenda asked.

  I couldn’t think of an answer. In the year I’d been working at Cindependent, I’d lied to her countless times. Yes, I did clean the gum off the bottom of the seats in theater two…. No, I didn’t spit in that asshole’s soda…. I’m late because my grandfather had a heart attack — don’t worry, he’s fine now! She really had no reason to believe a word I said.

  “I’m done, Sonn
y,” she said. “You’re fired.”

  “But I …” And again, I actually told the truth. “I really need the money. Right now more than ever.”

  Her face softened, but only a little. “Then maybe you’ll be more responsible at your next job.” And with that, she turned and headed to her office.

  I had to borrow Grady’s phone to call Amy. It had a thin coat of butter on the keypad, and I kept it about an inch from my face to avoid cross contamination. Amy hadn’t even gotten to Hamilton yet, so she just turned around and headed back to the theater to pick me up.

  I waited outside, in the rain. I knew if I waited inside, I’d just end up punching the popcorn machine. Not because I’d gotten fired. Who needed some shitty job at a movie theater? I mean, I did, but that was beside the point. No, it wasn’t getting fired — it was everything. Everything with my mom and my phone and my car and my awful day and my awful life.

  Yes, I was a whining, teenage cliché. And, according to Amy, I had a flair for the dramatic, so there was a slight chance that, had I stayed in the theater, I may have made matters worse by pouring a Cherry Slushie on Glenda’s head. It was, after all, something I’d fantasized about doing since I’d been hired.

  But I still had my dignity — dented though it may have been — and I refused to give in to my wrathful adolescent urges.

  “You okay?” Amy asked when I climbed into the Lexus a few minutes later.

  It was a testament to how much she loved me that she let me get into her fancy car — twice now — while I was sopping wet. She hadn’t even cringed.

  “Swell,” I said. “Just swell. Let’s get out of here. Please.”

  * * *

  “Good night, girls,” Mrs. Rush said, poking her head into Amy’s bedroom later that night. “We’re headed to bed.”

  “Night, Mom,” Amy said.

  “Good night, Mrs. Rush.”

  She smiled at us, then slipped back out of the room.

  It was just past eleven, and despite being dry once again, snug in some frog-patterned pajamas Amy had lent me, I was still in an awful mood. Amy was doing her best to comfort me, seemingly unaware that I was a lost cause.

  “What about Giovanni’s? That Italian restaurant in Oak Hill? You could get a job there,” she suggested once her mother had gone.

  “Brenna Steward works there. She says the owner makes passes at all the young waitresses.”

  “Ew. Do you think that’s true?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d rather not find out.” I flopped backward onto her bed. “Besides, my dry wit — charming as I know you find it — isn’t always appreciated by the general public. Which does not bode well for me when it comes to tips.”

  “That’s true.”

  I glared at her. “You were supposed to disagree with me.”

  “Oh, I mean … people love you, Sonny. I’m sure your sense of humor —”

  “Too late now,” I said. “Jump ship while you can.”

  “You’ll find another job,” she assured me. “My mom will go help you with your car in the morning, and you can use my phone until yours is fixed. No one but Wesley ever calls me anyway. Besides you, but you’re always here, so …”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re being very sweet, and it’s appreciated. But right now, I think I’d rather just wallow.”

  Amy sighed. “All right.”

  I buried my face in her pillow and listened as she stood up and walked across the room. I heard her laptop booting up at her desk. I figured she was doing homework until …

  “Um, Sonny? I know you’re busy wallowing, but you’re not going to believe this.”

  I kept my face in the pillow. “I’ve told you before — if it’s a Nigerian prince offering to wire you millions of dollars, don’t send him your bank account information.”

  “It’s not that. Ryder Cross e-mailed me.”

  Now I sat up. “What did he say?”

  I was across the room, peering over her shoulder, before she could answer.

  Hey, Amy —

  It was really nice talking to you this afternoon in the parking lot. I’m just sorry the awful weather and your friend’s schedule cut our conversation short.

  I snorted. “‘Your friend’? Like he doesn’t know my name. And what conversation? You were barely talking to him.”

  “Keep reading,” she said.

  But I’d really like to keep talking to you. Maybe we could get dinner sometime? I know there aren’t any nice places to eat in Hamilton, but Oak Hill has a few decent restaurants. I was thinking maybe next Friday night?

  “Oh my God,” I said, unable to even read the last little bit of the e-mail. “He asked you out.”

  “I know. I don’t even know why he would.”

  “Because you’re gorgeous? That part is obvious.”

  She blushed.

  “Less obvious,” I said, “is why he thinks he has a chance. Amy, you have to reply to him. You have to say you’ll do it.”

  “What? I don’t want to go out with Ryder.”

  “You won’t. You’ll just say you will. Just to tease him a bit.”

  “I can’t do that,” Amy said. “It’s too mean.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Move over.”

  “Sonny, you can’t.”

  “Please,” I begged. “I’ve had an awful day and fucking with Ryder’s head will make me feel so much better.”

  “I thought you were wallowing?”

  “Being mean is so much more fun than wallowing. And he’s such an asshole. You know it, too. He deserves some torture after the way he’s talked about Hamilton and everyone who lives here. Let me pick on him a little bit. Please?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. Amy was anything but mean. Even to people she hated, she was always incredibly polite and respectful. It was unnerving, really.

  But if anyone could convince her, it was me. Sonny Ardmore — a bad influence for thirteen years and counting.

  “Fine,” she said, scooting over so we could squeeze together on the chair. “But only because I know it will cheer you up … and because he really is awful. Maybe this will get him to leave me alone.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I hit the REPLY button and started to compose my masterpiece, reading it aloud as I typed each sentence.

  “Hello, hottie.”

  “Oh God,” Amy squeaked. “I’m already feeling weird about this.”

  “I’d love to keep talking to you.” I read it to her in a slow, sexy voice. “But not at a restaurant. My room is much more comfortable. And the only thing I want to be eating is whipped cream off your chest, lover boy.”

  “Sonny!” Amy cried. “You can’t say that!”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll think I’m some sort of freak.”

  “That’s the point. He’ll be creeped out — and perhaps slightly turned on, though he’d never admit it — by your over-the-top e-mail and too embarrassed to ever speak to you again.”

  “But what if he tells other people about this e-mail?”

  “Who would he tell? No one can stand him. He doesn’t have friends.”

  She sighed, which I took as permission to continue.

  “You mentioned my friend in your e-mail. Sonny would also like to be present for this ‘conversation.’ She loves to watch me fool around with guys. Though recently, I found some creepy voodoo dolls of the guys I’ve been hooking up with in her drawer. And, come to think of it, a few of them have had some serious accidents. I hope the possibility of a few broken bones doesn’t scare you off.”

  This time, she giggled. Just a little.

  “I have to say, Ryder, I’m so glad you e-mailed me. I’ve had my eye on you since you got here. I tried to play it cool, but secretly, I’ve been building a shrine to you in my closet for months. It’s nothing special — just a few pictures I took of you on my phone while you weren’t looking and a life-size sculpture I made of you using garbage and gum I scraped out from under your desk.”r />
  “Oh, that’s so gross!” Amy gasped. “Ew.”

  I continued, “I can’t wait to show you my work of art. I know you’ll appreciate it. So it’s a date. Friday night. I’m going to blow your mind, Ryder. You have no idea. Love (because that’s what I am, in love with you), Amy.”

  I sat back and admired my brilliant prose. Beside me, Amy was giggling, but she also looked a bit nervous.

  “You can’t really send that, you know,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s cool. I got it out of my system. But you’ve got to admit — it’s a pretty epic love letter.”

  “Sure,” Amy said.

  “I’m saving it,” I told her. “You’re going to want to look back on this one day when I’m some sort of famous poet … or criminal mastermind being hunted by the authorities. Whichever comes first. It’ll be worth something.”

  I leaned forward and moved to click the SAVE button, but Amy’s elbow bumped mine by accident, and my hand slipped. Instead of SAVE, I clicked SEND.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Amy saw it at the same time I did. Her eyes went wide and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “What just happened?”

  I clicked over to drafts, hoping to see the e-mail there, safe and sound. But no. “It sent,” I said.

  “No, no, no!” Amy looked horrified. “Oh my God.”

  “Well … he’ll never ask you out again?” I offered. “Ugh. I’m sorry. That really wasn’t on purpose. I swear.”

  “I know. I bumped you.” She bit at her pinkie nail. “This is awful. I can’t believe we sent that. It’s so mean and … There’s no way of, like, getting it back, right?”

  “That’s not exactly how the Internet works.”

  “Ugh.” She buried her face in her hands. “I hope he doesn’t read it.”

  “He might not,” I said. “He might realize too late that asking you out was a mistake and he doesn’t have a chance in hell, so he won’t read the e-mail. He’ll save himself from the heartache. There’s actually a good chance of that.”

  Amy looked skeptical.

  “I’m serious,” I said.

  But I was just saying that to make Amy feel better. I knew he’d read it. He’d be an idiot not to. I just hoped he didn’t forward it to anyone. If someone teased Amy about this, I’d never forgive myself.