“Thanks,” I said.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me into a tight hug. “I know this is hard, but it means a lot to me.”
I nodded and leaned my head on her shoulder. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this. I really didn’t think it would go this far, but …”
“But it ends tonight,” she said. She released me and brushed a few of my curls behind my ear. “And you’ll feel so much better afterward.”
I nodded, though I knew it wasn’t true.
“And who knows?” she said. “You two have a connection. You’ve said so yourself. Maybe once he learns the truth, he’ll recognize that. Maybe he’ll understand and you two will finally —”
“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t give me false hope.”
“I reject and deny the notion of ‘false hope.’ Hope is never false.” She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “If he’s smart, he’ll listen. He might be mad, but he’ll hear you out and realize how perfect you are for him.”
But I knew Ryder. He may have been smart, but he held a grudge. He’d gone from practically worshipping his father to wanting nothing to do with him. What his father had done was awful, no doubt, but he was still his family. And who was I? The best friend of the girl he thought he liked? The annoying girl from history class? He owed me no loyalty.
Amy wouldn’t hear it, though, so I just nodded and sat down on the bed to tie my sneakers. It was seven-thirty, and the party started at eight. The Rushes had curfew set at eleven on weekends, so at least this would all be over in three and a half hours.
Which would likely be the worst three and a half hours of my life.
“Just so you know, I told Ryder you had plans with your parents,” I said. “I know you’re tired of the lying, but if I hadn’t said something, he’d expect you to be there, so …”
“It’s okay.” She sat down next to me on the bed. “It’s the last lie you’ll tell in all of this.” She sighed. “I know this is hard for you, but I’m really glad it’s going to be over tonight. I’m no good at lying, and always keeping an eye out for Ryder at school — ducking into bathrooms and around corners — I’m way too tall and awkward to be a superspy, Sonny.”
I laughed, despite myself. “You can say that again.” I got to my feet. “Okay. How do I look?”
“Adorable,” Amy said. “Love the blue turtleneck. Is that mine?”
“Yep. Don’t tell, but I had to stuff my bra a little bit to make it look right on me. I like to think that if I look nice enough, Ryder might be like, ‘Yeah, I’m super pissed, but you’re hot, so all is forgiven.’”
“Seems totally plausible to me,” Amy said. “But if that doesn’t work out, I’ll be waiting here with ice cream and Audrey Hepburn movies.”
“You know I’m more of a Marilyn girl.”
“We’re not having this fight again.”
“Another time,” I assured her. “But now, I’m off to my doom. Enjoy your evening.”
I exited the bedroom with dramatic flair, which was somewhat undercut by Amy following me downstairs.
“Hey,” she said as I slid on my coat by the front door. “Can I say just one more thing?”
“You never have to ask me that.”
“He’s probably going to be mad at first,” she said. “But if he doesn’t realize how great you are, despite this little kerfuffle —”
“ ‘Kerfuffle’? Oh my God, you’ve been around me too long.”
“Shut up and listen.” But her lips twitched toward a smile. “Despite this kerfuffle, if he doesn’t see how awesome you are, Sonny, it’s his loss.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting another hug that I definitely did not deserve.
She was wrong, though. If — when — Ryder rejected me and refused to speak to me again, the loss would be entirely my own. The guilt twisted in my stomach, and I wished, not for the first time, that I’d found a way to tell him the truth earlier, when the lie first began as just an accident. But now, it had gone way too far.
“See you later,” I said, opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch.
“Good luck,” Amy called.
I dragged my feet down the driveway. When I finally reached Gert, I pulled out my keys and sighed. “It’s gonna be a long night, girl,” I said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get it over with.”
Chris Lawson wasn’t one of those popular jock types. But man, he wanted to be. He was constantly trying to be the cool guy, seemingly unaware that cool people were cool because they didn’t try.
And Chris’s party was kind of a reflection of himself.
It wasn’t bad as far as parties go. It was just trying too hard.
The speakers were blasting loud rap music when I walked in. People were milling about the living room, red Solo cups in hand, though no one seemed quite as enthusiastic about the party as Chris, who darted over to greet me.
“Sonny!” he shouted. “Awesome! Glad you came!”
“Thanks, Chris.”
“You should go dance! Everyone’s dancing!”
No one — not a single person — was dancing.
“Maybe later,” I said.
“Wanna watch me do a keg stand?”
“Sure, but not right now. I’m actually looking for someone. Is Ryder here yet?”
“Who?”
“Ryder Cross.”
“The new kid?” Chris asked.
Ryder had been in Hamilton for more than a semester, so I wasn’t sure “the new kid” was still an appropriate title, but I nodded nonetheless. “Yeah. Is he here yet?”
“Yep. Saw him walk back into the kitchen a few minutes ago.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said. “Enjoy the party, Sonny! We’re gonna blow this place up!”
“Uh-huh. Definitely.”
As promised, I found Ryder in the kitchen, a red cup in his hand.
“You drink?” I asked, a little surprised.
He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Sometimes,” he said. “But not tonight. This is water. I don’t have enough friends here to know I’ll have a ride home.”
Damn. I was sort of hoping to get him inebriated before the truth came out. Why did he have to be so mature and responsible?
“You can drink, though,” Ryder said. “I know Amy isn’t with you, but I can give you a ride home later if you wanted.”
“And leave Gert here? Where anyone might steal her?”
He snorted. “I have the feeling no one wants to steal your car.”
“Hey, don’t dis Gert. She’s vintage.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
The truth was, I would have loved for Ryder to drive me home. To maybe, possibly, go through with that almost-kiss from a couple of weeks ago. But I knew that, after what I was about to tell him, there was no way he’d want to be stuck in a car with me. In fact, he’d probably be more than happy to strand me here at Chris’s party.
Ryder finished his water and tossed the cup into the recycling. “It’s for the best,” he said. “I’m sure the beer here is no good.”
“Oh, great. Are you a beer snob, too?”
“No,” he said defensively. “I just prefer PBR.”
I snorted. “Of course you do. I should’ve known.”
Ryder looked a little sheepish.
“You know,” I said, “this is something you and I may have in common. Pabst Blue Ribbon might be the drink of hipsters, but it’s also the drink of my people — poor white trash. It was always my dad’s favorite beer.”
“Don’t call yourself white trash,” he said. He was suddenly very serious, and looking at me in a way that he hadn’t before. In a way that made me catch my breath.
Now was the time to tell him. Get it over with and go home. I opened my mouth to begin the confession, to finally tell him the truth, but the words that came out weren’t at all the o
nes I’d intended to say.
“Do you wanna dance?”
Ryder blinked at me. “What was that?”
Take it back, I thought. That’s not why you’re here. My mouth and my brain seemed to be at war with each other.
“Let’s dance,” I said, already trying to justify it. I had a few hours. Might as well have a little fun before I broke the news, right?
“But … no one else is dancing.”
“Perfect. Then you can be a hipster about it later. We were dancing before dancing was cool,” I said, doing a fake Ryder voice.
“I do not sound like that.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” I grabbed his arm and started pulling him into the living room. “Come on. Be spontaneous.”
“The last time you said that to me, I ended up in a bright orange hunting jacket in the middle of the mall.”
“And wasn’t that fun?”
The answer must have been yes, because Ryder didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed my other hand and spun me into the living room. The heavy bass hip-hop wasn’t exactly the right jam for spinning and dipping a girl, but Ryder didn’t seem to care. He twirled me like a ballroom dancer, and somehow managed to keep us in rhythm with the music.
“Wow,” I said when he swung me back into his arms, his hand resting on my hip. We were so close, closer than we’d ever been before. And I felt like I was on fire. And then there was the fact that everyone was staring. “This is how you dance at parties?”
“My mom made me take ballroom classes in middle school,” he confessed. “It’s the only way I know how to dance. Sorry. It’s pretty embarrassing.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s the opposite of embarrassing. It’s fantastic. These idiots wish they could be us right now.”
Ryder smiled and gave me another spin.
We danced until we couldn’t anymore. Until our feet hurt and we were short of breath, either from the exertion or from standing so close to each other. For me, it was definitely the latter.
“Do you want some water?” Ryder asked.
I nodded, and we made our way back to the kitchen, stumbling despite our sobriety.
Ryder grabbed us each a red cup and began to fill them with tap water. I hopped up onto the counter, taking some of the pressure off my feet. “Damn. That was —”
“That. Was. Awesome!” Chris announced as he charged into the living room. “You two killed it out there! Everyone’s talking about it!”
“The same way everyone was dancing earlier?” I asked as Ryder handed me my cup.
Chris didn’t seem to hear me. “Ryder, dude, that was wicked! I thought dancing was lame, but all the girls out there ate it up! You’ve gotta teach me your moves!”
I snorted into my water as I imagined Chris trying to dance the way Ryder did. He’d probably get a little too into it and end up giving some poor girl a concussion.
“I’ll put on whatever music you want if you guys want to dance again!”
“Maybe in a little while,” Ryder agreed. He looked over at me, those green eyes meeting mine in a way that made me shiver. “If Sonny’s up for it.”
We held each other’s gaze for a long moment.
“Sweet!” Chris said. “I better get back out there. Gotta keep things under control.”
“What was out of control?” Ryder murmured so that only I could hear.
I laughed, and Chris ran back into the living room.
“You know,” Ryder said, “we probably were the highlight of this party.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m the highlight of every party.”
Ryder smiled. “I don’t doubt that.”
Again with the shiver.
Everyone must’ve finished their beers at once, because all of a sudden the kitchen became a high-traffic area. Ryder took my cup from me so I could hop off the counter without spilling. He gestured for me to follow him, and we wove our way through the pack of thirsty partyers, darting into the hallway to avoid another run-in with Chris.
Somehow, we ended up in an empty bedroom.
I took my cup back from Ryder and sat down on the edge of the bed. “So,” I said. “What’s the verdict on your first Hamilton party?”
“Not too shabby,” he said.
“But I’m sure it doesn’t even compare to the parties back in DC, right?”
“This party is much better than the ones in DC.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, setting my cup on the nightstand. “That’s not even remotely possible. You partied with politicians’ kids. I watch enough TV to know it gets wild. Plus, you’ve got money. Which means better booze, at the very least.”
“Maybe the parties back home had some advantages,” he agreed, putting his own water down before sitting next to me.
Really close to me.
“But,” he continued, his eyes on me in that way again. That way that gave me chills and made my face burn all at once. I was suddenly very aware of where we were — an empty bedroom, on a bed. “The company here is much better.”
“Ryder,” I said, even though every inch of me was fighting me, trying to keep me silent. But I couldn’t put it off anymore. “I need to talk to you … about Amy.”
He shook his head. “Amy is the last thing I want to talk about right now.”
I’d been dying to hear those words for months. Dying for him to look at me the way he was right now. But it was too late. I’d promised Amy, sworn I’d tell him the truth tonight.
I swallowed. “Listen —”
“Sonny, wait,” he said. “I just … I need to …”
Then he kissed me.
And his mouth definitely didn’t taste like root beer. It was mint.
One of his hands was on my neck, the other on my knee. I didn’t move — couldn’t breathe or think — as his lips moved over mine. I was stunned. Paralyzed.
But when he pulled away, even just an inch, it felt like I might die.
“Was … was that okay?” he asked. “Should I not have done that?”
No. He definitely shouldn’t have. Because I needed to tell him the truth.
Now.
Just say it, I told myself. Before this goes any further.
“Sonny?” His voice was quiet, nervous. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. Or just not … I didn’t know I was going to do it until —”
“Shut up,” I said. I grabbed him, a hand on either side of his face, and pulled him back toward me for another kiss. My heart was pounding and everything I’d wanted over the past few months was spinning in my head.
This time, when our lips met, I wasn’t paralyzed at all.
* * *
Amy was already in bed when I slipped in that night, but she wasn’t asleep.
“Hey,” she murmured as I climbed over her and into my side of the huge bed. I’d been sleeping in here again since coming back from Tennessee. “How did it go?”
“Great,” I said.
We’d made out in the bedroom for a while before Chris walked in on us. And then, when Ryder walked me out to my car, he kissed me again. I was sure it was supposed to be a quick good-night kiss, but it had lasted much longer, my back pressed against Gert’s driver’s side door, my arms around Ryder’s neck.
I’d had to speed home to make curfew.
I could still feel the ghost of Ryder’s lips on mine, his phantom hand on my hip. I shivered and hid my face in the pillow, though in the darkness, Amy could never have seen my blush.
“Really?” Amy asked, her tired voice going up an octave with excitement. “That’s a relief. So you told him the truth?”
Everything was going right. Amy wasn’t mad at me anymore. Ryder had kissed me. Like, a lot. I had everything I wanted. Everything I’d been hoping for since this started in September. But it all could’ve fallen down with a little gust of wind. One wrong move, and I would lose everything.
So I did what I do best. What I always did when I was scared.
“Yeah,”
I lied. “I told him everything.”
By Monday morning, I was dealing with some serious post-make-out regret. Not regret about the kissing specifically — that had been awesome — but about how it had come to pass. Namely, me wussing out on telling Ryder the truth.
And now that I knew exactly what I was going to be missing, telling him would be even harder.
But I had to. Because that hot make-out session didn’t change anything.
So when I walked into history class that morning, I was determined to do the right thing. No matter how anxious the whole thing made me.
“Hey,” I said, sliding into the seat behind his. “So … we should talk about what happened Friday.”
Ryder had already swiveled in his seat so we were facing each other. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”
For a moment, my heart sank. He regretted the kiss, too, I thought. But for completely different reasons. He probably couldn’t believe he’d done it. He probably didn’t like me that much. I was poor and less attractive. But we’d been dancing and laughing and then we were alone in a stranger’s bedroom …
I was sure he was going to say it never should have happened.
But then —
“Why don’t you come over this afternoon so we can discuss it.” And in case I hadn’t noticed the slightly arched eyebrow or the suggestive tone in his voice, he added, “My mom won’t be home until late.”
“Oh.”
Or maybe he didn’t regret it at all.
This shouldn’t have made me happy, particularly because it made what I was about to do so much harder, but it did. That little grin on his face gave me butterflies and thrills and all those other silly middle-school-crush feelings.
And it would be easier to tell him at his house, with no one else around to overhear. I just had to stay away from his bed. And his couch. And his lips.
No, I thought. Don’t do this again. Tell him right now.
“Look, Ryder, I actually —”
“All right, class,” Mr. Buckley boomed as he entered the room. “Let’s talk about Germany.”
And there went my chance.
I felt bad for feeling so relieved.
Lying Out Loud Page 16
