Lying Out Loud

by Kody Keplinger

  * * *

  Ryder had passed me a note with directions to his place, which was only a few minutes south of Amy’s house. When I pulled into the driveway around three that afternoon, I was surprised to find a fairly small brick house. I guess I’d expected something more extravagant just because I knew he came from money. But then, it was only him and his mom sharing the place, so it didn’t need to be huge.

  He was waiting for me on the narrow front porch and smiled when I started walking toward him. The sunlight hit his eyes in just the perfect way, making the green seem even brighter. The way he looked at me took my breath away.

  I tried to swallow back the panic rising inside me. He was so beautiful and so amazing and I didn’t want to lose him.

  When I reached him, he gave me a quick kiss.

  “Come inside,” he said, taking me by the arm and escorting me through the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  “Humble?” I repeated, staring at the living room, the furniture that most definitely showed where the money had gone. Everything was brand-new and shiny. The TV was huge. The sofas were lush and fancy. And the place was immaculate.

  Ryder took my coat, his fingers skimming across my shoulders as he slid it off my arms. “It’s humble compared to where we came from,” he said.

  “Ha. If this is humble, then you should see where I live.”

  “Don’t you live with Amy?”

  “Right. Well … where I used to live.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.” He hung my coat on a hook by the door. “Why do you live with the Rushes? I know about your dad, but … what about your mom?”

  I meant to lie. The same lie I’d told Amy and her parents. She kicked me out, end of story. But instead, I found myself saying the truth. At least, part of it.

  “My mom … is kind of a mess.” I followed him into the living room, but when he sat down on the couch, I stayed standing. “There’ve been some problems at home, so Amy was nice enough to let me stay with her.”

  He scoffed. “That surprises me.”

  I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She just doesn’t seem like the caring type,” he said, his voice bitter. “She’s so … inconsiderate. And rude. Plus, isn’t she too busy dealing with her own mom issues?”

  It took me a second to remember that last time I’d talked to Ryder about my mother, he’d still thought he was talking to Amy. “Hey,” I said, feeling defensive even though that was exactly the image I’d wanted him to have of Amy. “She gets it, okay? Besides, she’s my best friend.”

  “I know,” he said. “I just don’t know why. You’ve said she’s great, but I don’t see it.”

  “You saw it before,” I pointed out. “In fact, it wasn’t that long ago that you said the same thing about me. That you couldn’t see why Amy would be friends with someone like me.”

  He shrugged. “I was wrong. I thought she and I had something, but it was IMs and text messages. In person, there was nothing. She wasn’t the person I thought. It just took me a while to accept it. But with you …” He looked up at me and smiled. “There’s always been something there, I think. Even when we were fighting in Mr. Buckley’s class, there was this … energy. Chemistry, I guess. I just didn’t realize it. And then on Friday …”

  “Yeah.” I looked down at my feet. “Look, about Friday, things were a little crazy and —”

  “I don’t think it was crazy,” he said. His hand folded over mine, and he pulled me toward the couch. “In fact, I think kissing you may have been the most sane thing I’ve done since I moved here.”

  I rolled my eyes, because — let’s be real — that was a cheesy line. Even if it did kind of give me butterflies.

  I was standing right in front of him, my legs touching his as he looked up at me. My heart was pounding and I’m sure my face was beet red.

  “You barely know me,” I said.

  But that wasn’t true. Ryder knew me better than most people did. He saw more of me than I’d let anyone see. He just didn’t know it.

  “I know that you make me laugh,” he said. “I know that you think faster on your feet than anyone else I’ve ever met. I know that you use SAT words in everyday conversation.”

  “So do you,” I said. “Only I do it to be cute and funny. You do it because you’re a prep-school snob.”

  “I know that you named your car because you love it, even though it’s a piece of junk,” he continued. “I know that your real name is Sonya.”

  “What? Who told you? I’ll kill them.”

  He laughed. “I know that you’re smart. And witty. And incredible.”

  Incredible.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d used that word to describe me. Before Christmas, he’d called the person behind the IMs and texts “incredible.” He thought it was Amy, sure, but those were my words. I was the one he thought was incredible.

  “Well, um … did you know I’m also a serial killer?”

  “Why do you do that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Anytime things get serious or sentimental, you deflect with humor,” he said. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess because I’m nervous.”

  He smirked. “I make you nervous?”

  And, despite my better judgment, I told the truth.

  “Very.”

  There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and I suddenly remembered that text message conversation back in November, where we’d admitted to making each other nervous. For a second, I thought he might figure it out. Might realize that it had been me all along.

  I held my breath, not sure if I wanted him to figure it out or not.

  But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. He gave my hand a little tug, and I fell into his lap. And then, even though I’d tried to avoid it — sort of — we were making out again.

  I still hadn’t gotten the hang of this whole kissing thing. I wasn’t always sure what to do with my hands or which way to tilt my head. We bumped noses more than once, but Ryder just laughed, like my clumsy kissing skills were more adorable than annoying.

  With his hands in my hair and his tongue sliding into my mouth, I made a decision.

  I wasn’t going to tell him the truth.

  He liked me. He was totally over Amy, and he wanted to be with me. He thought I was incredible.

  Part of me still wanted to compare myself to Amy. How could Ryder go from wanting someone as beautiful as her to someone like me? She was gorgeous and rich, and I was … average. And definitely not rich.

  But that wasn’t how he looked at me. Or how he treated me.

  Maybe Wesley was right. Maybe comparing myself was a waste of time, and Ryder saw me as more than just the moderately attractive, somewhat obnoxious best friend.

  My plan — though it had taken months — had worked.

  This was what I’d wanted. What I’d been hoping for all along.

  I wasn’t going to tell him.

  He didn’t need to know.

  After a while, the necessity of breathing drove us apart. But only long enough for Ryder to ask:

  “I was wondering: Do you want to go out this weekend? On a real date?”

  “Maybe,” I said, my nose touching his. “What were you thinking?”

  “Dinner and a movie?”

  “Sounds fun,” I said. “Oh, actually, there’s this new romantic comedy that just opened. I think Rachel McAdams is in it.”

  Ryder wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

  “You don’t like Rachel McAdams?” I asked, appalled. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s not her,” he said. “I just … don’t really like mainstream Hollywood films. I was thinking that we could go see that new Korean film that just opened at Cindependent.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Everything you just said is so wrong.”

  But that didn’t stop me from kissing him again.

&nb
sp; “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ryder lately,” Amy said. She was sitting on her bed, watching as I applied a little bit of lipstick in the vanity mirror. “Where are you guys going tonight?”

  “A movie,” I said.

  It was the next Saturday, a week since our first kiss, and it had been one of the most blissful weeks of my life. Suddenly, I was glad to be unemployed. We’d spent almost every afternoon together — sometimes doing homework at the library, sometimes making out in his bedroom — doing whatever we felt like that day. We were always either laughing or arguing, which usually led to laughing.

  Yes, my life, for once, was awesome.

  Even if he had won the movie debate.

  “It’s a Korean film,” I told Amy as I put the cap back on the lipstick — a lipstick I’d stolen from her, actually. “And you know how I feel about subtitles. Ugh. I’m sort of hoping we can be normal and just make out in the back of the theater. Knowing Ryder, though, he’ll likely think that’s far too pedestrian.”

  I laughed and turned to face her, but Amy only gave a small smile.

  “What about you?” I asked. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Probably finishing up a few college applications.”

  “You party animal,” I teased.

  She laughed. “Well, I’m almost done. I’ve already mailed off my applications for Brown, Cornell, and Dartmouth. I’m hoping to get the others in the mail by Monday. What about you?”

  “What about me what?” I asked.

  “Have your applications yet?”

  “Um, yeah,” I lied. “Most of them.” I turned back to the mirror, checking my outfit one more time, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to do after graduation, or how I was going to tell Amy that college wasn’t an option.

  Honestly, I couldn’t believe she thought it was.

  “Good,” she said. “Because there’s not much time left. Where did you apply?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said, tugging on the hem of my sweater. It was the one that the Rushes had given me for Christmas. “Mostly the same places as you.”

  “Great,” she said. “We’ll definitely get into at least a couple of the same schools. Wouldn’t it be great if we could be roommates? I’m not sure if I could share a dorm room with anyone else.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “We should go shopping soon,” Amy suggested. “We could go ahead and pick out some stuff for our future dorm room. I was thinking we could decorate the room in green and —”

  “That sounds great,” I said, even though every word she said was killing me. “But I better get going. I have to pick Ryder up in a few minutes.”

  “Why isn’t he picking you up?” Amy asked.

  “Got to challenge those gender norms,” I said. “Also, if I have to see a foreign film, he has to be seen riding around in Gert.”

  “I guess that seems fair.”

  “Have fun with your applications,” I said, grabbing my purse and heading for the door. “Don’t wait up, darling.”

  “Yeah,” she said. Her voice was quiet as I headed out the bedroom door. “You have fun, too.”

  * * *

  I may have begun my relationship with Ryder with limited kissing experience, but I was most certainly making up for lost time.

  For the next few weeks, Ryder and I could hardly keep our hands off each other. We were making out in his car, in mine, at his house — occasionally in the hallways at school. Sitting behind him in AP history was torturous, because all I wanted to do was lean forward and press my lips into his neck.

  I had a feeling Mr. Buckley wouldn’t take too kindly to that.

  There was only one thing that could distract us from kissing when we were alone together.

  “We’re not making out to a Goats Vote for Melons song,” I said, turning my head so that Ryder’s lips hit my jaw instead of my mouth.

  We were horizontal in Gert’s backseat, parked out beneath some trees on Lyndway Hill. Ryder’s car may have been fancier (and cleaner), but Gert boasted a larger backseat. Victory for Gert.

  He groaned and sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “What’s wrong with Goats Vote for Melons?”

  “It’s not sexy. We need to get some Boyz II Men playing up in here.”

  “Who?”

  “Ugh. I’m surrounded by uncultured idiots.”

  “Funny. I often feel the same way.”

  I shoved at his shoulders, forcing him up and off me. He moved too quickly, though, and his head slammed into Gert’s roof. “Ow!”

  “Serves you right,” I said as I reached for his iPod. “Let’s see. What else do we have on here? Hipster band, hipster band, hipster band … Oh, grunge. That’s a nice change.”

  Next to me, Ryder seemed to deflate slightly. For a minute, I was confused; then I realized that, to him, I wasn’t the grunge girl. Amy was. That was her music, and she was the reason he’d given it a chance.

  Part of me wanted to correct him on this. To tell some story about how I was the one who loved grunge and had pulled Amy into it. But really, Amy was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now.

  So I cleared my throat and went back to skimming through the songs on his iPod. Eventually, I gave up on finding anything decent and selected “Of Lions and Robots,” the only GVM song I didn’t hate.

  Ryder, having regained his composure, gently removed the iPod from my hand and tossed it into the front seat, out of reach.

  “Make you a deal,” he said, kissing just beneath my ear. “I’ll add some better make-out music to my collection, if you drop it for the moment….” His lips traveled down my neck, sending chills up my spine.

  “Fine,” I said, as if this was some great sacrifice on my part.

  He eased me back down onto the carpeted seat, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He kissed his way up to my mouth, tugging slightly on my lower lip with his teeth. I giggled and arched my back, pressing myself tighter against him.

  But then Ryder shifted slightly, and I was suddenly less focused on his mouth and more keenly aware of his hand, which had begun creeping beneath my shirt.

  Despite the constant making out, we hadn’t quite reached second base yet. Not that I was at all opposed to it.

  But the higher his hand crept, the more nervous I began to feel. What if he managed to get my bra off only to be disappointed? What if my boobs were too small or weird looking or something? Amy’s were much bigger than mine and probably perfect. Though, admittedly, I wasn’t really sure what made boobs perfect or weird. It didn’t stop me from worrying.

  “Hey,” Ryder said, pulling away a little. “Is this all right?”

  The minute his eyes met mine, I felt myself relax. His expression was so soft, so gentle, and it eased some of my worries.

  Stop comparing yourself to Amy, I thought. He doesn’t want her, he wants you.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”

  He smiled, then went back to kissing me.

  And to trying to unhook my bra. Apparently, this is a very complicated act for boys, particularly to do one-handed, because it seemed to be taking him longer than I’d expected. But he’d almost managed it when —

  Crunch!

  The snowball smacked into the windshield, followed by a burst of retreating laughter from outside the car.

  Ryder and I both groaned.

  “Assholes,” I said.

  “Why are we here again?” he asked.

  “Lyndway Hill is the cool place to make out. At least, so I’ve been told.”

  “Right, well, I would argue that my house is cooler.” He eased off me, allowing me to sit up. He smirked at me as I attempted to smooth down my hair. “Might I suggest that we continue this there?”

  I just grinned.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, Ryder’s house was not as empty as we’d thought.

  We burst through the
door, laughing at the fresh snow that had fallen on us as we’d run up the front steps. He flicked snow from my hair, and I laughed, pushing him away. He caught my arms and moved me backward, so I was pressed against the front door as he leaned in to kiss me.

  But our lips had barely met when we heard the loud “Ahem” and jumped apart.

  “Mom,” Ryder said, spinning around to face the woman that neither of us had noticed standing in the living room. “I didn’t think you were home.”

  “And I thought you were,” she said, her voice devoid of any humor. “Your car is in the garage.”

  “Right. I was with Sonny.”

  I raised a hand and gave a small wave. “Hi, Mrs. Cross.” Yeah. This was not how I’d planned on meeting his mom for the first time.

  “It’s Ms. Tanner,” she corrected. “I no longer use my married name.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  I’m not going to lie. I was already pretty scared of Ryder’s mother. She was so strict about how clean her house and even Ryder’s car were kept. And Ryder, despite seeming to think she was perfect, had described her as pretty strict and cold, things that had only gotten worse since the separation. Not traits that particularly meshed with my personality.

  As if that wasn’t enough, in person, she was entirely intimidating. I’d known she was pretty from the photo I’d seen of Ryder and his family, with her smooth dark brown skin and dark eyes. But she was also quite tall. And had broad shoulders. And then there was the way she was dressed, in a crisp, neat, expensive navy-blue suit.

  “Is that your car outside?” she asked, glancing out the window.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am. It is.” And then I tried, perhaps foolishly, to make her laugh. “I named her Gert.”

  But she didn’t laugh. “Hmm. Charming. I’m sure the neighbors will be very curious about what a car like that is doing in the driveway.”

  Ouch.

  I wanted to say something, to defend Gert, as silly as it sounds, but luckily Ryder spoke up first.

  “It’s vintage,” he said, laughing. And the fact that he was obviously quoting me made me soften a bit.

  “Indeed,” Ms. Tanner said. “I’m sorry. I missed your name. What was it again?”

  “Oh. Sonny,” I said. But, because I thought it might be more impressive to her, I added, “Short for Sonya.”