The Secret to Lying

by Todd Mitchell

  Linda shut the door.

  I wandered the balcony that overlooked the central area of the school. The sounds of students talking and laughing below echoed up to me. Classes had ended for the day, so most of the building was empty except in one of the pits — these sunken amphitheaters with orange-carpeted stairs that formed seats — a bunch of students had gathered for Club Pseudo.

  The club put on a variety show every Friday night. It was a combination of juggling club, bad drama, cheesy dances, garage bands, and strange eggs who didn’t fit in any other club. Ralph and Jesus John were down there practicing their magic act. Both of them wore top hats and capes. The getup looked especially ridiculous on Ralph since his head was so small that the top hat kept falling over his eyes. And then there were the Buttles — a group of band geeks who wrote new lyrics for Beatles tunes. One was plucking out notes on a cheap synthesizer while three others appeared to be singing a version of “Piggies” involving biology class and dissecting fetal pigs. Behind them, two girls practiced a ribbon dance.

  When I’d first come to ASMA, I’d sworn never to be a part of Club Pseudo. It was obviously deep in dork territory. Except now, looking out from the balcony, I liked it. Part of me wished I could be down there with them, although I didn’t have any talents. Maybe I could join the Buttles and make up songs.

  If I got kicked out, I’d miss it — not just hanging with Dickie, Heinous, and Cheese, or the pranks, or Ellie (even though she’d probably never talk to me again) — I’d miss Ralph and Club Pseudo. At my old school, if you sang a stupid song and did a ribbon dance, you’d get the shit kicked out of you. Here, people clapped.

  This is a good place, I thought, recalling what Liam had said. It wasn’t just the teachers or the fancy labs that made it good. It was that you could sit in a circle with a bunch of students and juggle bananas, sing, recite poetry, do a dance, whatever. The geeks had courage. They weren’t afraid to be themselves.

  Linda stuck her head out a few minutes later and called me back in.

  Everyone in the meeting room, including my parents, looked solemn. I promised myself that if I got to stay, I’d go to Club Pseudo and clap my heart out for every act.

  “Do you agree to the conditions set by Dr. Rainen?” Principal Durn asked.

  It took me a moment to realize he meant Chuck. “Sure.”

  “You’ll need to sign a contract. Your parents are going to sign one as well.”

  “We’re going out on a limb for you,” Ms. Snodgrass added. “I hope you recognize that.”

  “So I’m not getting kicked out or suspended?”

  “There are no more suspensions for you,” Principal Durn replied. “If you mess up again, you’re expelled.”

  I tried my best to keep from smiling while the administrators gathered their papers.

  Dad stood by the doorway, thanking Principal Durn and Ms. Snodgrass. Then he returned to the table and helped Moms stand. Her mascara had smeared, running into her wrinkles and making her face look old and bruised.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” I offered.

  “No, no.” Mom’s voice shook a little. She turned her head and wiped her eyes with a tissue. I guess she’d been crying. “I don’t know who you are anymore, James.”

  It surprised me how defeated she sounded. Moms had always seemed so monumental to me — like a planet with too much gravity that kept pulling me out of my orbit. Only now, it was as if I’d broken free, and I could finally see her for what she was — a fragile, lost person. “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t know who I am, either.”

  She frowned, then rifled through her purse for a mirror. Moms never liked anyone to see her when her makeup wasn’t right.

  Dad broke the silence. “You should get back to class. Keep up with your studies.”

  I gave them directions on how to find their way out of the building. Dad led Moms away, keeping his hand around her waist. I watched them go, realizing that maybe she needed him more than he needed her.

  Chuck waited for me outside the conference room. “James, can I talk with you?” he asked once my parents had gone. “Just so you know, I don’t think you were sleepwalking.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you convinced them I was.”

  “I convinced them it was a possibility,” he corrected. “To be honest, I agree with Mr. Hassert. Unless something happens, you’ll end up dead.” He gave me a long look.

  “This is stupid. I really was asleep.”

  “That’s my point. You don’t see the danger you’re in.” Chuck put his thick hand on my shoulder. “Listen, James, you want to talk about stupid? I’ve known students who’ve killed themselves because they wanted to annoy their parents, or get back at the guy who dumped them, or impress their friends. They don’t realize how much their lives are worth.”

  I tried to meet Chuck’s stare, but I couldn’t.

  “That’s the last time I’ll cover for you,” Chuck said. He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you Tuesday at two thirty. If you’re so much as a minute late, you might as well head straight to your dorm and pack your bags. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. Then I remembered that I’d meant to be angry at him for talking with my dad behind my back. “Hey, whatever happened to me making my own decision about coming to see you?”

  “You did make a decision,” he said. “You jumped out a window.”

  They say the

  owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord! we know

  what we are, but not what we may be.

  — HAMLET, ACT 4, SCENE 5

  I DROPPED BY HEINOUS AND CHEESE’S room the day after my hearing. I figured that’s where Dickie must be hanging out, since I hadn’t seen him in a while.

  Everyone grew quiet when I pushed open the door. Dickie was sitting on a desk, eating chips, while Heinous played a video game.

  “Hey,” Dickie said, looking concerned. “How’s it going?”

  “I wasn’t kicked out,” I replied.

  “That’s great! So you’re not in trouble?”

  “Nope,” I said, leaving off the part about having to see Chuck twice a week.

  “Wow. That must have been some sweet talking you did.”

  Heinous cursed at the video game and chucked the controller aside. “What’s up, J.T.?”

  “Not much.”

  There was an odd silence as, for once in his life, Heinous seemed unable to come up with anything else to say. I kind of wished he’d tease me — call me Smash or the Defenestrator or something — but he didn’t.

  “So did that guy come by our room to fix the window?” Dickie asked.

  “Yeah. It’s good as new.”

  “Cool.”

  “Sorry I laughed,” Heinous said. “You know, when you jumped.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told him.

  “It was just so crazy,” he said. Then he looked at Dickie like he thought he’d said something wrong. “I mean, the whole scene, with the chair, and you not wearing a shirt or anything . . .”

  “Really, don’t worry about it,” I repeated, but I could tell that something had shifted between us.

  I’d crossed the line between acting strange and actually being strange.

  Over the next week, I began to realize that it wasn’t just with Dickie and Heinous that things had changed. In the hallways between classes, people literally looked away if I glanced at them, and when I entered a room, a low hiss of whispers would snuff out, as though people had been talking about how I’d tried to kill myself, or how I thought I was a bird, or whatever the latest theory was. I’d become a popular subject of discussion, which was a far cry from being popular.

  At Chuck’s suggestion, I started running every day to blow off some steam. I kept to a strict schedule:

  Wake at 6:30.

  Shower.

  Brush teeth.

  Eat breakfast.

  Attend classes.

  Meet with Chuck (if a Chuck
day).

  More classes.

  Return to my dorm.

  Brush teeth.

  Go for a run.

  Do homework.

  Eat dinner.

  Brush teeth.

  More homework.

  Brush teeth.

  Lights out.

  Bed.

  The schedule helped me keep things on an even keel. As long as I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing, I didn’t have time to get restless and mess up. Any free time I filled with brushing my teeth so I stayed minty fresh and in control.

  Still, all work and no play made James a dull boy. Or rather, a very isolated, lonely boy. There were days when I barely spoke. I didn’t even dream anymore — at least, not dreams that I remembered. In a way, it reminded me of how things had been at my old school. The main difference was that in the past, no one had bothered to talk with me because I was Mr. Invisible, the guy who didn’t get an H, and now no one talked with me because I was Mr. Unstable, the guy who had jumped out a window.

  More than ever, I missed ghost44, but every time I found her online, my messages were blocked.

  Spring break came, which meant I had to go home. I survived the first few days holed up inside, watching TV and listening to music. Dad had to work, leaving Moms and me to avoid each other. She tried enticing me to go shopping again, only I’d learned my lesson from last time. I opted to stay on the couch and channel surf instead while she went out.

  I watched so much TV, it was like I was an alien studying humanity through its broadcasts. Even lame “reality” shows about spring break fascinated me — all these greased-up Kens and Barbies laughing and dancing on the beach as if they couldn’t imagine anything more fun. The kids on TV were supposed to be around my age, but none of them seemed remotely like me. I pictured myself strolling through the golden masses in my sport coat and ripped jeans, my purple hair spiked into a messy tangle. If I’d shown up at the beach, they probably would have kicked me off.

  The more I watched, the lonelier I got. At the beginning of the year, I’d wanted so badly to stand out, only now that I actually did stand out, I wanted to fit in — but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I couldn’t even tell what was normal anymore. I suppose the teens on TV were meant to represent “normal” people, yet they weren’t really normal at all. They were just what normal people were supposed to aspire to be — guys with buff chests and square jaws, and girls with perfect bodies, clear skin, and stylish hair. I’d never even met anyone who looked like them. Except Ellie.

  If Ellie had strolled onto the Spring Break Beach Party set in a bikini, girls would have crumbled with envy and guys would have fallen all over themselves to talk with her. None of them would have gotten her, though. They wouldn’t have understood when she talked about quantum mechanics, or the life of Emily Dickinson. They didn’t know what syzygy meant.

  Moms kept shopping, and I kept watching TV. Every day she came home with different tile samples and paint shades to redecorate the kitchen with. “I’m going for a Mediterranean look,” she said. Then she grilled Dad and me on our opinions of various colors.

  I tried to play along, yet I had trouble taking it seriously. Whatever color she chose to paint the walls, it wouldn’t last. Moms changed the kitchen at least once a year. I used to think she did this to show off her “sophisticated sense of taste and style,” but since the hearing I saw her differently. I even felt a little sad for her, because I knew that no matter what borders she used or how she tiled the backsplash, our kitchen would never be the kitchen she wanted.

  Dad drove me to school Sunday night. He didn’t talk much on the drive — not until we exited the highway and the lights of ASMA’s campus glimmered above the cornfields.

  “Are you ready to go back?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  “It was good having you home for a week. I hope you got some rest.”

  “I did.”

  He nodded and turned onto the road that went behind the dorms. I peered out my window, searching the square for friends.

  “You know, James,” he said, after a moment. “You and your mom are a lot alike.”

  I scoffed, but he didn’t appear to notice.

  “Both of you are dreamers,” he continued. “You always want something better out of life. Bigger and better. The problem is, you don’t see what you already have.”

  DICKIE WADED THROUGH A FLOOD of Styrofoam packing peanuts to help me with my bags. “Welcome back,” he said.

  I stared at the drifts of Styrofoam that covered our floor. “I love what you’ve done to the place.”

  “Courtesy of the Steves,” he explained. “It was like this when I arrived half an hour ago.”

  Styrofoam peanuts squeaked beneath my shoes and clung to my legs as I shuffled to my bed. “Home, sweet home,” I quipped.

  We spent an hour picking up Styrofoam. Dickie acted like it was a huge pain in the ass, but I didn’t mind. We chucked Styrofoam at each other until it speckled our hair and stuck to our faces. For a while, it was almost like old times, then Dickie noticed Styrofoam all over the tux he’d brought back for the Spring Fling and he freaked.

  “Craptastic,” he said, shaking the white crumbs off the inside of the garment bag. The more he tried to brush it clean, the more staticky it became.

  “So you’re taking Sunny to the Fling?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh.” He tore off the garment bag and shook out the tux.

  “What do you plan on doing?”

  “Nothing fancy.” Styrofoam peppered the black lapels.

  “Are you going to a restaurant?”

  Dickie nodded. “Some Italian place. Heinous’s dad hired a limo to take us —”

  “Hold up,” I interrupted. “Heinous has a date?”

  “Dude, where’ve you been? Vanessa Drevadi and him are joined at the hip.”

  “Wow. The pigs are flying.”

  “Anyhow,” Dickie continued, “Amber Lane is having a party, so we might leave the dance early and go there. Her parents are out of town. She lives in this mansion with an indoor pool, and she’s letting people stay the night.”

  “A pool, eh? Sounds fun.”

  That was the signal for Dickie to invite me along. There’s always room for one more, he could say. Amber wouldn’t care. We’ve rented a limo, for Christ’s sake, so you have to come. The Three Amigos ride again!

  But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he pulled the garment bag back over the tux and kicked some remaining Styrofoam peanuts under the bed. “It’ll probably be lame,” he muttered. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. I mean, you’re not going to the Fling, are you?”

  “Bloody hell,” I said, forcing a British accent. “Could you picture me in a flippin’ tux?”

  Dickie grinned. “I doubt the DJ would play any Sex Pistols.”

  “No one respects the classics.”

  “I mean, what would Sid Vicious do?”

  “Probably vomit on the chaperones.”

  “So you’re cool?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “Right-o.” Dickie grew silent, looking at his tux again. “I think I’m going to see who else is back.”

  “Never mind the bollocks,” I replied.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s from a Sex Pistol’s album.”

  “Oh. I’ll see you later.”

  “Right-o,” I said.

  I finished picking up the rest of the Styrofoam alone, then decided to call it a night. It wasn’t until I turned off the lights and went to bed that I discovered the true genius of the prank.

  Crickets.

  Three seconds after I closed my eyes, the place chirped like a meadow in heat. Crickets trilled from beneath my bed, under the desk, behind the closet, even the bathroom. I flicked on the light and tried to catch them, but they were impossible to find. After twenty minutes of searching, I finally gave up and crawled back to bed.

  I couldn’t risk earplugs again, so I shut my eyes and p
retended I was camping.

  If Dickie did something to the Steves in retaliation, he never told me about it. I suppose that was for the best since I couldn’t risk getting in any more trouble. I started to like the sound of the crickets, anyway. Dickie borrowed the custodian’s industrial strength Shop-Vac and tried to suck them off the floor, but the little guys must have buckled down into cracks or held on to the carpeting, because they didn’t go away. Eventually, Dickie gave up and dragged his mattress to Heinous and Cheese’s room to sleep there.

  Left alone in the room, I became the Cricket Man of Dingo Wing. I put pieces of bread and lettuce under my bed in case the little guys got hungry. I even named a few, based on their different locations. There was Sid, after Sid Vicious, since he lived somewhere near my Sex Pistols poster. And Krishna, who hung out around my ramen stash. And Lu-Lu the Wailer, who lived beneath my bed. It’s not like I’d completely flipped and talked to the crickets all day, but they kept me company. No wonder I couldn’t get a date.

  As the weather warmed, people started going outside again for social hour. I made it part of my schedule to stroll around campus from ten to ten thirty. Usually, I avoided the crowds and wandered around the pond. That’s where I found Jess one night, pacing behind a hill, sneaking a cigarette.

  “Howdy, stranger,” I said. We hadn’t spoken all semester — not since the night she’d visited my hometown.

  “Howdy, asshole,” she replied.

  “I’m getting this weird vibe that you’re pissed at me.”

  She took a drag of her cigarette, keeping her hand cupped to hide the cherry. “I was pissed.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “Guess I can only hold a grudge for so long. You might have outlasted it.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “You know, about acting crazy and driving your dad’s car off the road.”

  “Could have told me that before.”

  “Better late than never, right?”

  She flicked some ash off the end of her cigarette, kicking a spark as it fell. Leather boots, fishnets, and black skirt — classic Jess. Her shirt was cut low, revealing the lines of her tattoo on her chest. I tried not to stare, but it still entranced me.