Love Songs & Other Lies

by Jessica Pennington

  One corner of her mouth turns up in amusement. “We’re not going to make out, huh?”

  I kiss her forehead and leave my lips there, brushing her skin as I speak. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I feel her tense for just a second as I say it, a moment of hesitation in her step. “Don’t panic.”

  “I’m not,” she says, as if the idea of her jumping to the worst-case scenario was absurd, rather than expected.

  I can tell, just from the tone of those two words, that she is. “I need you to know I don’t really want to talk about it … or get into details … but I do want you to know.”

  “Okay…”

  We continue to sway back and forth. Maybe I don’t have to say anything. She’ll forget the empty bedroom eventually, or maybe she won’t even ask about it. That’s ridiculous, though, because she’s not an idiot. I know it’s only a matter of time before she starts to ask questions. And my hesitation is just making this all worse. “My parents…”

  She looks up at me, a question on her lips that I’m not going to answer.

  “You’ve probably noticed they’re not around.”

  She nods.

  “They … don’t actually live here.” I don’t say anything else and she nods again, then rests her head on my shoulder. It’s not what I needed to say, but it’s all I can say.

  “I just wanted you to know.” Liar. If she’d never gone into that room, I never would have had to tell her.

  VIRGINIA

  With Cam’s arms wrapped around me, I feel safe. I want him to know that he’s safe too—he can tell me anything. “Can I be Dakota? Just for a minute?” We’re still swaying, still pressed up against each other.

  “Always,” he says. “For as long as you need.”

  “Do you still want to know something no one else knows?”

  He nods, urging me to go on.

  “Sometimes I hate my mother.”

  In truth, I hate my father, too, but he’s never around. It’s harder, somehow, to hate him. But my mom—even though she isn’t physically there most of the time, she still is. Her voice sits in that house. In the living room, where she told me we moved because of money issues. In the kitchen, where she makes my breakfast every morning. We tell pretty lies, talking about upcoming family vacations and weekend outings that won’t ever happen.

  “I found a key last week.” I pull it from my pocket and dangle it from my finger.

  Cam wraps his hand back around mine, crushing the cold metal in my palm.

  “What does it open?”

  “My old house.” It’s my mother’s old key ring, a silver music note charm I gave her for Mother’s Day when I was nine or ten. I found it in a drawer in the kitchen. “It made me think about the house, so I went by there. Mostly, I just wanted to see if it looked any different.”

  “Did it?” Cam asks.

  “Not really,” I say. “I walked around, looked in the windows, like some sort of burglar. I was curious what it looked like now, with another family’s things.” I try to swallow down the emotion that’s rising up out of my chest, choking me. “I didn’t expect it to be empty.” My eyes are fixed on the poster hanging on the wall behind Cam. I’m staring it down, like I’m waiting for it to leap off the wall. “Except there was one room full of stuff.”

  Cam kisses my forehead, his breath hot against my skin. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Her old comforter, Nonni’s old vintage dresser,” I say. “It’s my parents’ old room, and it’s still full of her stuff.”

  “I thought your parents sold that house.”

  “She’s a liar. I hate her.” It feels good when Dakota says it. When I say it, I feel guilty. “How can someone who’s supposed to love me more than anything think it’s okay to lie to me like that?” Cam tightens his arms around me, and I lay my face against his chest. My silent tears soak through his shirt, and I feel like I’m marking him with my pain. Like we’re sharing this secret now. I should have told him last week, when I found the key, because I feel better now that I’ve told him.

  I don’t tell him I used the key to go into the house. Or that I curled up on the floor of my empty bedroom. And I don’t tell him that before I left, I sat in the three seasons room, looking out at the lake, until the sun finally set and I had to go to band practice. I don’t tell him that I’m questioning everything now.

  * * *

  There have been countless times over the years when Logan and I have gone for days without talking. It’s always Logan’s fault. Usually it’s over summer break, or when he gets a new girlfriend. Or if his brother is in town for the holidays. When something occupies Logan, it isn’t uncommon for him to forget to call. And if he doesn’t call me, I refuse to call him. Until we inevitably cross paths. He acts hurt for not hearing from me, I act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, and things go back to normal. It’s a familiar, choreographed routine. It’s another reason the two of us would never work as an actual couple. We’d be the worst kind of dysfunctional.

  So this little stint of radio silence between me and Logan? It’s not a first. And it’s not like we never see each other. We’re at band practice twice a week, in calculus class together, and we eat lunch at the same table five days a week. Logan sees me more than my mom does, and one hundred times more than my dad does, but we haven’t actually been alone together in months. I don’t think we’ve really talked in weeks. My life feels fuller than ever. I’ve been pleasantly wrapped up in my “whatever” with Cam, and I’ve kept busy setting up gigs for the band. I’m actively avoiding thoughts of college and what I plan to do. Because The Plan—it’s been teetering on the edge for a while now, and I think it’s about to fall off a tall building and splatter all over the sidewalk. The Plan feels like it’s in a million unrecognizable pieces lately, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe because I feel like I’m in a million unrecognizable pieces.

  Last night, Cam and I played at the beach. Our beach. It was just the two of us, playing for the waves, but I felt vulnerable and exhilarated and terrified all at once. And as scary as it was, it was also incredible.

  “Hey, Vee.” Logan is crossing the parking lot toward me as I lean against Cam’s car and fiddle with my phone. “How’s it going?”

  I straighten up and try my best to sound normal. “Good. What’s up?”

  Logan shoves his hands in his pockets and leans his hip against the car next to me. “Nothing, I just—haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “I’ve just been busy.” This is not my fault.

  “Right. It seems like things are good with Cam.”

  “We’re just friends.” I don’t know why I said it—why I just outright lied. Once the words are out of my mouth, all I can think about is how wrong they sound. “But yeah, things are good.”

  “Oh.” He’s looking at me like he wants to say something, but he’s not. Logan and I have been friends since third grade, and for the first time since I was ten, I don’t know what to say to one of my best friends. Instead, we just mirror each other, leaning against the car, him looking at me, as I look at him, in a verbal stand-off.

  “I’m going to visit my brother at State this weekend. You should come.” Logan dips his shoulder and lets his backpack slide down his arm. “Check out the campus again?”

  Right, The Plan. I shake my head. “I’m still not sure about State.”

  “Well, you should be. Going to the same college will be awesome. Anders is going. And he’s working on convincing Cort to transfer. We’ll all go.”

  “Seriously? He’ll never convince her to go to State. She loves it in Chicago and she has a scholarship. Plus, there are about a million colleges out there that I want to check out.”

  “Since when?”

  Since I’m thinking about music again, feeling like maybe I could actually do it. Since I realized State wasn’t the only option. I shrug my shoulders.

  “Think about it, Vee, if we don’t go to college together, when would we see each other?
I’ve hated not seeing you the last couple months.” I feel a twinge of guilt as I look him in the eyes and see that he means it.

  “We’d see each other,” I say.

  “When? Holidays? I’ll get tired of coming home for those, eventually. Holidays are depressing.” Logan doesn’t talk about his parents much anymore, but I saw the Logan most people never did. The first day of third grade, I walked onto the bus with an apple cinnamon donut from my mom. My favorite. Going down the aisle, I looked at all of the names posted above the seats, looking for the spot I’d spend the rest of the school year. Logan was sunk down in his seat, his knees wedged up against the seat in front of us. Even at nine, I could tell he was upset. He didn’t talk to me that whole ride, but before we got off the bus, I gave him half of my donut. And the next morning, we talked about our favorite TV shows. It was three weeks before he told me his mom had disappeared two days before school started. At Christmas, he still hadn’t heard from her. By the end of the year, we were inseparable.

  “We’ll visit.” Won’t we?

  The look on Logan’s face answers my question. He doubts it.

  “Just think about it. State would be amazing.”

  It would be amazing at State, and if we don’t go to college together, we’ll drift apart. It would be amazing at State, and if you don’t go, I won’t make an effort to see you. It would be amazing at State, and if you go somewhere else, you can plan on our friendship being over.

  “And it fits in The Plan. You know it does,” Logan says.

  I can’t keep talking. The hot sting of tears is pricking at my eyes. “Mmhmm.”

  I pull my eyes away from my feet and see Cam walking toward us. When he gets to the car, Logan slaps him on the back with a “Hey, man,” and starts to walk away, shouting, “Think about it!” before he disappears into his car. It’s like a strange changing of the guard for my heart, old to new. And that realization alarms me, the fact that Cam holds a piece of my heart now, maybe all of it. How did that even happen?

  “What does he want you to think about?” Cam asks as he opens my door.

  “Nothing. We were just talking about old plans,” I say, lacing my fingers together with Cam’s on the console between our seats, because it’s become habit. We’re one of those couples with our hands stitched together now.

  CAM

  With the wind whipping by us, Vee and I huddle on the frigid sand, a blanket burrito-wrapped around our bodies. We both have our heads under the blanket, our cheeks resting on the warm flannel, against the sand. I can feel her warm breath against my face as she speaks.

  “Sand castles, bongo drums”—Vee kisses me on the nose with each word—“and you.”

  “Three things that are all too cold to be out on the beach right now?” I ask. She smacks me under the blanket for the joke, but I’m serious. “Fuuuuck, it’s cold.”

  “Three things I love about the beach.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s almost winter.” Her voice is soft. “Winter’s the worst.”

  “There are good things about winter.”

  “Untrue,” she says.

  “What about Christmas?” This seems like a solid argument, since Vee has told me she “loves Christmas more than ice cream.” Which, for her, is really saying something.

  “Christmas exists in plenty of places that don’t have winter.”

  “We can do most of the same things in winter we do now.”

  “Oh, please,” she says. Even though it’s dark under the blanket and I can’t see her very well, I know she’s rolling her eyes. “That’s not even close to true. We can’t come here. Not much longer.”

  I kiss her on the forehead, because her voice sounds so sad. “I want you to know that I want to be one of those guys who says yes to everything, just to make you happy.” I kiss her softly and slowly. “But you’re right. We can’t. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

  She lets out a long breath and snuggles further into my side. “Not surprising. You’re a total baby about the cold.” She snuggles her face into my chest. “You’re like a pineapple, or something.” Her voice is muffled by my arm.

  “A pineapple?”

  She pulls her head out of her hiding spot and smiles at me. “Yes, a delicate tropical fruit.” We both laugh, and the way we’re lying—chest to chest with our faces almost touching—I can feel it vibrate through me.

  I pull her face to mine, brushing our lips together, softly at first, and then more urgently as she parts her lips. Our tongues move, giving and taking, slow and fast, as my hands search up and down her back, dipping under the waistband of her jeans and resting on her hips, before running up her stomach to her chest, slipping under the soft fabric.

  I feel Vee shiver under me as I run my hand over her warm skin.

  “You’re sure?” I kiss along her neck and work my way down.

  “I’m sure.” She kisses my forehead like I always do to her. I kiss her back, a smile spreading across my face as my lips meet her warm skin.

  The blanket dips into the sand underneath me as I shift around. “We might be smothered under here.”

  She giggles.

  This beach is where I fell in love with her. We had our first kiss here. And our second, better kiss. Last week, this is where she told me she was falling in love with me, though she didn’t actually say those three words. And I can deal with this hot blanket if this is what she wants.

  I kiss her collarbone. “I love you.” I say it because I do. I never thought saying it to a girl would be easy, but it just fell out of my mouth one day. And I’ve been saying it for weeks now.

  Vee presses her forehead against mine. “You’re not just saying that because I’m going to have sex with you, are you?” She’s trying to sound serious, but she’s smiling, teasing me.

  “No. That’s just one of the many reasons,” I say, which gets me smacked in the chest.

  She pulls at the buttons of my pants. “Good.”

  VIRGINIA

  I can just barely make out the faint cadence of bongos. It feels like they’re beating in rhythm with my heart, playing a song that’s just for us, just for tonight. The lake seems more urgent tonight, the waves crashing just a little harder, cresting just a little closer. Cam’s hands are under my shirt, on my stomach, over my chest, running down my back. His fingers sear a trail across my skin, as they cover every inch of me, turning cold to hot. I push my shoes off, he pulls at my shirt; we twist and tangle, bend and dip. There’s me and him, but mostly there’s just us—everywhere. His hand on my hip, my hand on his chest, his lips on mine, each of us like an extension of the other. It’s frantic but soft, gentle but powerful.

  And finally, we feel together. He feels like mine, and I am nothing but his. Every quick breath and slow sigh feels engrained in me, written on my skin, etched in this memory I’m already holding on to.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  NOW

  CAM

  Vee’s been getting almost daily phone calls from her mom the last two weeks, and every time I try to ask her about it, she shuts me down. She either acts like she didn’t hear me, or gives me some two-word answer like “checking in” or “saying hello.”

  Her phone rings for the third time today. “Hi, Mom … just a second.” She wanders away from Anders and me in the lounge, walking into the kitchen before she continues.

  Instead of giving her space, like I usually do, I follow her. In the kitchen, I open the tiny fridge, pull out a string cheese, and sit down across from her. She dips her head down as she talks, like that’s going to stop me from hearing her one-sided conversation.

  “They have the measurements, right?… Then I’m sure it’ll be fine … Yes, I’ll check it as soon as I’m home … I’m sure I did it right … Yes … Then we’ll get it fixed right away … I’m sure, Mom … No, just me … I’ll double check, yes … I’ll see you soon … Love you, too.”

  “Mom again?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “What’s going on? I don’t remember he
r needing daily check-ins.”

  “Because you knew her so well?” Vee says it casually, like a sarcastic joke, but it stings.

  She starts to stand, but I get up first. “No.” I hold my hand out in front of her, suddenly pissed off. “Let me.”

  VIRGINIA

  When I walk into the lounge, Logan is giving me his annoying “you’re being a bitch” face, which he breaks out every time I talk to Cam. “You need to cut him a break,” he says. “Jeez, back off once in a while.” Cam just walked off, but I can see him through the bus window, pacing on the concrete with his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “You back off. You don’t know anything about it,” I say.

  “Vee, come on. I know.”

  “You know what?”

  He looks outside at Cam, and then at me. “I KNOW.” And the way he yells it, I know exactly what he means. “And I can’t believe you’ve seriously gone this long without telling me yourself.”

  He’s right. And he has every right to be mad at me, but I’m too pissed to care. Right now, on this bus, Logan is the one who made the bigger mistake.

  “And when exactly did you start knowing this?” I ask. I suppose the more accurate question is, when did Cam decide to share all the gory details with you? With my best friend.

  Logan rarely gets angry with me. Usually when we fight, we just avoid each other until we cool off, but his face is red now, and his voice is harsh. “When did I know you were in love with him, or when did I know he was in love with you? Because—”

  “Stop it.” Why is he being such a jerk about this?

  “—I knew you loved him the day I found you huddled on your bed.”

  “Logan—”

  “And I knew he loved you at band practice, when he let you drive that stupid fucking car.”

  “God, you’re an asshole.”

  “Sometimes, yeah. Just like sometimes you can be a real bitch.”

  I shove his chest, pushing him until he falls back onto the couch. “You’re an asshole for bringing me here.” Logan grabs my arm and yanks me down next to him on the couch. He still has my wrist, and I jab my elbow into his stomach. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to elicit a low moan of annoyance. “You knew and you still brought me here.” Tad is coming down the aisle and I stop struggling. As he passes us with the camera, I lean into Logan’s shoulder like we’re having a private conversation. It will probably look sweet and loving on film, not like we’re a pair of ten-year-old siblings fighting. More lies.