Lies I Live By

by Lauren Sabel

  I’m not the only one who’s thought about straying.

  I suddenly need to turn this around, to get this heavy weight off me. I look into the night closing in around the lighthouse, remembering how I floated out there and watched Amber rubbing her hands through Charlie’s hair.

  “And what about you?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Did Amber like the lighthouse?”

  The color drains from Charlie’s face. “How did you know that?”

  I should stop, but I’m too angry. “You might as well have kissed her. You wanted to.”

  “Have you been following me?” Charlie asks, his shocked expression turning slowly to anger. I shake my head, but he obviously doesn’t believe me. “I have never been anything other than honest with you,” he says. “I love you, you know that.” Tears are squeezing out of the sides of his eyes, and he hastily brushes them away. I haven’t seen Charlie this sad since his father died. I should stop him, take this guilt off him, but I don’t. I should say: You didn’t kiss Amber, and I did kiss Jasper, so this is all on me—but I don’t do that either.

  “Then what were you doing with her?” I say instead.

  “Amber and I were just talking about you, okay?” Charlie says. He chews on the soft skin on the tip of his thumb, his eyes cast down toward the waves hitting the rocks below. “And you followed me, to make sure I wasn’t cheating on you?” he asks. “Why, Callie? What have I ever done wrong?”

  I grab one of the railings and it stops rattling. “I wasn’t following you, not really,” I say lamely.

  He glares at me. “Yes, you were.”

  Neither of us notices Colin coming up behind us, but suddenly he’s pulling on Charlie’s sleeve, whining about his broken Lego tower.

  “Not now, Colin,” Charlie says.

  “But—”

  “Not now.” I’ve never heard Charlie talk to Colin like that before.

  “We’re having big kid time,” I say gently. Which we’ll probably never do again. Colin gets it. He nods and walks back to his broken Lego tower.

  “You just have to believe me,” I beg. “There are things I can’t tell you—”

  “But I’m your boyfriend!” Charlie yells, and the sound bounces around us in the lighthouse, spreading out into the ocean air. “Or is there something you haven’t told me about that, either?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was hoping you’d be the one to tell me. You at least owe me that.” Charlie shakes his head angrily. Colin glances up from his Lego tower and then quickly averts his eyes. I guess he’s learned to read angry faces.

  “I saw you with that guy,” Charlie continues. “I wasn’t sure it was you at first. You hate motorcycles.”

  It hits me like a punch in the gut. Charlie saw Jasper and me together? How much did he see?

  “I was in the back of the art gallery after the show, cleaning up,” Charlie says, “and I saw you outside the window. I was so relieved to see you there. You looked so sad for missing my show; I just wanted to make you feel better. I started to run out to make sure you were okay . . . But then he came up from behind, and hugged you, and—” Charlie’s voice cracks, and he stops midsentence. “Did you . . .” He looks out at the ocean.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets. He didn’t ask the question, but he deserves an answer. “Yes, I kissed him.” I take a tentative step toward Charlie. “But there’s nothing between us.”

  “Right.” Charlie is backing up, as if he’s afraid of his own anger . . . or of me.

  “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore,” he says. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Yes, you do,” I plead. “You know me better than anyone else.” Even Jasper. “You know that I hate mayonnaise, and that I wore my shoes on the wrong feet when I was little, just for attention. And you know that I have nightmares that I missed my algebra test or that I’m naked in front of the whole school, and covered in warts. You know me!”

  “The girl I knew didn’t lie, or spy on me,” Charlie says bitterly, “or accuse me of cheating—which I would never do. I loved you!”

  Loved? Why did he use the past tense?

  I reach out and try to touch him, but he pulls away and walks toward the stairs. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait!” I say, and I can tell it’s the anxiety in my voice that makes him stop walking. Can I tell him who I really am?

  I cross the few feet between us and place my hand on his shoulder. Charlie doesn’t turn around, but I can tell he’s listening. If I don’t tell him, I’ll lose him forever. “That guy, he works with me,” I say. I feel Charlie’s shoulders rise and fall. “And I didn’t follow you,” I add.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asks, turning around.

  “We’re both psy—” I stop myself. If Charlie knows about my visions, he could be tortured to find out what I know. I can’t let him get hurt—or possibly even killed—because of me, even if I have to lose him. My throat closes up so I can barely speak. “Psyched to be nannies,” I finish.

  “And that’s your excuse for cheating on me?” Charlie shakes my hand off and stalks over to Colin. He quickly gathers up the Legos. “Maybe this won’t work,” Charlie says, grabbing Colin by the hand. “Maybe motorcycle guy would be cool with being lied to, but I’m not.” He storms out, hitting the giant bell with his shoulder as he passes. Colin glances back at the bell in awe as its dong dong dong echoes over the ocean.

  I sink down into a crouch. I should have known this would happen eventually. I pound my fists on the floor and think about texting Charlie, yelling my love for him from the tower, setting the lighthouse on fire so he comes back to save me. But I don’t do any of it. Instead, I just sob until I feel as empty as a roll of used toilet paper. Then I fold into myself, exhausted, and think of Jasper.

  “Psychics can’t co-exist with normal people,” I remember him saying. “We can’t protect them from our minds—from what we know. And people think, strangely, that their minds are locked spaces that no one can get into. They think their thoughts are private,” he said. “We ruin that.”

  Maybe Jasper’s right. Maybe I ruin everything, and I just can’t help it. Maybe I’ll end up as one of those old psychics with a crystal ball in a dark room, charging five dollars to read someone’s palm. Maybe I’ll never be loved again. Who could love a mental case who breaks into other people’s minds? I curl into a ball on the floor, my head tucked into my chest. I should probably be locked up before I hurt someone else. I’m a freak, after all. And that’s all I’ll ever be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  My house is empty, so I go straight upstairs, climb into bed, and pull the covers over my head. It’s stuffy beneath the thick comforter, and as I suck in the thick air, I allow myself to feel the full weight of what I’ve lost. All of these years with Charlie, gone. All we’ve built, gone. For what?

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I mutter, and I force myself to climb out of bed and sit at my desk. My head is buzzing with ways to win Charlie back, and I keep coming around to telling him the truth. Although that wouldn’t make up for kissing Jasper, Charlie would at least understand that I haven’t been following him (not in person, anyway), and why I’ve been so distant lately. It would also explain why I was hanging out with Jasper in the first place, even if it didn’t make up for the kiss.

  I get a pen and paper out of my desk, and jot down all the reasons I should tell Charlie the truth about my psychic abilities, and then list all of the reasons I shouldn’t.

  Pros Cons

  -He’ll know all of me -He’ll be in danger

  -He’ll forgive me. Maybe? -He’ll think I’m crazy

  -We’ll share the secret that I’m psychic -We’ll never share anything again

  -He’ll understand why I kept it secret -He’ll hate me for lying to him

  I scan my list, hoping it will give me the answer I can’t figure out myself, but it doesn’t. I crumple it up and toss it in the wastebasket.

  It
’s self-deceptive, anyway. It assumes that, if I tell Charlie the truth, he’ll believe me.

  Downstairs, I hear Mom open the front door. I can tell she’s trying to be quiet, but she’s wearing high heels again, so there’s a tip-tap every time she takes a step. As usual, a second, chunkier pair of footsteps follows immediately behind hers. The front door bangs shut, immediately followed by a slurred “Shhh!” from my mom.

  “We should still have a small reception here, I think,” Mom whispers in such a loud voice that I know she must be drunk, or well on her way there. “Your crew can come, and Callie can bring Charlie.”

  “Maybe we can pay Charlie to photograph the wedding,” Richard says. “His photos were beautiful. It’s a shame Callie didn’t see them.”

  “She had to work,” Mom says. The couch squeaks under someone’s weight, and then there are two hollow clunks as Mom takes each high heel off and drops it on the floor.

  There’s another squeak as Richard sits down beside her. “She does seem very devoted to her nannying job.”

  “She does,” Mom says. “But do you think that maybe she does want to go to NYU? She doesn’t seem that excited about going to State. I can’t tell, with Charlie going to New York and all . . .”

  “She doesn’t seem thrilled about State, no. More like resigned to it,” Richard says.

  “I can’t tell either way. You’d think I’d know my own daughter better than that. But Callie, she holds her cards close.”

  “Like someone else I know,” Richard says, and I hear him kiss her.

  Mom giggles, and I cover my head with my pillow. People shouldn’t have to hear their parents date. It’s embarrassing. They’re old, which makes it even more humiliating when they act like kids. And if they’re being the kids, do we have to be the grown-ups?

  “You know all of my cards,” Mom says.

  “And I like all of them,” Richard responds, and then the couch squeaks again, but this time, I have a pretty good idea why.

  I put my pen and pad of paper in the top drawer of my desk and get back into bed, pulling the comforter over my head. I remember how Charlie and I used to make out on that couch before Mom got home from work, and how, when I was around him, I never felt alone. Before I can stop myself, I grab my phone and text Charlie.

  Goodnite, I write.

  I don’t hear back.

  I’m lying in bed for a while, trying to make myself sleep, when I hear a squeaking sound on the roof. It’s faint, and it could be the wind, but I hitch open the window and climb out onto the fire escape anyway. Two stories below, I can see the thin, dark line of the Panhandle, blanketed in by moving headlights, and to my right, my next door neighbor’s window is closed and her television is off.

  I climb up the fire escape and look to the left. On the other side of the roof, Richard is perched on the edge, watching baseball through the window below. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  “Mind if I join you?” I ask.

  Richard grins. “I’d be thrilled.” He moves over so there’s room for me to sit beside him. “What’s going on? You don’t usually watch sports.”

  I look at my legs dangling over the edge of the roof. “Charlie and I . . . we broke up today.”

  “Does your mom know?”

  “Not yet. She’s always liked Charlie,” I explain, “and it’s my fault. I kind of . . . screwed up.” In several ways, I add silently.

  Richard pats my shoulder. “Everyone screws up, Cal. Just tell him you’re sorry.”

  “I’ve tried.”

  “Try harder,” he says, and then he points to the neighbor’s television. “Look, the pitcher just threw the first pitch.”

  “Okay,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “So tell me how this goes. One guy throws a ball to another, right? And then they run in circles?”

  Richard laughs. “Something like that.” He looks down at the cars below. “Your mom brought up something today.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You don’t sound excited to go to SF State. Wherever you go is fine with your mom, you know. Even if you have to move across the country.” He pauses, as if he’s waiting for me to jump in and say something. “So are you sure that’s what you really want?” he asks.

  I think about what my life in New York could be, if I didn’t work for Branch 13. If I was a normal girl with a normal life. I imagine going to coffee shops and the theater and out to parties, and having nothing to hide. It sounds nice and easy. But without spending my days viewing, it also sounds hollow. “Yes, State is where I need to go,” I finally say.

  Richard looks at me strangely. “Well, okay. But if you’re worried about leaving your mom, don’t be. I’ll take good care of her.”

  “I know,” I say, and then I break eye contact with him and nod to the screen. “So this is where they run in circles?”

  Richard nods. “Yep.” He pauses. “Charlie will forgive you for whatever you’ve done, you know that?”

  I look at him, embarrassed that there are tears in my eyes. “Not this time.”

  We lapse into silence as we watch the game together, and it turns out that baseball really is about men throwing a ball around and running in circles, but it’s also about the person sitting beside you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I’m sound asleep when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. I open one eye and peek out the window at the sun just tipping its head over the horizon.

  “Come in?” It’s more of a question than an invitation.

  Mom opens the door and peeks her head in. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be awake at this time?” I say sleepily. Mom looks like she’s going to back out of my room, so I sit up and say, “No, no, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Charlie?” Mom asks. She sits on the end of my bed, and I scoot my legs up to give her room.

  I run my hands through the thick tangle of hair that’s hanging over my eye. “It just happened last night,” I say. “And I was going to tell you, I just . . . well . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “I thought you’d be disappointed in me,” I admit. “I mean, we broke up because he saw me with . . .” I pause, wondering how to explain who Jasper is without giving too much away. “Someone else,” I finally say.

  “The Bernsteins’ nephew?” Mom asks, and a hint of a smile tugs at her lips.

  “Yeah. Him.”

  “You don’t have to tie yourself down so young,” Mom says. “You’re not even eighteen yet.”

  “But you like Charlie.”

  “I do,” Mom says. “Because he’s good to you. But you know, I never got as serious as you and Charlie, not until I met your father, and I was almost forty.”

  “So I’m doomed to be single until then?” I ask, only half joking.

  “It’s not like I didn’t have boyfriends,” Mom replies. “Just none as serious as Charlie.” She reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “Charlie loves you, Cal, but four years is a long time, for both of you.”

  I picture the NYU acceptance letter in my desk, and I wish I could tell her how much I want to go to New York, but that my life, my work, is centered here. “He’ll come back in the summers,” I say.

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  I shrug. “I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.” I hope I sound a lot more confident than I feel, because right now, something inside of me is splitting open. “Charlie doesn’t love me anymore.”

  “I’m betting that he does,” Mom says.

  I shake my head.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I glance at Mom, trying to judge if I should ask her the question tugging at my brain, and decide that I have nothing to lose. “If Dad came back one day, after hurting you so badly, would you take him back?”

  “Not anymore,” Mom says. “But I would have for a long time after he left.” She pulls her knees up to her chest, like a little girl, and wraps her arms around t
hem. “But no matter what, I’d want you to know him. He was just like you.”

  My throat swells with a mix of pride and anger. “What do you mean?”

  “He was gutsy and brave,” Mom says. “And wise.” She hugs her arms harder around her knees, so she’s a tightly wound ball. “I know I don’t talk about him enough,” she admits. “But when he left . . . it’s still painful.”

  “All these years later?”

  “When someone betrays you, someone you love, and you don’t know why—” she stops herself. “But I’m supposed to be making you feel better. Sorry.” She gives me a weak smile. “I don’t have class ’til two. You wanna join us for brunch?”

  I shake my head. I don’t feel like going to brunch with Mom and Richard; I feel like staying here and finding out more about my dad. But I know it’s not worth asking Mom about him again; when she’s made up her mind, I won’t get anything more out of her. “I think I’ll get some more sleep.”

  Mom pats the covers over my knees. “Good idea.” She gets up and leaves my room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  I allow myself to stay in bed for a while, trying to shake off my bad mood, but it doesn’t help. I grab my phone off the nightstand and start surfing the web, clicking on random articles and letting them distract me. Web surfing always helps my mood, and it makes me wonder how anybody ever lived without the internet. I mean, how did they find out information, or more importantly, distract themselves from the uncomfortable thoughts in their heads?

  On the tiny screen, alongside the random articles about fashion and pictures of kittens is an advertisement for a new industry that’s looking for “skilled and dedicated employees.” To me, it sounds more like underpaid and overused workers, but since I’m trying to distract myself, I click on the link anyway. A picture of a grayish-silver stone pops up, with a short description beneath it.

  Thulium is a rare earth metal, found in the Earth’s crust. Thulium is now being used in X-ray machines, superconductors, and military grade lasers across the world. Because of its rarity and the small amount of Thulium suppliers, it sells for a high price. But some eco-doomers claim the metal is too dangerous for civilian use.