The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett

by Chelsea Sedoti

  “They have so much energy!” I said to Emily, and I wasn’t sure if she could hear me, because we were so close to the stage, but she nodded and grinned like she knew exactly what I was talking about.

  Some people next to us were dancing, and I thought that was a great idea, so I started swaying back and forth too. Emily burst out laughing, then grabbed my hand and joined me.

  While watching the revelry in the Barn, I’d had an epiphany. Parties weren’t just about who was who and being seen. It was about letting go. About celebrating that we all made it through one more boring week. Everyone came together in one place, and for a while, it was as if nothing mattered except the music and the energy and being away from all of the adults in our lives. These parties were about freedom.

  And friendship. They were about friendship too. All the tension I’d felt between me and Emily during the past weeks faded away. I remembered why I loved her so much and why she was my best friend. Emily was smart and talented, and she never apologized for being her own person. She was so much better than everyone in the Mills, and she didn’t even know it. And she got me. We clicked in a way that I just couldn’t with other people. What did it matter if she had a weird boyfriend? What did it matter if she was about to leave me?

  “I’m going to miss you,” I shouted.

  “What?”

  I leaned and tried again. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “The music thing.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” Emily said, but she was laughing. She knew she’d get in.

  “And college.”

  “You’re going to college too!”

  I wasn’t even sure what I’d be doing the next day, let alone the next year.

  “You’re my best friend in the entire world,” I said.

  Emily hugged me in response, and I knew what she was trying to say. That she wasn’t leaving me, even if we wouldn’t be in the same place anymore. That we would always be best friends, no matter what. That somehow, everything would be OK.

  “Come on,” I said and pulled Emily closer to the stage. “Let’s go watch your boyfriend.”

  We danced, and the room swirled around, and I could hear Logan playing the guitar through it all. I was sweaty and tired, but I was alive. What was more important than that?

  • • •

  When Logan’s band finished playing, Emily went to find him and tell him how good they’d been. I had no idea where Enzo was. It was very suddenly too warm, and even though I stopped spinning, everything around me kept going.

  I pushed my way through the crowd. If I could get outside in the fresh air, I figured I’d feel better. But I didn’t really. I stumbled around the side of the barn and promptly threw up, hating myself the whole time. I was just as bad as the rest of them.

  That’s when I heard a voice that I one hundred percent had not expected. “Thorny? What the hell?”

  I heaved a couple more times and looked up. Connor was standing a few feet away. Before I even had time to think that the situation couldn’t get any worse, Rush came up behind him.

  “I don’t feel good,” I told them weakly.

  “You don’t look good either,” Rush said. “Are you done throwing up?”

  “I think so,” I said, hating how pitiful I sounded.

  “Hawthorn Creely, I never thought this day would come,” Connor said, as if my being drunk at a party was some big joke.

  “Don’t,” Rush warned him, then moved to my side.

  I leaned against my brother and tried to clear my head, make the world stop tilting back and forth.

  “I want to go home,” I said.

  “Who’d you come here with?” Connor asked.

  I didn’t know why he thought that was any of his business. “Why are you two here at all?”

  “It’s a party,” Rush said.

  “A high school party. Aren’t you a little old?”

  “At least she’s sober enough to insult us,” Connor said.

  With one of them on either side of me, we walked around the side of the barn toward the highway. We didn’t get far before Emily came running up.

  “I was looking everywhere for you. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t feel good,” I told Emily.

  “She’s drunk,” Rush said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Emily ignored me and spoke to my brother instead. “Are you taking her home? I’d rather he not do it.” She nodded her head in the direction of the party.

  “Who?” Rush asked.

  “Her date. Enzo Calvetti.” At the dry tone of Emily’s voice, all my warm feelings for her vanished.

  “Don’t be like that,” I snapped.

  “Like what?”

  “Judgmental.” I pulled away from Rush and reeled for a second before balancing.

  “I’m not making a judgment. I’m stating a fact. You came here with him,” said Emily.

  “And you hate it. You hated him before you even met him.”

  “Like you were so open-minded about Logan.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I shouted. People around us turned to look.

  “Hey,” Rush said, “keep it down.”

  Emily didn’t heed my brother’s warning either. “You’re here, but you brought that creep with you, and you’re drunk and making a scene and making this all about you, just like you do with everything!”

  “I do not.”

  “You do! That’s how it always is. That’s how it’s been for the past ten years, Hawthorn. Well, guess what? I’m not a supporting role in your life story.”

  Then Emily stomped away.

  I tried to stay on my feet and puzzle over what she’d said at the same time. Before I made any progress on the latter, Enzo walked up.

  “Hawthorn, you OK?” I could tell he was concerned, which made me happy. Even though he’d abandoned me.

  “Back off,” Rush said to him.

  Enzo scowled. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m her fucking brother, and I’m really not the in the mood for any more bullshit tonight.”

  Enzo faltered. I sent him a psychic message to save me, to swoop in and whisk me away from the current situation. Even if the whisking would be done on the bus, not a noble steed. And instead of riding into the sunset, we’d go back to his crappy apartment.

  “We’ll take her home,” Connor said quietly.

  “She came here with me.”

  Yes! I would have jumped up and down if not for the risk of throwing up again.

  “Yeah, and you ditched her and let her get drunk when she’s obviously inexperienced,” Rush said.

  I cringed. If I hadn’t been so out of it, I would have died from embarrassment.

  Enzo looked from my brother to Connor and took a step back. That’s when I knew he wasn’t going to rescue me. He was going to let himself get bullied by a couple ex-jocks.

  “We’ll take Hawthorn home,” Connor repeated. “Go back to the party or get out of here.”

  Then Rush and Connor were walking me to the car. It was funny, the way my feet were moving even though I didn’t tell them to. Also, the way the ground had turned into one of those fun house floors that tries to throw you off balance. I wanted to tell Enzo about it, but we’d left him behind us. Besides, I hated him for not standing up to my brother.

  There was some discussion about which of them would drive me home or if both of them should. Finally, Connor convinced Rush to stay and said he’d meet up with him in an hour. I got the feeling that Rush’s new girlfriend was supposed to show up at the Barn and that’s why Connor told him to stay. I tried to ask them about it, but I was too tired.

  “Let me know if you have to throw up,” Connor said when we were on the road.

  I nodded and slumped agai
nst the window. Watching the trees go by in the glare of the headlights made me light-headed. I closed my eyes, felt sleep trying to take me.

  “No one gives Enzo a chance,” I slurred.

  “You did.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” I risked opening my eyes. The trees were still moving too fast. No, I reminded myself, the trees weren’t moving; we were. “He didn’t kill Lizzie.”

  “I never said he did,” Connor said as if explaining something to a child.

  I meant to tell Connor not to talk to me like that but instead asked, “Do you dislike him?”

  “I don’t even know him.”

  “Fair enough.”

  For a little while, there was silence. I cracked the window, let the chilly air hit my face. The road was smooth, and Connor’s car didn’t bounce and jerk around like mine did. I was just starting to relax when Connor spoke.

  “Your brother has been drunk more times than I can count, but I never thought I’d be the designated driver for the younger Creely.”

  “Little Creely,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  What was I doing in Connor’s car? Why had I gone to the party in the first place? I wanted the world to make sense again.

  The full moon lit up the road in front of us. Connor could have cut the headlights and still had enough light to see. It made me think of Lizzie, out by herself in the woods. What was she thinking and doing at that moment? Did she feel like she was finally home?

  I must have lost the battle and fallen asleep after that. The next thing I was aware of was Connor opening the passenger door.

  “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to help me. “You’re home.”

  My eyes didn’t want to focus. My mouth had a horrible taste in it, worse than any vegan food my mom had ever made me eat. I tried to get out of the car without any help, but I stood up too fast, and it made my head pound. I took Connor’s hand.

  “This is the worst night of my life,” I mumbled as he helped me across the yard.

  “If this is the worst, you should count yourself lucky.”

  I wasn’t lucky though. Lizzie was the lucky one. Lucky Lizzie who always got everything she wanted. She wouldn’t have thrown up at the party. And Enzo wouldn’t have left her side, not for a minute.

  Connor helped me up the stairs and unlocked the front door for me.

  “Are you going to make it to your room?” he asked.

  “You offering to tuck me in too?”

  Connor laughed and shook his head. “Just making sure you’re OK, Thorny.”

  “I am.”

  “All right. Good night then.”

  “Night,” I said.

  I went inside the house and began the monumental task of climbing the stairs. Halfway up, I considered lying down and going to sleep right there but figured that would probably make my mom ask several questions—none of which I wanted to answer. So instead, I very slowly and carefully dragged myself to bed.

  Chapter 19

  Perspective

  I would have gladly slept in until noon the next day, but Rush didn’t give me the opportunity. I woke up to him shaking me.

  “Go away,” I moaned, shoving my head under a pillow.

  “Come on, get up.” He snatched the pillow away. “We need to go back to the Barn.”

  I squinted up at him, wondering when sunlight had become so painful. “Are you crazy? Why would I ever go back there?”

  “To get your car, remember?”

  I moaned again.

  Rush was obnoxiously perky for so early in the morning. I would have wanted to kill him, except he got me Tylenol and coffee and gave my parents some story about how I’d run out of gas the night before, and he was taking me to fill up the tank.

  “Thanks for doing all this,” I told him once we were in the car and heading to the Barn.

  In response, Rush asked, “What’s going on with you and that Enzo guy?”

  “You could just say you’re welcome.”

  “And you could just answer the question.”

  “Enzo and I are friends. That’s all.”

  “Keep it that way.”

  “You sound like Emily,” I grumbled. A phrase I never thought I’d utter.

  Rush glanced over at me. I was surprised to see that he actually seemed worried. “There’s something not right about Enzo.”

  “Like he may be a murderer?”

  “No, Hawthorn. Like he’s a loser who will drag you down with him.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. We drove in silence.

  Who was Rush to lecture me? Like he was a master of great decisions or something? Like he had his life together?

  The longer the silence stretched, the more annoyed I got. Finally, I blurted out, “You can’t just be my brother when it’s convenient for you.”

  “What?” Rush looked at me sharply.

  “You can’t sit here and lecture me about how Enzo is bad news, even though most of the time, it’s like you forget you even have a sibling. For all you know, I could be hanging out with people who are bad for me every single day. You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “I don’t know anything about your life because you don’t tell me anything about it, Hawthorn.”

  “I’ve tried to.”

  “When have you ever done that?”

  I was silent.

  “And when have you ever wanted to know about mine?” Rush went on. “I can’t say anything without getting insulted by you. Football is stupid; the girls I date are stupid; I’m stupid. If that’s how you feel, fine, whatever. But don’t sit there and act like I’m a shitty brother, OK?”

  “So it’s all my fault then? Yeah, right. You’ve spent half your life making fun of me because I’m not as cool and popular as you.”

  “Yeah, you’re such an outcast. No one understands you. All anyone does is sit around and think about what a loser you are. Grow up, Hawthorn. No one cares.”

  As if to punctuate his point, Rush turned on the radio, which I pretty much took to mean the conversation was over.

  My headache was getting worse by the minute.

  When we got to the Barn, there was no sign there’d been a party there the night before. What happened to the beer bottles and Solo cups? Did someone come out early in the morning to clean all the trash? I thought about asking Rush, but a glance at his face convinced me it would be a bad idea.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  Rush nodded but didn’t look at me.

  “So…see you later,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  He continued to stare straight ahead. I didn’t know what else to say, so I got out of his car and into my own.

  • • •

  I drove toward my house but couldn’t bear the thought of going inside. Not because I was avoiding Rush. He’d gone to coach one of his peewee games after dropping me off. And it wasn’t because I was afraid my parents would ask me questions about last night. If anything, they were probably happy I’d gone out and socialized. Besides, a few nights before, I’d caught my mom passing a joint with Sundog. If she was fine smoking pot in our backyard, she could hardly get on my case for underage drinking.

  I didn’t want to go inside because the house was suffocating. I didn’t want to be in my room, alone with my thoughts. All the things I’d accumulated over the past seventeen years trapped me inside of my head, which was the last place I wanted to be. I didn’t want to think of what a fool I’d made of myself the night before or how everything Rush said in the car was probably true.

  On a normal day, I would have gone to Emily’s. But it wasn’t a normal day. I couldn’t hang out with Emily and pretend our fight hadn’t happened. And Enzo was the last person I wanted to see because I still felt like
he’d abandoned me. That pretty much summed up my list of friends. For a second, I thought maybe I could call Connor, and he’d hang out with me. But then I dismissed that too. He was my brother’s friend, not mine.

  With nowhere to go and my head hurting too much to make aimless driving possible, I got out of my car and walked around the side of my house to the backyard. I could at least put off going inside for a while.

  Sundog was sitting by his tent, smearing paint on a piece of construction paper with his bare hands.

  “Young Hawthorn, how are you on this fine Sunday morning?”

  “Hungover.”

  I sat down next to him and watched him work. The colors on his palette were running together and turning brown. His canvas didn’t look much better. Sundog dipped his fingers in a glob of paint at the edge of his paper and used it to draw a long line.

  “What’s it supposed to be?” I asked.

  “It’s not what it is; it’s how the art makes you feel.”

  “The painting makes me feel like the artist is confused.”

  Sundog laughed and scratched the side of his face, leaving a bluish-gray blotch on his cheek. “Confusion is like curiosity—it reminds us we’re alive. To not feel confused means we no longer care. Not caring is death.”

  He reached into the tent behind him, pulled out another large piece of paper, and set it down in front of me. “Try using the paint to express yourself.”

  I shrugged and pressed my hand onto his palette, then pressed it on the center of my paper. When I pulled away, my handprint looked small, like a child had made it. It made me think of being a little kid and tracing my hand to make turkeys for Thanksgiving.

  “What do you see?” Sundog asked.

  “My handprint,” I said.

  “And what do you feel?”

  “Nothing. Not everything has meaning, you know.”

  I got more paint on my hand and ran it across the paper, smearing the handprint and making it into nothing.

  “Have you ever felt like you were wrong about everything you thought you knew?” I asked Sundog.