The Lies About Truth

by Courtney C. Stevens

  Three claps stopped me dancing.

  I whipped around to see Max crawling out of the Yaris wearing a red face and a smile. Embarrassed that I was dancing in the salvage yard and that my boyfriend had caught me, I slipped my shirt back on, but I kept my grin in place.

  He met me halfway, near the Buick.

  “Hey, Sadie, that was a tank top.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Glancing over at the list, he ran his finger through number one.

  “I’m not sure it counts since I didn’t know you were watching,” I said.

  “It’s a beginning.”

  “Did you have a new beginning?” I asked, indicating the Yaris.

  “Nah, I had an end.”

  I took his hand and stopped him from walking down the aisle. He lifted the fedora off my head and held it against my back as he hugged me. Our chests rose and fell until they were in harmony.

  Our hearts faced each other.

  We danced, standing still.

  Finally, he said, “We lived.”

  “Exactly.”

  Max put his wet cheek next to mine. “That’s why you come here,” he said.

  “That’s why I come here,” I repeated.

  “I like the way you think, Kingston.”

  “I like the way you understand, McCall.”

  On our way to the Spree, I stopped in the office. Metal Pete was back. He thanked me for the coffee and doughnuts and apologized for being in the house when I got here.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask you,” I said.

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  The words propelled out of me of their own accord. “Will you help me drive again?” I asked.

  Metal Pete knocked his knuckles against the desk in triumph and said, “Ah, hell, kid, I’ll even throw in a car.”

  “None of these cars run,” I teased.

  “Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hours later, the universe jumped on board my anti-pity party and shoved life at me in the form of my mother.

  She met me at the door with another envelope.

  The envelope went in my pocket—to be dealt with the moment I got out of the living room.

  “So,” Mom began. “I’ve talked to the McCalls, the Adlers, and the Garrisons and . . .”

  I anticipated what she was going to say: Pirates and Paintball.

  “. . . and everyone agrees we should resume the tradition of attending Pirates and Paintball,” she continued.

  Before the accident, the Pirates and Paintball game was an annual thing our four families attended together. Sonia’s former hospital sponsored the community game, and we’d been participating for years. Who wouldn’t? Cosplayed pirate paintball was a win from every angle. (Unless you’d developed a sudden hatred for crowds.) Over time, we stretched the Saturday morning game into a full weekend. On the Friday before, the fourteen of us, or fifteen, if Gray’s sister, Maggie, was on leave, piled onto the McCalls’ boat with our gear and headed toward a campground near the little island where it was played. After we prevailed as paintball victors, we stuck around to shell and fish and camp, wasting away the weekend in proper beach-bum fashion.

  “Mom.”

  She held up her hand, not letting me speak. “We haven’t gone anywhere as a family in a long time.” She threw in some bait. “At least this would be with Max.”

  I tossed back some truth. “And Gray and Gina.”

  Mom nodded. “Maybe it would be an opportunity to patch some things up.”

  “We’re not a quilt.”

  She’d armed herself with more reasons, and she kept them coming like balls at the batting cage. “You love paintball. And camping. And Dad insists you get out more, and this will be so good to do together before—”

  “Mom, I’m in.” I rode the wave of this morning’s success: “And, I’m going to kick everyone’s asses at paintball.”

  Her high-five hand shot up. I tagged it hard, but not too hard.

  “You do that,” Mom said, not even bothering to warn me about language.

  I darted off to my room with the new envelope, before she started singing “Kumbaya.” Big’s huge eyes followed me from my bed to my dressing chair to the closet.

  “What are you looking at, Big Mouth?” I asked the ostrich.

  I opened the letter and braced myself for regurgitated words. This one was from my freshman year.

  Gina and I convinced Trent, Gray, and Max to skip school and go to the water park. Best idea ever.

  —From a friend who cares

  Just last week, Sonia brought up this very occasion in the dressing room.

  I leaned back onto my bed.

  A friend who cares? Sonia would never call herself a friend; she was a parent.

  But Gina would. And she’d surely heard Sonia’s reference.

  The friend hadn’t shown up in the first note, but had in the second, and now he or she claimed to be a caring individual. Awesome. Someone had been poorly trained in the rules of affection. Regardless, the letters had a progression to them. The first one, skinny-dipping, was about Trent and me. The second one, bridge-jumping, was with Gray. This third one was about all five of us. The five of us hadn’t been together all that often.

  Did that mean anything?

  Also, Gina and I weren’t mentioned in a specific memory, except within this group one. Did that implicate her?

  I thought back through that day and searched for clues.

  I was the first to notice the sun was too perfect for school. The sidewalk beside Coast Memorial High School led to boredom and monotony on such a fabulous day.

  “You guys, I can’t . . .”

  “Can’t what?” Trent said.

  “Be here. Look at this day. It’s practically a crime to be inside.”

  Trent and Gina paused. We never skipped school, which meant we could. Our faithful obedience to the system meant we’d earned some flextime.

  Gina scrunched her forehead, curious enough to listen. “What are you thinking, Sade?”

  “It’s a perfect day to race down the waterslides at Cannon Balls.”

  Gina looked at Trent, who was already nodding.

  “Yes indeed, Sadie May. You have said a true thing, and we have an obligation to follow you.”

  “What are you? Yoda?” Gray asked as he mocked Trent’s words.

  Max was the only one still focused on school.

  “If you skip, you still have to pick me up,” he told Trent.

  Trent tapped the top of the Yaris, excited about a prison break. “You don’t want to come with?”

  Max’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’m invited?”

  “What can I say? I’m feeling generous,” Trent boasted, sticking out his chest.

  Max didn’t look comfortable going to Cannon Balls as a fifth wheel, so I threw an arm around his shoulder and coaxed him into going along with our stupid idea. “Come on. It’ll be fun to have you along,” I told him.

  That was all it took. He climbed in the backseat while Gina and Gray—who always carpooled from their side of town—grabbed their always-ready beach bags and left his mom’s van in the parking lot. Five of us in the Yaris were a snug fit, but we couldn’t skip school in a mom-mobile.

  “You got trunks on you, little bro?” Trent asked.

  “I can roll,” Max said. “I’m calling it now: Mom will find out about this.”

  Trent bent his arm into the backseat and patted Max’s knee. “She won’t find out unless you tell her.”

  “Lips are zipped,” Max promised.

  We arrived at Cannon Balls, and as usual, Max trailed along two steps behind the four of us. I caught his eye, and beckoned him forward. He sped up quickly then. The day shaped up even more perfectly when the five of us walked to the ticket booth to pay and a recent Coast Memorial alum, Winter Halson, waved us through without charge. Even the universe didn’t want us inside today.

  Trent leaned through the window and pun
ched Winter on the arm. “Thanks, man.”

  “Anything for a brother,” Winter said.

  Trent had a talent for making brothers.

  “You’re ballsy, McCall,” Winter called after us.

  “Sadie May gets the cred for this one,” Trent yelled back, and kissed Gina on the cheek.

  An hour later, Max and I were at the top of the speed tubes. He gave me a “Race you” challenge, and I nodded, eyes blazing. So far, I’d beaten Trent, Gray, and Gina to the bottom. Four for four sounded good to me, but Max was in total beast mode.

  Just before we hurled ourselves down the plastic chutes, his expression softened, and he said, “Thanks for inviting me today.”

  I did what anyone in my position would have done. I pushed off from the top ahead of him and screamed, “No worries!” as I dropped and spun.

  The words echoed around me. The water propelled me forward, faster, faster, faster into my perfect day. I was sure I would win.

  Dammit if Max didn’t emerge two seconds ahead of me. Dammit squared. He shot so far out he crashed into a woman wading across the pool to the lazy-river entrance. A Cannon Balls employee blew her whistle.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Max said without looking, flipping his hair back and spewing droplets everywhere. Then he whipped around to me and smirked. “Creamed you, Kingston.”

  Technically, he’d creamed Sonia McCall, his mother, since she was the lady he’d mowed down into the cement bottom of the pool.

  Sonia came to her full senses well before Max realized his mistake.

  “Maxwell Lincoln McCall, why aren’t you in school?”

  Whoa. Full name.

  “Because it—uh . . . I mean,” he stuttered. “It was practically a crime to be inside, Mom,” Max said very tentatively, and glanced at me for support.

  I winked at Max again behind Sonia’s back. Ballsy, McCall, I heard Winter Halson’s voice in my head.

  Sonia turned, her eyes boring into mine. The cobra hood of her inner snake swelled and stood on end as she prepared to strike. “Sa-die.”

  I flipped up my hand in a wave. “It really is a perfect day for Cannon Balls,” I said.

  Tara Kingston would have been proud of the look Sonia shot me. I shriveled appropriately, but something in me found this downright comical. Come on, what were the odds? I got the feeling Sonia agreed with me, but on the very principles of being a parent, plus a card-carrying adult, had to pretend otherwise. After all, she and Mr. McCall had jobs. We weren’t the only ones skipping obligations.

  “Where’s your brother?” she growled at Max.

  Max pointed at the huge clock above the cantina. “I’m guessing in language arts. Maybe psychology.”

  Admirable. Trent would have thrown him to the wolves.

  That answer wouldn’t have held even if Trent and Gina hadn’t shot out of the tubes at the same time, to more whistles of annoyance from the Cannon Balls staff. Sonia wiped the chlorine from her eyes again and waded out of the pool. We followed her like little ducks, partly because we had to, and partly so the whistle-blowing employee would chill the freak out.

  Mr. McCall sat up from his chair—after an apparent nap—and said, “Hey, Max,” before he registered Max was not where Max was supposed to be.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Where’s Gray?” Sonia’s head snapped back and forth. “You four, don’t even attempt to lie to me. Where one of you goes, the rest of you follow.”

  Gray’s timing was impeccable. He arrived as if on cue, licking an orange Push-Up pop. He tucked it behind his back and donned his best smile. “Hey, Mrs. McCall.”

  Sonia had us out of Cannon Balls and back in school within the hour. We spent a few weeks with our asses in slings—no car privileges, no dates—but no one could convince any of us it wasn’t the best morning of the year. Absolutely epic.

  I mean, really, who else would that happen to?

  That was the whole memory.

  Which meant I was still clueless. Except for the increasing certainty that Max, Gray, or Gina must be my anonymous friend who cares. Had Max returned from the salvage yard and typed this note while I dropped a library book in the bin for Mom? He’d had time, and reason. After all, he’d read the list on the Buick, knew I was attempting to resurrect the old me. Totally possible. I examined the chronology again.

  Between the arrival of the first two notes, Gray had told me he still loved me, Max had come back from El Salvador, and Gina had apologized again. Between the second two, I’d confronted Gray, melted down in the dressing room with Gina, and amped things up with Max. Of everyone, Gina was the one acting the least suspicious.

  Which meant . . . absolutely nothing.

  Shit, what a mess. Was I supposed to do some big Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe game? Stake out my mailbox? Wait for someone to confess rather than accuse the wrong person?

  It wouldn’t have bothered me so badly if someone hadn’t gone through Big to do this. Big wasn’t exactly my diary, but some of the things were personal. They were definitely things I should have the choice to share or withhold—like the Sharpie stuff.

  These messages, regardless of their intent, were a tour of memories from a different life.

  That part was almost nice.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Some Emails to Max in El Salvador

  From: sadiemaykingston@gmail.com

  To: tothemax@thecenter.es

  Date: January 3

  Subject: Big Explanations

  Max,

  I’m sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for them to call my name. I probably have plenty of time to finish how I started putting stuff into Big.

  Part One: Obtaining Big.

  I would never have started if your brother hadn’t decided to win the world’s ugliest stuffed animal as a gift for my twelfth birthday. He pointed to it behind the counter of the arcade. “That one. That blue ostrich there beside the green pig. That’s the one we’re all going to win you, Sadie May.”

  It cost 1,800 tickets. I repeat, 1,800 tickets.

  Gray added the stipulation that we must win all the tickets playing Skee-Ball. What a ruckus. You would have thought we were competing in the World Series with the way we jumped around and screamed. By the time we hit 1,500 tickets, the ticket-counter guy was in on it with us. It was a slow night, and we were the best action he’d had. I can’t remember which of the guys starting calling the bird Big, but it stuck immediately.

  Gray wanted to be the one who won the final tickets, so Gina and I stopped playing and watched as the final total rose to 1,800. In the excitement, Gray picked me up and kissed my cheek. I turned pink, as if he’d slipped me some tongue. But we weren’t there yet. He was thirteen; I was twelve. Kissing was ascending Everest.

  In light of how I’ve felt lately, I can look back and understand what made it an Everest sort of moment. I felt wanted. You know what I mean? That peck on the cheek wasn’t a peck; it was a declaration that he wanted to kiss me.

  Anyway, we walked out of the Family Fun Center five minutes after 8:00 with the world’s ugliest Big.

  Part Two: Stuffing Big.

  Mom took us to a Chinese buffet and we grubbed up and told her all about Big. She pointed out that my new prize had a tiny hole in his belly. In her opinion, we’d spent, like, eighty dollars on something that wasn’t worth anything.

  As soon as I stopped smiling, Trent took the fortune out of his cookie, rolled it up, and stuck it inside the hole.

  “Now, you know there’s good stuff in there,” he said.

  God, he always had goofy ideas, didn’t he?

  Everyone else shoved in fortunes as Gina and Mom sang “Happy Birthday.”

  That’s how it started.

  Sadie

  From: sadiemaykingston@gmail.com

  To: tothemax@thecenter.es

  Date: January 12

  Subject: Stuck on a feeling

  Max,

  No, Big’s not full yet. The papers are mostly
small, and I don’t write everything down. Just little memories and things I’m afraid I’ll forget.

  Fletcher says I tell Big the things I should tell friends—that my stuffed animal has become a defense mechanism. He suggested that Big allows me to withdraw and that the memories in him are uniquely tied to me, Gray, Trent, and Gina.

  He wants me to either (a) make up with Gray and Gina, or (b) find an activity that introduces me to new people. And he thinks I need to get rid of Big.

  I don’t want new friends. I want my old friends to act like my old friends.

  Which is a double standard.

  I’d have to act like the old me again, and I don’t think I can.

  Sadie

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Pirates and Paintball marched steadily in my direction. One week, three days, tomorrow. I tried to put the event in the back of my mind, which meant I thought about it constantly. The game offered a nice distraction from the forthcoming anniversary and my empty mailbox, which I had staked out two of those nights to no avail. Maybe I’d spooked the sender.

  Every evening, I racked up more miles on the sand than with my driving lessons at Metal Pete’s. Gina sent texts. I answered every single one. I wrote the list obsessively, longing to find something to eliminate—to hold on to some form of progress.

  Six. I was stuck at six. Well, five, if I got half a point for sitting in a car and half a point for Max seeing me in a tank top.

  Fletcher, whom I’d seen last week, assured me it did.

  We’d spent most of our entire fifty minutes talking about Max’s return and Gray’s “I still love you.”

  “I’m assuming Gray’s confession confused you,” Fletcher had said.

  “No. It pissed me off. If he still loved me, he’d look at me.”

  “Have you asked Gray why he can’t look at you?”

  Fletcher always pushed me away from assumptions and toward clarity, which I found annoying.

  I’d opted for humor instead of an answer. “Um, I’m pretty sure I know, Fletcher. These scars can sing karaoke by themselves.”

  “Max looks at you?” Fletcher said.

  “So far,” I’d agreed.

  Max was looking at me now. Smiling.

  I lay on his bed reading a book while he tried route after route to the top of the climbing wall.