Believe Me, I'm Lying

by Jordan Lynde

  Oliver snorted while Anthony laughed and beamed at me. He glanced at Oliver, a grin on his face. ‘I like her already.’

  ‘Yay,’ Oliver replied flatly.

  Anthony rolled his eyes before turning back from me. ‘Thanks for the compliment, but I’m Oliver’s father.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘How old are you?’ I asked without thinking. When I realized what I’d asked, I felt my face heat up slightly. ‘Um, sorry. That was rude . . .’

  Anthony laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m actually thirty-eight. How old do you think I look?’

  ‘Fifty,’ Oliver muttered before I could reply.

  ‘I don’t know, just young,’ I responded, frowning at Oliver.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Anthony responded with a grin. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Uhh . . .’ I shot a glance at Oliver. How old was I supposed to tell him I was? Seventeen? Or twenty-two?

  ‘She’s seventeen,’ Oliver told Anthony for me, surprising me.

  ‘Seventeen?’ Anthony repeated, frowning the slightest bit. ‘Oliver—’

  ‘Look, you told me to find help, and I did,’ Oliver snapped, cutting his father off. ‘She’ll have to do until I can find someone else.’

  Anthony sighed. ‘You’re right.’ He turned back to me. ‘Do you mind helping out? You won’t be handling the alcohol since you’re not old enough, but you can be a busser and do some cashiering.’

  ‘I’m here to help,’ I told him with a smile. Albeit I was blackmailed into it.

  ‘So you’re taking the place of Rebecca, right? Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other weekend?’

  ‘Every other weekend?’ I repeated, glancing at Oliver.

  Anthony frowned slightly, giving me a pleading look. ‘Is that OK? I wouldn’t ask this of you, but we are already short on staff, and weekends are always really busy so—’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured him; unable to deny him with the look he was giving me. ‘It won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Great!’ he responded, looking excited again. He kind of reminded me of a puppy. ‘It might not be that often, just if we need it. And since you can’t serve alcohol, I might have to juggle some shifts around next week, ask you to come in a different day, if that’s OK.’

  Oliver cleared his throat, glaring at his father. ‘If you’re done talking, we have some training to do.’

  ‘Go right ahead,’ Anthony responded, holding up his hand. ‘I’ve got to go find your mom—’

  ‘Step-mom,’ Oliver corrected in a harsh tone.

  ‘Right, step-mom . . . I’ll be going now. See you around, Harley,’ Anthony said to me, looking depressed again.

  I half smiled at him. ‘Bye, Anthony.’

  As soon as Anthony was out of the room I scowled at Oliver. He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re a little rude to your dad?’

  Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t really care.’

  ‘You should!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s your family!’

  ‘I couldn’t care less about family,’ Oliver snapped. ‘All my family does is get on my nerves.’

  I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘You know, some people don’t even have families.’

  ‘Lucky them.’

  ‘What? Oliver, you don’t—’

  Oliver cut me off. ‘Look, I don’t care if you think family is the most important thing. You go ahead and live happily with your mum and dad. But not all families are perfect – my family isn’t, and it’s none of your business, so stay out of it.’

  I stared at Oliver in surprise, taken aback by his sudden outburst. Apparently family wasn’t a touchy subject only for me. Guilt replaced my surprise and I lowered my gaze to the floor, taking in his words. ‘You know, you never know what you have until it’s gone . . .’

  ‘And how would you know that?’

  My eyes snapped up to his face again and I found he was scowling at me. ‘I just do.’

  ‘Don’t talk about things you don’t have any idea about,’ Oliver rejoined.

  Things I don’t have any idea about? Obviously I did, since both of my parents were dead! But he doesn’t know that, I reminded myself begrudgingly. Nonetheless, he shouldn’t assume things without knowing the facts! I clenched my teeth together angrily – he really knew how to grind my gears.

  ‘Let’s just get started,’ I told him through gritted teeth. ‘Before one of us kills the other.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Oliver agreed, turning his back to me. ‘Follow me.’

  I did as he commanded and followed him through another door in the employee lounge, which led to what seemed to be a supply closet. Oliver went to one of the shelves and pulled down a large box, placing it on the floor. He opened it and searched through it for a few moments before pulling out a black and white apron, tossing it at me.

  ‘Keep that. You won’t need it tonight, but wear it on Tuesday,’ he ordered. ‘I assume you know how to take orders?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, that saves me time. What about the cash register?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘It depends on what kind of cash register it is . . .’

  Oliver looked at me curiously. ‘Aren’t they all the same?’

  ‘No,’ I told him with a small laugh. ‘Are you kidding me? There are so many different types of cash registers – I’ve probably used ten different ones in all my jobs.’

  ‘How many jobs have you had?’

  I shrugged. ‘Six or seven.’

  ‘And you’re only seventeen?’

  ‘Are you trying to make a point?’

  Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘No, I’m just curious as to why you’ve had so many jobs.’

  I hesitated for a moment, before answering, ‘Family issues . . .’

  ‘How’s your little brother? Elliot?’

  ‘He’s good,’ I responded slowly, raising an eyebrow. ‘Why are you asking?’

  If my eyes weren’t tricking me, Oliver looked embarrassed. ‘No reason,’ he finally muttered. ‘I was just wondering.’

  ‘Aw, do you like little kids, Oli?’ I asked teasingly.

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ Oliver snapped, glaring at me once more.

  ‘Why not? Don’t like it, Oli?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Now cut it.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Oli.’

  ‘Don’t be a prat,’ he growled, pushing by me. ‘Let’s go to the cash register.’

  A smirk flittered onto my face as I turned and followed Oliver back to the main hallway. Instead of going back out into the crowded bar area, he took a door that led behind the bar. A few workers gave me curious looks, and I smiled in response to them while Oliver greeted a few of them politely.

  When we made it to the cash register, he gave me a ten-minute lesson on how to run it, because it was a model I hadn’t used before. The way he explained it made me feel like I was seven instead of seventeen, and his tone of voice really got on my nerves. When he was finished I nodded. ‘Grand. Are we done here?’

  Oliver looked at me like I was stupid. ‘No?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Part of training is practice,’ he told me. ‘I have to supervise you cashiering to make sure you’re capable.’

  I sighed. ‘Fine.’

  ‘About your work days – only come on those days,’ Oliver said suddenly. ‘Even if my father wants you to come in on a different day.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  ‘You’re not the owner,’ I responded just to irritate him. ‘If he needs me to work, then—’

  ‘You’re not going in,’ Oliver interjected, glowering at me.

  I scowled back at him. ‘Maybe I won’t if you tell me why!’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Ugh, you’re so irritating! You’re the one who wants me to help out!’

  ‘And I know yo
ur secret. It’s a fair trade.’

  ‘I wouldn’t consider this a trade.’

  Oliver narrowed his eyes at me. ‘You know, you’re a lot different out of school than you are in.’

  ‘Same with you,’ I retorted. ‘You talk too much.’

  Oliver scowled at me again before glancing behind me, the scowl immediately dropping. ‘Here comes a customer. Be courteous. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘It means you’re annoying and need to shut up,’ I snapped. I wasn’t sure if I could work with Oliver twice a week without turning into the most spiteful person in the world – it hadn’t even been an hour and I was already cranky. Still, I couldn’t be cranky with a customer. So I threw on a great smile and took the order.

  When nine rolled around, Oliver and I went back to the employee room for a break. Since I had cashier experience, learning the system had been easy, but still he refused to compliment me on my skill.

  Suddenly my phone went off and I immediately picked it up, my heart in my throat. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Pig?’ It was Elliot.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to call and say goodnight.’

  I relaxed and smiled. ‘Night, Elliot.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. Sweet dreams.’

  ‘When are you going to be home?’ This time it was Will.

  I glanced at Oliver. ‘Are we almost done?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Within the hour. Thanks for taking care of Elliot, Will.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  I hung up my phone, letting out a yawn. Elliot had the right idea to go to bed.

  ‘Hey.’

  Oliver’s voice made me jump. I had forgotten he was in the room! ‘What?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what your family life is like, but if this is too much, I’m not going to blackmail you into working here,’ he muttered, looking away from me. ‘And I’ll keep your secret.’

  I stared at him in surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not repeating myself,’ he snapped.

  ‘Um . . .’ I trailed off, unsure of what to say. What was up with Oliver’s sudden kindness?

  ‘Elliot, right?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Oliver gave me a flat look. ‘That’s your brother’s name, right?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If you need to watch him or whatever, just tell me and you don’t have to come in.’

  ‘OK.’ I frowned at Oliver. ‘What’s with the sudden change in attitude?’

  Oliver scowled. ‘What are you talking about?’

  I faltered under his hard gaze. ‘Um, never mind . . . But I can handle this job. It’s fair. You keep my secret and I’ll help you . . .’

  ‘I said, if you can’t handle it you don’t have to.’

  ‘I can handle it,’ I insisted, frowning the tiniest bit. Did Oliver suddenly not want me to work here now? If so, why did I feel so upset by it? ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You have a bank account, right?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘What, are you deaf?’

  ‘No,’ I snapped, feeling my face heat up. ‘You just randomly change the topic and I don’t catch it. Yes, I do have a bank account, why?’

  ‘To deposit your pay check,’ Oliver told me as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  Once again, I was taken back. ‘I get to keep it?’

  ‘Duh. Why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Um, I thought you would take it,’ I admitted sheepishly, feeling foolish for thinking that. ‘Never mind, though.’

  Oliver opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a noise, the door behind me opened. Oliver’s eyes shot past my shoulder and his eyes narrowed, a scowl appearing on his face once more. After a second of hesitation, I looked over my shoulder and saw a very pretty blond woman standing in the doorway. Immediately I recognized Melissa’s features and realized this must be Oliver’s step-mom.

  ‘I didn’t realize you had company,’ his step-mom commented, accent very American, her eyes flickering to me and then to him. ‘Shouldn’t you be working?’

  ‘I’m training her today,’ Oliver told the woman curtly.

  His step-mom frowned slightly, looking at me again. ‘She barely looks old enough to be in high school.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Oliver beat me to it. ‘No one asked your opinion,’ Oliver retorted.

  His step-mom sighed. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to use that tone with me?’

  Even though Oliver’s step-mom seemed kind of disagreeable, I thought Oliver was being a little bit rude to her too. She was still his step-mom, after all. Once more I found her eyes on me, and she stepped forward, holding out her hand.

  ‘I’m Claire,’ she greeted me as I tentatively placed my hand in hers. ‘I’m Oliver’s step-mom.’

  ‘Harley, Oliver’s . . . friend,’ I said a little awkwardly.

  Claire smiled at me. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too.’

  Oliver suddenly grabbed my arm and began dragging me away from her. ‘Come on,’ he ordered, stepping around his step-mom.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  Oliver didn’t bother turning around. ‘To wipe tables.’

  Feeling extremely rude, I turned to give his stepmom a half-smile, and then a quick little wave before he could completely pull me out of the room. As soon as we were out, Oliver dropped my arm, a look of annoyance on his face.

  ‘That was a little rude too,’ I commented casually.

  ‘Remember my earlier comment about this being none of your business?’ Oliver asked, giving me a deadpan look.

  I jutted my chin. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then drop it.’

  ‘Fine,’ I snapped. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologize,’ Oliver responded quietly. ‘Follow me,’ he said quickly before I could respond to his first comment.

  Confused, I followed him behind the bar and into the kitchen area. He went to a cabinet and opened it, pulling out something and chucking it at me. Reflexively my hand shot out and caught it. A frown appeared on my face when I realized it was a cloth.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  Oliver sighed. ‘You never listen, do you?’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘What did I tell my step-mom we were doing?’

  I hesitated. ‘Cleaning up . . .?’

  ‘We’re wiping tables,’ Oliver said, brushing by me. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I thought we were leaving.’

  ‘We have half an hour more.’

  I sighed, following him back through behind the bar, into the hallway, and back into the main room again. More people were gathered around the bar now, and less people at the tables. Oliver gestured towards a group of empty tables at the far right of the room. Only half an hour more, I could do it.

  Monday morning I dragged myself into the school building, yawning widely. The weekend had sucked all the energy out of me. Training with Oliver at the bar had exhausted me, but it had turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected. Anthony was a really great guy, and there was a really cheerful atmosphere there. Even Oliver would get caught up in it and smile in a way I’d never expected him to be able to; he could be really handsome. At the end of the Saturday training, Anthony had asked me if I would mind changing my day next week and coming in on Monday instead, so now I had a day as a teacher to get through and a shift at the bar tonight. I sighed . . .

  The almost empty hallways told me I had arrived at school earlier than I expected. Whistling to myself, I started towards my room, tapping my fingers against my leg in beat to the song I was whistling. My whistle suddenly stopped when I noticed my classroom light was on.

  Maybe I could finally catch Tucker in action!

  Staying as quiet as possible, I tiptoed down the rest of the hallway, holding my breath tightly. I s
tuck my head around the door and looked in. There was no one in the main part of the classroom. That could be used to my advantage. Slipping into the room, I quietly shut the door behind me. If Tucker was there, he wouldn’t be able to avoid me this time.

  Still keeping silent, I headed towards the supply room. I heard the clatter of a plate being put in the sink, and then the sound of a faucet being turned on. I stopped by the door, thinking hard. Should I step in and catch him in the act? Or wait until he came out? My decision was abruptly made for me when Tucker stuck his head out of the supply-room doorway.

  His eyes shot open in surprise, and then narrowed, his face flushing red in anger.

  I immediately took a step away, surprised by his hostility. ‘Tucker—’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded in a tight voice.

  ‘It’s my classroom,’ I shot back. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘None of your business!’

  ‘Tucker, yes it is!’

  ‘No – it’s not!’ he nearly shouted, retreating back into the supply room. ‘Go away!’

  I stared incredulously after him. ‘But it’s my classroom!’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  When I saw he was beginning to shut the supply-room door, I quickly moved forwards and stuck my foot in between the door and the doorway. Tucker scowled at me through the small gap and I glared right back. Suddenly he brought his hand through the small gap and shoved me in the chest. I gasped in shock and pain, stumbling back a few steps. Tucker slammed the door.

  ‘What are you doing in there?’ I demanded, walking back up to it. ‘Open it!’

  ‘Nothing – and no!’

  ‘You’re doing something!’

  ‘None of your business!’

  I narrowed my eyes at the door. ‘Do you want me to involve the principal?’

  After a pause, the door swung open and Tucker sent me a harsh glare before stepping out of the way to let me in. I frowned at him, stepping into the room. My eyes swept around it and landed on a small plate of food on the counter. I stared at it curiously before turning to Tucker. He looked angry, embarrassed and hurt all at the same time. This made me frown deeper.

  ‘Tucker . . .’

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘Do you come in here to eat breakfast every day?’ I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

  He shook his head. ‘No.’