Lies My Girlfriend Told Me

by Julie Anne Peters

  Joss scowls. “None of your business.”

  “Hi, Jewell,” I say as her cell rings. She ignores me to answer it.

  Asher’s cell bleeps and he disappears into the living room. A moment later he reappears and says, “I have to go out for a while.”

  Joss follows me to the porch. “And we all know why.”

  Why? I wonder.

  Jewell’s car emerges from the garage.

  As her parents head off in opposite directions, Joss says, “I don’t know how they waited this long.”

  My eyes ask the question, and Joss answers, “They have an open marriage.”

  I must look flabbergasted.

  Joss smirks. “Mommy and Daddy have fuck buddies.” She studies my face as if to gauge my reaction. I try my hardest to regain some sort of impassivity.

  Swan never mentioned that, but then it’s something that wouldn’t come up in casual conversation. She might’ve been embarrassed. I know I would’ve been.

  Joss says, “My own fuck buddy awaits.”

  I think, She’s kidding, right? She’s barely fifteen—not old enough to have sex. But then, how old is old enough? I sort of wish I’d done it earlier so I won’t be a virgin the rest of my life.

  She gives me directions, and as we’re driving she pulls out a cell. I see her text OMW, for “on my way.” Whatever he texts back makes Joss giggle. I wonder if whoever she’s seeing got her the phone. It’s actually a relief; maybe she’ll stop bugging me about Swan’s phone.

  When she disconnects, I say, “Will you please look in Swan’s room for a ring?”

  Joss’s voice hardens. “I told you. There. Is. No. Ring.”

  We drive for fifteen minutes, and then half an hour, and more. “Where are we going?” I ask. Because this is longer than the quick trip I expected.

  “Right here.” She points to the entrance of a trailer park. “Stop.” She unfastens her seat belt and opens the car door.

  The guy who’s waiting in the doorway looks at least thirty. Isn’t it illegal to date a minor? And if they’re having sex, that’s statutory rape.

  God, Joss, I think. Aren’t you in enough trouble?

  Before I can ask if she’ll need a ride home—like, right now—she’s ushered inside and the door shuts behind her.

  At home I remote open the garage door and see that Mom’s back from the hospital. It’s after eleven, too late to drive to Winter Park. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you,” she snaps as soon as I walk through the door.

  If Joss’s “friend” hadn’t lived in Kansas… If I’d been thoughtful enough to call… I go to fish my phone out of my bag, but grab Swanee’s instead.

  “Whose cell is that?” Mom asks.

  I drop it back in my bag and avoid her eyes, and the question, while I’m searching for my phone. I have voice mail. “My cell’s dead,” I lie. “I forgot to charge it.”

  “You didn’t answer my first question.” Mom holds out her hand.

  I’m not giving her Swanee’s cell. “It’s Betheny’s. She left it in the cafeteria on Friday, and I picked it up to give it back to her.” This sense of Swanee envelops me. Once you start to lie, it’s hard to stop. In fact, it almost becomes a game.

  Just then my cell vibrates. Shit. I glance at the caller ID and it’s not a number I know offhand. A knot of resentment forms in my chest because I’m not Joss’s chauffeur. Then I feel bad because I should get my ass over there and save her. I shrug at Mom, like I don’t know how my phone magically recharged itself. “Hello?” I answer, walking around Mom and toward the stairs.

  Liana says, “It’s me. You can hang up if you want to.”

  My pulse races. “Oh, hey, Betheny,” I say. “Yeah, I have your cell. Can I bring it over later? We’re going to Winter Park.”

  I check with Mom for confirmation and she shakes her head no.

  “Or I could do it after I’m ungrounded for life.”

  Liana doesn’t respond. She must think I’m crazy.

  “My mom says hi.” I lope up the stairs, adding, “He did? Cool.”

  Liana disconnects. I want to call her back so badly and find out why she called.

  I start to dial, but can’t. We shouldn’t be in contact. Obviously, Swanee didn’t want us to know about each other, and I think she’d be freaked to find out we’d met.

  Score one for us.

  Why does it matter what Swanee might’ve thought? I just don’t want Liana to think… whatever she does at the moment. I don’t get her, though. Why does she unfriend me and then call? I send her a text:

  Sorry about that. My mom was standing right there

  I key:

  Do you want something?

  Duh. She wouldn’t have called otherwise. I delete that line and try to think what else to say. Nothing comes to mind, so I press Send.

  She doesn’t text back. I wait five, ten minutes. Mom comes upstairs and opens my door. “I’m going to lie down for a while. Your dad might conk out in front of the TV, so if Ethan wakes up, would you mind giving him a bottle?”

  If he’ll take it from me. Which he won’t.

  “I need to go to Betheny’s,” I say, “and drop off her cell.”

  “Why can’t she come here?”

  “She’s… grounded.”

  “Betheny?” Mom arches her eyebrows.

  Think fast. “She’s been so busy with cheerleading and all her clubs that her grades have dropped.”

  “Which reminds me.” Mom folds her arms. “I looked online at your grades and noticed you didn’t turn in several assignments. And you missed five days of school in January. I don’t know why the school didn’t call your father or me.”

  “Their records are wrong.” In fact, Swan called in for me, pretending to be my mother. She’d perfected her “authoritative” voice over the phone. I remember this one prank call she made.…

  Mom’s looking at me like she doesn’t believe a word of it. She goes on, “I can understand how difficult these last few weeks have been for you, but please don’t let your schoolwork suffer.”

  A lump clogs my throat. She must see that I can’t explain. I can, but the reason is sitting in an urn on a mantel.

  She relaxes her arms. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to Winter Park today.”

  I pick up my backpack and unload a pile of books on my bed. “Doesn’t matter. You’re right. I have a ton of homework.”

  Mom says, “If you need a break from studying, you can go to Betheny’s. But just for a little while.”

  “Mom.” I catch her before she leaves. “Don’t athletes have to have physicals before they can participate in sports?”

  She gives me a blank look before she understands what I’m asking. “They do,” she says, “but ventricular fibrillation, which is the usual cause of sudden cardiac arrest, may not be detected in sports physicals. I think the rules are changing to be more thorough, but don’t quote me on that.”

  Before closing the door, she adds, “Sometimes it’s just out of our hands.”

  Chapter 12

  I’ll only be gone a couple of hours, and in the realm of eternal salvation, who marks time?

  I almost miss her red car as I drive past it in the rear of the mall lot. I feel happy she’s here. Why? Probably because if she wasn’t I would’ve driven to Greeley for nothing.

  The mall is almost empty because it’s Sunday. I head down the center aisle—the only aisle—through a seating area where a couple of older people are reading newspapers and drinking coffee.

  As I approach Victoria’s Secret, I slow. In my head I have it all worked out, what I’ll say:

  “Hi. You called me?”

  She’ll be shocked to see me in person. Or will she? Do people go running to her whenever she beckons?

  “Did you want to say something?” I’ll ask.

  Because we’ve said everything there is to say. Haven’t we?

  She’ll go, “No.” She’ll lower those big brown eyes and look embarrassed. Or b
e triumphant that she’s yanked my chain.

  I’ll say…

  I haven’t worked out the rest of the conversation.

  She’s inside the store, near the front, not doing anything. Just gazing out into the mall. I duck behind a bank of gumball machines across from the store, feeling like an idiot.

  She didn’t notice me, I don’t think. She stands there with this blank expression on her face, her eyes glazed over. A bolt of anguish shoots straight through me: She’s coming to terms with Swan’s death.

  The most I’ve ever done is window-shop at Victoria’s Secret and wish I had the guts to go inside and browse.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have to force my feet to move, to step out from around from the gumball machines and enter the store. Liana’s eyes widen when she sees me.

  “Hi,” I say. I forget my next line; I have to improvise. “Would you help me? I’m looking for a gift for my great-aunt.”

  Liana says flatly, “Do you have something in mind? How old is she?”

  I remove a red negligee from a nearby rack and hold it up. “She turns eighty-five tomorrow.”

  That coaxes a smile out of her.

  “Liana, there’s inventory to do as soon as you’re done talking to your friend,” a voice calls from the cash register.

  Liana rolls her eyes and says under her breath, “My supervisor.”

  I call back, “I’m not a friend. I’m a customer.”

  “Oh. Excuse me.” The supervisor skirts the counter with an armload of bras.

  When she’s out of earshot, I say, “I was thinking my great-aunt Wilma might like some lacy butt floss.”

  Liana shakes her head. “You’re bad.” She considers for a minute, and then says, “I have just the thing.”

  Do her eyes twinkle, or am I hallucinating? She leads me to a center rack, where a collection of corsets and babydolls hang. She takes one off the rack and shows it to me.

  “Definitely Great-Aunt Wilma.” It’s leopard and lace with black garters.

  Liana grins. “It’s called a merry widow.” Her eyes sort of lose their luster. After a long second, she says, “I dare you to put it on.”

  The mischievous glint is back. I take the lingerie from her and say, “Where’s the fitting room?”

  She points.

  As I pass her supervisor, I smile sweetly.

  The fitting room is ice cold and goose bumps rise on my skin, especially since I have to strip down to practically nothing to shimmy into the garment.

  It’s totally revealing. My butt cheeks and boobs hang out. A knock sounds on the door and Liana says, “How’s it going in there?”

  Dare I? I unlock the door and swing it open.

  She eyes me up and down, making me feel even more naked than I am. Then she covers her mouth and starts to giggle. That makes me giggle, and I pull her inside the dressing room.

  “I should make you try it on,” I say.

  She can’t stop giggling.

  “Shut up. Does it make me look fat?”

  “No,” Liana says. “You look…” She swallows hard. Her face sobers and she glances away. “Can I ask, how did you and Swan meet?”

  I want to change back into my regular clothes if we’re going to have a serious discussion, but she sits on the bench, facing me.

  “On a ski trip the over winter break,” I tell her. We’re close enough that I can feel her body warmth. “A friend of Swan’s was supposed to come, but she sprained her ankle.”

  Liana blinks. “Ice-skating with her the week before. I fell and sprained my ankle.”

  Cacophonies of consequences churn in my brain. What if Liana had gone to Winter Park? What if Swanee and I had never met? What if Swanee hadn’t died?

  “Liana?” the supervisor calls.

  Liana pushes to her feet. “Coming.” She pauses at the door and pivots around. Our eyes meet and hold. Instinctively, I cover up my exposed areas—or try to.

  After she’s gone, I feel heat swelling from every pore, exposed and otherwise. She’s hot. Very hot.

  I get dressed and take the lingerie out front and see that Liana’s busy with inventory or something. The supervisor’s at the cash register and I say to her, “I’ll take this.” I hand her my Visa, which I’m only supposed to use for necessities.

  As I’m leaving the store, I stop behind Liana and watch her punch a number on her calculator. I say, “Thanks for your help, miss.”

  She turns and glances down at the bag. “You’re getting it?”

  “Everyone over eighty needs a merry widow.”

  She laughs. All the way home the resonance of her laughter radiates through me.

  My persuasive paper is due tomorrow and all I’ve written so far is the title. Typically, before Swanee, I never put off assignments, unlike normal people. My MO is to obsess over unfinished business.

  I set my laptop aside and lie back on my pillow. To think. Concentrate.

  Liana might not be home from work yet. It’s only, what? Seven thirty? Maybe she’s working overtime.

  I prop up my pillows again and pull my laptop over in front of me. If Liana doesn’t call by ten, I’ll call her. I’ll say…

  What? “Do you have any more questions? Ask me anything.”

  I can’t compose a mental script when I’m supposed to be working on this stupid essay.

  Ignorance is ignorance. It seems so simple, or redundant. So why am I having trouble defending it?

  I wish I’d chosen the other side of the argument. Ignorance is bliss. Being kept in the dark and not having to deal with the truth is easy. It’s denial. Swanee told me that Asher and Jewell declared bankruptcy last year. They refused to see, or admit, that they were living beyond their means.

  I know Jewell’s a shopaholic, and Swanee always got anything she wanted. For her sixteenth birthday, she got the Smart car. If she knew her family was in financial straits, would she have accepted the car? When did she learn they were having money problems? Did she try to give the car back? As much as I want a car, I know I’d be conflicted if my parents were struggling to put food on the table.

  For my seventeenth birthday in November, I got a Visa. Big whoop. The monthly limit is so low that if I exceed it, which I do every month, Mom and Dad get on my case.

  What time is it? I check my laptop clock. Almost eight.

  I key in a couple of paragraphs about avoiding the pain and messiness of real life, keeping yourself emotionally safe. Ignorant. It sounds lame.

  “The darker the shades, the easier life is on the eyes,” I write.

  Mrs. Burke is going to give me a flaming F.

  What time is it now? Eight twenty. Close enough.

  I dial Liana’s number and it goes to voice mail. I don’t know what to say, so I just hang up.

  She obviously doesn’t check her missed calls immediately the way I do. See? Obsessed.

  An hour later I’m still staring at a silent cell.

  I run through the events of today. We had a good time. At least I did, and she seemed to. We shouldn’t be having fun, since we’re both in mourning. But for some reason I think that creates a bond. Both of us being victimized by Swanee’s lies.

  I can’t think of one more thing to add to this essay. All I can do is hope that a lot of people write crappy essays and that Mrs. Burke grades on a curve. That might earn me an F+.

  Mom and Dad are in the living room with the lights off and the TV on. Dad’s giving Mom a foot rub. As I snag Dad’s keys, Mom cranes her neck over the sofa back and asks, “Are you going out?”

  No, I just wanted to suck on the keys. “There’s something I need at Swanee’s. I know you told me not to go over there, but…” But what? I need to get out of here and clear my head.

  “What is it?” Mom asks.

  Swan still has jewelry that I gave her, not that I really want it back. I’d rather look for that ring. I tell Mom, “This T-shirt we made in GSA for Day of Silence.” The lies are flowing freely again. The Swanee Effect.


  Dad says, “It’s too late to bother them on a Sunday night. Can’t you stop by and pick it up in the morning?”

  Mom adds, “I have a better idea. I’ll call Jewell and ask her to drop it off on her way to work. What does it look like?”

  “She can’t go into Swanee’s room, Mom.”

  Mom frowns. “Why not?”

  Do I really have to tell her? “She just can’t set foot in there.”

  That shuts Mom up.

  “We’ll work something else out,” Dad goes.

  Which means no. I storm back upstairs and almost slam my door. That, I know, would cost me, especially if I woke Ethan. Thankfully I stop myself and lose the attitude so my credit card limit doesn’t dwindle to zero, or something worse.

  I catch the glow of Swanee’s cell in my bag and take it out. She has two texts from today. They’re both the same number, but it’s not Liana.

  The first one reads:

  if u have this cell ur a thief n im reporting u to the cops

  The number looks familiar. I check Swanee’s contacts and it’s not in there. Then I think to check my cell. Aha. It’s the number Joss has been using. I should’ve known.

  The second text reads:

  if u want to keep the cops out of it put the cell in an envelope and send it to this address

  It’s a rural address in Hudson; probably that trailer where I left her today.

  She’s not getting Swanee’s cell. Just as I’m dropping it back in my bag, my cell rings. It’s a text from Liana:

  Sorry I missed your call. My mom always asks who I’m talking to and there’s nowhere in this house I can have a private conversation

  Now I’m not even sure why I called her.

  I text:

  I hear you. Not literally

  She texts:

  LOL. I can’t believe you bought the merry widow

  I text:

  Hey, you’re the one who picked it out. In fact, I’m wearing it right now. I made dinner in it for the rents and now I’m doing laundry

  LMAO

  I text:

  Do you like working there?

  It’s OK. Better than Chuck E. Cheese’s

  But you’d get free pizza there

  And salmonella. At VS I get to dream about girls in lingerie all day