Liar

by Justine Larbalestier

  “You should be.”

  “He never showed me this place,” I say, though we’d run past it. Sarah looks at me quickly and then away and I regret saying it, asserting that I was one of his girls, too. I don’t know either of them. Not really. I’m only here because I miss Zach.

  “You and him . . . ,” Tayshawn begins, staring at me.

  Sarah nods. “How’d you two . . . ?”

  Neither of them can say what they want to say. The frame of their question is broken.

  “It just happened,” I say.

  I’ve been asked this question so often but finally I want to answer.

  “I guess. We were both in the park. Central Park, I mean. Not here. We said, you know, ‘Hey, how you doing?’ We’d seen each other in class. Never spoken though. So we got talking. Turned out we both loved running so we started running together.”

  “You really ran together?” Sarah asks. “You’re not lying? I never saw you run.”

  “I’m not lying. I like running. We ran together. It wasn’t the same as you and him, Sarah. Honest. He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

  “What was he then?” she asks. “For you.”

  Tayshawn holds up his hand. “None of our business, right?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “I guess it is your business, isn’t it? You were his best friend. You were his girlfriend. The two people who knew him best.”

  “I don’t think I knew him that well,” Sarah says. “I didn’t know about you.”

  “Like I knew!” Tayshawn says. “But I thought something was up, you know? Been a few months. He wasn’t hanging around as much. I noticed. Asked him about it. But he was all, ‘What do you mean? Nothing going on.’ Made me think there was. Now I know.”

  “I didn’t even suspect,” Sarah says. “I had not clue one.”

  “We mostly ran.” I uncross my legs, pull the dress over my knees and hug them, resting my chin. I haven’t talked about this with anyone but the cops.

  “But you didn’t only run,” Sarah says.

  “Zach’s fast. How’d you keep up?”

  “I’m fast, too,” I say, relieved at Tayshawn’s interruption. He looks skeptical. So does Sarah. “We ran in the park. Sometimes we’d run up there all the way from school.”

  “What else d’you do?” Sarah asks. “I mean, me and Zach, we talked about stuff, hung out with friends, went to movies. Stuff like that.” Her eyes fill with water but she doesn’t start crying. I know how she feels. This talk of Zach is making the rawness inside me swell.

  “That all?” Tayshawn asks. “ ’Cause, you know, talking and going to the movies, that is not the main thing I do with my girl.” I wonder who his girl is. She’s not anyone at school.

  “You want all the details? Pervert!” Sarah laughs. “Sure. We made out. He was my boyfriend. He tell you about that stuff?”

  Tayshawn smiles but he’s not saying anything.

  “He did, didn’t he? Shit. And everyone says girls are blabbermouths!”

  “He never said a word about Micah.” Tayshawn is having fun. He winks at me.

  “Great,” Sarah says. “He keeps her sex life private but not mine.”

  I don’t say anything for the moment, but then I think, why not? We’re all being honest, aren’t we? “He was too ashamed. Why would he tell anyone about me? You saw what everyone said when they found out. First they didn’t believe it. Then they acted like they felt sick. ’Cause Zach and me? No way!”

  “I believed it right away,” Sarah said. “I heard it and I knew.”

  “Really?” I ask. “I thought you said I was too ugly for him. I’m like an ugly boy, you said.”

  “Harsh,” Tayshawn says.

  “I was mad,” Sarah says. “I’m still mad.” She’s not looking at me.

  “It’s what everyone was thinking,” I say. “Is thinking.”

  “Not me,” Tayshawn said. “I don’t think you’re ugly. I mean, you’re not beautiful or anything, but ugly? Nope.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling. It feels strange on my face. The muscles almost don’t know what to do. Sarah and Tayshawn laugh. “It’s not me not being pretty. I know that. It’s what a freak I am. I mean, look at me, look at you. You wear makeup and walk and talk right. Anything I say, people stare. You got your hair all pretty and relaxed and long. I’m cropped short.”

  “I wish I could do that,” Sarah says. But I know she’s lying. She’s proud of her hair. “You got any idea how long this takes?”

  I do. I can’t imagine spending that many hours every morning combing my hair out. But I like the way it looks on her just as much as she does. Loose curls that tumble to halfway down her back.

  “What do you think happened to him?” Tayshawn asks.

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered. But I know so little.

  FAMILY HISTORY

  I remember my first visit to the Greats. I was very small. Too small for coherent sentences, but already walking around.

  My father hadn’t been speaking to them since his first baby—me—was born. He wasn’t answering their calls and returned letters unopened. That was until my mother wore down his resistance and made him take me up to see them for the first time. She didn’t join us.

  I remember being in the front seat, even though I should have been in back in the car seat. I remember wriggling out of the straps that held me to the seat, so I could crawl in front and see over the dashboard and out the windows to the trees bending in over the car as it went up the bumpy road. I remember green leaves as far as I could see, the sunshine blurring blades and veins and stems together, so that all those branches and leaves swaying in the wind became a green, almost golden, glow.

  It must have been summer.

  I remember laughing at the sparkling gold green light and my dad shushing me and cajoling me to sit down again but I wouldn’t: I wanted to see.

  Then we were almost at the house.

  Dad stopped the car. We got out and Dad pulled me up onto his hip so I could see as good as he could from almost as high. We pushed through trees until we were at the house that was right in the center of them. Trees leaned in so close they were almost pushing in through the windows. The only clear space was the veranda that wrapped around the house.

  Five adults were sitting in rocking chairs. There were children in their laps and at their feet. A few as little or littler than me, but mostly bigger. They were tugging and nipping at one another.

  The adults stood up when they saw us, but they probably heard us before then. All the Wilkins have good ears. Even Dad.

  I don’t remember which adults it was, probably Grandmother and Great-Aunt and Hilliard, maybe two of Dad’s cousins. Mine were the children on the floor. They were who I was looking at. They weren’t like the children from day care.

  One of them hissed at me.

  Like a monkey on a nature show. I pressed in closer to my dad, rested my head against his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Dad said. “They’re your kin.”

  I’d never heard him use that word before. Even little as I was I didn’t trust it. Kin. It sounded dangerous.

  BEFORE

  “Do you love me?” Zach asked, panting between each word. We were going up Heartbreak Hill. Zach always liked to talk during the hardest part of the run.

  “That’s not a question boys ask.” I was not panting nearly so hard as Zach.

  “How do you know? I’m your first.”

  “Just do.”

  Zach’s expression said he didn’t believe me.

  “Do you love me?” I asked.

  Zach slowed way down. “That’s definitely a question girls ask.” The sweat dripped into his eyes.

  “I know. So, do you?”

  “I never answer.”

  “Never?” How was that fair?

  “Nope,” he said, slowing even more. “This hill gets bigger every time we climb it, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t, but I
grunted in a way that could be a yes or a no. “So what do you say when they ask you?” I wondered how many theys we were talking about.

  “I say . . . Can we stop for a second? Need breath for this.” He staggered to a stop, bent down, and put his hands on his knees, took long gasping breaths.

  I halted beside him, standing on my toes to stretch a little, before letting my heels touch the ground for the first time in many miles. My calves clenched and then unclenched, thanking me for the consideration.

  “Thanks. Damn, girl. I wish you’d sweat more.”

  “I’m sweating.” Though not nearly as much as him. “I can’t help it if you’re not as fit as me.”

  “Well, I’m not whatever it is you are. So, you know, I pant and sweat.”

  “And bitch and moan.”

  He grinned. “ ’Cause I’m regular people.”

  I punched him.

  “Shit, girl.” He rubbed his arm.

  “You’re so regular,” I said, “you’ll probably get a ball scholarship to college. I heard there are scouts watching every time you play. Then there’s you not even going to a high school with a real team.”

  Zach shrugged. “I’d rather get a scholarship for my brains. But we’ll see. Imagine if they saw you run! Wouldn’t be a college in the country that wasn’t throwing money your way.”

  “Shut up. Tell me what you tell all your girls.”

  “Well, you know, that. I said it to you, didn’t I? How sweet you are.” He touched my cheek with his fingers. I rolled my eyes. I wondered if he said it to Sarah, too. “How about that,” he said. “You do sweat!”

  “Everyone sweats. But you haven’t answered my question. When they ask you if you love them,” I said, “how do you answer?”

  “I say”—he leaned into my ear and started whispering—“ ‘you’re so sweet. Just the way you look and taste. Well . . .’ And then, like I can’t control myself, I kiss them—”

  He leaned in, I leaned away.

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “What’s with the ‘them,’ anyway?” I asked, moving still farther away. “I thought you were only dating Sarah.”

  He laughed. “There’ve been others.”

  “I’m sure.” I was. Girls often looked at Zach. I didn’t think he was that good-looking. His skin was clear and his eyes bright, but his nose was kind of big and some of his teeth crooked. He wasn’t straight-up handsome like Tayshawn.

  “We’re both sure then,” he said, kissing me.

  I pulled away. “Why’d you ask me? If you never say it yourself.”

  “Keeps things uneven. Get the girl to say it, but never say it to her.”

  “That’s nasty.” It was but he didn’t say it in a nasty way. “What happens if you fall in love?” I didn’t think I was in love with Zach, but I was happier when I was with him than when I was with anyone else. But best of all was being alone. Do you want to be alone when you’re in love?

  “Then I’ll say it. But not till then.”

  I wondered why it didn’t hurt me that Zach was telling me he didn’t love me.

  “Okay, that’s fair,” I told him. “I’ll do the same.”

  “So that’s a no, then?” Zach asked, grinning so wide his face was about to split.

  “A big fat no,” I said, taking off up the hill at a pace I knew he couldn’t match.

  AFTER

  “The cops asked me how he seemed. You know, last time I saw him,” Tayshawn says. We’re still in the cave, sitting, with the echo of Zach’s funeral in our heads. I have no desire to be back there.

  Sarah nods. “Me too. They came to my house. Dad was freaking out. He doesn’t like cops. Doesn’t trust them.”

  “Mine too,” I say. “Dad says they’re looking to bust a black man at the first opportunity. Specially when he’s got an education.”

  “Your dad and mine should meet,” Sarah says. “Seeing as how they say exactly the same things.”

  “Not mine,” Tayshawn says, and I remember that Tayshawn’s grandfather was a cop. I think an uncle is, too. He has firemen in the family as well. I don’t remember ever seeing a black fireman. His mom, though, is an accountant and his dad’s in business. Not a very successful business. They’re as broke as my parents. But I guess they still count as a cop family.

  “These cops were a lot meaner than any of your family, I bet,” Sarah says. “The younger one—”

  “Stein?” I ask.

  Sarah nods. “He kept trying to make me and Zach going out sound nasty. He wanted to know if I was jealous of you, Micah. Didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t even know about you.” Her voice changes tone, drops. “Not until after.”

  “Yeah,” Tayshawn says. “They wanted to know if me and Zach ever fought. I mean, what if we had? Everyone fights. Doesn’t mean you’re going to go kill someone. Just ’cause you’re mad at them. I don’t think they have any idea what happened. Whatever it was, it was . . .” Tayshawn pauses, trying to find the right word.

  Sarah and me both lean toward him.

  “I heard it was done with a knife,” Tayshawn says. “That his face was so cut up they didn’t know who it was.”

  Sarah covers her mouth.

  “If that’s true, how did they find out it was Zach?” I ask.

  “The DNA test we did in class,” Tayshawn says. “It wasn’t so useless after all.”

  I think of that class. When everyone was looking at a piece of paper to tell them how black or white they were. I think of how Zach hadn’t said a word. I shiver, imagining that somehow Zach knew his test results would be used to identify him one day. Mine were still sitting in my drawer.

  “What else do you know?” Sarah asks.

  Tayshawn shrugs. “They’re working on it. He doesn’t tell us a lot, my uncle, I mean. He’s not homicide. But he hears stuff. He met Zach a few times. Knows he’s my best boy. He tells me what he can.”

  “Such as?” Sarah says louder. “I’m sorry. It’s because I don’t know anything. His parents won’t talk to me. His mom just cries and his dad says he doesn’t know. I offer to help but they say there’s nothing I can do. I know he’s their son. I can’t imagine . . . But, I mean, I can.” She’s crying now. Mascara-tinted tears run down her face. “I lost him, too. I thought we were going to be together forever.” She sniffs, wipes at her face, smearing makeup. “I know. I’m seventeen. I know most people don’t stay with their first boyfriend forever, especially if he’s cheating on them. But, I really thought that. I still think that. I didn’t know he was cheating on me. I didn’t know there were all these other girls.”

  “Not girls,” Tayshawn says. “Just Micah.”

  “How do you know?” she demands. “You didn’t know about Micah! There could’ve been tons of other girls.”

  “Well, let’s figure it out then,” Tayshawn says. “How often did you see him, Sarah?”

  Sarah gulps. “Pretty much every Saturday and Sunday night. Most Fridays, too. After school when he didn’t have practice.”

  “And at school?” Tayshawn asks.

  Sarah nods.

  “What about you, Micah?”

  “On the days we skipped. Sometimes after school, but not often.”

  “So how many times a week then, Micah?”

  “Two or three times. Sometimes only once.”

  “And, me,” Tayshawn says. “I saw him at practice and most Saturday or Friday nights if there was a party. How many days you think that leaves?”

  He was staring at Sarah. She was still crying, but slower, not sobbing.

  “I think we got him covered,” Tayshawn says. “No way could he’ve had another girl.”

  I know he didn’t have another girl. I would have smelled her on him, but I only ever smelled Sarah. I don’t tell them that. I’m smelling them both strongly right now. The cave is getting warmer, more closed in.

  “Makes sense, right?” Tayshawn asks Sarah. He touches her cheek briefly.

  She nods. “It still doesn’t
feel good, though. I’m sorry, Micah, but, well, how could you?”

  She’s staring at me. Angry like she might hit me. I know I’m stronger than her but I wouldn’t stop her. She’d be right to hit me.

  “Why, Micah?”

  I don’t know how to answer. I can’t tell her that I didn’t really think about her. Because I did, but not like that. I shrug. Sarah’s face gets tighter. “It just happened,” I tell her. “I wasn’t thinking. I don’t think Zach was either. If it wasn’t for the running it wouldn’t have happened more than once. Honest, Sarah. He didn’t think about me the way he thought about you. He thought I was a freak.”

  “Well,” Tayshawn says, “you kind of are. You don’t hardly talk at school and when you do it’s a whole bunch of bullshit. I know your daddy isn’t any kind of arms dealer.”

  “He isn’t?” Sarah asks, letting go of her purse to wipe her face some more.

  Tayshawn laughs. “Doesn’t even sell switchblades. He’s a magazine writer.”

  “How’d you know that?” I ask.

  “I got my ways.”

  “You saw one of his articles?” Sarah asks.

  “My mom subscribes to a million travel magazines,” Tayshawn says. He grins.

  “Don’t you think being a travel writer would be the perfect cover for an arms dealer?” I ask.

  Tayshawn laughs even harder.

  “Why do you lie so much, Micah?” Sarah asks. She’s still staring at me. I remember when she was afraid to. I’m not sure I like her lack of fear.

  “I always have. I don’t know. It’s a habit.” I’m not about to tell them about the family illness.

  “A stupid habit,” Tayshawn says.

  It’s gotten a little darker outside. I wonder what time it is. It doesn’t feel that late. Might be dark clouds.

  Sarah is still staring at me. Tayshawn, too. The air has gotten even warmer. The air smells like musk.

  I hug my knees tighter. If Zach hadn’t been killed we wouldn’t be here. Sarah never would’ve talked to me so much. Tayshawn neither. Though we’d shot some hoops a few times. Almost four years I’d known them. Without knowing them at all.

  “I miss him,” I say. Even though I know Sarah might slap me for saying it. Who was I to miss her boyfriend?