Tell Me No Lies

by Adele Griffin

  None of my daydreams had prepared me for sitting between two of Lincoln Academy’s most popular seniors. My inside voice said, Act Normal—which felt like hopelessly inadequate instructions.

  At the center pass that started the game, it was strange to clap for Kreo’s attack, but the guys were cheering so hard for her—and for Wendy, too, that I had to cheer along. Then Matt whistled when Claire made a hard drive down the field that advanced a first goal for Argyll, and we all yelled and applauded at one of Gage’s heroic saves, and soon my palms stung from clapping and my throat was sore from yelling encouragement to basically everyone—because why not?

  During halftime, Matt pulled me up with him to walk with the other guys over to the sidelines. You weren’t supposed to talk with players at the half, but I’d seen the Lincoln guys do this, and now here I was, right up here with them.

  “Nice receive,” Jonesy called out to Kreo.

  As she and Wendy ambled over, Wendy’s eyes narrowed like a snake’s. She was looking at me hard, and I knew whatever she said in Kreo’s ear, that it was firstly about me and secondly something mean. Sparkling fears burst through me as my fingernails bit my palms. Was I shaking?

  “Hey, are you cold?” Matt asked.

  You’re not spazzing out.

  “Maybe a little.”

  He wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders. But no, nothing was happening to me—not outwardly. Wendy’s final up-and-down, followed by a dismissive twirl of her hockey stick, would be the worst of it.

  The second half of the game turned out to be a heart-stopper, and when it ended with an Argyll victory, mostly thanks to Gage’s goalie work, I felt guilty thinking how I could have come and watched Gage anytime during home games. Gage was a star, I’d noticed that even parents on the opposite team knew her name—some of the Lincoln guys did, too. Why hadn’t I ever broken our “stay away” rule to come support her? Not even once, not even as a surprise, to celebrate that one of my closest friends was also the best athlete in our class. And today I was here only because of Matt.

  Gage might have been thinking the same thing. “Such a claimer, Lizzy, that you came to see me.” She kept her voice jokey as she brushed past, slinging her stick over her shoulder like a musket. But I’d known Gage way too many years not to recognize when she was hurt.

  I’d have chased her down, except what would I say once I’d caught up? Some hurried, flustered apology? I’d have to do better than that.

  Claire had played great, too, but in the time I’d gone over to Gage, she’d vanished.

  “Ready?” Matt’s hand in mine shifted my attention.

  I turned. “Yep, let’s go. The others are right behind us.”

  His car was a deep blue-green Saab, somewhere between new and not bad. It had a secondhand vibe with a clean-car smell. Kreo and Jonesy climbed into the back seat, while I took shotgun next to Matt. My mind kept spinning back to sophomore year, and the time Kreo threw a semiformal sweet sixteen at her family’s golf club. Kreo’d sent out the invite to forty guests, rejecting exactly thirteen of us. Before that party, nobody had ever put such an exact bracket around who was in the social basement.

  “Great game, Kreo,” I told her quietly.

  “Aw, thanks, Lizzy,” she chirped.

  That same Saturday, Gage and Mimi and I had gone to Six Flags, where the only rule was never to mention Kreo’s party, although the shame of the day hung thick over every ride and game and bite of cheeseburger.

  But that was two years ago. Now I was a different person, a cooler person. A girl who hung out with Matt Ashley person.

  No matter what Wendy had whispered in Kreo’s ear.

  At Tommy’s house, everyone except me knew Furley, the family’s labradoodle. We loaded up with snacks before climbing the stairs to Walt Powers’s room of plaid twin bedspreads and sailing prints. An eggshell-blue sheet had been taped to the wall as a backdrop above one of the beds. Walt shared Tommy’s tousled dishwater-blond hair and tortoiseshell eyes, but he looked more like a college philosophy major than a high school jock. He had the respect of the room as he made adjustments to a camera on a tripod.

  “You first. Just kick off your shoes and climb up,” Walt instructed me. “The tilted-upward angle is key on a Pennsylvania driver’s license.”

  Kreo smiled warmly. “This better work, huh, Lizzy? I’m so finished with being denied into, like, everywhere, right?” As if we’d shared a dozen memories of being banned from bars and clubs.

  I agreed with a smile and got up onto the bed, where Walt adjusted me in the camera’s focus. Pop! The flash exploded before I was ready. Spots blitzed hot and red before my eyes. “Oh!” I sank to my knees. Like a dog collared to an electric fence, that zap had thrown me.

  “Hey, you okay?” I focused on Walt, closely inspecting me.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sorry. I should have warned you about the light.” His face relaxed into a grin. “While you might experience some short-term ocular discomfort, the long-term benefits of excellent clubbing will be worth it.”

  “Ha, okay.” Gingerly, I scooted off the bed as Kreo took my place. Still blinking, I leaned back against a far wall.

  “IDs will be cut, laminated, and ready tomorrow. But you can pay my forty smacks now,” said Walt. He finished setting up Kreo and—Pop!—took the shot.

  “Yay!” Done, Kreo bounced a couple of times before she jumped off the bed and withdrew her Dooney & Bourke wallet from her matching purse—the same purse my mother had coveted last Christmas, and then decided was too expensive.

  She delivered Walt a pair of twenties from a thumb-thick stack.

  I could feel my money folded right at my ankle. Casually I bent down as if to adjust my sock and extracted it.

  Jonesy was next. No matter how much I blinked, the fiery pattern of spots wouldn’t fade from my vision. I felt like I was on a boat, tilting and swaying.

  Someone had spoken to me.

  “What?”

  “Lizzy. You okay?” I had no idea how long Matt had been watching me.

  “I . . . no. I think I’d better go home.”

  He nodded as if he’d expected this answer. Normal or seizure? Was anyone else looking over? Had Jonesy seen Wendy’s spaz imitation of me? Did everyone at Lincoln know? Did Matt?

  Quickly, before I had to think too hard about any of it, including the new hit to my savings, I handed over my forty bucks, and two minutes later, we’d spun out the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, once we were pulling out.

  “Don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s up.”

  “I’ve got a headache.” I rubbed my temple. “And homework. Like a ton of it. Probably that’s why I started getting the headache.” It sounded like a lie.

  He leaned over and checked an empty bottle of Tylenol in his glove compartment, shaking it to be sure. “Sorry.”

  “N-no, I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

  “Oh, hey, don’t—you seem really upset. What’s to be sorry about?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to confess it, but I wanted to give Matt something authentic, something better than “headache,” and so I blurted out the whole story of Kreo not inviting thirteen girls to her birthday party, and how Mimi, Gage, and I felt like such losers, how we’d gone to Six Flags and how happy I’d been for my friendship with them—which made me feel bad to have upset Gage this afternoon.

  “It’s all about your real friends, your true group,” Matt said. “And those girls put me to sleep. I made out with Wendy Palmer at five or six different mixers and sleepovers through the years. It’s like everyone wanted us to be together. Everyone but me, that is.” He grinned over at me. “Hey, I saw your smooth move, by the way.”

  “Me? Saw what?”

  “I saw you take your money out of your sock!” He laughed and jerked out of range as I reached ove
r to pinch his side. “What? I’d never bust you! All your secrets are safe with me—including that you need a wallet update, and that you had to wear your brother Owen’s underpants to school the other day.”

  “Okay, first off, I obviously tell you too much, and also those underpants were an emergency situation! That’s not a thing I do—it’s just that I had no underwear! Remember you promised you’d never say a word to anyone.”

  He was laughing. “Promise, promise. I’m the vault.”

  Now I felt even more self-conscious. Matt was basically rephrasing Claire’s description—that I was an authentic nerd. “Okay, well, thanks. I’m holding you to it.”

  “It makes me feel good, that you trust me,” he added seriously. “I remember when I first met you, how you made me feel like I could tell you anything.” A furrow appeared between his brows. “I should have called you that very first night I got your number.”

  I wondered what Matt would say if I confessed my condition? Not that I ever would. It was a piece of me that was as sunk and locked as a Houdini box inside me.

  “You can definitely tell me anything,” I said instead. “Dorky confessions work both ways.”

  He nodded, but then we were quiet until he pulled up to my house, when he leaned over and kissed me light on the lips. “I’ll call you.”

  This time, I was pretty sure he would.

  eighteen

  The next day, I asked Claire about Halloween.

  “No way I’m dealing with Halloween,” she said, slamming her locker shut, and giving me one of her half-mast stares. “I feel like we talked about this?”

  “Oh.” I stepped back. “I’ve got a good ID now, is the thing, if we wanted to—”

  “Trampy nurse, trampy teacher, trampy bunny. I’m not into those costumes.”

  “You’d said something about going to clubs in the city but—”

  “Halloween is amateur night at the clubs, every high school freshman will be trying to get in. And this weekend is a bust, anyway, since Aunt Jane’s got me doing chores, because of what happened with Tosca. See you Monday.” She was gone without a look back.

  “Bummer,” said Matt when I told him on the phone that night, though he didn’t sound perturbed. “The only Halloween party I know about is a random invite from my friend Dave.”

  “Who’s your friend Dave?”

  “Just this guy I know from soccer camp, and he’s all the way out in Paoli. Isn’t Wendy having people over? She’s closer to home.”

  I hadn’t been invited to Wendy’s party. “I’m sure Wendy’s house is just about watching scary movies and sitting around.” I cleared my throat. “Should I tell her we’re coming over? Or . . . you could.”

  “Yeah, sure. If everyone else is going.”

  “Although . . . thinking about it . . . it’ll be a lot of the same people at Wendy’s. The Paoli party might be more new and different?”

  There was a pause on the line. “Okay, why not.”

  When I hung up the phone, it felt like I’d landed a plane.

  I used most of Saturday to try out different outfits, wishing endlessly that Claire were around to do my eyes and approve my choices. Standing on the toilet trying to see myself in sections of the bathroom mirror, I could hear Claire’s voice in my head—Don’t wear your baggy tweed coat. Borrow your brother’s barn jacket and your dad’s black scarf. The more black the better.

  It was a “casual costume” party, according to Matt, so I’d bought a witch’s hat at the drugstore, and when Matt picked me up, he’d outdone me in white pants, a blue T-shirt, and blue-tinted hair.

  “I’m a Smurf,” he explained to my brothers. Peter was immediately silenced by the presence of a Lincoln Academy senior, but Owen was a little more curious.

  “Which one?” asked Owen. “There’s lots. Grouchy Smurf and Vanity Smurf and Jokey Smurf . . .”

  “I’m Awesome Smurf,” said Matt.

  Owen looked perplexed. “There’s no such thing as Awesome Smurf.”

  “There is now.” He flipped a stick of Trident from his overcoat for Owen’s catch.

  “Remember, home by eleven,” Mom said, a curfew I hadn’t even known was in effect until that moment. But I could tell that both my parents were impressed that after all these years, my very first date would be such a good catch. Even with his blue hair.

  “I think you won over the family,” I told Matt when we were safe in his car.

  “Good. Your folks are cool,” he said.

  “They keep it well hidden. Just exactly where are you seeing coolness?”

  Matt shrugged. “Just, they’re easy. Compared with mine.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like I had to change into my Halloween costume in the car. My parents don’t ever want me looking stupid or whatever.” He turned up the music. “Public Enemy,” he said. “I can tell you don’t like it.”

  “It’s not my thing, but it’s your thing, so I do like it.”

  “What’s your music?”

  All of Claire’s bands—Joy Division, New Order, Psychedelic Furs—were on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

  Dave Jimenez lived deep in cow country. Long stretches of fences and fields eventually gave way to a dirt road at least another mile past the turn at the Jimenezes’ mailbox. “This feels pretty Halloween-y,” I joked as we bumped along until we finally got to a long ranch-style house surrounded by blackness, thundering with Van Halen, and packed with kids spilling over the front porch, where the beer keg was set up.

  “Happy Halloween, Smurf and Witch.” On the porch, a tall guy in a Lone Ranger mask sprang from the dark, as if he’d been waiting for us. He carried a plastic cup in each hand. “You should never drink anything purple,” he said as he delivered one to me. “Purple is the color of poison, right? But it’s the grain alcohol you gotta watch out for.”

  “Um, I guess so.” I took a cup and looked down into its purple liquid surface, as Matt signaled to keep moving, a maneuver that the Lone Ranger blocked.

  “Ashley.” He pushed up the mask, and now I was staring at a guy who was so movie-star hot that I couldn’t look away. “Is this how you come into my party? Sneaking in like a thief? You suck, man.” I could tell he was a little drunk. “I’m your fricking host, asshole.”

  “Dude, sorry.” Matt gave a half laugh. “Didn’t recognize you.”

  I didn’t see how that could be true. Even masked, Dave’s face was chiseled like the guy on my paperback cover of The Great Gatsby, all bedroom eyes and curved lips and cleft chin.

  Matt knocked a fist against Dave’s shoulder. “And this is Lizzy.”

  “Lizzy, hey. A friend of Matt’s is you know the rest.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know what to say. The guys’ connection seemed itchy, like a memory of a prank gone wrong between them. I sipped on my drink.

  “Go slow, have fun. I’ll catch up with you kids later.” Dave gave Matt a return jab on the arm, a little harder and meaner, and left us.

  “Seems nice,” I said. The music from the speakers was painfully loud as we edged our way into a sunken living room where costumed kids were dancing or huddled on the couches. Matt yoked me with both hands from behind, like a human seat belt, his arms doubling around my waist.

  I leaned back to talk in his ear. Matt’s ear! Like a sweet little shell you’d keep. “What’s the deal with Dave’s parents? How does he get away with throwing a party this intense?”

  “His dad travels a lot, he must be away now. His mom died a long time ago. Dave’s known for these ragers since cops would never come out this far. I think it’s mostly Pruitt High kids—where Dave goes.” Matt paused. “He’s got lots of friends.”

  “Yeah, he seems like a fun guy.”

  “We never hang out during the school year, so it’s kinda strange to see him ou
t of context.”

  “He’s good-looking.”

  “All the girls say that.” Matt spoke abruptly, sounding almost insulted, and I wished I hadn’t said it.

  “Want to dance?”

  “Yeah, this living room reminds me of Friday nights at Skate City.”

  “Ha.” I smiled like I knew, but Mimi and Gage and I had never got up the nerve to hit Skate City, a middle school hotspot where the only thing worse than the popular crowd was the popular crowd speeding past us breakneck on skates.

  We danced close but careful, the surfaces of our bodies light as the touch of a leaf to a current of water. When Dave reappeared with a fresh drink for me, he managed to insinuate himself between us, dancing first with me, then with Matt and me both, then just me again, pulling me in. Dave might have been the best-looking person I’d ever seen in real life. His silky dark hair was brushed off his hairline to the back of his head, and his smooth skin glowed against his paper-thin peach sweater, its wool so delicate that one tiny pull would ruin it. I tried not to stare at him too hard while memorizing his features so I could sketch them later.

  When the song ended, I wriggled out of Dave’s grip as Matt reeled me in.

  “Enough already,” said Matt. “Stop poaching.”

  “Who, me?” But Dave got the hint. He reached for a tall, pretty girl on the edge of the crowd, who knew him well enough to spin laughing into his arms.

  “It’s hot in here,” I mentioned. Sweat from Matt’s forehead was seeping into his hair, turning it a bright oxidized green. His arm was damp around my waist, and as we kept dancing, I couldn’t help but think that he was trying to steer us away from Dave, who simultaneously was trying to put himself in my sight line. At one point, he stood dead center in the room, in conversation with the tall girl, a boarding school type—leggy in her tiny dress, with thin gold bangles up her arms. When he looked up to catch my eye, we both had to smile—I was busted. Whatever game he was playing, I should stop being part of it.