The Truth Beneath the Lies

by Amanda Searcy

  When I get to the sidewalk, I glance back over my shoulder. The oak tree still stands its strong, silent vigil over the house, just like I remember it.

  —

  “I’ll get the carts.” I intercept Tim the bagger at the front door of No Limit. He eyes me suspiciously and looks over his shoulder to see if this is a setup. Everyone hates doing the carts. “I need some fresh air, and besides, it’s dead in here.” I motion to the aisles empty of customers.

  Tim steps aside and lets me pass. I dash out before Albert can question it. I hate doing the carts too, but not tonight.

  Despite the fact that I know I should leave it alone and keep doing what I need to do to get out of Clairmont, I can’t help it.

  Jordan’s outside.

  He stands in front of McDonald’s with a backpack thrown over his shoulder and a bag of M&M’s in his hand. He waves when he sees me. “Kayla,” he calls. I roll an errant cart over the choppy asphalt toward him.

  “Hi.” I try not to look too enthusiastic.

  “Hi. I was hoping I would see you tonight.” He smiles, and I get that spark again. I can’t help my heart from dancing. “A buddy of mine texted me this joke, and it made me think of you.” He awkwardly pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  “Really? What was it?” I ask.

  “Give me your number and I’ll forward it to you.” He looks down at his feet. I want to laugh. The slick, hundred-dollar-bill-waving Jordan is flustered asking me for my number.

  There’s only one problem. I don’t have a cell phone.

  Last year, Carol Alexander tried to add me to their family plan. She even picked out a fancy smartphone for me. Paige was thrilled that we would be able to chat, text, and Facebook at all hours. But I couldn’t accept it. I have a job. I’m responsible for me. I didn’t want to be beholden to the Alexanders any more than I already am.

  A short time later, a Walmart bag appeared in my locker. Inside was a cheap, prepaid flip phone. The note on top said “For safety.” It’s still sealed in the box in the back of my closet.

  “My phone’s broken. I haven’t had time to get it fixed.” I try to look remorseful. I don’t want Jordan to think I’m blowing him off.

  He unzips his backpack and rips out a piece of notebook paper. He scribbles on it. “When your phone gets fixed, text me.” He hands it to me and winks. I grip the cart to keep myself from melting into the pavement.

  He points over my shoulder. “I think you have to go.”

  I glance behind me. Albert stands in the doorway of No Limit with his hands on his hips.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jordan’s slick exterior cracks again. There’s a hint of fear that I’m going to say no.

  “I’ll be here,” I say. I’m always here.

  —

  My causal gait across the parking lot isn’t fooling anyone. All day I’ve been jumpy and nervous. Since I started my shift, I’ve craned my neck a thousand times toward McDonald’s. And every time, the setting sun turned the windows opaque and bounced the reflection of No Limit back at me.

  I wrap my shaking fingers around the door handle and pull. Air whooshes out and sends my hair flying. The red hair tie I left at register two yesterday wasn’t there today. I look wild. Out of control. Another reason to be nervous.

  The restaurant is almost empty. It isn’t the usual dinner hour. A girl with her hair constrained by a high, tight ponytail wipes down a table to my right. She glances up and smiles a weak smile of recognition at me in my apron—another minimum wage girl who would rather be doing something else.

  I don’t get much farther through the door before I see him. There. Sitting at the same table. A cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him.

  Another guy—he’s young, but he’s a man, shaved head, the tattoo of a snake that curls up his well-toned biceps, a faint scar that runs from the back of his ear to under the neckline of his shirt—sits across from him. They both turn. I continue my not-so-subtle, casual walk across the restaurant.

  Jordan stands up to greet me. “Kayla, meet my friend Drake.”

  The man has no expression on his face. He sticks out his hand. I take it. He squeezes hard like someone with something to prove.

  Jordan motions for me to sit. I slide into the chair and grip the coffee, as if I’m freezing. Jordan smiles his happy smile that lights up his whole face. His friend’s eyes bounce around the room. They stop and focus on me. His face is blank, but his look intensifies. I feel myself turn red under his scrutiny. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

  His phone rings. It takes two more rings before he moves. He tips his chin up at Jordan, and an unspoken moment passes between them. He leaves. I watch him walk through the door into the twilight.

  “He didn’t have to go,” I say, but only to be polite. I’m glad he’s gone, and not just because he seemed creepy. I want Jordan to myself.

  “He’s got stuff to do. Tell me about your day.”

  I raise the coffee cup to my lips. I already know that the coffee has cream and two packets of sugar. Jordan smiles again. Elation blossoms in my stomach. I push my hair behind my ear.

  I don’t know what’s going on here. This isn’t me. I don’t do things like this. I don’t feel things like this.

  I play with the coffee lid on the table. He leans forward on his elbows. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket.

  Before I can stop myself, I wince at this offer. He doesn’t seem to notice. “No thanks. I’m fine.” He doesn’t protest. I like that. Usually, I have to decline two or three times before people leave me alone.

  I cast my eyes back down to the lid and roll it along the edge of the table.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Kayla. All I know is that you work in the supermarket, you have a broken phone, and you’re really pretty.”

  The blush brushes against my cheeks again. I’m only sixteen, and you’re nineteen, I want to say. I should say it. I should stop this stupid fantasy here and now. Instead, I shrug.

  “Where do you go to school?” His head bobs as he tries to make eye contact with me.

  I force myself to look up. Marie taught me to always look someone in the eye when speaking to them. “Clairmont High School.” There. It’s done. We should not be having coffee together.

  “That’s pretty far from here, isn’t it?” He pauses, but I don’t answer. “It seems nice. Got all that space stuff going on.”

  “I’m on the dance team.” The words erupt out of my mouth.

  He smiles. “I thought you might be a dancer.” He doesn’t run his gaze over my chest or down to my leg half sticking out from under the table. He focuses on my eyes.

  I stare back into his.

  Warmth spreads up my whole body. My gaze drops down to his lips. And I want to kiss him. He’s a perfect stranger, and I want to kiss him. So much it terrifies me.

  I stand up fast. The chair tips on its hind legs. “My break’s over.” I turn and charge out to the parking lot. No Limit Foods glows white and red in the falling darkness. Even after the oak leaf, the acorn, and all the electric static zinging through my body, I can’t do this. I can’t like this guy. He’s too old, too mysterious, too nice. There’s got to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

  —

  For the rest of my shift, every door swish, every throat cleared in my line, every shadow I see in my peripheral vision makes me jump. I was super rude. I don’t think he will come in here or wait at the McDonald’s again. I have killed it. Whatever it was starting to be.

  And it hurts.

  When ten o’clock rolls around and the fluorescent lights go dark, I’m exhausted. Every day, I catch the early bus across town, kick ass in my classes, go to dance team practice and to work, then do my homework by the light of the bare bulb in my bedroom. This is my life. It’s only October and already my energy reserves are flatlining. I drag my raincoat on.

  In the parking lot, Elton leans against his junk-filled
station wagon. He watches me. I tip my hand up in a good night wave. He nods in response.

  My feet feel extra heavy clomping on the wet sidewalk. I focus on putting one in front of the other. It stops me from thinking about Jordan and what I wanted to do.

  I turn the corner onto Bluebird Lane, where thick trees create dark curtains on either side of the road to shield the good citizens of Clairmont from having to see Bluebird Estates. The streetlights are out on this stretch. I dig my hands into my pockets and try to will up the energy to move faster.

  A car approaches. Its lights hit me square in the eyes and leave spots in my vision. It slows and pulls to the wrong side of the street. My side of the street. It’s a dark-colored Camaro. I walk faster. The driver reverses, keeping pace with me. His window goes down.

  “You wanna ride?”

  I don’t acknowledge him. He pulls even with me and sticks his elbow out. A snake curls up his biceps.

  “Kayla, right? Let me give you a ride. It’s not safe out here.”

  I turn toward Jordan’s friend. His face is softer than in McDonald’s. He gives me a half, nonchalant smile, like he doesn’t care what my answer is. It reminds me of Finn. Not the Finn I know now, but the Finn I remember from when I was about four years old. The one who produced a teddy bear one day, held it out, and half smiled, as if it didn’t matter to him whether I liked it or not. But it did. A lot.

  I can’t accept a ride from Drake. I don’t know who he is. Getting in that car could be much more dangerous than anything in the woods.

  “No thank you.” I keep walking.

  The Camaro comes to a stop. “Suit yourself,” he calls. The car moves forward.

  “Wait,” I yell. It’s a rash, split-second decision—the kind I don’t make. Maybe it’s because I live in Bluebird Estates, or maybe it’s because of Mom, or maybe it’s because he reminds me of Finn. I run to his open window.

  “The narcs are on to you.” Surprise and confusion cross over his chiseled face. “I saw your deal go down with them the other night. They’re probably building a case to have you picked up.”

  He gives me a salute before peeling out and disappearing into the darkness.

  I stare at the tuna sandwich Mom made me before she left for the florist. I’m still alive. It’s been almost a whole day since the party, and I’m still here. I don’t know what that means.

  It could mean I’m wrong about Adrian. That he really is the guy everyone thinks he is. Or it could mean he’s messing with me. Dragging out the suspense.

  The doorbell rings.

  My heart beats in my ears like a freight train. I’ve thought about my death every day for seven months, but now that it’s here, all I can think is I don’t want to die.

  Tears flood out of my eyes, and snot fills my nose. I drop down to the carpet and crawl. I won’t let him see me.

  The door handle jiggles.

  The chain isn’t attached. It’s the only hope I have of living a few more seconds.

  I leap through the air and slide the chain across. I land on my hands and knees and curl myself into a ball on the dusty mat where Mom meticulously wipes her shoes.

  Knocking. My palms slam against my ears to block it out.

  “Betsy?” A soft, distorted, feminine voice. “Betsy? I know you’re home. Your mom told me to come get you.”

  I creep up to the peephole. She sees my eye and waves. Now she won’t go away.

  I wipe my face with the bottom of my shirt and open the door. Happy’s always smiling face greets me on the other side. A shined-to-perfection, low-riding red truck idles in the street behind her.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod, but I don’t think she believes me. “About what happened yesterday at the party—”

  She waves a hand through the air. “Don’t worry. Adrian explained to everyone what happened.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah, he told us how that little girl bumped her head and started to cry, and you were taking her to her mom.”

  “Right,” I say. Adrian knows what happened. Who I really am. But he has as much to hide as I do.

  He wants to get me alone. Not leave any witnesses.

  “Your mom said I should ask you if you wanted to come over and hang out.” Happy tips her head in a thinking gesture, as if this, even in her childlike mind, is an odd assignment.

  I lock the door behind me and follow her to the shiny red truck. Happy slides up against Tomás. I perch on the edge of the seat. Tomás raises his chin at me. He’s still wearing the sunglasses.

  No one puts a seat belt on. The radio is loud. Something deep and booming. Happy fiddles with it. Tomás turns his head. Happy changes it back and cuddles next to him.

  We drive up and down streets I’ve never seen. I stop looking out the window and focus on my hands in my lap until we come to a mobile home sunken into the sand and surrounded by a chain-link fence. Other fenced-in houses line the makeshift dirt road. A conflagration of structures that put down roots together.

  Tomás glances down at his phone and then at Happy. I step out of the truck. Across the road a snarling, snapping dog jumps up. Saliva flies out of its mouth, and the fence leans precariously under its weight. Happy doesn’t seem to notice.

  I follow her up the rickety wooden steps to the front door. The truck pulls away. For the first time, I see Happy’s smile break.

  Inside, it smells like old cooked food. Something spicy.

  Lawrence has a video game controller. The tattoo on his forearm pulses as he mashes the buttons. Adrian has the other controller and stands a few feet away. Their backs are against the living room wall. When I step over the threshold, I see why. A flat-screen as tall as a person dances with explosions and thrashing animated characters.

  Happy points at it. “Lawrence fixed some guy’s car, and the guy paid him with the TV. Angie was so pissed.”

  We stand in a pile of boy detritus. A couple of beer bottles, a discarded shirt, food wrappers. Lawrence glances at me before his eyes snap back to the game. “What’s up, Mount Rushmore?”

  Adrian treats me like I’m invisible.

  Happy opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer. “You can have one of these if you want.” I shake my head. She puts it back and pops open a Coke—she doesn’t offer me one—before plopping down on a threadbare couch.

  I sit in a metal chair at a retro kitchen table with a Formica top. A math book is splayed open in front of me, resting next to a notebook erased to within an inch of its life.

  “Angie won’t marry Lawrence until he gets his GED,” Happy says. “He just needs to pass the math section.”

  Happy’s attention drifts back to the TV. She lies down and lets her feet hang over the armrest.

  I stare at the notebook. My fingers pick up the pencil and twirl it around. The gamers cheer. I need something. Something to stop my heart from beating out of my chest. Something to make me forget for even a second that I’m in a room with Adrian. I flip the pencil around and start writing.

  I’m on the third page of problems, showing every step in clear detail, when I realize Tomás has returned. Happy sits on his lap. Her shirt rides up. Her face is turned to meet his lips. His hand rubs her bare, fuzzy belly while they kiss deeply. It’s beautiful and horrible. I can’t look away.

  Adrian catches me staring. I drop the pencil.

  The sun, low on the horizon, sends orangey light through a window and illuminates the sides of Adrian’s and Lawrence’s faces. The dog growls and barks outside.

  Tomás’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, detaches himself from Happy, and leaves without looking back at her.

  The ceiling caves in on me. My phone is flashing. I’ve been too distracted worrying about Adrian coming after me. I never called back after the party. When it gets dark, my time will be up. Adrian may be planning some creative way to kill me, but I’m still alive. That gives me a chance. If I don’t get to that phone before it stops flashing, my death will be a sure thin
g.

  I leap out of the chair. “I have to go,” I say to Happy.

  “You wanna ride?” Adrian asks, and raises an eyebrow like a challenge.

  Fear shoots through me. This could be it. I can’t be alone with him. I shake my head.

  “You sure? It’s a long way.”

  I shake my head again.

  Happy is flat on the couch with her eyes closed. “Thanks for inviting me over,” I whisper, and let myself out into the cooling evening air.

  —

  Rocks catch between my skin and the flimsy rubber of my flip-flops. I walk down the middle of the dirt road. On either side of me dogs slam into fences and bark until my hands cover my ears to make it stop. My face is wet. When I reach the end of this road, I won’t know which direction to go. I’ve glanced behind me a hundred times, but Adrian hasn’t followed.

  Tomás’s truck idles in front of the first house on the right. As I approach, I see him standing passively at the back of the house while a thin, red-haired man gestures wildly. Red drops his arms in resignation and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a wad of cash and palms it to Tomás in exchange for a tiny plastic sack.

  Tomás knows I’m here. I feel his eyes watch me through those dark glasses. My arms wrap around me, my head points down, I turn left.

  —

  Insects chirp. My feet bleed. My throat aches. I’ve been wandering for an hour, maybe two. Emerging stars sparkle in the endless darkening sky. I don’t know where I am. The dirt road is paved again. A few houses dot large expanses of weed-covered desert. I reach an intersection. The stop sign has been graffitied with illegible swirls of purple spray paint. A wooden cross carved with “Manuel” in crooked block letters pokes out of the ground next to it. At its base, a photo of a young boy in a cheap frame is propped up against three candles in glass holders and a wilted bundle of grocery store flowers. One of the candles still burns.

  I drop to my knees and lift the photo. The boy had beautiful, big brown eyes. Full of life and potential. I know what the cross means. It means he’s dead.

  I hear the car pull up behind me, but I don’t turn. The driver gets out, and his feet crunch over the gravel. I’m too tired to be afraid.