Lying Out Loud

“I don’t know,” Ryder admitted. “But she disrupted the class by coming in late, and it’s not as if this is the first time. Back at my school in DC, the teachers were much more strict. Excuses were rarely accepted. And the students cared much more about their education, too. Here, it seems like just about anything can get excused.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Then go back,” I suggested. “Don’t worry about us simple folk here in Hamilton. We’ll make do without you. I assure you, you won’t even be missed.”

There was an appreciative murmur from the rest of the class. Even Mr. Buckley gave the tiniest of nods.

Ryder turned in his seat so that he could look me in the eye. The sad thing was, if he hadn’t been such a tool, he probably would have been popular around here. He had smooth brown skin and shockingly bright green eyes. His black hair was kept short and neat, but he was always dressed as if he was on his way to a concert for a band no one had ever heard of. Slightly disheveled, but in a very deliberate way. His clothes, though, always looked like they’d been tailored to fit his lean, muscular frame. On occasion I’d even seen him wear thick-rimmed glasses that I knew he didn’t need.

In other words, he was hot, but in an a

Since he’d arrived at Hamilton High at the begi

Now, I wasn’t exactly bursting with school spirit, but even I couldn’t stand his attitude. Which became even more repulsive when he started posting snarky Facebook statuses about how lame our small town was. You’d think our lack of five-star fine dining was putting him in physical agony.

The long and short of it was, Ryder came from money. Political money. His father was a congressman from Maryland — a fact he never failed to share at any opportunity — and in his not-so-humble opinion, Hamilton and everyone who lived here sucked.

Everyone, that is, except Amy. Because Ryder had developed a disgustingly obvious and totally unrequited crush. I couldn’t fault him for that, though. Amy was gorgeous and rich, just like him. Amy, however, was the kind of girl who gave personalized Christmas cards to all of the lunch ladies, and he was a dick.

He was still staring at me, and I suddenly became all too aware of the jeans I’d been wearing for almost a week without washing them and the torn hem on the sleeve of my T-shirt. I straightened up and stared him down, daring him to compare me to the girls at his school in DC, but before he could say anything, Mr. Buckley cleared his throat.

“Okay, class. Enough’s enough. History is long, but we only have a year to get through this material. Now, let’s get back to the Great Schism, which, I know, sounds vaguely like toilet humor, but we’re going to press on, regardless.”

Ryder turned back around in his seat, and I went about my business taking notes on that unfortunately named moment in history.

Things were looking up until third block, when I realized I’d left my chemistry book at Amy’s. I had to convince Mrs. Taylor, who was a total hard-ass and known to give detention for lesser things, that I’d been tutoring at the local children’s hospital in Oak Hill and had accidentally left it with one of the kids.

“I’ll get it back from her tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going to see her before she starts her next round of chemo. I promise to get it back then.”

And she bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.

I was aware of my status as a terrible person. But I liked to think of my lying abilities as gifts. And why else would I have them if not to be used? Especially on days like this, where everything just seemed to be going wrong.

I didn’t have enough money in my wallet for lunch, so rather than admitting that things were shitty at home and I was broke, I told the much-too-soft-hearted cashier that I’d given my last dollar to the homeless man who occupied the corner a few blocks from school.

She covered it for me.

Then the strap on my crappy two-dollar flip-flop broke, a volleyball slammed right into my face in gym class, and, to top it off, I started my period.

Amy would call it karma. She’d say this was the universe’s punishment for all the lies. But, the truth was, the lying helped. When everything felt out of control, it put me back in control.

I was sure the day couldn’t get worse, which was, perhaps, my fatal flaw. When you let yourself think that things can’t get worse, they inevitably will.

“So I’ll see you tonight?” Amy asked as we headed out into the senior parking lot.

“Yep. I can’t text you, though, so you’ll have to watch for me. I’ll be outside around the usual time.”

“Okay.” She gave me a quick hug. “Have fun at work.”

I waved as she hurried off to her Lexus. I tried to tell myself I wasn’t horribly jealous of her and her rich parents and her fancy car. I had Gert, after all. Who wouldn’t want Gert?

I might have been good at lying, but even I didn’t buy that one for a minute.

I climbed into the car and tossed my backpack into the passenger’s seat. “All right, Gert,” I said, sticking the key in the ignition. “Time for work.”

But while I was a reliable employee (most of the time), Gert had decided she wasn’t in the mood today. The engine revved and revved, but nothing happened. The battery was dead, and I had to be at the movie theater for my shift in twenty minutes.

I grabbed my cell, pla

There was no way around it. I was stuck. I’d have to find someone to jump-start my car, and who knew how long that would take.

And just then, because it’s possible that all Amy’s theories about the universe’s revenge were true, the sky opened up and it began pouring rain. Leaving me with only one thing to say:

“Motherfucker.”

Chapter 2

The senior parking lot was already close to empty when the rain started. I sat inside Gert, watching the exit and hoping someone would come out soon. Unfortunately, the first person to appear, my would-be savior, was a tall boy in the T-shirt of an obscure band, a distressed but still clearly expensive hoodie, and two-hundred-dollar jeans.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said as I reached for the door handle. I wanted to just wait for the next person to come out, but who knew how long that would be. Chances were, the rest of these cars belonged to the overachieving types who stayed after school for chess club and student government. Those nerds and their resume-building activities were no good to me right now. So Ryder Cross was my only choice.

I hopped out of the car, holding my history textbook over my head to protect my curls from the downpour of doom.

“Ryder!” I shouted. He was already halfway across the parking lot. “Hey, Ryder!”

He stopped and turned to look at me. He didn’t have an umbrella, and the rain was making his clothes cling to him. The view wasn’t half bad. Unfortunately, however, my next question would require him to speak.

“My car’s dead,” I said. “Do you have jumper cables or something?”

He started walking in my direction, but he was shaking his head. “I don’t.”

I sighed. “Of course not. Let me guess, the cars in DC don’t die? Or need repairs?”

“Can’t you call someone?”