Lying Out Loud

“You play video games?” he asked, gesturing to the box under her arm.

“Huh? Oh. No. This is for my brother.”

“Hey, speaking of shopping,” I said, my voice louder than I’d intended. “You should probably get that iPod, Ryder. You don’t want them all to be taken.”

“Good point. I’ll be right back.”

He walked a few feet away, disappearing into a crowd of desperate people clambering to get their hands on Apple products.

I grabbed Amy’s arm. “When he comes back, do something.”

“Something like what?”

“I don’t know. Something weird. Something he won’t like.”

“So

“You’re not. You’d be a great actress if you tried.”

“But I don’t have a script here,” she pointed out. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be weird.”

“You’re the only teenager with that problem.” I glanced around, searching for inspiration, and found it standing a few feet away. There was a guy — blond, early twenties, built like a Ken doll — on the other side of the aisle. And he was totally trying to catch Amy’s eye. “Perfect,” I said.

“What?”

I jerked my head toward the stranger. “Him.”

“What about him?”

“When Ryder comes back, go flirt with him. Right in front of Ryder,” I whispered. “It’ll make him think you’re super flaky and kind of mean.”

“So

“Please. You’ll be making the other guy’s day. Plus, he’s cute. So it could be worse.”

“But —”

“Here he comes. Get ready.”

“I don’t —”

“Got the iPod,” Ryder a

“Glad you survived,” I said.

“Me, too.” He glanced over at Amy, as if waiting for her to say something.

And I elbowed her. Hard.

She let out a tiny squeak. “I, um …” She looked at me, her eyes desperate.

Go, I thought, staring back at her. Just do it already.

Amy turned to Ryder, a forced smile on her pretty pink lips. “Just a second,” she said. Then she walked over to the Ken doll, who was checking out some tablets now, just down the aisle. His face brightened when he saw Amy approaching. And even though her greeting of “Hey … you” was super awkward, he didn’t stop smiling.

“Hi,” Ken Doll said.

The rest of their conversation was drowned out by a pack of women nearby, shouting at a Tech Plus employee about a guy who had taken one of their items before they could check out. But we could still see what was happening. The guy leaned toward Amy; she giggled, batted his arm. All the typical obvious flirting moves. Actually, it was probably more convincing this way, with Amy’s inevitably embarrassing words on mute.

“Does she know that guy?” Ryder asked, frowning as Ken Doll took a step closer to Amy.

“No,” I said. “That’s just Amy. She’s always flirting with someone.”

“Oh.”

We both watched the scene for a minute longer, then Ryder, face fallen, took a step back. “I should go pay,” he said. “I’m pretty exhausted.”

Even though I knew this was in both of our best interests, I felt bad for him. He thought he had a co

It was supposed to sting.

“It was nice ru

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Anyway … tell Amy I said good-bye.”

“Okay.”

He gave Amy one last glance before turning away, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, I ran over to Amy, interrupting her conversation with the Ken doll.

“Hey,” I said. “He’s gone. We’re good.”

“Excuse me?” Ken Doll asked.

“Hey. Sorry. She’s seventeen, so this isn’t go

I fully expected Amy to scold me for how I’d talked to Ken Doll. To point out how rude it was.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t say anything.

In fact, she was silent the rest of the time we were in the store and the whole way back to her house.

Her parents still weren’t home from their own Black Friday adventure by the time we pulled into the driveway. Amy grabbed the console and carried it into the house, me trailing behind her.

“Do you want me to help you wrap that?” I asked.

“No. I can do it,” she mumbled.

“Okay … Hey, thanks for your help. I think it may have worked. Ryder seemed pretty upset.”

“I didn’t want to do that, So

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, but —”

“I don’t think you do know,” she said. After a pause, she shook her head. “I’m tired. I’m go

She went upstairs to her room, and for once, I had the strong sense that I wasn’t supposed to follow her.

She just needs her space, I thought. She needs some time to herself, and it’ll be fine.

But I knew, deep down, that it was more than that. That, without me realizing it, I’d crossed a line that day.

And for the first time ever, in over a decade of visiting the Rushes’ house, I didn’t sleep in Amy’s bedroom when I got home from work that night.

Or the night after that.

Chapter 13

The next time I ran into Ryder outside of class wasn’t the result of any scheming — for once. This time, on a chilly Saturday in the begi

I was walking around the first floor, sca

“Hey,” I said, approaching the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Research,” he said, tugging his headphones down so they hung around his neck. “For the history essay, actually.” He tapped the leather-bound book next to him. “Taking some notes on the French Revolution.”

“Yay guillotines.”

“A sentence that has oft been uttered.”

I smiled and picked up the book. It was massive and heavy. “Are you actually reading this whole thing?” I asked. “You know, they have this new invention. It’s called the Internet. It contains all of this and more — without the paper cuts.”

“Paper cuts are like battle scars for the academic,” he said, smiling back. “I guess I’m old school. I like to get my information from a real book, and I take my notes by hand.”

“I, on the other hand, am best friends with Wikipedia.”

“You know that site is woefully inaccurate a lot of the time, right? Because anyone can change the information.”

“Yep. I’m the girl changing the information to make it woefully inaccurate.”

“So half the high schoolers around the country have you to thank for their failing grades on research papers.”

“Yes, sir. I’m practically a celebrity. Or, I would be if it wasn’t anonymous.”

He laughed, and even though there were still butterflies in my stomach, I felt relaxed. This felt natural. It felt like it had when we were instant messaging all those weeks ago. Like it did in our text messages, which, admittedly, I’d been sending again.

I hadn’t slept in Amy’s room since the Black Friday debacle, and the silence of the guest room had contributed to my insomnia. And to my recurring nightmare, which I’d had at least three times in the past two weeks. When I woke up, panicked and alone, it was easy to text him. To reach out and know someone else would answer.