Lying Out Loud

“Listen,” Ryder said as we were leaving the shop. “I was about to leave here, but I’d be glad to give you a ride home if you need one.”

“That would actually be great,” I said, surprised. “If you don’t mind. It would save my friends another trip out here.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

How had I ever thought this guy was a jerk?

I dropped off my last few applications, including, yes, one in the sporting goods store. After I handed it to the man at the counter, I sent a text to Wesley, letting him know I had found another ride home. Then I went in search for Ryder, who had wandered off somewhere in the few seconds I wasn’t looking. I found him looking at bright orange hunting jackets and vests.

“Thinking of changing your wardrobe?” I asked.

“Marveling at the fact that my grandmother hasn’t gotten me one of these yet,” he said.

“A blaze-orange vest would go splendidly with those purple suspenders.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He turned to me with a smile. “Are you ready to go?”

“Not until you try one of those on.”

“Ha-ha. You’re hilarious.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “If you do it, you’ll no longer owe me a soda.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Ryder,” I said, punching his arm playfully. “Be a little spontaneous for once.”

He hesitated, but I must’ve been persuasive because he sighed, resigned, and put down his shopping bags. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you taking pictures to use as blackmail, that’s why.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea. But I don’t have a phone, remember?”

“You didn’t before, but you do now. I saw you using it a second ago. Hand it over.”

I sighed and passed him my new cell phone. He looked at it and chuckled. “Your name is on the case and everything. Worried you’ll forget who it belongs to?”

“Just shut up and put on the jacket.”

He shoved my phone into his pocket and turned to the rack of orange attire. After a second, he selected a coat. He tossed me his jacket, then slid the bulky orange monstrosity onto his arms.

It was impossible not to laugh.

“Please can I have my phone back?” I choked through the giggles.

“Absolutely not.”

“You just look … so different.” And he did. He didn’t look bad — hell, if all hunters looked like this, I’d be up in a deer stand in a heartbeat. But he didn’t look like Ryder at all. It was fu

“Looks great on you, kid,” one of the employees said as he walked past us. “You’re ready for deer season now!”

Embarrassment flooded his face. I doubted he’d ever been hunting in his life.

“He’s also in the market for a new fishing pole!” I called to the employee.

Ryder shoved the jacket off his shoulders, hung it back up, picked up his bags, and grabbed my hand, pulling me to the exit as I laughed, leaving the store employee looking very bewildered.

His hand was warm against mine, and it sent a spike of adrenaline through me.

“Happy now?” Ryder asked when we were away from the store, but I could tell he was holding back a laugh, too.

“Oh, very,” I told him. “Extremely, even.”

“Good. Then let’s get out of here before you try to make me play dress-up anywhere else.”

We stood there for a minute, our hands still locked. I waited for him to let go and hoped that he wouldn’t all at the same time. But, after a moment that lasted an instant too long, he did. And maybe it was my imagination, but I think he was just as disappointed to lose that contact as I was.

I traded his jacket for my cell phone and we headed outside, to his car. It wasn’t late, but it was already dark out. We walked close together, our heads ducked against a wind that had picked up in the hours since Gert had broken down. And as I climbed into the front seat of his car, shivering, I realized that the last time we’d been in a car together was in October, on another day when Gert had given me trouble and I’d been fired.

The day all of this had started, really.

We’d come a long way since that day, but not nearly as far as I’d hoped.

“It’ll warm up in a second,” Ryder said after he started the car. The engine had a purr so quiet I barely noticed it.

“So. This is the Rydermobile, eh?” I looked around at the leather interior. It was spotless. Other than the shopping bags he’d just tossed into the backseat, there was really nothing in it. No discarded water bottles or forgotten fast-food wrappers. I knew Gert was a mess, but jeez. This car was almost scary clean.

As if he’d read my mind, Ryder said, “Yeah. My mom’s always on me to keep it clean. She’s a little anal about stuff like that. Probably because my dad was such a slob.” The disdain in his voice was undeniable. “But there are worse things than a clean car, so I don’t complain.”

Though somehow, I knew he would have before the truth about his father came out. He would have thought his mother was a tyrant back then. Back before he decided she was a saint.

I wasn’t going to bring that up, though. Instead, I decided to bring up my own dysfunctional family unit.

“Hey. I’ve been meaning to tell you …” We were pulling out of the parking lot now, smoothly turning onto the highway that would lead us back into Hamilton. “I, um … I wrote to my dad.”

He glanced at me before turning back to the road. “You did?”

“Yeah. After we talked at the park that day. What you said, about letting people surprise you … Well, anyway, I wrote to him. I didn’t want to say anything unless something good out of it. I didn’t want to be embarrassed —”

“You wouldn’t need to be embarrassed,” he said. “If he didn’t write or call you back, he’s the one who should be embarrassed.”

“Well, actually, he did. Yesterday. He called me.”

“Really? That’s awesome, So

“It was just a short call. Who knows what kind of guy he really is. You can’t tell from a call, but … but it’s the first time I’ve talked to him in years, and I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling naked. That was too much. Too honest. Too close.

But then Ryder’s hand was on my arm, and everything inside me relaxed a little. He gently tugged my arm free and his fingers slid down to circle my wrist, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake. Then he placed his palm against mine and held my hand again, the way he had in the mall, only this time his fingers laced with mine.

“I’m glad you wrote to him,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Yeah. Me, too…. And I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for you. So, thanks.”

We were silent for a minute, and I was keenly aware of his hand, still wrapped around mine. I was giddy and nervous and eventually, I had to say something.

“Anyway … bad gifts aside, how were your holidays?”

“Fine,” he said. “Quiet. Mom hasn’t really felt like doing much celebrating. Instead, she’s been much more concerned with me spending the break filling out college applications.”

I grimaced. “Ugh. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “My mom went to Stanford and my dad is a Princeton alum, and they expect me to attend a top school as well. At my old school, I pretty much would’ve been a shoo-in wherever I wanted to go. But now that we’ve moved here, I’m a little worried about my chances.” He paused, then quickly added, “That’s not me complaining about Hamilton, by the way. At least, not intentionally.”

“No,” I said. “I know. And it makes sense. Hamilton’s not exactly a prep school.”

“It’s grown on me, though.” He cleared his throat. “So why are you stressed about college?”

“Because I don’t think I can go.”

It was the first time I’d said it out loud, and doing so made it feel so much more real and scary. I’d been ignoring the issue — or trying to — for months, but now, with only a semester left in my senior year, I was ru