The Thing About the Truth (10 page)

It’s not that he doesn’t have reasons to question my choice in girls—at pretty much every school I’ve gone to, I’ve picked out the one or two hot girls who are there just to party. And you’d actually be surprised by who they are. In fact, they’re usually the students who have the most high-profile parents. But they’re definitely not the kinds of girls you’d marry. Or even bring home.

“Hello?” Kelsey’s asking. “Are we going inside, or . . . ?”

But before I can answer, the front door of my house opens, and my dad comes walking down the cobblestone steps toward the driveway. I can tell from his face that he’s pissed.

I sigh and step out of the car.

“Hey, Dad,” I say cheerfully, “what’s going on?”

“Where have you been?” he asks. He steps close to me and looks deep into my eyes. He’s checking for redness. My dad is always concerned that I’m going to start taking drugs. Which is crazy. Despite all the trouble I’ve gotten into, I’ve smoked pot maybe three times in my life. Drugs just don’t really interest me.

“Just been hanging out with my new friend Kelsey.” I turn toward the car, where Kelsey’s still just sitting there in the passenger seat. She’s looking through the window at my dad, and she’s all starry-eyed. Which is how pretty much everyone gets when they see my dad. Even people who don’t like him or don’t agree with his politics. Something about him is just so . . . I would say fake, but it’s really more . . . I don’t know,
shiny
. Like he stepped out of the pages of a magazine or something. It’s like my dad has airbrushed himself into real life. The thought makes me want to laugh, and I bite my lip to keep from doing it out loud.

My dad looks over at Kelsey, and his expression instantly softens, back to being Mr. Politician.

He waves. “Hello, there!” he says loudly, like she’s eight or something.

“Hi!” Kelsey yells back, acting like she is.

“I’ll be right back,” I yell to her. “I’m going to grab some of the stuff that we need, and then we’ll go somewhere and work, all right?”

She nods. If she’s surprised that we’re not going to be working at my house, she doesn’t show it. But there’s no way I could bring her inside. Not with my dad around.

I start walking up the path toward the front door. My dad follows me. “Kelsey and I are working on a school project together,” I tell him.

I don’t wait for a response, just push the door open and start making my way down the hall toward my room. Everything in our house is totally immaculate, and that includes my bedroom. My bed is perfectly made with a navy blue and gray comforter. There’s an oak desk in the corner with a bunch of my schoolbooks stacked on one of the shelves (they’re totally for show, since those books are from my old school—don’t need those anymore, haha), along with a wireless printer and my laptop.

The truth is, I’m a slob. And actually, so are my parents. The neatness is all for show because you never know when someone’s going to be stopping by the house. Reporters, sure, but also just random people. A sports team that’s done well and been invited to our house for dinner. A single mom who won a contest and is going to have a meeting with my dad about social policy. Other members of the senate who would love to find something out of place so they could use it against my dad later.

So if anyone were to end up wandering into my room, you definitely wouldn’t want them to find a stack of porn DVDs. Or even a candy bar wrapper—God no. Which is why we have a housekeeper who takes care of everything.

I go over to my desk and start rummaging around, trying to figure out what I can grab that’s going to make Kelsey think I have some idea about what the hell I’m doing.

Finally I just pick up my laptop case and shove my laptop into it. Maybe I can Google some stuff when we get to wherever we’re going (a coffee shop, maybe?). I’m good at coming up with things on the fly—in fact, I work best under pressure.

“What kind of project are you working on?” my dad asks. He’s followed me to my room and is now standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. My dad has no respect for anyone else’s privacy. I think it’s because no one’s ever had any respect for his—everything in his life is fair game for his opponents and the press. And that attitude makes him think no one else deserves any either.

“We’re starting a school club.” I’m deliberately vague, mostly because this is the only kind of power I have over my dad. I can mess with him all I want when it comes to school because he’s terrified that people will find out what a fuckup I am.

“What kind of club?” His voice is even, but it has a slight edge to it, and I know he’s worried.

“An after-school club.” I’m wrapping up my power cord now, twisting it around my hand. I shove it into my bag.

“What kind of after-school club?” He’s imagining the worst now. Some kind of gambling ring, maybe. Or some activist club that’s trying to get marijuana legalized.

“Don’t worry,” I say, starting to push past him. “It’s only a go if enough people want to join.”

He puts his arm out, blocking my exit from the room.

“It’s called Face It Down,” I say finally, after waiting a beat just to be an asshole. “It’s going to help foster a sense of community between our school and Concordia Prep, and other bullshit stuff like that.”

He relaxes a little bit but doesn’t remove his arm. He looks surprised, and a little suspicious. “And you’re organizing it?”

“No,” I say, “I lied. I’m actually just going to have sex with the girl who’s organizing it. You know, sleep my way in. Maybe I’ll even get her pregnant. That oughta really give us some notoriety. Try the whole Bristol Palin route.” I pat him on the shoulder.

He sighs like he can’t even take dealing with me. “Don’t be a smartass, please, Isaac,” he says.

“Don’t patronize me, Dad.”

“I’m not patronizing you,” he says. “Given your track record, you can’t blame me if I’m a little suspicious of anything that sounds too good to be true.”

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “This isn’t going to tarnish your pristine reputation.” I push through his arm, and he lets me. He won’t ever get physical with me. That’s where he draws the line. I’m not sure if it’s because of some
deal he has with himself, that even he knows that would be going too far, or if it’s because hitting me would leave marks, real evidence of something that he’s done.

I stalk back out to the car, and suddenly I’m really not in the mood to be playing around with some kind of after-school club. Face It Down? How fucking ridiculous. I don’t want to mend fences with any little prep school snobs or get to know my new public school classmates.

“Change of plans,” I say when I get in the car. I slam the door angrily, and the sound reverberates through the car.

“What?” Kelsey asks. She looks nervous, like she’s worried about me. I don’t even think it has to do with her liking me, although I definitely have the sense that she’s gotten to be more fond of me over the time we’ve spent together. It’s more just a sense of empathy, like I could be anyone and she’d be worried about my well-being.

It’s such a nice thing, that she seems concerned, such a sweet thing, that for a second I almost feel like I can push past the anger at my dad. That I can just drive to a coffee shop, that I can just sit and talk with her, plan with her, drink a smoothie or some shit and forget about everything else.

But then, in a flash, it’s back. White-hot anger that pulses through my veins. Why the hell should I work on some club that’s going to make my dad happy? That’s the last fucking thing I want to do.

“I’m taking you home,” I say.

Kelsey

Wow. I mean, talk about a mood changer. One minute we’re just sitting there, having fun, bowling and eating grilled cheese, and the next everything’s all dark and broody. I hate that about guys. At least girls have the decency to be fake and pretend everything’s okay when shit gets weird. Whenever guys get upset, they get all angry and scary.

It was so obvious that something happened with his dad, too. You could feel the tension radiating off of them both as soon as his dad came outside. Probably they were yelling at each other in there. Over something stupid, too. Like something that wasn’t even important in the moment, but somehow brought up some issue they’ve had for years. I know all about
tension with dads, and trust me, there was definitely some going on there.

Anyway, I’m willing to cut Isaac some slack on the dad thing. But still. He doesn’t have to shut down and be all dicky. I mean, I didn’t even want to go to the stupid bowling alley with him. And when we were done, I wanted to go home. He’s the one who wanted to keep hanging out. So then why do I feel like I’m annoying him, like I’m some kind of hanger-onner, like that Marina girl who he’s convinced is stalking him?

“Thanks for a great time,” I say sarcastically as he pulls into my driveway. We haven’t been talking, even a little bit, except for me giving him directions to my house. He’s just been staring straight ahead, his jaw set, his gaze never moving from the road. I get out of the car and slam the door. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but I think I hear him call my name. But I don’t care. I don’t look back. I just keep walking.

•  •  •

When I get into the house, I can hear voices coming from the kitchen. My mom. My dad. And another guy. I stop at the foot of the stairs, listening, trying to see if I can figure out who it is. Loud, bellowing voice. Annoying Boston accent. Sounds kind of like a used car salesman. Jim Marsh, my dad’s boss. Great. I’m wondering if anyone heard me come in, if there’s any way I can sneak upstairs and get away with it, when my mom calls, “Kelsey? Is that you?”

Shit, shit, shit.

She comes bustling down the hall. “Honey! Jim is here!
And he brought Rielle.” I sigh and take my right foot off the first stair. So close. “She’s outside,” my mom says. “Maybe you could go and see what she’s doing?”

“I know what she’s doing,” I grumble. “She’s on her cell phone.” Rielle’s always on her cell phone. And not just texting like a normal person. Talking, too. When we were in eighth grade, she ran up over two thousand dollars in cell phone bills. In one month. That was before they had those unlimited minutes and text plans. Her parents had a shit fit. She’d been on the phone for over four thousand minutes that month. Most of them with me.

“Kelsey,” my mom says, “just because you two don’t go to the same school anymore doesn’t mean that you and Rielle can’t be friends.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Rielle and I have hardly talked since I left Concordia Prep, and when we have, it’s been fake and strained. Parents don’t get that, though. They don’t understand about the fragility of teen friendships. They don’t understand how easy it is for things to break apart, how someone you thought would be by your side forever can just disappear, or turn on you, or decide she likes someone more than she likes you. Parents always talk about romantic relationships being so ephemeral and fleeting in high school. What they don’t get is that friendships can be the same way.

“It’s not that easy, Mom,” I try.

“Well, she’s in the backyard,” my mom says, like Rielle being out there is a situation that has to be dealt with. I start
to shake my head, but then she says, “Please. It would mean a lot to your father.”

“Like I care,” I say before I can stop myself. My dad is always trying to kiss up to Jim. And he’s always thought the fact that me and Rielle were so close gave him a leg up with his boss. I think it’s another one of the reasons my dad hates that I got kicked out of Concordia Prep.

“Kelsey—” my mom starts.

But I don’t want to hear it. Talking to Rielle is better than getting a lecture. Only slightly, but still. So I turn away from my mom and walk through the house and onto the back porch. I can see Rielle through the screened-in windows. She’s standing over by my mom’s rosebush, and as I suspected, she’s on her phone. I watch as she chatters away, then absentmindedly swats at a bug with her free hand. She’s wearing a pair of low-rise khaki shorts and a butter-yellow sweater, and her light brown hair is pulled back into a low braid.

My heart catches at the sight of her because I miss her so much it hurts. I’ve been doing my best not to think about everything that’s gone on between us, but now that she’s here, standing in my backyard, and I’m confronted with the sight of her, it’s hard not to.

When she sees me watching her, she waves me over. She looks happy to see me. It’s an act, of course. She’s not
really
happy to see me. And if she is, it’s only so she can assuage her own guilt for hardly calling or talking to me after I got kicked out of school.

Rielle pulls her phone from her ear and ends her call. I walk over to her, and she envelops me in a hug. My mouth gets pressed against her hair, and I can smell her shampoo. Once a completely familiar smell, now it feels almost weird, like we’re not close enough for me to be having this kind of moment with her.

“You look great,” I tell her honestly.

“Thanks, so do you.” She flips her braid over her shoulder and points to the patio chairs. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.”

I follow her over to the chairs, and once we’re seated, she reaches into her bag and pulls out two bottles of Snapple lemonade.