One Too Many Lies Read online

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  Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Bowen, L.A.

  Title: One too many lies / L.A. Bowen.

  Description: New York : West 44, 2019. | Series: West 44 YA verse

  Identifiers: ISBN 9781538382493 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781538382509 (library

  bound) | ISBN 9781538383254 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Children’s poetry, American. | Children’s poetry, English.

  | English poetry.

  Classification: LCC PS586.3 O548 2019 | DDC 811’.60809282--dc23

  First Edition

  Published in 2019 by

  Enslow Publishing LLC

  101 West 23rd Street, Suite #240

  New York, NY 10011

  Copyright © 2019 Enslow Publishing LLC

  Editor: Caitie McAneney

  Designer: Sam DeMartin

  Photo Credits: cover image Mohd Murtadha Mohamed/EyeEm/Getty Images; back cover (skid marks) wawritto/Shutterstock.com.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.

  Printed in the United States of America

  CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CS18W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC, New York, New York at 1-800-542-2595.

  I’D rather be outside

  soaking up the sunshine. I could be riding my bike to get some ice cream. Or even floating in a friend’s swimming pool. But my bedroom got a little bit messy over the summer. Under piles of unfolded laundry, dog-eared notebooks, and loose papers, I find a few useful things. Like some library books that are due...yesterday! And my favorite photo that I’ve been using as a bookmark. I pin it to the wall above my bed. It’s a selfie taken at arm’s length. Up close, three smiling faces. Kate, Abby, and I. Best friends forever. (I hope.)

  the photo

  Myself in the middle. All glasses and long brown hair. Kate on my right. With bright blue eyes and perfect makeup, as usual. Abby to my left. Her blonde hair, always changing, had a pink streak that week. The photo is cropped close to hide the background. What can’t be seen, a party... Kate’s Sweet 16! I lied when my parents asked if there was alcohol. I wasn’t the one drinking it. Honest! Either way Mom and Dad would not approve.

  # bffs

  I remember when we first met in the sixth grade. Sitting in the back of English class. We loved writing poems. But mostly we just wrote secret messages. Carefully folding our lined notebook paper into small triangles. Which we passed

  back

  and

  forth

  whenever

  Ms. G.

  was looking

  the

  other

  way.

  five years later

  we’re still making poetry.

  Every time we laugh together it’s like free verse. Without any rules.

  We don’t always need a reason. It just comes naturally when we’re together.

  When we laugh our shoulders shake

  up

  and

  down.

  But when we cry

  it’s like we shake

  down

  and

  up

  instead.

  All backwards from how it’s supposed to be.

  September

  I can’t believe it’s

  junior year.

  Have to think about

  SATs,

  prom,

  and college

  this year.

  And my parents have made

  it clear.

  They expect me to earn

  a scholarship

  or two...

  to help pay for college.

  We can’t afford it

  otherwise. I’ve always gotten

  pretty good grades.

  Mostly As,

  a few Bs,

  maybe a C

  or two...

  but junior year is huge.

  It’s a lot of work.

  But a chance to really shine.

  So I know I have to put in

  some extra effort

  this year.

  Glad it’s only

  September.

  CAREERS?!

  My adviser says we’re supposed to be thinking about a career.

  Already?

  I don’t know what I want to do or be.

  I just want to read and write.

  Maybe I can be a journalist, English teacher, librarian, or editor...

  maybe an author, too.

  i have a lot to say

  I love to write in verse. The words just come to me this way. Whenever I sit down with a pen. They put one of them in the school yearbook last year. One of my poems. Which was a little embarrassing, actually. My English teacher, Mr. Bates, said, This is great stuff. He says this to everyone. (Adults lie, too.)

  top secret

  I write in my journal nearly every single day. Have to keep it hidden from my little brother Logan. He’s nine years old. And he can be so nosy. My parents tell him to stay out of my room unless he has permission. But he snoops anyway. When Kate and Abby and I are hanging out, we keep my door closed and we still have to whisper. We’ve got important things to talk about.

  SHHH!

  We talk about anything and everything. Like how Kate stole a pair of jeans at the mall. (I don’t tell her, but I think it’s a stupid risk to take.) And how Abby bought a fake ID from a friend. (I don’t tell her, but I think she’s out of her mind.) And how I’ve always liked... Alex Parish. And I mean really, really liked. Forever. At least, ever since the sixth grade. I’m basically in love with him. (They don’t tell me, but I know they think he’s a nerd.) But I actually think he’s really cool. In a way. He’s funny. And nice. And super cute. Grey-green eyes under a mop of straight black hair. He’s on the soccer team with Kate’s boyfriend, Trevor. But he never hangs out with us. He mostly hangs out with the band kids. Maybe he’s just not interested...

  October

  Kate and I walk together most days. Unless she catches a super-early ride with her dad. Sometimes Abby meets us along the way. But she’s usually running late. Out of breath and puffing on a cigarette. We talk nonstop the whole time. We never run out of things to say. Some days I walk alone but I don’t mind. This time of year there’s so much to think about. I breathe deeply. Fresh autumn air. I try to memorize the way it all looks and feels. Green, yellow, orange, red. And every color in between. I keep to the edge of the sidewalk. Where there’s extra leaves to shuffle through. And take one last breath and one last look around. Before I let the school door slam behind me.

  phys. ed.

  First period of the day. It’s too early for gym class. My hair is still wet from this morning’s shower. Changing out of jeans and a new T-shirt to pull on shorts and an old T-shirt. Everybody talks with their head down for privacy. Kate and I linger in the locker room tying our shoelaces. But I guess Abby skipped today. Not a big surprise.

  WE NEED A PARACHUTE

  I miss gym class like when we were kids. Freeze tag. Kickball. Red light, green light. And days spent on the playground. But my favorite was the giant parachute that came out once or twice a year. Each kid held the edge and lifted it up high over their head. Then real quick, they all ducked below. Everyone underneath in the colorful glow of the parachute. Twenty or so kids grinning ear to ear for a brief second before the sheet fell down over us again.

  WE NEED OXYGEN

  Now it’s volleyball, basketball, and sometimes swimming.

  I hate swim days.

  Today we do
the mile run.

  Four laps around the track.

  I’m not the fastest, but I’m not the slowest.

  We run around and around and around and around—one last time.

  With each step we shake

  up down.

  and

  Kate is faster but would rather run by my side talking about whatever. I’m breathing too hard to talk. Sometimes I say, uh-huh. I know we’re supposed to breathe through our nose. But I always breathe through my mouth. uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh Gasping down up. and I imagine my lungs and heart pumping oxygen to my muscles. A fragile, strong machine. For this reason I will never try one of Abby’s cigarettes.

  English

  Kate and I are in the same English class, too. We don’t pass notes the way we did when we were kids. But we sometimes pass looks from across the room. It’s like we know exactly what the other is thinking. One glance— our eyes say it all. It’s the little things that get us through the day. Don’t get me wrong— we’re kind of nerds. I mean we’re in advanced English after all. And it’s my favorite class. Most days. Mr. Bates is actually a pretty cool teacher. But it’s our last class of the day. And today is Friday.

  T.G.I.F.

  This week really d r a g g e d by. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to skip school with Abby. But I never would. I don’t want to ruin my perfect record. But it’s like I’m so done with this place. Ready for the next big thing. But also not ready for college... I don’t want to be an adult yet. But I don’t want to be treated like a kid anymore. I just want to have more fun. I just want to have more freedom.

  sleepover at my house

  Kate spends the night at my house.. Abby never texted us back. So who knows where she is. We work on homework for a couple of hours. Then watch a movie in the living room. Mom makes us popcorn, but she skimps on the butter. A healthy snack. Now don’t stay up too late! she says, when she goes to bed. Okay Mom... we’ll head up in a few, I lie. But I know we’re just getting started. Because lately the fun doesn’t begin until the parents leave. Let’s have some more of that wine! Kate says. Last time Abby was here, she made us try some. We didn’t really enjoy it. But we all pretended to. Okay, just a little, I agree. I don’t know why Kate wants to drink this stuff again. I hate the bitter taste. But we both laugh when we see that it stains our lips red.

  my first f

  Sitting in the back of class. I’m too far away to hear anything. I’m too far away to see the board. I’m not even sure what the subject is. A teacher I don’t recognize hands back a test I don’t remember taking. And there’s a giant

    F

  in red. It seems that I’m really in over my head. How did I let things slide like this? It’s not a good start to the year. That’s for sure. I wake up sweating. Frustrated with myself. Until I realize it was just a dream. I’ve never gotten an F and I don’t plan to.

  typical morning

  Kate and I meet at Abby’s locker, not sure if she’ll show. Finally a familiar streak of blonde hair rounds the corner. Where were you on Friday? I ask. What was Friday? Abby asks. Uh, school! Did I miss anything fun? Abby asks. Not really. We had to do the mile run... Then I’m glad I wasn’t there, Abby says. Aren’t you worried about your grades? I ask. You know the answer to that question... Abby laughs. Also, we had a sleepover, I say. I just didn’t feel like it, Abby says. This hurts a little. But Kate and I pretend not to care. I’m kind of glad when the bell rings. Abby slams her locker and we head in three separate directions.

  study hall

  Study hall is a good time to get ahead on homework and just relax. Mrs. Randall even lets us listen to music with headphones on. Sometimes I write in my journal. I record any dreams from the night before. Today I finished the book we’re reading in English class. It’s Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. We’re not supposed to jump ahead. I liked it so much I just couldn’t stop myself. I bought my own faded copy at a used bookstore. Underlined all my favorite parts in pen. Now I wish I hadn’t done that. I want to be able to read it again. As if for the very first time.

  lunch

  I always bring mine. Sandwich and fruit in a brown paper bag. Kate has a big salad. No dressing, as usual. Abby always buys. She’s short again. Digging for change in the bottom of her purse. Kate lends Abby another dollar. Not that she’s even counting.

  hatching plans

  So, are you both coming over this Friday? Kate asks. I say, Definitely! Abby responds with, I don’t know, maybe. I might have other plans... She trails off. I wonder what can be more fun than a sleepover with your best friends

  family dinner

  Friday after school, I pack an overnight bag. Pajamas and a toothbrush. I’m in a hurry to get to Kate’s house. But Mom and Dad insist that I stay to eat dinner with the family. Mom makes homemade pizza, which is one of my favorites. And it’s the only night of the week when we have soda at the dinner table. Though Mom and Dad each have a glass of red wine instead. They don’t notice there’s some missing from the bottle. Logan pours too much dressing on his salad because he likes it that way. He picks all the veggies off his pizza and gives them to me. Mom and Dad ask me about school and stuff. Are you sure Kate’s parents don’t mind you going tonight? You girls have so many sleepovers. I fail to mention that Kate’s parents aren’t even home tonight.

  just another sleepover

  Kate’s parents are out of town, visiting her brother at college. And Abby decided to show up after all. The perfect opportunity to stay up late. Talking about everything. We are expert keepers of secrets. Whispering out of habit, though no one is around to hear us. No parents. No siblings. Just us girls. We turn on the TV, open bags of chips and cookies, and pour big glasses of pop. I’ve got an idea, Kate says. She finds a bottle of rum in the kitchen cupboard. And pours some of the dark liquor into each glass. They gulp theirs down. I take a sip and cringe at the taste. Soon they’re laughing and smoking cigarettes. Won’t your mom smell the smoke when she gets home? I ask. You worry too much, Kate says.

  later, in the kitchen

  I pour the rest of my drink down the drain. What are you doing in there? Abby asks from the other room. Just getting a glass of water, I lie. Abby and Kate are laughing and rolling around on the living room floor. They have both spilled some of their drink on the white carpet. Do you feel anything yet? They want to know. Yeah, I’m really drunk. Another fib. I stretch out on the floor beside them. I only have to force a smile for a moment, before I forget that I wasn’t having fun. We stare up at the ceiling and talk about boys. I guess I do feel it a little bit.

  you should text him

  Abby says. I don’t know, Kate says. Invite him over! Abby demands. Tell him to bring some guys from the soccer team! My mom would flip if she found out! Kate shrieks. She picks up her phone anyway and begins to type with one finger. The screen is glowing too bright in the dark living room. I put an arm over my eyes. I wonder which friends Trevor will bring...

  twenty minutes later

  a car pulls into the driveway. Going a little too fast. And parks half on the front lawn. Leaving tire marks in the grass. (That we will deny knowing anything about, when Kate’s parents come home tomorrow afternoon.) There’s a knock on the door. When we open it, there stands Trevor, and two other guys from school. Nick and Marcus.

  disappointed

  It’s not who I was hoping for. Alex. And nobody is watching the movie we put on. Cracking open a beer, I ask, Where did you guys get these, anyway? They only laugh at my question. I take the smallest of sips.

  a mess

  Soon there are empty cans everywhere. Leaving pale rings on the coffee table. (That her mom will yell at us for tomorrow afternoon.) Kate sits on Trevor’s lap on the couch. Abby and Nick are alone in the kitchen. I pretend to watch the movie. Come on. Let’s get out of here, Marcus says, pointing upstairs. I follow him. Only so that I don’t have to stay here.

  i let him kiss me

  Maybe because I’m bored. But mostly because it’s easier
than telling him I’m not interested. Though even I’m not sure if I want to or not. He’s not bad looking. But I hate every second. It feels like he’s eating my soul. I wonder if he even knows my name. But I don’t have the nerve to ask. And I will never tell him that he was my first kiss.

  enough

  I think as he puts his hands on my body. I drank too much, I lie. I think I’m getting sick, I lie. He sees right through me. Why is this charade so much easier than just saying NO? I lock myself inside the bathroom at the end of the hall. And I stay there for an hour or so. Looking at my neck in the mirror above the sink. Small purple marks. (That I will spend the next week hiding from my parents.) I do feel sick in a way. The more I think about it.

  rumors

  Later I hear the lies that Marcus told his friends. We did NOT do THAT, I insist. I try to laugh it off. But it really boils my blood.

  IT’S not that i don’t want to

  It’s just that I don’t want to with you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you. Or you.

  show of hands

  Mr. Bates asks the class for a show of hands. Would any of you be interested in joining a writing club after school? He and another teacher, Ms. Smith, are thinking about starting one. A few people shoot their hands up into the air. It sounds cool but I wait a few seconds before raising mine. (Only as high as my shoulder, with my elbow still on my desk.) Kate makes a face and mouths, Really ? I shrug I know Kate and Abby think clubs are super lame. They’d rather be out with friends and boys. The truth is I’m not even sure what writing club would be like. Would I have to read my poems out loud? In front of other people? I’m scared just thinking about it. And I’m already wishing I had never raised my hand. Mr. Bates looks around, counting and smiling. Well, this is excellent! he says.