Lies My Girlfriend Told Me Part 24

"I never thought I'd trust anyone again," she says, stroking my hair. "But I trust you, Alix, with all my heart and soul."

Hearing these words, I feel like I hit a concrete wall. I have to tell her about the texts, my deception. We can't begin this relations.h.i.+p with on a lie.

She holds my face between her velvety hands and kisses me deeply, putting her whole self into it.

I'm physically sick. Pulling back, I say, "I need to use the restroom." As I'm untangling from her, my foot catches on the strap of my pack and the contents scatter.

Liana laughs. "Go. I'll get it."

I leave her there, scooping up all my makeup and stuff.

I lock myself in a stall and let my head drop into my hands. I have to tell her. I have to. Maybe she'll understand and not hate me. And maybe ignorance is bliss.

After a few minutes, I flush the toilet and push through the door. As I weave through a bunch of people who are gyrating to the music, a girl grabs my hand and spins me under her arm. I almost say, I'm not available. I'm in love.

But at that moment Liana's eyes meet mine across the room. She's not smiling; in fact, her expression is scaring me.

That's when I see it. Swan's cell. In Liana's hand.

Oh my G.o.d. I hustle back and say, "I can explain."

Her eyes are black as coal.

I sit on the edge of the sofa.

"How long have you had this?" she says.

I want to lie so badly, but the time for truth has arrived. "I found it in her room the day of the funeral...."

She blinks in horror. Shooting to her feet, she tosses the cell on the sofa, where it bounces to the floor. She snags her bag and heads for the exit.

I run out after her. "Liana, please! Let me explain."

She sprints up the stairs.

"I admit I sent the texts because I didn't know who you were and I didn't want to call you because I didn't think you should find out over the phone."

At the front door, she whirls. "You lied to me. All this time you could've told me you were the one who sent the texts, but you didn't."

I open my mouth to explain further, but there is no explanation. A lie of omission is still a lie.

She pushes out the door and trots to her car.

"Liana, wait!" I chase her down. "I wasn't thinking how it would affect you. Please. You have to believe me."

She climbs into her car, backs up, and speeds out of the lot, running the stop sign on Colfax and almost T-boning a truck. The driver lays on his horn.

Tears roll down my cheeks and I stand there, trying to catch my breath. No. No no no.

"Hey," a voice says at my side. "You forgot your things." It's the girl who swung me under her arm. She's gathered all my junk from the floor and sofa, including Swanee's phone.

I can't even move my arm to take it from her. She tilts her head at me. "Are you okay?"

Okay? Okay? I don't even know the meaning of the word.

Chapter 23.

All day Sunday I wait for my cell to ring. I know it won't. And I can't bring myself to call her. No apology would be enough to restore her trust in me.

On the drive home last night the cabdriver kept asking if there was anything he could do, since I was having a total meltdown, and I almost told him to hit a lamppost and put me out of my misery. But that would only create a ripple effect of misery for my parents and his family, if he had any.

Why didn't I throw away that cell phone? After falling for Liana, I didn't need a tether to Swanee anymore.

The house is so quiet, and my heart aches so much, that I need to go somewhere, do something to find solace. I don't know why my feet lead me to Ethan's room.

He's asleep, his origami-crane mobile dangling above his crib. I made it for him the day before he came home from the hospital. I read that cranes represent honor, loyalty, and peace, and are used to celebrate special occasions, like births and weddings. As far as honor and loyalty go, I'll never find lasting love, or get married. I'll never have a baby.

Ethan twitches his arms and legs, and his eyeb.a.l.l.s move behind his eyelids. He must be dreaming. I wonder what babies dream about, if they have fantasies or nightmares. Their life experience is so limited-how could they have that much to dream about? Unless people are reincarnated, which means we might have memories from hundreds of lives lived before ours.

G.o.d, I hope my previous lives were happier than this one.

I beg off Sunday with the family by telling Mom I'm not feeling well. At least it's not a lie.

When I trudge down for breakfast on Monday, Dad asks, "How was your date?"

The absolute wrong question. I burst into tears.

No way am I going to make it through a school day. I run upstairs and shut myself in my room. After a while, someone knocks. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to growl, Go away.

The door opens and I coc.o.o.n myself in my sheet and blanket, feigning whatever fatal and contagious disease is currently at the top of the charts.

A weight drops on the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mom asks quietly.

I don't. I really, really don't. She touches my head and I roll over, digging my face into Mom's lap, and bawl like a baby. She brushes my hair over my ear, resting her head on mine. "I'm a good listener," she says.

In sobs and hiccups I relate the whole humiliating episode of finding Swanee's cell and texting Liana, meeting her, betraying her trust. "When she found out what a terrible person I am, she broke up with me."

Mom clicks her tongue. "If that's the worst thing you ever do in your life, I'm nominating you for sainthood." Which makes me cry harder, because aren't all the saints Catholic?

To her credit, Mom doesn't offer plat.i.tudes, like Give it time. Or This, too, will pa.s.s.

Because it won't.

Mom's beeper goes off and she checks it.

I roll off her.

She says, for the first time I can remember, "It can wait."

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. "Can I skip school today?" And every day after?

She nods. "I'll call in."

While she's in sympathetic mode, I ask, "Can I buzz-cut my hair?"

She makes a face. "No."

d.a.m.n.

It's useless lying in bed. It only makes me relive the past and hate myself for what I did. Tuesday, on my way to school, I wait behind the juniper bush at the end of the cul-de-sac for Joss. Finally, ten minutes after the bell would've rung, I see her plodding down the sidewalk, head down. Her hair is stringy and greasy, and she has the same expression on her face she always wears: dead girl walking.

"Joss." I step out from behind the bush. "I have something for you," I tell her. I remove Swanee's cell from my pocket. "Jewell's probably cut off the service, and the cover doesn't glow anymore, but I know how much you want it."

Joss looks from the phone to me.

"I found it in the hospital bag in her room."

"When?"

"The day of the service."

"You stole it."

Yes! Okay? I stole it!

"You're a thief and a liar," she says.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I should've given it to you right away." How many lives have been affected by the things I should've done differently?

Joss is no dummy. "You're the one who was texting Liana. Is that how you hooked up?"

"We didn't mean to."

She shakes her head.

"I swear. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because we broke up."

She raises her eyebrows a little. "Why? You were the perfect couple: a liar and a s.k.a.n.k."

"Don't blame Liana. She didn't know. I'm the one who betrayed her."

Joss says, "There's a lot of that going around."

I think she's coming to realize how Swanee took advantage of her. "Joss, you have to talk to someone about Swan's death. If not me, then a counselor. Or your parents."

"Talk to you? The person who used Swan to find a new girlfriend? I'm so sure." She brushes by me, almost knocking me off the sidewalk.

I call out, "At least take the brochures. There are lots of resources in the back."

Joss says over her shoulder, "You read the f.u.c.king brochures. You need more help than I do."

She may be right. I can't be trusted with anybody's heart.

I need to get rid of this cell phone. Every person it's touched has been burned. I return home and ask Dad if I can borrow the car for about an hour. He says, "Aren't you late for school?"

"Yeah. But I need to do something first." Please don't ask what.

"Okay," he says.

I grab the keys and toss my bag into the front seat of the car. At Stanley Lake, I park in the lot and retrieve Swanee's phone from my bag. The ice has melted, and geese are grazing along the sh.o.r.eline. They hiss at me as I walk through a gaggle of them, and if I weren't on a mission I might find them intimidating. Stretching back as far as possible, I fling the cell into the lake, where it lands a few hundred yards away. I wish I had a better pitching arm, so it'd sink in the middle and never be found again. My best hope is that they don't dredge this lake, or that a drought doesn't suck up the shallows.

"Why, Swanee?" I ask aloud. "Why did you feel it was necessary to cheat on us? I loved you, Liana loved you. I bet Rachel did, too. Why wasn't that enough? I got what I deserved by lying to Liana." My voice breaks. "Not that you deserved to die. But if you're looking down on your life, you can't be very proud of how you lived it." I pause to take a deep breath. "Wherever you are, I hope you're asking for forgiveness and redemption. Because I am."

Losing Liana is even worse than Swanee's death, and I don't think it's because the pain is compounded. I feel so depressed that I don't even have the energy to begin my homework. My head feels as heavy as lead and drops to my pack.

My eyes catch the edges of the brochures sticking out of the front pocket. I retrieve the first one and read the t.i.tle again: "The Five Stages of Grief." I open it.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, not necessarily in that order. I can see where I went through each stage with Swanee, even bargaining with a G.o.d I'm not sure I believe in to bring her back.

Where am I with Liana? Depressed. Angry at myself for being so stupid. Accepting of the fact that she has every reason in the world to never want to see me again.

A week goes by, and then two, with no calls or texts from Liana, not that I expect her to contact me. One night after everyone's gone to bed I log on to Facebook and see that she's unfriended me. Again.

I sit for an hour building up courage. Then I text her: I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you I go to press Send, and then stop. I don't deserve to be forgiven. I don't deserve to be loved.

I end the call.

Spring is usually my favorite season of the year, with all the tulips and daffodils and crab apple trees in bloom. This year, though, there's a haze that clings to the air, dulling all the colors. The only bright moment is when I get my critical a.n.a.lysis paper back and see that Mrs. Burke gave me an A. But then I'm sad again, because watching Little Miss Suns.h.i.+ne reminds me of kissing Liana.

One Sat.u.r.day morning in April, Dad catches me after I've finished cleaning up from breakfast. "What are you doing this morning?" He's in the living room, rubbing Ethan's gum where his new tooth is coming in. We've counted five teeth so far, so this'll make six.

"I don't know. I thought I'd watch toons on TV with you guys."

"Let's take a drive." He lifts Ethan and drapes him over his shoulder.

"Where to?"

He doesn't answer as he jogs upstairs. A few minutes later he's back and Ethan's dressed-in the same jean overalls and striped s.h.i.+rt that Liana picked out for him. It's like dej vu all over again, where everything I see and touch and taste and smell reminds me of her.