Things Liars Say (#ThreeLittleLies #1)(2)

“I-I’d rather not say,” I stutter. “We, uh, just started dating. It’s only been one date. Besides, he’s hardly Gala material.”

“What the heck does that even mean?” Jemma scoffs. “Hardly Gala material? If he has a pulse, he’s Gala material.”

“One date?” Ariel drops her pen on the table. “Why did you feel that wasn’t worth mentioning? Why haven’t we at least heard about this guy before?”

“I don’t want to jinx it?”

“Are you asking us or telling us?” Catherine’s eagle eyes are unnerving, and I look away.

“Are you bringing him to the Gala?”

I take another bite of apple and respond with a mouthful. “I don’t know yet. He might have… a… game?”

“Game?” Jemma’s eyes get wide and excited. “Ooh, what is he, an athlete? Which sport?”

Great question, Jemma. I’ll let you know when I figure it out myself. Everyone leans in closer for my answer, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“He, uh… He’s…” Honestly, people. Why do you care so much? Of course, I don’t actually say this out loud.

“Oh, come on, Greyson. Don’t get all secretive on us. It’s not like we’re going to stalk him on social media.”

A few of them exchange telling, stealthy glances. What a bunch of freaking liars. The first thing they’ll do when they leave this meeting is look for him on Facebook. Twitter. Bumble app… wherever—my point is, they would absolutely social media stalk him. I mean, if he existed.

I lie again.

“Fine. His name is…” I look around the room, my hazel eyes scanning the room, the food posters and the advertising signs adorning the walls. One for fresh, cold Farm Fresh California Milk jumps out at me. California. For some reason, it sticks out at me.

California. Cal.

“His name is uh, Cal, um… Cal.”

“Cal?”

“That’s right,” I lie. “Yup. Cal.”

“Cal? Cal what? What’s his last name?”

Jesus, Rachel. Let it go!

I look at her dumbly. Crap. “His last name?”

“Grey, you’re being really weird about this.”

Again, my eyes scan the dining hall, landing on a girl who just happens to be in my economics class—and I just happened to have borrowed notes from her. Brianna Thompson.

Thompson it is.

“Sorry, I just zoned out for a second. His last name is, um, Thompson?”

“Asking or telling?”

“Telling.” I give my head a firm nod. “Yup. Thompson. His last name is Thompson.”

Cal Thompson. I roll the name around in my mind, deciding that I like it. Sounds believable.

Legit.

The lie works, because eventually they leave me alone and we go back to our meeting agenda, finish our committee work, and finish our lunch.

An apprehensive knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I swallow the last bite of my spinach chicken wrap.

Little do I know, the lies that so easily rolled off my tongue today will soon become entirely too real.





Calvin





“Cal. You there, man? You’ve gotta come check this out,” my roommate Mason calls from his bedroom, the music blaring from his Bose sound system. Combined with the background noise of the television in the living room, the noise pollution almost drowns out his request.

Unfortunately for me, I’m not that lucky, and he calls for me again. “Come here, man. Seriously.”

Christ, he’s a pain in the ass. “Hold your f*cking horses; I’m in the middle of something,” I call back.

Yeah. I’m in the middle of something: stuffing my face with a sub sandwich and washing it down with a cold beer. I swipe the other half of my sub off the counter and wrap it in a napkin before sauntering, unhurriedly, to Mason’s end of the apartment. I lean nonchalantly against his doorjamb, taking another huge bite of sandwich and chewing slowly.

“What.”

He cranes his beefy neck towards me in the doorway, irritated. “I said come check this out. Jeez. Why are you standing there? Where’s your sense of urgency?”

Rolling my eyes, I venture in a few feet. “If this is more porn, I’m going to be f*cking pissed.”

“Whatever. Trust me, this is worth our time.”

“Our? No. Don’t say our.” Skeptically, I sidle up next to his desk chair, and he turns his computer monitor on its base to face me. He has his Twitter feed pulled up, and his beefy forefinger pokes the screen, pointing to a particular Tweet.

It’s too damn bad I can’t focus on anything with his loud, crap R&B music blasting out of his speakers.

“Would you turn that shit down a notch?”

Mason sighs but clicks a few buttons with his mouse, shutting the radio off. “Okay. So, check it. I follow my cousin Jemma, who goes to State, on Instagram and Reddit and shit.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay.” Get to the point.

“Anyway, Jemma is in this sorority, right? Hottest chicks on campus. I went once to visit when they had family weekend—don’t ask me why.” My roommate pauses, and for a second I’m hopeful he won’t continue talking.