One of Us is Lying(12)
I trail my fingers along his bicep. Jake’s not as defined as Cooper, who’s practically a superhero with all the professional-level working out he does, but to me he’s the perfect balance of muscular and lean. And he’s fast, the best running back Bayview High’s seen in years. There’s not the same feeding frenzy around him as Cooper, but a few colleges are interested and he’s got a good shot at a scholarship.
“Mrs. Kelleher called me,” Jake says.
My hand halts its progress up his arm as I stare at the crisp blue cotton of his T-shirt. “Simon’s mother? Why?”
“She asked if I’d be a pallbearer at the funeral. It’s gonna be Sunday,” Jake says, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I told her sure. Can’t really say no, can I?”
I forget sometimes that Simon and Jake used to be friends in grade school and middle school, before Jake turned into a jock and Simon turned into … whatever he was. Freshman year Jake made the varsity football team and started hanging out with Cooper, who was already a Bayview legend after almost pitching his middle school team to the Little League World Series. By sophomore year the two of them were basically the kings of our class, and Simon was just some weird guy Jake used to know.
I half think Simon started About That to impress Jake. Simon found out one of Jake’s football rivals was behind the anonymous sexting harassment of a bunch of junior girls and posted it on this app called After School. It got tons of attention for a couple of weeks, and so did Simon. That might’ve been the first time anyone at Bayview noticed him.
Jake probably patted him on the back once and forgot about it, and Simon moved on to bigger and better things by building his own app. Gossip as a public service doesn’t go very far, so Simon started posting things a lot pettier and more personal than the sexting scandal. Nobody thought he was a hero anymore, but by then they were getting scared of him, and I guess for Simon that was almost as good.
Jake usually defended Simon, though, when our friends got down on him for About That. It’s not like he’s lying, he’d point out. Stop doing sneaky shit and it won’t be a problem.
Jake can be pretty black-and-white in his thinking sometimes. Easy when you never make a mistake.
“We’re still headed for the beach tomorrow night, if that’s okay,” he tells me now, winding my hair around his fingers. He says it like it’s up to me, but we both know Jake’s in charge of our social life.
“Of course,” I murmur. “Who’s going?” Don’t say TJ.
“Cooper and Keely are supposed to, although she’s not sure he’s up for it. Luis and Olivia. Vanessa, Tyler, Noah, Sarah …”
Don’t say TJ.
“… and TJ.”
Argh. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or if TJ, who used to be on the outskirts of our group as the new kid, has started working his way into the center right when I wish he’d disappear altogether. “Great,” I say blandly, reaching up and kissing Jake’s jawline. It’s the time of day when it’s a little scratchy, which is new this year.
“Adelaide!” My mother’s voice floats up the stairs. “We’re heading out.” She and Justin go somewhere downtown almost every night, usually restaurants but sometimes clubs. Justin’s only thirty and still into that whole scene. My mother enjoys it almost as much, especially when people mistake her for being Justin’s age.
“Okay!” I call, and the door slams. After a minute Jake leans down to kiss me, his hand sliding under my shirt.
A lot of people think Jake and I have been sleeping together since freshman year, but that’s not true. He wanted to wait until after junior prom. It was a big deal; Jake rented a fancy hotel room that he filled with candles and flowers, and bought me amazing lingerie from Victoria’s Secret. I wouldn’t have minded something a little more spontaneous, I guess, but I know I’m beyond lucky to have a boyfriend who cares enough to plan every last detail.
“Is this okay?” Jake’s eyes scan my face. “Or would you rather just hang out?” His brows rise like it’s a real question, but his hand keeps inching lower.
I never turn Jake down. It’s like my mother said when she first took me to get birth control: if you say no too much, pretty soon someone else will say yes. Anyway, I want it as much as he does. I live for these moments of closeness with Jake; I’d crawl inside him if I could.
“More than okay,” I say, and pull him on top of me.
Nate
Thursday, September 27, 8:00 p.m.
I live in that house. The one people drive past and say, I can’t believe someone actually lives there. We do, although “living” might be a stretch. I’m gone as much as possible and my dad’s half-dead.
Our house is on the far edge of Bayview, the kind of shitty ranch rich people buy to tear down. Small and ugly, with only one window in front. The chimney’s been crumbling since I was ten. Seven years later everything else is joining it: the paint’s peeling, shutters are hanging off, the concrete steps in front are cracked wide open. The yard’s just as bad. The grass is almost knee-high and yellow after the summer drought. I used to mow it, sometimes, until it hit me that yard work is a waste of time that never ends.
My father’s passed out on the couch when I get inside, an empty bottle of Seagram’s in front of him. Dad considers it a stroke of luck that he fell off a ladder during a roofing job a few years ago, while he was still a functioning alcoholic. He got a workman’s comp settlement and wound up disabled enough to collect social security, which is like winning the lottery for a guy like him. Now he can drink without interruption while the checks roll in.