The Lies About Truth(33)

“Because it—uh . . . I mean,” he stuttered. “It was practically a crime to be inside, Mom,” Max said very tentatively, and glanced at me for support.

I winked at Max again behind Sonia’s back. Ballsy, McCall, I heard Winter Halson’s voice in my head.

Sonia turned, her eyes boring into mine. The cobra hood of her inner snake swelled and stood on end as she prepared to strike. “Sa-die.”

I flipped up my hand in a wave. “It really is a perfect day for Cannon Balls,” I said.

Tara Kingston would have been proud of the look Sonia shot me. I shriveled appropriately, but something in me found this downright comical. Come on, what were the odds? I got the feeling Sonia agreed with me, but on the very principles of being a parent, plus a card—carrying adult, had to pretend otherwise. After all, she and Mr. McCall had jobs. We weren’t the only ones skipping obligations.

“Where’s your brother?” she growled at Max.

Max pointed at the huge clock above the cantina. “I’m guessing in language arts. Maybe psychology.”

Admirable. Trent would have thrown him to the wolves.

That answer wouldn’t have held even if Trent and Gina hadn’t shot out of the tubes at the same time, to more whistles of annoyance from the Cannon Balls staff. Sonia wiped the chlorine from her eyes again and waded out of the pool. We followed her like little ducks, partly because we had to, and partly so the whistle-blowing employee would chill the freak out.

Mr. McCall sat up from his chair—after an apparent nap—and said, “Hey, Max,” before he registered Max was not where Max was supposed to be.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Where’s Gray?” Sonia’s head snapped back and forth. “You four, don’t even attempt to lie to me. Where one of you goes, the rest of you follow.”

Gray’s timing was impeccable. He arrived as if on cue, licking an orange Push-Up pop. He tucked it behind his back and donned his best smile. “Hey, Mrs. McCall.”

Sonia had us out of Cannon Balls and back in school within the hour. We spent a few weeks with our asses in slings—no car privileges, no dates—but no one could convince any of us it wasn’t the best morning of the year. Absolutely epic.

I mean, really, who else would that happen to?

That was the whole memory.

Which meant I was still clueless. Except for the increasing certainty that Max, Gray, or Gina must be my anonymous friend who cares. Had Max returned from the salvage yard and typed this note while I dropped a library book in the bin for Mom? He’d had time, and reason. After all, he’d read the list on the Buick, knew I was attempting to resurrect the old me. Totally possible. I examined the chronology again.

Between the arrival of the first two notes, Gray had told me he still loved me, Max had come back from El Salvador, and Gina had apologized again. Between the second two, I’d confronted Gray, melted down in the dressing room with Gina, and amped things up with Max. Of everyone, Gina was the one acting the least suspicious.

Which meant . . . absolutely nothing.

Shit, what a mess. Was I supposed to do some big Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe game? Stake out my mailbox? Wait for someone to confess rather than accuse the wrong person?

It wouldn’t have bothered me so badly if someone hadn’t gone through Big to do this. Big wasn’t exactly my diary, but some of the things were personal. They were definitely things I should have the choice to share or withhold—like the Sharpie stuff.

These messages, regardless of their intent, were a tour of memories from a different life.

That part was almost nice.

Almost.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Some Emails to Max in El Salvador From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Date: January 3

Subject: Big Explanations

Max,

I’m sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for them to call my name. I probably have plenty of time to finish how I started putting stuff into Big.

Part One: Obtaining Big.

I would never have started if your brother hadn’t decided to win the world’s ugliest stuffed animal as a gift for my twelfth birthday. He pointed to it behind the counter of the arcade. “That one. That blue ostrich there beside the green pig. That’s the one we’re all going to win you, Sadie May.”

It cost 1,800 tickets. I repeat, 1,800 tickets.

Gray added the stipulation that we must win all the tickets playing Skee-Ball. What a ruckus. You would have thought we were competing in the World Series with the way we jumped around and screamed. By the time we hit 1,500 tickets, the ticket-counter guy was in on it with us. It was a slow night, and we were the best action he’d had. I can’t remember which of the guys starting calling the bird Big, but it stuck immediately.

Gray wanted to be the one who won the final tickets, so Gina and I stopped playing and watched as the final total rose to 1,800. In the excitement, Gray picked me up and kissed my cheek. I turned pink, as if he’d slipped me some tongue. But we weren’t there yet. He was thirteen; I was twelve. Kissing was ascending Everest.

In light of how I’ve felt lately, I can look back and understand what made it an Everest sort of moment. I felt wanted. You know what I mean? That peck on the cheek wasn’t a peck; it was a declaration that he wanted to kiss me.

Anyway, we walked out of the Family Fun Center five minutes after 8:00 with the world’s ugliest Big.