The Lies About Truth(34)

Part Two: Stuffing Big.

Mom took us to a Chinese buffet and we grubbed up and told her all about Big. She pointed out that my new prize had a tiny hole in his belly. In her opinion, we’d spent, like, eighty dollars on something that wasn’t worth anything.

As soon as I stopped smiling, Trent took the fortune out of his cookie, rolled it up, and stuck it inside the hole.

“Now, you know there’s good stuff in there,” he said.

God, he always had goofy ideas, didn’t he?

Everyone else shoved in fortunes as Gina and Mom sang “Happy Birthday.”

That’s how it started.

Sadie

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

Date: January 12

Subject: Stuck on a feeling

Max,

No, Big’s not full yet. The papers are mostly small, and I don’t write everything down. Just little memories and things I’m afraid I’ll forget.

Fletcher says I tell Big the things I should tell friends—that my stuffed animal has become a defense mechanism. He suggested that Big allows me to withdraw and that the memories in him are uniquely tied to me, Gray, Trent, and Gina.

He wants me to either (a) make up with Gray and Gina, or (b) find an activity that introduces me to new people. And he thinks I need to get rid of Big.

I don’t want new friends. I want my old friends to act like my old friends.

Which is a double standard.

I’d have to act like the old me again, and I don’t think I can.

Sadie





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Pirates and Paintball marched steadily in my direction. One week, three days, tomorrow. I tried to put the event in the back of my mind, which meant I thought about it constantly. The game offered a nice distraction from the forthcoming anniversary and my empty mailbox, which I had staked out two of those nights to no avail. Maybe I’d spooked the sender.

Every evening, I racked up more miles on the sand than with my driving lessons at Metal Pete’s. Gina sent texts. I answered every single one. I wrote the list obsessively, longing to find something to eliminate—to hold on to some form of progress.

Six. I was stuck at six. Well, five, if I got half a point for sitting in a car and half a point for Max seeing me in a tank top.

Fletcher, whom I’d seen last week, assured me it did.

We’d spent most of our entire fifty minutes talking about Max’s return and Gray’s “I still love you.”

“I’m assuming Gray’s confession confused you,” Fletcher had said.

“No. It pissed me off. If he still loved me, he’d look at me.”

“Have you asked Gray why he can’t look at you?”

Fletcher always pushed me away from assumptions and toward clarity, which I found annoying.

I’d opted for humor instead of an answer. “Um, I’m pretty sure I know, Fletcher. These scars can sing karaoke by themselves.”

“Max looks at you?” Fletcher said.

“So far,” I’d agreed.

Max was looking at me now. Smiling.

I lay on his bed reading a book while he tried route after route to the top of the climbing wall.

The book was a decoy. I loved watching him climb.

This had become a little routine of ours. After my run, I showered and came over. Sonia and Mr. McCall didn’t mind as long as we kept the bedroom door open, and my parents didn’t care as long as Sonia and Mr. McCall were home. There were ways around such things, but for now, I happily followed the rules. Intimacy, the kind that involved fewer clothes, and more scars, still unnerved me.

“You’re just so”—I set the book down and searched for a word—“graceful.”

He executed a move that would have sent me to the crash mat, hung his head back, and looked at me upside down. “None of it feels graceful,” he complained with a grunt.

Swinging his body back and forth, he leaped for a hold and missed. He fell and bounced on the mat. “See?”

Despite the fall, he was a dancer on a vertical floor. Every move looked effortless. His core twisted this way and that as he found new foot-and handholds.

Two falls later, he slapped the mat and massaged his swollen forearms. “Your turn,” he said.

“Nope.”

I had yet to try this intimidating thing he loved. There were enough things in life that made me feel weak; why add another? My nose went back in the book, and Max went back to the wall.

I read fifteen more pages.

I heard him coming before I felt him land next to me. Won over, I scooted closer and put my hand in his hair without moving my book from between us. If this was a real attempt to make a move, it wasn’t particularly sexy. “Thank you,” I said.

“For tackling you? For disturbing your book? For being one of those annoying guys who wants more attention?” he teased.

“Yes, yes, and it’s not annoying.”

“Good, because I like this much better than email.”

I kissed the top of his nose. “True. Can’t do that in an email.”

He closed the gap between us. “Can’t do this, either.” His hand slid up the back of my shirt; his lips met mine.

To keep things from going any further, I hopped up and approached the climbing wall.

“Where do I start?” I asked.