Seven Ways We Lie(48)

Lucas and I never had sex, but we got close. How does that make sense? He wouldn’t have been able to do the things we did, right, if he’s gay? He must be bi; he has to be.

Leave it. Who cares? He has a boyfriend now. That’s the only thing I can think about. Him and somebody else, some nameless male concept.

“It’s not healthy, bottling it up,” Olivia says. “You stopped talking about it, so I thought—”

“I know.” Of course they thought I was over him. I’m supposed to be on top of my shit. I have better things to worry about than boys. Getting stuck like this is so humiliating.

“What are . . . how are you feeling?” Olivia asks.

My throat closes like a drawstring bag. Eventually, I manage, “Like you care.”

Juniper and Olivia trade a glance. “Wh—” Olivia starts.

“No,” I say. “I’ve started being the last person to hear about anything in your lives, so why should I tell you what this is like?”

I back up, heading for the door. “I’m just going to shut up. Forget about it.” I swallow. “Have a great time Saturday. I’m not coming.”

As I walk out, their expressions match. A dose of helplessness, a healthy serving of resignation . . . and the tiniest bit of exasperation.





I OPEN JUNIPER’S DOOR AND STAND BACK, LETTING in the first swarm of people. “Hey, guys,” I say. “Drinks are in the kitchen, that way. Right through the living room.”

Word has spread fast about this party, but since Claire’s blowup yesterday, Juniper’s heart hasn’t seemed to be in it anymore. We had a miniature pregame with just the two of us, but it was a downer, since we spent most of it talking about our missing third.

“You think she wants to friend-dump us?” Juniper asked between aggressive gulps of hard cider.

“Kind of seemed like it,” I said. “But maybe we do need to go on a friend-break while she sorts things out. I mean, she snapped at me for, like, talking to a boy. At this point, I’m kind of maxed out on that shit, you know?”

Juniper nodded. “There’s got to be something else going on there. I’m trying to see it from her perspective, but that’s sort of hard when she won’t, you know, talk to us.” She took another swig of cider. “Maybe she’ll show up tonight, and we can hash it out?”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Juni. Especially since Lucas’ll probably show.”

Barely half an hour in, that prediction comes true. Lucas enters with a bang, tugging in half the swim team, and navigates the crowd with his usual smile. When he waves my way, guilt gnaws at me. I shouldn’t have told Claire. He’s obviously not out yet—I don’t know a single kid at Paloma High who is out. A couple of kids seem pretty obviously gay, but it’s sure not on their Facebook or anything. At school, the most out-of-the-box person by far is Burke Fischer, wearer of jeggings and heels, who doesn’t seem to give a solitary damn what people think. But Burke’s a loner, and I doubt Lucas could survive without his constant swarm of bros.

I get that it’s scary, and that Paloma High School isn’t hyper-progressive-gay-friendly-land, but I still can’t believe he didn’t tell Claire. That’s a huge thing to keep quiet for that long. Especially for someone you say you’re in love with.

Though I guess if you love someone, the thought of losing their approval is probably twice as terrifying.

The party’s in full swing when I realize I forgot my overnight bag. Juni offers me the use of everything in her house, of course, but I need contact solution, and her whole family is 20/20. She also offers her clothes, which gets a hearty laugh from my end. Wearing Juni’s clothes would be like trying to wear one of those little sweaters that people stuff their Scottish terriers into.

I call Kat. “What?” she grunts. About as cheery a greeting as I expected.

“Yo. Is Dad home yet?” I ask.

“Negative.”

“I left my bag on the kitchen table. You think you could maybe drop it off at Juni’s when he brings the car home?”

Kat heaves a sigh. “Fine. God knows when that’ll be.”

Dad must be closing up, because by an hour in, Kat still hasn’t shown. People have filled the long halls of Juni’s house. There’s packs of athletes, crews of yapping sophomores, and nervous clumps of freshmen who look so tiny, I get this urge to swat the drinks out of their hands and hand them The Land Before Time DVDs. Edging around a guy who’s doing a pretty decent Chewbacca impersonation, I enter the kitchen and find Juniper sitting at the counter playing DJ.

I sidle up, eyeing the beer in her hand. “How many is that? Be honest.”

“Hey! Three. I’m going slow.”

“Awesome. Not that last week wasn’t great, but like . . .”

Juni grins. “Vomiting, bad. I know.”

“So. Vital question. Do you still have that sparkling lemonade from my birthday party?”

“There might be a bottle in my parents’ fridge,” she says. “They’ve been using it as a mixer, though, so no promises. Also, if you find anyone in there, can you kick them out?”

I make a face. “Will do.” In August, during my birthday party, we caught not one but two couples making out on Juniper’s parents’ bed. Simultaneously. Although I doubt anyone’s doing that now—10:15 is a little early for those sorts of messy shenanigans.