Lies I Told(2)

Lately, it had begun to feel like too much. Too much lying. Too much risk. Too much work. I had been eleven when I was adopted by my mom and dad. I’d spent a year thinking my life would be normal, then Parker joined the family and we were quickly initiated into life on the grift. It had been nonstop ever since. I hadn’t been this tired since my fifth foster home, back when survival meant dodging a woman who was a little too quick with the back of her hand, her son a little too generous with the creepy glances.

I leaned away from the mirror and took a deep breath, forcing the past back into the dark corners of my mind where it belonged. Then I reached into the unpacked box, feeling past my books, the little makeup I owned, the one framed photograph I had of our family. When my hand brushed against a smooth wooden container, I pulled it from the box.

It was a simple unfinished rectangle, the kind you could buy in any craft store for five bucks. It was meant to be a jewelry or treasure box, but I’d never gotten around to decorating or staining it. I probably never would. Its contents were against the rules. I’d never be able to keep it out long enough to make it look nice.

Anyway, that wasn’t the point. It was the stuff inside that mattered, and I reached for the flimsy gold clasp and lifted the lid, pushing aside the carousel ticket from Chicago, the postcard from DC, the cheap plastic taxicab I’d bought from a street vendor in New York City. Finally, I found what I was looking for, and I brought the plastic ID card—Chandler High School emblazoned across the top—close to my face for a better look.

My teeth were white and straight in the picture, my blond hair shining even in the crappy fluorescent lighting. The picture belied none of the fear and anxiety I’d felt in Phoenix. I could have been any popular high school student. A cheerleader. Class president. Lead in the school play.

The ID was dangerous, against the rules. All my mementos were. But they were the only things that made me feel real, that made real all the places I’d been, all the people I’d met. Sometimes I thought my forbidden trinkets were the only proof I existed at all.

I closed the wooden container and placed it back in the still-packed box. Then I slipped the ID card into the pocket of my boxers, pulled my hair into a loose ponytail, and stepped out into the hallway.





Two


The house wasn’t huge, but already it was one of my favorites. I ran my hand along the walls as I headed for the stairs, enjoying the rough feel of plaster under my fingertips. The house was authentic in a way the McMansion outside Chicago hadn’t been, its walls and windows more solid than in the flimsy house we’d rented in Phoenix. That one had looked fancy on the outside, but the walls were thin, the windows so poorly sealed that a steady stream of hot air blew on my face when I lay in bed during the 115-degree summer.

This one was nice, even if I didn’t recognize any of the furniture, which we’d bought brand-new like we did at the start of every new job. At first it had been hard, leaving everything behind at the end of each con. But like a lot of things, I’d gotten used to it. Now I could pack my clothes and books in less than fifteen minutes.

I took the staircase to the main floor, the giant ceiling fan whirring softly in the tall-ceilinged foyer, and headed for the kitchen at the back of the house.

Parker was already there, sitting at a table under a bank of open windows and spooning cereal into his mouth while he read the business section. I hardly thought about my share of the money we earned, but Parker was obsessive, determined to invest his piece of each take so he wouldn’t have to rely on Cormac and Renee—or anyone like them—ever again. Articles and books about stocks, bonds, and IPOs were his reading material of choice, something that stood in contrast to his new appearance. It was always a little weird watching everyone in the family transform, and I stood in the doorway, trying to get used to this new version of my brother.

He’d ditched the preppy young Republican he’d played in Phoenix in favor of a Southern California surfer boy. The longer hair worked on him. Dark blond and a little messy, it made him look like he’d just climbed out of the water. He was my brother in everything but blood, yet I could understand why girls fell all over themselves for his attention. With his perfect white teeth, strong jaw, and boyish dimples, he was every girl’s type. Add in the bad-boy brood, and he was basically irresistible.

I glanced at the lines of leather cord marching up his arm, strategically placed to hide his scars. I’d asked him about the bracelets once, wondering why he wore them in any kind of weather, even when long sleeves covered his arms all the way to his wrists. He’d just shrugged and said, “They remind me who I really am.”

I didn’t understand it. I wanted nothing more than to forget the past, riddled with unfamiliar beds and unfamiliar faces. But Parker didn’t want to forget. The past was what drove him, and I had a sudden flash of him at thirteen, the day he’d been adopted into the family, eyes hooded, his forearm wrapped in gauze. In a foster care system that had seen everything, Parker’s record had rendered him unplaceable in another home.

Even good-hearted people didn’t want to come home to a bathroom covered in blood.

It made my heart hurt to remember Parker that way, alone and unwanted. I shut the memory down and sat across from him at the table.

“Hey,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up, his eyes a little glazed. “Hey.”