Lies I Told(7)

After a perfunctory round of nice-to-meet-yous, Ashley stood, raking her fingers through her short spiky hair. “I’ve got to make up a quiz in Mrs. Beamon’s class.”

Nina stood. “I’m gonna hit it, too.” She looked at Selena. “See you after school?”

“Yep.”

I waited for the girls to get out of earshot. “Friends of yours?” I asked.

She smiled a little. “More or less.”

I nodded, tearing open the packet of salad dressing on my tray. “What are you reading?”

Selena held up the book.

“White Oleander?” I don’t know why I was surprised. “That’s my favorite book in the whole world.”

I wasn’t lying, but I would never be able tell Selena why it was true. Why I identified so much with Astrid and everything that happened to her in foster care. With the strength it took to keep trudging through life when my legs were so heavy I couldn’t even think about how far I still had to go.

Selena blinked. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s . . . well, it’s amazing. I’ve read it, like, five times.”

Selena’s gaze got sharper, like she was suddenly really seeing me. “Me too.”

We sat in silence for a minute, a strange kind of kinship moving between us, like we’d already shared all our secrets.

“So,” Selena finally said, “you’re new. Where’d you move from?”

I finished chewing. “San Francisco.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there. Is it nice?”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though I’d never been. “But I think I’m going to like it more here.”

She laughed a little. “Give it time.”


I let my eyes skip to Rachel Mercer’s table, hoping for some info. Selena followed my gaze.

“You know Rachel?” she asked.

I shook my head. “She sits next to me in AP Euro. Do you?”

“Nah. I mean, I know of her. Everybody does. But her crowd’s not really my speed.”

“How come?” I was careful not to seem eager, but I knew that Selena would have information that wasn’t in the files. It was one thing to collect facts and figures on a mark. Understanding the nuances of who they were, what made them tick, that was a lot more difficult. “Are they *s?”

She thought about it. “Not exactly. But my dad’s a dentist who bought our house in PH before home values went crazy. He was older when I was born and is totally old-school.”

“What about your mom?” I asked.

A veil seemed to drop over her eyes. “She’s not around anymore.”

The words took me by surprise, but I tried to recover, not wanting to blow it by seeming nosy. “So your dad won’t let you hang with Rachel’s crowd?”

“It’s not that.” She seemed to think about it. “It’s just . . . if I want a car, I have to buy it, plus pay for insurance. Rachel and her friends have big money and parents who throw it their way to keep them busy while they travel to Bali or Switzerland.”

“So you can’t be friends because they’re rich?”

“It’s not just the money thing . . . ,” Selena hedged.

“What? They’re a little wild?” I guessed.

“Let’s just say when I’m home reading White Oleander, they’re drinking it up at a bonfire, and while I’m studying for finals, they’re smoking at the Cove.”

“The Cove?”

“It’s a local spot, and super secluded. Unless you walk two miles across the sand, the only way to get there is down a rocky pathway on the peninsula.”

“Sounds nice.” I let it sit, leaving the door open for Selena to say more.

“It is. I walk there a lot before dinner.”

“Alone?” I asked.

She grinned. “I’m not exactly on Rachel’s radar, if that’s what you mean. And I’m totally fine with that.”

A smile rose to my lips. One that had nothing to do with the con. I was used to operating in a kind of haze, my connection to the world buffered by enough distance to survive the severing of contact with everyone we met.

But Selena’s clear-eyed gaze touched something inside me. Some forgotten remnant that operated apart from the con. That was still real.

We talked easily through the rest of lunch. She was my age, excited to start scouting colleges at the end of the year, and was saving money to travel Europe on the cheap. She promised to show me around, and we exchanged numbers as the bell rang for seventh period.

I left the cafeteria feeling conflicted. It didn’t matter that Selena was nice. I just needed a cover while I waited for an in with Logan’s crowd—something to prevent me from seeming like an outcast.

Liking Selena wasn’t part of the equation.





Six


“You closed the windows, right, honey?” my mom asked, checking them anyway.

We were in the upstairs den, the designated War Room for the Playa Hermosa con. Every job had some kind of War Room. It was the only place we were allowed to discuss strategy, brainstorm solutions to problems, and give progress reports. Limiting our discussion of the job to one room meant we couldn’t make a mistake in deciding if it was safe to talk. Couldn’t forget where we were and discuss the con near an open window or out in public where anyone could be listening. It was a rule that had been ingrained in Parker and me since the beginning. I couldn’t remember anyone breaking it.