Lies You Never Told Me(15)

“How the hell is Gabe gonna afford a diamond?” Irene asks. “He owes me, like, ten thousand dollars for the past three years of Taco Cabana trips. He’s never got money.”

Devon shrugs.

“Seriously, when did you hear about this?” I realize my voice has gotten loud. People are looking. I grit my teeth and try to calm down. “This is so ridiculous. Like, she had a ring and she was showing it off or something?”

“Yup. In figure drawing yesterday. She kept sort of flitting her hand around.” He mimes admiring the back of his hand. “Kept talking about how romantic the whole thing was. Had some big story about how you promised to be with her forever, and you had chocolate-covered strawberries and, like, some song you wrote just for her . . .”

I grimace. “No, man, I didn’t do any of that shit. She’s . . . she’s just messing with you.”

But I can’t get the image out of my mind. Sasha with a dreamy smile on her face, telling some story that makes it sound like I’m planning to marry her someday. Maybe doing it as some kind of joke at first . . . but reveling in the attention. Letting the story spin out of control. Letting everyone believe it. It’s not exactly out of character for her.

Almost as if she’s reading my mind, Irene turns to look at me. “That’s the kind of shit she always pulls when something’s out of her control, Gabe.”

But before she can finish her sentence, I catch sight of Sasha, emerging from the darkness and into the orange light of the bonfire. Her shoulders are rigid with anger.

“What happened to getting my beer?” she snaps.

Normally, when Sasha comes at me like that, I get flustered. Normally I stammer an apology, sheepishly say goodbye to my friends, hurry to the line at the keg. But this time I can’t even speak. I just stare at her.

Her expression falters a little. “What?”

“So where’s that promise ring I gave you?” I say.

She tosses her hair and gives an airy laugh. “Oh, that. Give me a break, I was obviously kidding. I found a ring in Mom’s safe and thought it’d be funny.”

“Sure. Except Devon Lord believed you. So you’re not kidding. You’re lying.”

“Devon Lord is dumb as a sack of bricks,” she says. “No offense, Devon.”

“Uh, taken,” he says, frowning.

“And besides . . .” She puts her hand on her hips and stares at me, and even though I know I’m in the right and she is not, I feel like I’m about three inches tall. “Is it so fucking awful for people to think you might do something nice for me once in a while? God, to hear you talk, I’ve been telling everyone I’m pregnant or you gave me crabs or something.”

Is she right? Am I overreacting? I don’t even know anymore. I’m never on stable ground with Sasha. I never know how to feel.

And suddenly, that’s enough of a reason to be done.

She must see it in my expression. An uncertain look flickers across her face and is gone. Her hands drift away from her hips and she shrinks a little.

“Gabe?” she asks. It’s maybe the first time I’ve heard her sound vulnerable . . . but I don’t care anymore.

I look over at Caleb. “You cool to drive, man? I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, man.” He glances at Irene, and suddenly they’re flanking me. “Let’s get outta here.”

Sasha shakes her head, lifting her chin angrily. “Don’t you even think about leaving me here.”

“Okay, Sasha, step aside.” Irene tries to shoulder past her. Sasha swells up, her spine going rigid. I push Irene gently behind me.

“Stop,” I tell Sasha. My voice comes out almost like a plea; I don’t have energy for anything more. “Just . . . stop, okay?”

I turn away from her. I don’t look behind me as we walk toward the door. I half expect her to run after me. My shoulders are tensed for it. But she never does, and we get to Caleb’s beater without anyone saying a word.



* * *



? ? ?

I’m in a car, hurtling in the darkness. The scene shifts and I’m outside of the car and it’s barreling toward me. I’m watching Sasha dance, her shorts encrusted in sequins, a white spangled cowboy hat on her head—but partway through the performance she stops and starts to strip. At first I lean forward to watch, a thrill running through me as her long limbs emerge bare and smooth. But then she’s angry, her face screwing up into a mask of fury, and she’s pulling out her own hair, her eyes swollen, her hands gripping long blond locks and yanking them free. Blood runs down her scalp. She steps toward the edge of the stage, and her eyes meet mine. For a moment we both stare at one another, as if seeing each other for the first time. Then she launches herself like a cat, straight toward me.

I wake sweaty and disoriented. It’s pitch-black. Snatches of anxious half dream, half memory grab at me. I’m in my own room, in my own bed. My clock reads 3:42 A.M.; it’s only been two hours since Caleb dropped me off.

It’s half a second before my eyes adjust and I realize I’m not alone.

Sasha’s sitting backward on my desk chair, her legs splayed out on either side of the frame. Her hair is tangled and loose, and her eye makeup is smeared down her cheeks. She looks like a half-mad ghost, blood-hungry, but the smile she gives is calm and almost beatific.