Lies You Never Told Me(20)

The instant I get out of the car I feel exposed. I catch a glimpse of Marjorie and Emily Chin getting out of their Lexus a few rows over, their heads huddled together in whispered conversation as they stare. A group of band kids, buried under their shiny black instrument cases, goes silent as I walk past. Ben Bloom, who dated Sasha for a few months before me, snickers audibly when he sees me.

So that’s the kind of day this is going to be.

Irene and Caleb walk on either side of me, apparently by some kind of unspoken agreement. I force myself to look nonchalant and stuff the last of my taco in my mouth. I wonder what everyone knows—or what they think they know. I don’t mind people thinking I’ve been dumped, but there will be half a dozen embellishments by now.

We’re almost to the doors when I see Catherine.

She’s alone, as usual. I think she must have some kind of invisibility power that I’m somehow immune to, because no one else seems to notice her. She walks slowly, her thin shoulders slightly stooped under the weight of her backpack. Her long hair coils over her shoulder, a dark question mark against the plain white of her T-shirt.

I peel away from my friends. “Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch, okay?”

“What? Why?” Irene asks, startled. But I don’t answer. I’m already cutting across the parking lot toward Catherine. I can feel their eyes on me as I go—their eyes, and everyone else’s—but I ignore them all.

“Hi!” I step in beside her. She looks up sharply.

“Uh . . . hi,” she says. Her lashes are long and thick, even without makeup; she’s got a slight underbite that makes her look pensive. She’d be pretty if there weren’t something so brittle in the angles of her face.

“Hey, I’ve been carrying these around for a week now—I keep meaning to find you and give them to you.” I fumble clumsily in my backpack and pull out a small stack of comics in their polypropylene sleeves. “It’s that comic I was telling you about.”

I hold them out toward her, but she doesn’t move to take them.

“Um, thanks. But I can’t,” she says. “I’m not allowed.” She quickens her pace ever so slightly. I match her speed.

“To read comics?” I cock my head. “Are your parents, like, religious or something?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. You can keep them at school, read them at lunch or something. You can even keep them in my locker if you want.” I’m still holding the comics out at her. “I don’t mind.”

She makes no motion to take them. I finally let them fall back to my side.

“Well . . . let me know if you change your mind. I think you’d like them.”

She gives me a sidelong look. “You don’t even know me.”

I stop in my tracks. The words crack over me, hostile, jagged. She walks a few steps ahead, then stops too. I see her shoulders lift and fall with a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” She half turns to look at me, her brow furrowed. “That was . . . rude. But what exactly is it that you want from me?”

I step a little closer and watch as her body tenses. I step back again, holding both my hands up in front of me.

“Look, I don’t want to harass you or whatever. I’ll keep my distance from now on. I just . . . kind of wanted to get to know you.”

She mumbles something. I can’t quite make it out.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She loops her fingers under the straps of her backpack. “Your girlfriend seems pretty possessive. Does she know you’re talking to me?”

“Sasha and I are through. We broke up this weekend,” I say.

“You did?” I struggle to read her face. “Oh. I mean . . . I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t working out.” I adjust the straps of my backpack on my shoulders. “Anyway, it’s no big deal. It’s over. She doesn’t care who I talk to.”

For a moment she stands there, in the middle of the sidewalk. People give us strange looks as they stream around us toward the school. Then her eyes dart up to my face.

“Do you know Sekrit? The app, I mean?”

“Yeah. I’ve never used it.” I shift my weight. “I usually just text people.”

She shakes her head. “It’s more private. Secure.” She hesitates again. “I’m dollorous00.” She spells it out for me.

Then, before I can say anything, she steps close. I get a whiff of her shampoo. It smells like some kind of fruit—pomegranate or cherries, maybe. I close my eyes, and before I can move she’s taken the comics from my hand and disappeared into the crowd.

For a moment I stand there in the glaring morning sun. Then I pull out my phone, ready to download the app and find her there. I’m already writing the first message in my head. It has to be casual—I don’t want to freak her out—and maybe funny. But not too funny. Not like I’m saying, hey, look at me, I’m so funny. I don’t want her to think I’m trying too hard.

But before I can even go to the app store, I see I’ve got a new Snapchat. It’s from a number I don’t know. I wonder if it’s hers—if she found me already. I open it.

It’s a video. At first I can’t make anything out—whoever’s taking it is behind a chain-link fence, with a large bush obscuring the view. But then the camera refocuses, and I see a playground. A bunch of little kids run laughing across the wood chips, playing tag. They’re maybe five—kindergarteners, first graders.