Lies You Never Told Me(50)

No one’s there.

I exhale loudly, my heart lurching in my ears.

He relaxes visibly, but gives an indulgent smile.

“We’re both getting paranoid,” he whispers.

“Yeah, well, we almost got caught at the beach,” I remind him. He steps close to me again, but the spell is broken. His hand, when it brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes, is tender, but restrained.

“I know. It’s been hard. But I have an idea. Can you get away Saturday night?”

“I think so. What are you thinking?”

His glasses catch the light just so, and glint keenly. “It’s a surprise.”

“You have to give me a hint!” I tug on his arm. “What should I wear? What should I bring?”

“Don’t worry, just come as you are. You’re perfect,” he says. He leans in again and kisses me, a short, sweet, tender kiss this time. Then he steps away. “They’ll be looking for you. You’d better go.”

I linger a moment more, wishing we were back in the folds of the curtains. Wishing we had all the time and privacy in the world. But we don’t. We can’t.

And I don’t want to miss the celebration, either. I can hear laughter from the lobby. Nessa whoops loudly. Brynn’s singing something, though I can’t make out what. I head back to the rest of the cast, ready to be a part of it.





TWENTY-SEVEN


    Gabe




“It’s so beautiful out here,” Catherine says softly, tracing the surface of the lake with her fingertips. The ripples arc out behind us. “God, I can almost believe we’re alone in the world.”

I smile. That’s pretty much exactly what I was going for.

It’s a week after I found the hidden camera in my room. I haven’t been able to do anything without feeling watched. Everywhere I go—the skate shop, the park, the taco truck, the convenience store—I have this sense of Sasha, lurking somewhere just out of sight. The image of her, bleached by the moonlight, leering like some kind of succubus, keeps floating up before my eyes. It’s making me crazy.

So today, I picked up Catherine from a bus stop we’d agreed on, and we drove an hour outside Austin to Inks Lake, where we rented a rowboat. The instant we pushed off into the water, I felt the tension go out of my shoulders. And suddenly I was free to look around and see how perfect the day was—the deep-blue water, the brightly colored granite along the shoals. The girl across from me, fine-boned, fragile, lovely. A rare smile on her lips.

“Maybe someday we can come out here and camp,” I say, before I think. But no—of course we can’t come out here and camp. There’s no way her dad would let her.

But she looks up at me, cheeks rosy. “Maybe,” she says. “Someday.”

I lean back against the hull and stare up at the clouds. This is all I want. To be alone with her. To be drifting, out under the wide blue sky.

“Have you heard from Sasha?” she asks suddenly. My heart gives a sharp lurch.

I shake my head. “No. Thank God.” I haven’t told her about going over to Sasha’s. I didn’t want to freak her out any more than I had to.

She’s quiet for a moment. An awkward, self-conscious feeling comes over me. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to elaborate. I pick up the oars and propel us further out, toward the lake’s center. My shoulder gives the tiniest twinge of protest, but it’s almost back to normal.

“I hate all this sneaking around,” I say. “I just want this shit with Sasha to be behind me.”

She shrugs. “Even if it were, there’s still my dad to contend with,” she says. “We’d still have to keep this quiet. But I’ll admit, I’m kind of praying Sasha gets packed off to boarding school or juvie or something.”

“I don’t know why I was with her so long,” I say. “She was horrible to everyone and I just . . . excused it, I guess. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stood up for them. For myself too.”

She gives an odd little smile.

“Said everyone who ever got out of a bad relationship, ever,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I think Sasha wrecks the curve a little. Most people don’t enter into long-term relationships with psychos.”

Her eyes dart across my features like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But that’s what makes the psychos so awful. They’re pretty good at getting under your skin.”

I cock my head at her. “You sound like you know from experience.”

She looks down at her lap. “I’m just saying, you aren’t the only one who’s ever been manipulated. People will always find a way to hurt each other. To use each other.”

I rest the oars against my thighs. The boat bobs a little as I shift my weight. “Not all people.”

She gives me an odd, measuring look. Then she smiles.

“No. Not all people.” She takes a swig from a water bottle and wipes her mouth. “Sorry. I’m used to seeing the worst in everyone.”

“So young, and so cynical,” I say, trying to sound like I’m teasing. But I can’t keep an edge of curiosity out of my voice.

Catherine gives a little shrug and doesn’t reply. I let it drop.