Lies You Never Told Me(53)

He searches my face. I put my hand on his chest, feel his heartbeat warm and strong.

“Stay,” I repeat.

And then we’re kissing again, our bodies melting against each other, our clothes coming away piece by piece. My thoughts and fears dissolve. I’m nothing but sensation, shivering and arching.

Outside, the rain picks up again.





TWENTY-NINE


    Gabe




Monday morning I break my own rule. I make my way to Catherine’s locker, hoping to see her before the first bell, even though we’re still trying to keep this on the down-low.

But every second she’s out of my sight, I’m thinking of ways to get to her. I’m wondering where she is, and what she’s doing, and where we could go to be alone.

She’s there, hanging her jacket in her locker. It’s almost bare—no pictures, no magazine clippings, no magnetic mirror stuck inside the door. Just a neat stack of books. I sidle up beside her, smiling. “Hey! What’s . . .”

I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence. She slams the locker door and turns on her heel, walking quickly away.

For a second I’m stunned. I just stare at her retreating form. Then I hurry after her.

“Cat? What’s going on?”

She walks faster, trying to ignore me. I reach out and grab her elbow, spinning her around to face me.

Her eyes flash wildly. For a moment I think she looks scared. But then I realize she’s furious.

“How could you do this to me?” Her whole body is trembling. “How could you . . . with her?”

“What?” I glance around, realizing we’re dead center in the hallway. People are staring. “Can we . . . go somewhere more private?”

She gives a nasty laugh. “So you can tell me more lies? So you can talk me into trusting you? I don’t think so.”

“Cat—” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“That’s not my name!” She pounds on her thighs in frustration. I take a half step back. I’ve never seen her so upset.

“Catherine,” I try again. “I’m sorry, I want . . . I want to make this right, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She caught you. On tape. It must have been before we found the camera.” She laughs again, a strangled bark. “Maybe the same day, for all I know.”

“Who caught me?” But dread mounts in my gut, a twisting, writhing thing. I know, before she even says it.

“Who do you think?” She pulls out her phone and types something in. Then she turns it around to show it to me.

The picture quality is grainy, but right away I can see that it’s my bedroom. There’s the mural Irene painted on my wall—an Aztec warrior popping an ollie on his skateboard. There’s my faded blue bedspread. My pillow, my stack of comics by the lamp.

And there, on the bed, is a girl. Or the back of a girl. The naked back of a girl. Long dark hair swings around delicate-looking shoulder blades. Her spine arches with pleasure. A guy sits on the other side of her—you can’t see his face, but you can make out his dark curly hair as he kisses her neck, as he runs his hands down her sides.

Then my voice comes from the speaker. “Catherine . . .”

Everything in my body goes still. My muscles, my bones turn to stone. My lungs freeze mid-breath. I’m lost in a nightmare. I know whose shoulders those are. I’ve seen them dozens of times.

“It’s Sasha,” I say.

She snaps the phone away. “Yeah, Gabe, I know who it is. What I don’t get is what kind of fucked-up game you’re playing with her. With me.”

“But I don’t understand.” I stare down at her. “I never . . . did that. In my room, with her. The only time anything close to that happened was the time she broke in, and we didn’t . . . I didn’t touch her.” I frown. “Plus her hair was blond then. This has to be recent, because she dyed it.”

Catherine gives an almost hysterical laugh. “You’re thinking about her hair?”

“No, but the point is, I didn’t do this. This isn’t me.” My mind can’t seem to process the image. I know it’s not me. But it’s my voice, my room, my hair. For a single wheeling moment I wonder if I actually did do this and I’ve somehow forgotten—or if Sasha drugged me. Or even hypnotized me. But that’s nuts.

Right?

“Really? Because it looks a lot like you,” she says.

“I know. But she must have, I don’t know, gone looking for someone who looks like me, and then broken into the house. She has a set of keys.”

I see her hesitate at that. She bites the corner of her lip, and for just a moment I can tell she’s not sure what to believe. But then she shakes her head.

“Whatever, Gabe. I don’t know what kind of crazy shit you dragged me into. This is all over Facebook. Everyone’s seen it. Everyone thinks this is me.” She jabs her finger at the girl on the screen. I feel an absurd desire to cover up the screen, to shield us from view, even though I know it’s not her, it’s not me. “People I don’t even know were asking me about it in the hall on the way to my locker.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, but she doesn’t let me get any further than that.