Lying Out Loud(10)

RYDER: I don’t know. And lately, I can never get ahold of my dad. His secretary always says he’s busy, and he doesn’t answer his cell. I know he’s got a lot going on in Washington, but …

RYDER: Okay, I know this isn’t the cool thing to say, but I miss him.

ME: I’m sorry, Ryder.

RYDER: I don’t want you to be sorry. I don’t want anyone to be sorry. Except maybe my mom.



I pulled up Google and tried to find a picture of Ryder and his family. I figured it wouldn’t be hard since his dad was in Congress. They probably had plenty of photos from the campaign trail.

Within a minute, I’d found one. In the picture, Ryder was standing between his parents. His dad was older than I expected. Or maybe he just looked old because of stress. I knew politicians supposedly aged quickly. His hair was gray but well kept. He had Ryder’s bright green eyes and a charismatic smile that could definitely win a vote or two. On Ryder’s other side was his mom, a very pretty black woman in a perfectly tailored suit. She was tall — taller than her husband — and while her eyes were darker than Ryder’s, they had the same shape, large and striking.

And in the middle was Ryder, dressed in a suit very similar to his dad’s. His hair was a little longer then, but not too much. What I couldn’t help noticing, though, was his smile. It was huge and genuine and … so happy. I’d never seen the boy from my class smile like that before. I didn’t know he could.

ME: I could help you Parent Trap them if you like?

RYDER: What?

ME: The Parent Trap?

RYDER: Sorry. Still lost.

ME: Oh. My. God.

ME: You’re kidding, right?

ME: THE PARENT TRAP? Twin girls meet for the first time at summer camp and scheme to reunite their parents? The remake starred pre-train-wreck Lindsay Lohan?

ME: YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN THE FREAKING PARENT TRAP????

RYDER: I have not, but does this really warrant cyber-shouting?

ME: YES!!!!!!

RYDER: Okay.

ME: I weep for your childhood.



I spent the next twenty minutes explaining the plot of The Parent Trap to him, complete with YouTube clips from both the original film and the remake. When I was done, Ryder informed me that it didn’t sound like that great of a movie, and I told him to, with all due respect, shove it.

But we kept IMing after that. About other movies (he was totally into indie art-house flicks, the more subtitles the better, which is, frankly, disgusting) and books (we both struggled with Shakespeare and hated Nathaniel Hawthorne with equal passion) and just … random stuff.

ME: Okay, deep dark secret time. I am a wannabe grunge rocker.

RYDER: Seriously?

ME: Seriously. I don’t play any instruments. I can’t sing to save my life. But I guess that didn’t stop Courtney Love. And I have a lot of secret angst.

ME: If I could pull off flannel, I’d wear it every day.

RYDER: I think you’d look cute in flannel.



I blushed, then realized I was blushing and immediately felt disgusted with myself.

RYDER: So what are you secretly angsty about?

RYDER: If I can ask.

ME: Mostly my mom.

RYDER: This seems to be a running theme this evening.

ME: She is … flaky. To say the least. Unreliable. Truthfully, sometimes I think she wishes she never had me. Sometimes I think she pretends she didn’t.



The second I sent that message, I regretted it. It was way more than I’d planned to share. It was too honest. Too much. Too close.

I didn’t talk about my mom. Not in detail. Not even with Amy. I was the queen of glossing over things. Of turning small truths into big lies.

But now Ryder Cross, of all people, knew one of my darkest secrets. Or, at least, a tiny piece of it. I felt uncomfortable, suddenly, and I was eternally grateful that he couldn’t see me. That even though I’d shared too much, I could at least hide behind this computer screen.

RYDER: Wow. That does sound like inspiration for a grunge album.

RYDER: I won’t push you to talk about it, but obviously I understand complicated family situations, so if you ever want to share, I’m here to listen.

ME: Thank you.



We chatted for a little while longer, mostly about his favorite band — Goats Vote for Melons, which I’d never heard of, despite his fears that they were becoming too “mainstream.”

ME: God, you are such a hipster.

RYDER: Ugh. I’m NOT a hipster.

ME: Exactly what a hipster would say.



He sent me the smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Very mature and all. Then he wrote:

RYDER: I should probably go. It’s late.

RYDER: Whoa — look out your window.

ME: Both creepy and cryptic, but all right.

I glanced up and gasped, startled. Outside the window, the sun was just beginning to peek over the trees. I looked at the clock and was stunned to see that it was nearly six in the morning.

I’d been IMing with Ryder all night.

ME: Wow.

RYDER: I know.

ME: I had no idea we were on here this long.

RYDER: Me either.

ME: I should get to bed.

RYDER: Me, too. But I really liked “talking” to you.

ME: I liked “talking” to you, too.



And, weirdly, I had.