Lying Out Loud(14)

RYDER: Ha. I knew that would get your attention.



I sighed, disappointed.

ME: Not cool.

RYDER: Sorry. I had to try.

ME: How did you know I like Pearl Jam?

RYDER: You love grunge, so I just thought of the most cliché grunge band I could. Other than Nirvana, of course.

ME: Wow. So now you’re calling me a cliché. Nice.

RYDER: You call me a hipster. It only seems fair.



He signed that one off with a smiley face.

ME: I’m a cliché, but you are the King of the Emoticons. Tell me, Ryder, how many selfies have you taken today?

RYDER: None. I don’t even have an Instagram.

ME: Hipster.

RYDER: I can’t win with you.

ME: This is probably true.

RYDER: That’s not going to stop me from trying.



Despite my better judgment, this made me smile.

And that was how I ended up chatting with Ryder — again — for most of the night.

RYDER: My mom is driving me insane.

ME: Welcome to adolescence. You’ll fit in well here.

RYDER: She won’t even let me watch the coverage of Dad’s campaign. It’s hard enough to find it anyway since he doesn’t represent this district, but if she hears one of his ads on my computer, she shouts at me to turn it off.

ME: Wow. Harsh.

RYDER: Hopefully I can get to DC for Thanksgiving next month. I’m desperate to get out of this stupid boring town.

ME: Again. Harsh.

RYDER: Sorry. I’m working on it.

ME: But I hope you are able to go back to DC. I’m sure your dad and your friends will be glad to see you.



I hated myself for keeping up the conversation. But as much as I wanted to despise him, Ryder was kind of being tolerable.

ME: So, you had a girlfriend in DC?

RYDER: Yeah. Eugenia.

ME: Whoa. Terrible name.

RYDER: It really, really is.

ME: So what happened?

RYDER: Nothing. We broke up when I moved and she’s already dating someone else. My best friend, actually.

ME: Oh. Ouch.

RYDER: I’m honestly not that upset about it. We dated for over a year, but it never really felt serious. More convenient than anything.

ME: So romantic.

RYDER: I don’t care that she started dating Aaron (my friend). That’s fine. I’m more upset that she and Aaron and everyone seem to have moved on without me so fast. They were the reasons I was upset to leave DC. They’ve been my friends since elementary school. And now, just a few months after leaving, I hardly hear from them. I get the occasional comment on my Facebook posts, but that’s it.

ME: Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, they suck.

RYDER: Ha.

RYDER: They don’t, really. That’s the worst part. I get it. It’s easy to drift apart. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I’d actually managed to make friends here. If I’d moved on, too.

ME: Not to harp on this, but if you’d just ease up on the constant Hamilton bashing, you might be surprised how many friends you’d make.

RYDER: I know. I really am trying.

RYDER: But even if I stopped, I don’t know how simple it would be to make friends. Hamilton’s a small school. You all have known each other forever. I’m an outsider here.

ME: Maybe, but it wouldn’t be too difficult for you. If you’d be cool, people at Hamilton would love you. Especially the girls. You’re fresh meat, a boy we’ve never seen throw up on the school bus or go through the worst parts of puberty. Plus, you’re not a bad-looking guy, you know.



I could not believe I’d just typed that. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it. It was true, of course. He was hot, and if he wasn’t such a dick about our hometown, girls probably would have thrown themselves at him. No, not probably. Most definitely.

But I didn’t have to tell him that.

Ryder sent back a smiley face emoji. I sent back one rolling its eyes. And eventually this devolved into an oh-so-sophisticated emoji war. The battle was long and there were many casualties, but eventually, with the peace offering of emoji sushi, a cease-fire was called.

If only it were so easy in real life.

*

The next day, though, Ryder was back to being unbearable.

“Mr. Buckley,” he said, raising his hand. “When are we going to start practicing DBQs?”

“Excuse me?”


“DBQs,” Ryder repeated. “It stands for data-based questions. They’ll be on the AP test in the spring.”

“I’m aware what a DBQ is, Mr. Cross. I am the teacher here, after all.”

I expected Ryder to make a snide comment about this, but he managed to restrain himself and instead asked, “So when will we start practicing them?”

“After Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t you think that’s awfully late?”

“Oh dear,” I said. I was less able to restrain myself. “That’s far too late. Did you know that in DC, students start preparing for AP tests just out of utero?”

Ryder turned to face me, mid-eye-roll. “While your hyperbole is ridiculous, we do start preparing way in advance. And our AP test results reflect it.”

“If only you’d spent as much time working on your social skills.”