Secrets & Lies: Two Short Stories(4)

And then I was kissing Toby Tucker.

This definitely wasn’t a rerun. Nope. This was a totally new, never-before-seen episode of my life.





Chapter Two


When I woke up the next day, I had three thoughts. They were, in this order: I had a good time last night.

Wait… did I really make out with Toby?

OH MY GOD, I am the worst friend ever.

It was enough to make me bolt upright in my bed, which wasn’t a great idea. I hadn’t had quite enough last night to have a full-blown hangover, but I wasn’t feeling my best, either. The sudden movement made my head spin. I groaned.

And so did B.

Which was how I remembered that she’d stayed over last night. Jess had dropped us off here after the party, and we’d crashed about five minutes after walking in the door.

She rolled over, rubbing her eyes. “Mmm. What time is it?”

“Uh…” I glanced at the clock by my bed. “Just after eleven.”

“Ugh.” She sat up. “This is one of the million reasons I hate parties. I always stay out too late and feel like shit the next day.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. But I wasn’t really listening.

I guess she could tell.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Not at all,” I said. Except that I made out with your ex last night and I know you’d be super pissed if you knew. It’s not that I thought B would be jealous or that she still had feelings for Toby or something. She’d moved on a while ago, and she seemed pretty happy about it. Still, though, there was a rule. An unspoken but totally valid rule. You did not hook up with your friends’ exes.

I mean, I was totally over Aidan Wilmot, the boy I’d dated freshman year of high school, but I still wouldn’t be happy if B or Jess suddenly decided to stick their tongues down his throat. It would just be too weird.

“No, everything’s fine,” I said again. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh, because you sprang up like the house was on fire. And now you’re acting kind of strange.”

“Oh, that… um, no. I just remembered that Mom wanted to go have lunch in Oak Hill, then do some Christmas shopping, and I said I’d go with her. I’d better start getting ready.” I jumped out of bed and headed for my closet. Behind me, I heard the mattress creak as B got to her feet.

“Should I call my dad and ask him to pick me up?” she asked.

When I turned around, she was putting on last night’s wrinkled clothes. “No. Mom and I can drop you off. No problem.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Mom was eating a bagel and wearing her embarrassing Christmas sweater when we got downstairs.

“How was the party?” she asked. “I heard the two of you sneak in.”

“Fine,” I said, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster for me and Bianca.

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Just fine? That’s all I get?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly eager to talk about last night’s events. Not with my mom and not in front of Bianca. Luckily, Mom noticed what time it was and became too busy hurrying us through breakfast to persist in her questioning.

Ten minutes later, all three of us were out the door.

***

After we dropped B off, Mom and I headed to Oak Hill, the next town over from Hamilton and the closest thing we had to a “city” until you reached Chicago. It wasn’t much to brag about. A ridiculously tiny shopping mall. Two or three chain restaurants. A Greyhound station. Oak Hill did have one thing I was grateful for, though: Cindependent, a terribly named but totally awesome independent movie theater.

I’d only ventured in there once or twice during high school. I always kind of thought indie flicks were only for pretentious hipsters. But over the past couple months, my perception had changed. So on our way to lunch, I asked Mom to pull into the parking lot so I could run inside and grab a ticket for the afternoon showing of a new French film.

After we ate at a little café inside the mall, Mom went off to shop for gifts, and we promised to meet in front of the mall’s main entrance around six that night. I headed for the little salon next to Sears to get my hair cut. Being a broke college student, I hadn’t had the cash to keep up with cutting my hair, so it had grown from its pixie cut all the way to nearly my shoulders. And a ton of it was made up of dead ends. Ew.

I flipped through a few stylebooks, deciding to do something different. Instead of going back to the pixie cut, I pointed the stylist to an asymmetrical look where the longest pieces would fall near my chin. I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror as she cut away the blond strands, and when she was done, I just kept staring. I wasn’t the bragging type, but it looked pretty badass.

I paid, leaving a nice tip, then headed out to the center of the mall, where a set of benches formed a large square. There was a long line of parents waiting to take their kids’ pictures with Santa in the middle of the square. I sat down and pulled out a magazine I’d brought along. Normally I would have been all over the shopping, but Mom had placed me on a no-shopping ban until after Christmas to keep me from buying anything she may have already gotten me as a gift.

Between pages of celebrity gossip, I checked the clock on my phone, waiting for the time when I’d need to catch the bus over to the theater. I’d just finished an article about a pregnant TV star when I heard someone say, “Casey?” and looked up.