Four Truths and a Lie (6 page)

“You're right,” I say, finding my voice and throwing Amber a grateful smile. “It's pink.”

The rest of the game passes uneventfully, except for when Tia reveals that having her first kiss over the summer isn't a lie, and everyone has to stop and talk about it for, like, half an hour. It's actually kind of interesting. Apparently it was some boy who lives near her, and they'd been hanging out together all summer, and then finally before she left for school he decided to kiss her. She said it was a good kiss, not too slimy and not too dry.

When we get back to the room, I look at the mound of books on my desk. After my little nap this afternoon, I haven't done any of my homework. I open my assignment book and take a look at what I have to do. Hmm. Science reading, the math worksheet plus the regular assignment of ten problems, two social studies “mini-essays,” and a bunch of comprehension questions and vocabulary words for English. They said they'd ease us into it slowly, and already I have more homework than I ever had at my old school.

“Don't worry,” Crissa says, from where she's lounging on her bed. “You'll get used to it.”

“Get used to what?” I ask, trying to pretend like I have no clue what she's talking about.

“All the work.”

“I'm not
unused
to it,” I say, which makes no sense. Crissa just smirks. She's reading her social studies and chewing on a gummy worm. My eyes narrow. Maybe I just need to break her down and eventually we will be BFF. That happens a lot in movies and books—people start out hating each other and then become the best of friends. Like in
Legally Blonde
. Plus Crissa is very smart and it wouldn't hurt to have her helping me with my homework. I work better in pairs, anyway. Brianna and I used to do our
homework together almost every night. Well, until she, you know, stopped speaking to me.

Crissa's alarm clock goes off, and she reaches over and turns it off without looking.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“My hour of social studies is over,” she says. “Rachel and Tia are coming over here to strategize soccer.”

“Already?” Today's the first day of school. What can they possibly have to strategize about? Could this girl be any more anal?

“Well, I'm the captain.” She grabs another gummy worm out of the bag on her bed. Of course she's the captain. I feel a tightness in my chest for a second, like I'm going to cry. Which is silly. I mean, just because everyone is going to be talking about soccer, and I'm going to be stuck on the basketball team is no reason to get upset. I'm sure there are loads of cool girls on the basketball team, who will be really nice to me, and we'll all have strategy sessions together in my room late at night while eating junk food and looking at magazines.

I sit down at my desk and open my science book. I'm about ten pages into reading about cell mitosis (bor-ing), when Tia and Rachel show up at our room.

“It's time to talk about kicking some boo-tay!” Tia says.
It's nine o'clock at night, and yet she's wearing a pair of navy blue shorts, a white T-shirt, and what appear to be shin guards and soccer cleats. Rachel follows behind her, wearing a similar outfit.

Crissa jumps off the bed and runs over to them. They jump into the air, high-five, and say something that sounds like “Hey rah rah something something Brookline Wildcats, gooo Wildcats rah sis something.” It's all very confusing. I hope that's not, like, their cheer. They need a good choreographer.

“Wow,” I say. “That's cool. What is it?”

Crissa looks shocked. “Oh,” she says, swishing her hair over her shoulder. “I forgot you were here.” She glances at Tia and Rachel. Um, where else would I be? This is my room. And I was just talking to her a few minutes ago. “That's our secret soccer club cheer. We're actually not supposed to do it in front of you unless you're on the team.”

Great. First she brings out the fact that I don't want anyone knowing why I'm here, and now she's making me feel like an outsider in my own room.

“Oh,” I say, hoping I sound nonchalant. “That's cool. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”

I sit back down at my desk as the three of them pile onto Crissa's bed and start talking about their practice tomorrow.
My eyes feel all scratchy, and what with that making it hard to read, and the fact that the three amigas are talking and giggling like I'm not trying to study, I decide I need to go to the library. Which just goes to show how totally unbearable the situation is, since I have never once in my life decided to go to the library voluntarily.

I gather up all my stuff, shove it into my bag, throw my hair into a ponytail, and gloss my lips. Not that it matters. But lip gloss usually makes me feel better.

“I'm going to the library,” I say to the room.

“See ya,” Crissa says, holding up her hand in a half wave. Tia and Rachel don't even respond.

I head down the hallway toward the library. My eyes are still a little watery, and I reach up and angrily wipe them with the back of my hand. Whatever. Scarlett Northon does not roll over for a bunch of mean girls! Maybe this is karma for never trying to be friends with the dorky girls at my old school. But at least at my old school, even though I wasn't particularly nice to the girls who weren't in my crowd, they had friends. They had girls who they could talk to. All I want is to find one Fendi-wearing misfit here. Although I guess that isn't going to happen, since I haven't seen even one trace of Fendi since I've gotten here. I haven't even seen any Prada.

I contemplate this as I hit the bottom stair, feeling sorry
for myself. And then I hear a noise coming from under the stairs. It sounds kind of like a cross between a cry and a strangled moan, with a little bit of a sniffle thrown in. Hmm. Sounds like someone is crying and trying not to let anyone know. I used to do the same thing when I'd go to sleepovers and get homesick. Until one time in the fourth grade when Ella Markson's older sister caught me crying and woke up her mom, and my dad had to come and get me. And on the way home we decided that maybe it would be better if I didn't go to any more sleepovers for a while. But it was nice. My dad said it like we'd come up with the idea together, instead of just pointing out that I was obviously too scared to spend the night out by myself.

I creep around and under the stairs, and I see Amber sitting there, her uniform skirt sprawled out around her in a puddle.

“Amber?” I say. She buries her face back in her knees and doesn't move.

“I can see you,” I say, sighing and crawling under the staircase with her. A film of dirt attaches itself to my jeans. Eww.

“What is it?” she asks, like I'm the one who's crying. Her face is still buried in her knees, and all I can see is a cloud of blond hair.

“Why are you crying?” I ask. “I mean, I've definitely felt like crying too, since I've been here, but you're not new.”

Amber says something that sounds like “I'm hahschnick.”

“You want a hot dog?” I try.

“No, I'm hoshnick.”

“You need a hockey stick?”

“No!” she says, finally pulling her face up. Her cheeks are all smudged from her tears. “I'm homesick!”

“Oooh,” I say, finally getting it. “You're homesick.” That makes much more sense than her wanting a hockey stick. Although in this place, you never know.

“Yes,” Amber says. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Eww. I reach into my bag, pull out a tissue, and hand it to her. She takes it and wipes her nose properly this time. “Are you?”

“Not really,” I say. I miss my mom, of course. My dad, I could probably do without. But honestly I'm more worried about people here accepting me, and less about missing home. There's really nothing there for me to go back to. “I'm more concerned with people here liking me.” It's out of my mouth before I realize this probably makes me sound totally shallow. “I mean … Wow, does that make me shallow?”

“No,” she says. “It makes you
lucky.”
Overhead, we can
hear the footsteps of students walking up and down the steps. She sniffs again. “I just miss my parents, you know? And my sister.”

“Even after being here for so many years?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It happens to me every year for the first few days. I get totally homesick.” Sniff. “It's just hard with my dad being away.”

“Where's your dad?”

“He's in the military, and he's stationed overseas.” She's twisting her hands nervously in her lap. “I don't get to see him that much.”

“That sucks.” I can't really relate. Having my dad shipped overseas sounds fine to me. We sit there for a second, which is kind of awkward. I mean, I don't even know this girl, and she's crying in front of me. I'm not exactly sure what to say, so I decide to try my hand at speaking Brookline-ese. Or, you know, whatever it would be called if Brookline had their own language. I hold up my science book. “Want to go to the library and study?”

She looks surprised. “You're studying now?”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “Why not?”

“Wow, you must really want to get ahead on everything,” she says. She sounds impressed. “Usually people don't start pulling all-nighters until at least the second week.”

All-nighters? Who said anything about an all-nighter? And more importantly, why would someone stay up all night
studying?
I love staying up all night, but only to watch late movies, or to do something I can't get away with during the day.

“Yeah, well,” I say, hoping I sound smart, and not like I just spent the afternoon sleeping in my bed.

“Let me grab my stuff.” She scrambles out from under the steps, and returns two minutes later carrying the most enormous bookbag I've ever seen. It's red and has wheels on the bottom—it looks kind of like the suitcase my dad takes when he goes on business trips.

“What are all those books?” I ask her, hoping I don't sound like I'm panicking.

“Supplementals,” she says.

“Oh, right.” What are supplementals? Never heard of 'em. I roll my eyes like I just forgot what supplementals were for a second. A slip of the mind, la la la. “I just haven't gotten mine yet.”

She gives me a weird look. And that's when I see it. The tip of
Match Me if You Can
sticking out of her bag. “Hey!” I say. “You like romance books.”

“Oh, not really.” Her face flushes and she pushes the book back down, but it's too late.

“Amber,” I say. “I know that flush. I've
had
that flush.” I reach into her bag and pull the book out, running my hand along the spine. “I love this one!”

“Oh, me too!” she says. “Have you read the sequel?”

“Not yet.”

She pulls another book out of her bag and hands it to me. “It's really good.”

“Thanks.” I put it in my bag for later. Not that I'm going to have too much time for pleasure reading with all this homework, not to mention my nap schedule. But still. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she says.

“Is Crissa always so …” Hmm. What's the right word? Mean? Stuck-up? Conceited?

“Type A?” Amber tries carefully.

“Yes!” I say. “Type A.” Type A is good. Very neutral-sounding.

“Well,” she says, as we wheel through the dorm and out the door toward the library. “Not really. I mean, she's always been super driven and all that, but this year it's been worse.” She leans in close to me, her bag bumping me in the knee, and lowers her voice. “She had a breakup.”

“A breakup?” I try to keep the interest out of my voice
as we walk across campus to McGinty Hall, where the library is. The air's gotten a little cold, and I quicken my pace and keep my head down.

“Yeah.” Amber's wheelie bag bumps over the pavement, the wheels screeching as it goes. “She was dating this guy James, from BAB, for like, all of last year. Their families are really good friends, she's known him since she was a little kid. And then over the summer, she breaks up with him. Supposedly she was heartbroken.”

“BAB?” What's a BAB?

“Brookline Academy for Boys.” Oh. Right.

“Why would she be upset about it if she broke up with him?”

“I dunno.” Amber shrugs. “I guess it's just traumatic, you know? Plus their families are super close, and so she's always going to have to see him at, like, family parties and stuff.”

“Her family has parties? I met her mom for a second, and she definitely didn't seem like the partying type.” I try to picture Mrs. Bacon partying, and I giggle. Although my dad used to wear totally stuffy suits to work, looking all professional, and then sometimes, when my mom would be out for the night, he'd let me put on whatever music I wanted, and we'd dance around the kitchen while we made
fajitas. It was the only thing my dad knew how to make. Thinking about those little dinner dance parties makes a lump come up in my throat, and I swallow around it.

“I was just using that as an example,” Amber says. “I just meant she'd probably see him at random family events. And you're right about her mom, she's kind of a nightmare.”

“How so?”

“She's wicked demanding. She used to come down here a lot last year, just show up unannounced and sit in on Crissa's classes and stuff, make sure she was doing okay.”

“Jeez,” I say. “And the school let her do that?”

“Yeah,” Amber says. “Mrs. Bacon's on the board, they pretty much let her do whatever she wants.”

“Wow,” I say, pulling open the huge doors of the library. The warm air feels good on my face. “That sucks. So you think Crissa's still upset about the breakup?”

“Yeah,” Amber says. “It was kind of this big deal, since she was the first one to have any kind of real boyfriend, you know?” We find a table in the back of the room and sit down. Amber starts pulling her books out of her bag, covering the table in a rainbow of pages. “Anyway, she's always been really driven, but now I think she's even more so. Like she's trying to prove to herself that she's okay and that she can accomplish anything she wants. You know, without a guy.
Plus I think her mom's putting even more pressure on her this year, since we start high school next year.”