Fourteen (3 page)

Just a few more months. Graduation isn’t that far away, and NYU is waiting for me. I can deal with this shit for just a few more months.

I turned around just before the street Steve Forrester lived on and jogged back home. I walked up the porch steps, once again, greeted with an empty house. After setting my iPod and keys on the small end table by the door, I walked into the kitchen, crumpled up the note to Dad, and threw it away.

I looked at the clock on the microwave—ten past five. I had plenty of time to take a shower before Evan showed up.

If
he showed up.

Rolling my eyes and sighing, I made it up the stairs and into the bathroom. After stripping, I turned and looked in the mirror and placed my palms on my stomach. I spread my hands, stretching my skin until it was flat, and turned sideways. My stomach was falsely flat now, but my butt still stuck out more than what was considered “ideal” for a teenage girl. My arms were flabby as well, and I wore long-sleeved shirts no matter what the weather, just to cover them up. My thighs were thick and at eighteen years old, I had cellulite regardless how much I ran. The only decently thin part of my body was my calves. I did this every time I took a shower, imagining how I’d look if I were skinny. It only made me feel disappointed, disgusted with myself, and upset. Today, I just didn’t care. Today, I accepted that I looked like this, and while I wouldn’t be a beauty queen at any point in my life, this was me. Right now, that was enough.

I dropped my hands from my stomach and turned from the mirror, leaning down and testing the water temperature before I pulled on the lever and hopped in.

Afterward, I stepped out, grabbed a towel from the cabinet underneath the sink, and wrapped it around me. I grabbed my clothes from the floor and kicked my shoes out into the hallway as I walked into my bedroom. Tossing my clothes into the wicker basket by my closet, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and long-sleeved back shirt. With a towel, I dried my hair, ran my brush through it, and walked downstairs in time to hear a knock at the door.

Pulling at the ends of my shirt, I took a deep breath to prepare myself and pulled open the door. His hair was wet, either from sweat or a shower, and he was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn to school—a white t-shirt, black zip-up hoodie, and a pair of dark blue jeans.

“Hi.” He shifted his book bag on his shoulder and looked down at his feet.

“Hi,” I said, stepping out of the way and letting him in.

I closed the door, skirted around him and started toward the kitchen.

“We can work in here, I guess,” I said, snatching my bag from the floor, walking into the kitchen, and setting it in a chair before going over to the refrigerator. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“What do you have?”

I looked behind me to see that he was standing at the table, his bag on the floor and his hands resting on the chair he stood behind.

“Water, iced tea, and soda.”

“Water.”

I closed the refrigerator after grabbing a bottle of iced tea for myself. I placed his drink in front of him, moved my book bag from the chair, and sat down. I set my iced tea down and unzipped my bag, grabbing my human physiology textbook and notebook and setting it on the table.

“We need at least ten volunteers,” I said, flipping open my notebook and handing him the project information. “Since I don’t know ten people, I guess that’s your job.”

“You know ten people, Arianna,” he said, grabbing the paper and reading over it.

“Would any of them be willing to help me out?” I asked dryly, looking up at him and tilting my head to the side.

He looked at me over the edge of the paper, his eyes trailing back to the words in front of him.

“I was thinking that we should try it out on each other first.” I played with the edges of my notebook, keeping my eyes on the middle of the table. “So that we know what we’re looking for.”

“All right,” he agreed. “We have to write a paper, too. Right?”

“Yes. I can do that if you’ll get the volunteers.”

“I can handle the responsibility of writing a paper, Arianna.”

He glared at me, and I instinctively slid down in my seat.

“I’m just trying to make this easier for you. The less you have to deal with me, the better, right?” I said with a voice laced with sarcasm as I gave him a fake smile that bordered on a sneer.

“It’s a joint project,” he said through his teeth. “I’m capable of doing more than finding fucking volunteers for this shit.”

I held my hands up in mock surrender and feigned innocence. “Geez. Didn’t mean to offend. Sor-ry.”

“We can split the paper,” he said, snapping the pages down on the table. “We’ll work on it together.”

He bent over to open his bag, pulling out a notebook and a pen of his own. He flipped it open to a blank page and tapped his pen on it. I did the same, pulling a pen out from my bag and immediately drew the chart that I’d seen on the webpage.

The whole idea of this type of lie detector test had to do with the way the body reacted when someone was lying. For example, when people lied, they usually tensed up, their facial expression changed, their voice changed in pitch and their entire body stiffened. When people told the truth, they were more relaxed and easygoing. The website had said to make a chart with three truths on one side and three lies on the other. One person had to hold out his arm while the other pushed down on it as he told either a lie or the truth, and it was the asker’s job to watch for the rest of the signs. The way the body reacted determined whether the person was telling the truth or not.

“Do you want to go first?” I asked keeping my eyes centered on the page as I wrote what I liked.

Running. Classical music. Reading.

“I guess so.”

I wrote my dislikes in the second column.

High school. Mosquitoes. Sun.

I looked up to see that he was writing things down as well, briefly wondering what he most disliked about his life. He seemed to have everything.

“Done,” he said, setting the pen down on his notebook and looking over at me.

We both stood.

“We should do this on the stairs. I have to be taller than you.”

He turned on his heel, walking in the direction of the front door. He stopped and I walked in front of him, standing on the second step and waiting for him to stand in front of me. He stuck his arm out, and I placed my hand on his wrist and looked at his shoulder.

“We should probably do a few control questions, so that we both know what to expect.”

“What should I start with? Lie or truth?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

He pursed his lips and twisted them to the side. I hated the way my heart skipped a beat and the way I wanted to smile. He looked like the boy I used to know when he did that. Evan’s face smoothed out after a moment, and he shifted his weight on his feet, standing up straight.

“My name is Evan Drake.”

I studied him as I slowly pushed down on his arm, noting the way his face was completely relaxed, and it took no effort whatsoever to push his arm to his side.

“That was the truth,” I said, more to help myself remember the little details than anything else.

“I know my own damn name.”

“No, I know. I just . . .” I shook my head to clear it. “Never mind.”

He rolled his eyes, stuck his arm out once more, and I replaced my hand on his wrist.

“I am a geek.”

I repressed the urge to roll my eyes as I pushed down on his arm, noting the way his eyes tightened at the corners and his lips pursed slightly. It was harder to push his arm down and even his shoulders seemed rigid.

“Great,” I mumbled, letting go of his wrist and standing up straight once more.

“Truth or lie?” he challenged.

“Lie,” I said through my teeth.

He nodded, satisfied, and stuck out his arm again. “Do you have enough of a grip on what to expect now or should we continue on with the controls?”

“I have all the information I need from you. You might have to do the same to me when it comes to that.”

The smug look on his face fell, and he scowled at me, sticking his arm out once more. I felt a mild satisfaction from ruffling his feathers and put my hand on his wrist again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He shifted on his feet.

“I love my car.”

I slowly pushed down on his arm as he said it, checking all the factors of his face that I’d picked out before.

Truth.

He raised his arm again. “I think you’re beautiful.”

I studied his face, feeling the tears build up in the back of my throat. His lips were stretched into a thin line, his arm was nearly impossible to push down, and every inch of him was rigid.

Lie.

“I forgot my notebook.” I managed to say, my voice thankfully even as I pushed by him and walked into the kitchen again.

I grabbed my notebook from the table, my bottom lip trembling and my eyesight blurry as I groped for the pen I knew was supposed to be right beside it. A small sob left me, and I dropped my notebook, slapping my hands over my mouth and closing my eyes tightly as I turned my back on the entrance of the room.

“Arianna?”

He was in there with me again, and I composed myself, sucking in deep breaths and digging my fingers into my eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked, keeping my back to him.

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked as casually as I could manage, pressing both hands over my heart, prepared to do my best to keep it intact for as long as I could.

“I don’t hate you—”

“What did I ever do to you?” I continued, shrugging off his lie. “I’ve never said one bad word about you to anyone, never made fun of you when we were little and at our worst. I’ve never done anything to deserve the way you treat me, and I don’t understand.”

“It’s not about you—”

“Yeah right, it isn’t about me,” I said, disbelief coloring my tone before I turned to face him. “I’m a waste of space, or I’d crush you if I sat on you, right? Isn’t that what you and Steve said? Just because I’m heavier and I keep to myself, you all have the right to say these things to me?”

“It’s just . . .”

“Just what, Evan?” I asked. “I’m just not good enough for you or your friends, right? So you’re perfectly justified in saying those things to me because you don’t think I’m good enough to talk to anymore. I tried to
help you
.” I swallowed hard and ran my hands through my hair. “I tried to be the better person because I could see that you were having a bad day, and all I wanted to do was help you out. Instead, you grab my wrist, bruise me, and insult me. How do you justify that?”

I turned to the side, wiping away the tears that had traveled down my cheeks during my rant.

“You can go,” I said when he failed to say anything. “I’ll talk to Mr. Streeter tomorrow and see if we can switch partners for this.”

“No,” he said. “We’ve already started—”

“Yeah, we got really far, didn’t we?” I said sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m sure it won’t be a big deal.”

“No,” he said again, his voice stronger. “Everyone else has already started, and no one will want to switch at this point.”

“To work with you? I’m sure any of them will switch in a heartbeat. Maybe you can even join someone else’s project.”

“And what will you do?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’d be doing all the work yourself, on top of the work we’d have to get done for class. That’s not fair.”

“Since when have you cared about what’s fair to me?” I asked, my voice low, even, and monotone. “I am nothing to you, Evan, and you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“Arianna . . .”

“I don’t want you here,” I said, and I was surprised that he looked almost apologetic. “I may not be able to say anything when I’m at school, but this is my house, and I don’t want you here anymore.”

He grabbed his notebook and leaned over the chair to pull his bag onto it. Then he grabbed all of his things and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder as he turned.

“Yeah.”

He walked out, the door slamming behind him. I walked the same path and flipped the locks before going back into the kitchen and grabbing my things. Back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.

The worst part about all of this wasn’t that I’d be going it alone. The worst part was that he didn’t have an answer to any of my questions. Yes, I’d interrupted him a few times, but in the end, he could have said something instead of just walking out. He didn’t have an excuse. He didn’t have a reason.

It just was.

And I was the butt of the jokes. I got the short end of the stick simply because I was different from the rest of them.