If I Lie (11 page)

“Hey, man,” Blake says in a deep, calm voice. “You mind? I want to dance with Q.”

I’m sure I look as shocked as Josh does when he sees Blake.

Josh snorts a half-laugh at Blake. “Right. Very funny.”

I use the distraction to slip past both boys. I take a few steps before I am stopped by a hand on my arm. Tired of being grabbed, I yank away. It’s Blake’s hand, I realize, when the fingers remain gentle.

“Easy,” he whispers to me, before giving his attention back to Josh.

“You’re serious?” Josh says to Blake.

I glance around. The buzz of laughter and conversation have
hushed. The music plays, but everyone has stopped dancing. For once, all eyes are on Blake and Josh instead of me.

Blake shrugs. “I’m getting tired of everyone acting shitty toward Q. I don’t think Carey would put up with it if he were here. You and I both know how he feels about her. It stops now.”

There is some kind of warning passing between them that I don’t understand. Josh doesn’t exactly back down, but Blake walks away as if the conversation is over. He tugs me along with him, and I follow in shock. I feel sick, my body moving sluggishly, overloaded by pent-up fear. We reach the middle of the dance floor, and a slow song comes on. Blake shoulders my camera, takes my right hand in his left, and places his right hand on my waist.

“Put your hand on my arm,” he says near my ear. “We’re just dancing.”

We danced once before, but it turned into more than “just dancing.” That’s how we got here. I hesitate, but with all eyes on us, I feel like I can’t refuse without making a bigger ass of myself. I put a tentative hand on his shoulder and follow his lead as we sway to the music. I try to look anywhere but at him. Instead, all I see is him.

Blake’s not wearing a suit like the other boys. He’s disheveled and wrinkled in jeans and a gray T- shirt with a faded AC/DC logo. Probably his brother’s. He’d thrown a suit coat on over the shirt, but it’s obvious he hadn’t intended to come to the dance.

“You look beautiful, Q.”

I finally let my eyes meet his solemn gaze. I’m so uncomfortable, my skin wants to crawl away.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, and the anger that began when I saw my mother snaps in my voice. He doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Angel called,” he explains. “She heard Josh getting riled up after he saw you arrive and thought you might need help. The better question is, what are you doing here?”

“Yearbook. And you didn’t really answer
my
question. Why did you come here to help me?”

By confronting Josh and dancing with me, Blake’s making it clear that nobody should mess with me. I’m confused. He’s let me bear the fallout all these months. Why come to my defense now?

Blake is silent so long I think he’s not going to answer when he says, “I don’t know. Angel called and I had this picture of Carey in my head, screaming at me to get my ass down here. No matter what we’ve done, he wouldn’t want anyone to hurt you.”

It sounds so perfect. He’s defending me because Carey would want him to. It’s not about me. It never is, with these two boys. Blake lets me take the blame, and Carey uses me.

I’m bruised from the inside out. And so damned tired of keeping my mouth shut. I’m beyond tempted to tell the truth. I can see their faces now.
Hey, everyone. You know how you’re punishing me because I cheated on that guy? He’s freaking gay and made me promise not to tell any of you. Oh, and by the way, the guy I DIDN’T cheat with? He’s Carey’s bestie, and he let you all believe that he’s a damned saint.

Screw them all. To hell with Carey. And to hell with Blake.

I stop dancing. “So you’re a hero? The big, strong guy saving the helpless girl?”

He stops swaying too. “I would never call you helpless.”

He blames me for convincing him to betray Carey, but I don’t care anymore. The hell I’ve been through this year has to make up for what I did to him. I never pointed the finger at him. That has to count for more than he’s due.

“Should I kiss the ground you walk on because you finally stood up for me?”

“Stop it, Q,” he says softly. “I don’t expect anything.”

“No? What did you say to me before?
‘Tell them, Q,’
” I say, mimicking his voice, and he looks ashamed.

I start to tell him how he’s misjudged me. How they all have.

And then I picture Carey’s face when he begged me to keep his secret last August. And I imagine his parents’ shattered faces when they find out what their son was too afraid to tell them. What if they learn that Carey didn’t trust them with the truth?

I come to the same conclusion I have a thousand times. It’s not my secret to tell. I made a promise and, whether he deserves my loyalty or not, I’ll keep it. Because I won’t be that person who goes back on her word. Never again.

But despite my silence, I won’t let them walk all over me anymore.

“Stay away from me,” I say in a hollow voice.

“Q?” Blake sounds upset.

I just want to get away from him. He reaches for my hand. Stiff and unyielding, I freeze him out until he gives up. It’s easier to be strong when I’m cold inside. My father has that right, at least.

“I don’t need your help, Blake,” I tell him. “I’ve survived all this time without you or Carey. I don’t need either of you. Not anymore.”

From the way his hazel eyes narrow, I know I’ve wounded him. Blake passes me my camera when I reach for it, and he doesn’t stop me when I walk away.

I give Angel a curt nod of thanks when she gives me my coat. She didn’t have to call Blake, and it was nice to know she’d stopped being mad at me long enough to be worried about what Josh might do.

Horowitz, on the other hand, will probably be upset that I didn’t stay to see the crowning of the dance’s king and queen. Oh well. He’d tricked me into coming here, so he’d better be happy with the pictures I did take. They’re all lucky I didn’t ruin their idiotic dance by screaming my head off when Josh cornered me.

This honor crap isn’t for the weak.

*   *   *

Dad has left the porch light on for me.

It takes all of ten minutes to hide my mother’s dress in the back of my closet and get ready for bed. I head to the kitchen in my robe and slippers and make myself a bowl of cereal, eating by the light of the stove. Standing at the counter, I munch away and
sort through the mail I’d dropped there earlier. Since the college brochures started pouring in last year, Dad has left it to me to toss away the junk and leave the real mail on his desk.

My fingers pause on the envelope with the words
FREE MAIL
written where a stamp would go. Only deployed soldiers can send mail that way. It’s addressed to me. From Carey.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. He’s writing to tell me he’s okay.
I sink to the floor with my back against the counter, shredding the envelope as I go.

No.

The letter is dated. He wrote it weeks ago, before he went missing. Probably when I refused to answer his e-mails. I start crying as I read.

Dear Quinn:

God, you don’t know how much I miss you. I think about you all the time, and I imagine us sitting on your porch. Whenever I’m scared or too tired to keep moving, I go there to that porch with you. Your feet are dirty from going barefoot all day, and your hair is tangled and you look more beautiful than you think you are. We’re arguing about who is smarter—women or men—and I can tell you think you’ve won the argument because you’re wearing that smug look you get when you think you’re right, which is pretty much all the time.

I’d give my left arm to be there with you now. But then I’d want to be back here with my brothers. We’re doing a good thing.
I believe that most days. I have to, or I wouldn’t be able to make it through. MREs, the freezing nights, the bugs. And those aren’t the worst things.

Quinn, I saw my battle buddy get killed today. One minute he was standing next to me, talking my ear off. The next, a sniper got off a shot and I was covered in my buddy’s brains and blood. He was talking about his wife’s cooking, and then he was just dead. And the only thing I could think about was how sorry I was that I’d left you holding the bag back there. You and Blake.

I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. I should’ve been a better man. I will be, if I get the chance to come home. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need another favor.

Keep my secret a little longer. I’m going to call home as soon as I can get my hands on a phone. I’m going to tell my parents the truth. I owe it to them and to you. Give everyone my love, and give my mom a hug for me. Please write back. I need to know you’re okay.

Love,

Me

I drop my forehead to my knees and try to smother the sobs so my father won’t hear them. I’ve been so pissed at Carey, punishing him with my silence. The Carey who wrote this letter?
This
is my Carey—not the one who kept quiet while I took the blame for something I didn’t do. It’s been so long since I’ve seen
this Carey, the one who taught me what honor and friendship are about.

Missing Carey is boring a hole in me. What if I never see him again?

*   *   *

Last summer, after Carey told me he was gay, I felt like my entire world had splintered. And I hated him for doing that to me. After crying for two hours, I picked myself up, put on some makeup to cover the mess I’d made, and dressed in my sexiest tank top and jeans.

I’d come to the conclusion that something was wrong with me. It had never even occurred to me that Carey didn’t want me in that way. Who the hell dates a gay guy and doesn’t notice? A stupid girl, I’d guessed. Still . . . Why hadn’t I pushed him? Why had I accepted our passionless relationship? Because, if I was being honest with myself, I hadn’t wanted to push him. I liked how comfortable we were. What did that say about me? In trying not to be my mother, had I completely turned off my feelings and become my father? Become a prude instead of a whore?

I left my house that summer night with something to prove. I pretended I wasn’t sure where I was going or who I was going to. What a lie.

Blake and me, we’d always had a rocky friendship. Carey had brought us together whether we liked it or not, and we’d accepted each other for him. But Blake had an edge when he watched me
with Carey. Something dark sparked in his eyes when we found ourselves alone. Over the summer, with Carey away at Camp Geiger, Blake and I were frequently alone together. Blake had never said a word—would never betray Carey that way—but some part of me suspected what it was that he was holding back.

That night, I wanted to hear those things Blake wouldn’t bring himself to say. I needed to hear them.

I didn’t feel nervous until I stood on his porch.

I took a deep breath to find the courage—or stupidity—that had brought me there.

Blake opened the door.

Chapter Thirteen

When I knocked on his door, I knew Blake was alone, that his brother worked Saturday nights and his mother was out of town visiting his aunt. Blake answered the door and leaned against the doorjamb lazily.

Clearly I’d woken him up. He wore only a pair of jeans, riding low on his hips, and no shirt. My heart beat a little faster.

He yawned. “Q? Whatdya doing here? Where’s Carey?” Blake looked around me as if he expected him to appear.

“We broke up,” I said. Three words I thought might change everything.

And they did.

Blake lost all appearance of sleepiness, letting go of the door to stand up straight. I will never forget the look in his eyes at that moment. A hint of danger. And hope.

“Can I come in?”

He started and stepped back in a hurry. “Of course.”

I’d been to Blake’s house a thousand times since we were kids building forts in the backyard. This time was different. I should have left right then. Instead, I walked past him and into the living room, where I’d once lounged with Carey on the couch, so sure he’d love me forever. Neither Blake nor I sat down now. We stood in the middle of the room, staring at each other awkwardly.

“What happened?” he asked finally.

I shifted, studying the pictures on his mantle so I wouldn’t stare at his chest. “He broke up with me.”

Blake looked shocked when I turned to face him. “
He
broke up with you?”

I gave a harsh laugh. “Yep. You sound surprised.”

He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I am. You guys are Marine Barbie and Ken.”

That last bit sounded bitter, echoing what Angel’d always called us. I took a step toward him.