Seven Ways We Lie (39 page)

“Don't let it get to you,” Juni says. “You look tired, lady.”

I make a grumbling noise. “ ‘Tired' is the understatement of the year.” I point at Kat, who sits beside Juni. “You didn't tell me your show was, like, ninety-seven percent crushing misery.”

She shrugs, slurping from her juice box. “It's Russian.”

Someone taps my shoulder. I turn again, wondering if ho-boy has returned, but no.

“Claire. I—hey,” I say, setting down my fork on my lunch tray. Juniper told me about their conversation yesterday, but Claire never found us during lunch. I hope to God she was apologizing to Lucas.

“Mind if I sit?” she asks, every word a tentative little push.

“Sure.”

She perches on the blue plastic disk to my right. A wisp of hair slips out above her ear. “I get it. I think.”

“Get what?”

She lowers her voice. “Why it's not fair if guys expect . . . things from you. It's that they shouldn't respect you less whatever your choices are, and, um, neither should I.” She swallows. “What I'm trying to say is, sorry. For judging you. And I'm going to stop.”

Gratitude warms me. Knowing Claire, this is the hardest thing she's ever done. “You practice that in the mirror?” I tease, keeping it gentle.

The skin behind her freckles flushes deep red. “Maybe.” She looks back and forth between Juniper and me. “I was also thinking, um—it's been a while since the three of us hung out. Do you guys want to come over after I get home from practice?”

Claire's cheek is puckering from where she's biting it. Jeez. I haven't seen her this nervous since tennis tryouts freshman year.

“Sure,” I say. “But only if, one, we watch
Parks and Rec
, and two, you stop talking to us like we're going to break.”

“What?”

“Claire.” I knock her softly on the shoulder. “
Claire
. We're good, okay?”

It takes a minute for the words to struggle off her tongue: “We're good?”

“I mean, I'm good,” Juni says.

“And I haven't been this good in a while,” I say. “So if you're yourself again, and if you're good, then by definition our little trio is, in fact, all good.”

“I . . . okay.” I swear, I feel the relief rolling off her, a gentle wave. A smile spreads across her face. “Then we're good,” she says, and her voice evolves back into its brisk, businesslike self. “Also, do you guys think you'll come to Young Environmentalists? Because I have all these brochures. I printed out, like, a hundred, and—”

“That's a lot of ink,” I say.

Humor glimmers in Claire's eyes. “I'm aware.”

“Well,” I say with my cheekiest grin, “given the point of Young Environmentalists, that seems to be sort of a problematic waste of resources, wouldn't you say?”

“I would say that you're sort of a problematic waste of oxygen,” Claire says dryly, and my smile widens. She's back.

Principal Turner's voice blares over the speaker. “May I have your attention for the announcement of the class presidents?”

Claire straightens up eagerly, my sister rolls her eyes, and Burke says, “Oh shit,” looking from candidate to candidate.

“Twenty bucks says Juniper wins,” Matt says.

Juniper grimaces. “Twenty bucks says
you
win.”

“Yeah, seriously,” I say. “Your posters were so terrible, they crossed the barrier into being sort of hilarious.”

“Thanks,” Matt says. “I think.”

Turner clears her throat. The intercom whines. “The freshman president is Xavier Lee.”

A table across the cafeteria breaks into cheers. A smatter of clapping drifts through the rest of the room, devoid of enthusiasm. Claire applauds politely.

“Pretty sure freshmen are incapable of self-rule,” I say.

Matt nods. “Give them a dictator. Juniper can add that to the list of shit to do when she wins.”

I catch the end of some kid's name. Tragically, we've missed the announcement of the sophomore president. Then Turner says, “The junior class president is Matt Jackson.”

Matt's eyes widen, and I punch the air. “Called it,” I say over the senior announcement. “Twenty bucks for me and Juniper. You owe us a crisp Jackson, Jackson.”

“This concludes today's announcements,” Turner says. “Have a happy Thanksgiving break.” More people clap and cheer at the Thanksgiving break mention than they did for the presidents.

Matt swats at Burke, who seems to be asphyxiating from laughter. “What the hell?” Matt says. “How does this make sense? I didn't campaign for shit.”

With a serene smile, Juniper returns to her food. “Don't let the power go to your head.”

As I look around the table, a smile starts in my chest and swells up and up, lifting the world a little.

My attention wanders from our table to the next, where a girl with bleached-blond hair is frantically turning pages in a chemistry textbook, and to the table across the aisle, where two guys stir ketchup into their milk boxes. Hundreds of voices bounce
off the tiled floor, off the chipping mural on the cinder-block walls, sounds lost as soon as they're made. Maybe my name is still mixed in there somewhere—I don't know—but I don't care anymore. Because I can think back three weeks to my family's silence, to Claire's resentment, to Juniper's secret, and it all seems buried impossibly deep in the past. We are always moving forward—I can see it now. We are hurtling through our lives. We are never standing still.

acknowledgments

I OWE THIS BOOK TO: MY EDITOR, ANNE HELTZEL, FOR
her keen vision; the team at Amulet for their talent and enthusiasm; and my agent, Caryn Wiseman, for her insight and perseverance.

I owe my sanity to: the Goat Posse, whose name is lighthearted and whose love is wholehearted; the Tumblr community, who comfort me even when I'm objectively horrible; and the amazing writers I met through AgentQuery Connect, especially Stephanie Diaz, R.C. Lewis, Mindy McGinnis, Michelle Reed, and MarcyKate Connolly.

I owe everything else to: my parents, whose love and patience are unfathomable; my sister, whose wit and vivacity I can only aspire to; and my friends, who are the world to me.

Also, to Abrams interns Lauryn McSpadden and Kristen Barrett for their enthusiasm during acquisitions. I can't thank you enough! Your support means so much.

about the author

RILEY REDGATE
is an economics major at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio. Her expected graduation date is May 21, 2016. She grew up in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and hopes to work in a bookstore after college.
Seven Ways We Lie
is her first novel.