Kody Keplinger - Lying Out Loud

RYDER: Huh??

ME: The six o’clock news. Do you watch it?

RYDER: Um, no. No one under the age of fifty watches the local news.

ME: Well, give me a walker and call me Granny. Because I do. Every night.

RYDER: I can’t decide if that’s pathetic or adorable.

ME: So one of the anchors, Greg Johnson, lives in Hamilton.

RYDER: And?

ME: And I ran into him today. I was pumping gas when he and his stepdaughter pulled up. She goes to school with us, but she’s a few years younger. A sophomore, I think.

RYDER: Uh-huh.

ME: Anyway, I told him what a fan of his I was, and when we went in to pay for our gas, he was like, “Don’t worry, I got this. Anything for a fan.”

RYDER: That’s nice of him.

ME: HE PAID FOR MY GAS!

RYDER: WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?

ME: BECAUSE IT’S A BIG DEAL!

RYDER: Is it, though?

ME: Excuse me, Mr. Big City, but around here Greg Johnson is practically famous. He’s the closest thing we have to a celebrity in Hamilton.

RYDER: Again, not sure if this is sad or adorable.

ME: He’s also very handsome, so there’s that, too.

RYDER: Is it weird that I’m a little jealous of this guy now?

I felt a smile spread across my face. I knew it was wrong. I knew he thought he was flirting with my best friend, not me. But I couldn’t help it.

ME: If you pay for my gas, I’ll call you handsome, too.

RYDER: Duly noted.

By the end of October, there was no way around it. Somehow, I’d developed a big, stinking crush on Ryder Cross.

And he had one on my best friend.

But somehow, I thought I could fix that. I could turn this around and make Ryder see that I, not Amy, was the girl he should be with. It would just take some planning, a lot of lying …

And a little help from my best friend.

“You want me to do what?” Amy’s eyes were wide and totally freaked out.

I glanced around our table to make sure no one was listening. It was Monday, and I’d spent the weekend piecing together my plan before springing it on her over lunch.

Satisfied that we weren’t being spied on — and that Ryder was nowhere near us — I explained.

“Not just you. I’m in on this, too.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Fair point.” I popped a soggy french fry into my mouth. Once again, I’d lied to the cafeteria lady so I could get a free lunch. Now that I was unemployed, this would likely become an all-too-regular occurrence.

Amy had asked that morning if I needed lunch money, but I’d said no. She was already doing so much for me, letting me stay in her room, and I wouldn’t take money from her, too. I told her I had a little cash saved. And, of course, she believed me.

“Trust me, though,” I said. “This will work.”

“I’m not sure what this is.”

“Right. Okay.” I pushed my empty tray aside and leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “So Ryder likes me, but he thinks I’m you. And he hates the me he thinks I am. Following?”

“Barely. But I’m confused. You chatted with him again after the first time?”

“Just … once,” I said, cringing a little.

It had been more like half a dozen times.

“Oh,” Amy said, clearly made a little uncomfortable by this. “That might have been nice to know. It would’ve explained why he kept waving to me in the hallway, if he thought we’d been chatting online. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I know,” I said. “But it just sort of happened. I didn’t mean to do it again.”

And again … and again …

“Well, I’m still not sure why you can’t just tell him it’s you he’s been talking to.”

“We’ve been over this,” I said with a groan. “I’ve tried. He won’t let me get a word out in person, and when I try over IM, he just logs off. And I’m scared if I tell him now or write it in an e-mail, he’ll think I’ve just been screwing with him.”

“So the alternative is … lying to him more?”

“Precisely. But for a good cause.”

“A good cause,” Amy repeated, dubious.

“My love life,” I said. “It’s in desperate need of some charity. Helping me would really just be doing a good deed.”

“I don’t know …”

“What’s there not to know?” I asked. “It won’t be hard and it won’t take long. Basically, we just have to convince Ryder that it’s me, not you, he’s interested in. Really, it’ll be beneficial to both of us.”

“How do we do that?”

“I’m glad you asked, my dearest, bestest friend. It’s simple. We start by making him warm up to me. I’ll act like I’m just playing nice for your sake, and he’ll agree because he’s into you. But then, we convince him that you aren’t at all the kind of girl he wants to be with, make him think he was wrong about you. By then he’s gotten closer to me, realized just how charming I actually am, and bam! Ryder and I are making out in Gert’s backseat while Boyz II Men plays on the stereo.”

“Who?”

I gave her a disappointed stare. “You should really listen to that nineties playlist I made you. You’d understand so many more of my references.”

Amy decided to ignore this and returned to the more important conversation. “I’m still not sure what you expect me to do,” she said. “How do we make Ryder think I’m wrong for him?”

“Well, first, I won’t IM him on your account again. And if he IMs you, you ignore him. Or say something rude.”

Amy grimaced, as if the idea of being rude, even to someone she disliked, was physically painful.

“Or you can ask me to say something rude. Whatever.”

“And what about in person?” she asked. “We go to school together. He thinks we’ve been talking this whole time — he’s already trying to hang out with me.”

“You blow him off,” I say. “Act flaky. Or self-absorbed.”

Even as I said it, I knew this was going to prove to be a challenge for Amy.

“I’ll help you,” I said. “You guys don’t have any classes together, anyway. But when he does come up to you, I’ll be your director. We’re pretty much together all the time as it is, and I know exactly what it takes to piss off Ryder Cross. I might as well have a PhD in it.”

“I’m still not sure …”

“Please, Amy.” I clasped my hands together and gave her the biggest, saddest eyes I could manage. “Please. I need this.”

“You really like him that much?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

I was not a particularly romantic person. Up until now, I’d only ever had two crushes in my life. The first was my childish obsession with Amy’s brother. The second equally as unattainable crush was on Greg Johnson, the news anchor. A celebrity crush, if you will.

But Ryder was different. The fluttery feeling I got in my stomach wasn’t based on how he looked (though staring at him in history class was not entirely unpleasant) or just because he was nice to me (because he wasn’t always). My feelings for him had formed over the course of our instant message conversations — all of which had lasted hours. I’d never talked to anyone for hours before, aside from Amy. We’d just clicked. He was smart and surprisingly funny.

Even if he was also a pretentious hipster.

“You hated him a couple of weeks ago,” Amy said. “What if you change your mind about him again?”

“I won’t,” I assured her. “Believe me, Amy. He’s not the asshole we thought. I mean, he sort of is, but not exactly. Ugh. I know I sound crazy. Just tell me you’ll help. You have to.”

She looked down at her half-eaten lunch. “I guess I will. As long as it doesn’t go on too long —”

“Eee! Thank you!” I sprang across the table to throw my arms around her, my chest landing right in her plate of french fries. “I love you, I love you, I love you! You are my favorite human being, Amy Rush.” And with that, I planted a kiss right on her cheek.

She blushed, either pleased or embarrassed. Then she said, “Um … Mr. Buckley just walked into the cafeteria, and he’s giving us a very strange look. Probably because you’re on top of the table, so …”

I laughed and pushed myself up and away from her, easing back into my seat. “I’ve done weirder things in class. He’s used to it.”

“I don’t know if that’s something to brag about,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Your shirt.”

“What?” I looked down.

Ketchup.

On my white shirt.

All over my boobs.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” I said, even though I was laughing.

“Sorry,” Amy moaned. As if it was her fault I’d launched myself across the lunch table.

“It’s cool,” I said. “I’ll just tell everyone I’m dressed as a murder victim. I mean, we’re only a few days from Halloween. No one will think twice.”

The bell rang and we threw our trash out before heading to our third block classes.

“I have my gym clothes in my locker,” Amy said. “You could borrow that T-shirt. It might be a little stinky, but there’s no ketchup on it.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Maybe I’ll start a new trend.”

But my mind changed when I spotted Ryder heading down the hallway toward us. The reality of what I must look like hit me, and I was suddenly far less comfortable with it. I was supposed to be making a good impression, after all, and perhaps it wasn’t best to start off with a giant red splotch across my breasts.