Kody Keplinger - Lying Out Loud

The day all of this had started, really.

We’d come a long way since that day, but not nearly as far as I’d hoped.

“It’ll warm up in a second,” Ryder said after he started the car. The engine had a purr so quiet I barely noticed it.

“So. This is the Rydermobile, eh?” I looked around at the leather interior. It was spotless. Other than the shopping bags he’d just tossed into the backseat, there was really nothing in it. No discarded water bottles or forgotten fast-food wrappers. I knew Gert was a mess, but jeez. This car was almost scary clean.

As if he’d read my mind, Ryder said, “Yeah. My mom’s always on me to keep it clean. She’s a little anal about stuff like that. Probably because my dad was such a slob.” The disdain in his voice was undeniable. “But there are worse things than a clean car, so I don’t complain.”

Though somehow, I knew he would have before the truth about his father came out. He would have thought his mother was a tyrant back then. Back before he decided she was a saint.

I wasn’t going to bring that up, though. Instead, I decided to bring up my own dysfunctional family unit.

“Hey. I’ve been meaning to tell you …” We were pulling out of the parking lot now, smoothly turning onto the highway that would lead us back into Hamilton. “I, um … I wrote to my dad.”

He glanced at me before turning back to the road. “You did?”

“Yeah. After we talked at the park that day. What you said, about letting people surprise you … Well, anyway, I wrote to him. I didn’t want to say anything unless something good out of it. I didn’t want to be embarrassed —”

“You wouldn’t need to be embarrassed,” he said. “If he didn’t write or call you back, he’s the one who should be embarrassed.”

“Well, actually, he did. Yesterday. He called me.”

“Really? That’s awesome, Sonny.”

“It was just a short call. Who knows what kind of guy he really is. You can’t tell from a call, but … but it’s the first time I’ve talked to him in years, and I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling naked. That was too much. Too honest. Too close.

But then Ryder’s hand was on my arm, and everything inside me relaxed a little. He gently tugged my arm free and his fingers slid down to circle my wrist, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake. Then he placed his palm against mine and held my hand again, the way he had in the mall, only this time his fingers laced with mine.

“I’m glad you wrote to him,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Yeah. Me, too…. And I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for you. So, thanks.”

We were silent for a minute, and I was keenly aware of his hand, still wrapped around mine. I was giddy and nervous and eventually, I had to say something.

“Anyway … bad gifts aside, how were your holidays?”

“Fine,” he said. “Quiet. Mom hasn’t really felt like doing much celebrating. Instead, she’s been much more concerned with me spending the break filling out college applications.”

I grimaced. “Ugh. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “My mom went to Stanford and my dad is a Princeton alum, and they expect me to attend a top school as well. At my old school, I pretty much would’ve been a shoo-in wherever I wanted to go. But now that we’ve moved here, I’m a little worried about my chances.” He paused, then quickly added, “That’s not me complaining about Hamilton, by the way. At least, not intentionally.”

“No,” I said. “I know. And it makes sense. Hamilton’s not exactly a prep school.”

“It’s grown on me, though.” He cleared his throat. “So why are you stressed about college?”

“Because I don’t think I can go.”

It was the first time I’d said it out loud, and doing so made it feel so much more real and scary. I’d been ignoring the issue — or trying to — for months, but now, with only a semester left in my senior year, I was running out of places to hide.

“But you’re in AP classes,” he said. “That seems like a lot of stress for someone who isn’t college-bound.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. But, I mean, how could I afford it?”

“Loans?”

“I don’t even live with my parents, and I just lost my shitty part-time job. Who in their right mind would give me a loan?”

“So what are you going to do after graduation?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

Once again, I was scared I might have said too much. That he’d realize I was a girl from a Podunk town with no future. But, just like in the park a few weeks ago, he didn’t seem fazed by this. He didn’t even let go of my hand. In fact, he gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said. “You’re the first one I’ve admitted that to. I haven’t even told Amy. She still thinks we might be able to go to school together, and I haven’t been able to let her down yet.”

“I won’t say anything,” he said.

“Thank you.”

His hand stayed in mine as we drove through the darkness. And it was still there when we pulled into the Rushes’ driveway ten minutes later.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

He was still holding my hand.

“Thanks for the fun afternoon,” he said.

He was still holding my hand.

“So you had fun playing dress-up, then?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

He was still holding my hand.

It may have been the dead of winter, but it felt like the hottest summer day in that car. Every nerve in my body was on end. Every muscle I possessed was tense. Ryder and I were in a dark car, holding hands, and he was looking at me. Really looking at me. Staring at my eyes.

At my lips.

He had some nice lips himself.

He was about to kiss me. I knew it. I started to lean toward him. My eyes started to slip shut. And then —

He pulled his hand free, turned his head, and scooted away from me so fast that I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined everything that had come before.

“So … do you know if Amy has any plans for New Year’s?”

It was like he’d dropped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I was mortified.

And pissed.

I sat back in my seat and used my now empty hand to undo my seat belt. “Um … yeah. I think we already have plans. Sorry.” My voice was cold and brittle.

“Oh. Too bad.” He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, it looked like he was focusing very, very hard on the steering wheel.

“Right. Well, see you at school, Ryder.”

Before he could say another word — not that he would have — I got out of the car and hurried inside, slamming the door behind me.

“We should do something,” Wesley said as he slid into the seat across from me.

“Could you be more specific?” Bianca asked. She was sitting next to him, sipping a Cherry Coke.

It was a couple of days after Christmas, and the four of us — Wesley, Bianca, Amy, and me — were spending an evening at the Nest, a local hangout popular with some of Hamilton’s high school population.

Amy and I definitely weren’t too keen on the place, but Wesley had insisted we go for “old times’ sake.” His old times, not ours. But alas, we’d caved in.

Wesley plucked a french fry from the basket in the middle of the table. “Winter break’s not that much longer. We should do something fun before we have to go back to New York.”

“I thought we were here because you thought it would be fun,” I said.

“It is.”

“We will agree to disagree.”

“Oh, come on. This place is great,” Wesley said. “They’re hiring, you know. Don’t you need a new job?”

“There’s not enough money in the world,” I said, cringing as a group of freshman girls squealed with delight as they ran through the front door.

“I’m with Sonny on this one,” Bianca said.

“Amy’s with me, though, right?” Wesley looked at his sister, who didn’t disagree but also refused to meet his eyes, which was telling enough. “Something is wrong with you three. Everyone else here agrees that this is the best place to hang out in Hamilton.”

“There’s not exactly competition for that title,” I pointed out.

Wesley ignored me. “You know,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he put an arm around his girlfriend, “this is the first place Bianca and I ever kissed.”

Bianca snorted, almost spitting out her Cherry Coke. “Um, it’s also the first place I ever threw a drink in your face.”

“Has that happened enough times to warrant a ‘first’?” I asked.

Bianca nodded, and Amy and I both burst out laughing. Wesley, however, pressed on, undeterred.

“I was serious before, though,” he said. “About doing something fun before school starts again.”

“Like what?” Amy asked.

“Like maybe we could throw a party?”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Again,” she said. “Fun for who?”

“I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

“Actually,” she said, “I think I have one. My granddad has a cabin down in Tennessee, in the Smoky Mountains. Mom is constantly nagging me to bring some friends down to stay there for a long weekend. We’d have the place to ourselves.”

“Oh,” Amy said, perking up. “That sounds fun.”

“Actually, it does,” Wesley admitted.

I looked down at the surface of the table. It had been carved up over the years, names and dates and curse words cut into the wood. I focused on it, pretending to read as the three of them discussed plans to head down to Tennessee in a few days. I tried to think of something else, of my own plans for New Year’s Eve, but the pulsing rhythm of the electronic dance music kept my brain from getting too far.