Kody Keplinger - Lying Out Loud

“But I’m sure it doesn’t even compare to the parties back in DC, right?”

“This party is much better than the ones in DC.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, setting my cup on the nightstand. “That’s not even remotely possible. You partied with politicians’ kids. I watch enough TV to know it gets wild. Plus, you’ve got money. Which means better booze, at the very least.”

“Maybe the parties back home had some advantages,” he agreed, putting his own water down before sitting next to me.

Really close to me.

“But,” he continued, his eyes on me in that way again. That way that gave me chills and made my face burn all at once. I was suddenly very aware of where we were — an empty bedroom, on a bed. “The company here is much better.”

“Ryder,” I said, even though every inch of me was fighting me, trying to keep me silent. But I couldn’t put it off anymore. “I need to talk to you … about Amy.”

He shook his head. “Amy is the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

I’d been dying to hear those words for months. Dying for him to look at me the way he was right now. But it was too late. I’d promised Amy, sworn I’d tell him the truth tonight.

I swallowed. “Listen —”

“Sonny, wait,” he said. “I just … I need to …”

Then he kissed me.

And his mouth definitely didn’t taste like root beer. It was mint.

One of his hands was on my neck, the other on my knee. I didn’t move — couldn’t breathe or think — as his lips moved over mine. I was stunned. Paralyzed.

But when he pulled away, even just an inch, it felt like I might die.

“Was … was that okay?” he asked. “Should I not have done that?”

No. He definitely shouldn’t have. Because I needed to tell him the truth.

Now.

Just say it, I told myself. Before this goes any further.

“Sonny?” His voice was quiet, nervous. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. Or just not … I didn’t know I was going to do it until —”

“Shut up,” I said. I grabbed him, a hand on either side of his face, and pulled him back toward me for another kiss. My heart was pounding and everything I’d wanted over the past few months was spinning in my head.

This time, when our lips met, I wasn’t paralyzed at all.

Amy was already in bed when I slipped in that night, but she wasn’t asleep.

“Hey,” she murmured as I climbed over her and into my side of the huge bed. I’d been sleeping in here again since coming back from Tennessee. “How did it go?”

“Great,” I said.

We’d made out in the bedroom for a while before Chris walked in on us. And then, when Ryder walked me out to my car, he kissed me again. I was sure it was supposed to be a quick good-night kiss, but it had lasted much longer, my back pressed against Gert’s driver’s side door, my arms around Ryder’s neck.

I’d had to speed home to make curfew.

I could still feel the ghost of Ryder’s lips on mine, his phantom hand on my hip. I shivered and hid my face in the pillow, though in the darkness, Amy could never have seen my blush.

“Really?” Amy asked, her tired voice going up an octave with excitement. “That’s a relief. So you told him the truth?”

Everything was going right. Amy wasn’t mad at me anymore. Ryder had kissed me. Like, a lot. I had everything I wanted. Everything I’d been hoping for since this started in September. But it all could’ve fallen down with a little gust of wind. One wrong move, and I would lose everything.

So I did what I do best. What I always did when I was scared.

“Yeah,” I lied. “I told him everything.”

By Monday morning, I was dealing with some serious post-make-out regret. Not regret about the kissing specifically — that had been awesome — but about how it had come to pass. Namely, me wussing out on telling Ryder the truth.

And now that I knew exactly what I was going to be missing, telling him would be even harder.

But I had to. Because that hot make-out session didn’t change anything.

So when I walked into history class that morning, I was determined to do the right thing. No matter how anxious the whole thing made me.

“Hey,” I said, sliding into the seat behind his. “So … we should talk about what happened Friday.”

Ryder had already swiveled in his seat so we were facing each other. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”

For a moment, my heart sank. He regretted the kiss, too, I thought. But for completely different reasons. He probably couldn’t believe he’d done it. He probably didn’t like me that much. I was poor and less attractive. But we’d been dancing and laughing and then we were alone in a stranger’s bedroom …

I was sure he was going to say it never should have happened.

But then —

“Why don’t you come over this afternoon so we can discuss it.” And in case I hadn’t noticed the slightly arched eyebrow or the suggestive tone in his voice, he added, “My mom won’t be home until late.”

“Oh.”

Or maybe he didn’t regret it at all.

This shouldn’t have made me happy, particularly because it made what I was about to do so much harder, but it did. That little grin on his face gave me butterflies and thrills and all those other silly middle-school-crush feelings.

And it would be easier to tell him at his house, with no one else around to overhear. I just had to stay away from his bed. And his couch. And his lips.

No, I thought. Don’t do this again. Tell him right now.

“Look, Ryder, I actually —”

“All right, class,” Mr. Buckley boomed as he entered the room. “Let’s talk about Germany.”

And there went my chance.

I felt bad for feeling so relieved.

Ryder had passed me a note with directions to his place, which was only a few minutes south of Amy’s house. When I pulled into the driveway around three that afternoon, I was surprised to find a fairly small brick house. I guess I’d expected something more extravagant just because I knew he came from money. But then, it was only him and his mom sharing the place, so it didn’t need to be huge.

He was waiting for me on the narrow front porch and smiled when I started walking toward him. The sunlight hit his eyes in just the perfect way, making the green seem even brighter. The way he looked at me took my breath away.

I tried to swallow back the panic rising inside me. He was so beautiful and so amazing and I didn’t want to lose him.

When I reached him, he gave me a quick kiss.

“Come inside,” he said, taking me by the arm and escorting me through the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Humble?” I repeated, staring at the living room, the furniture that most definitely showed where the money had gone. Everything was brand-new and shiny. The TV was huge. The sofas were lush and fancy. And the place was immaculate.

Ryder took my coat, his fingers skimming across my shoulders as he slid it off my arms. “It’s humble compared to where we came from,” he said.

“Ha. If this is humble, then you should see where I live.”

“Don’t you live with Amy?”

“Right. Well … where I used to live.”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.” He hung my coat on a hook by the door. “Why do you live with the Rushes? I know about your dad, but … what about your mom?”

I meant to lie. The same lie I’d told Amy and her parents. She kicked me out, end of story. But instead, I found myself saying the truth. At least, part of it.

“My mom … is kind of a mess.” I followed him into the living room, but when he sat down on the couch, I stayed standing. “There’ve been some problems at home, so Amy was nice enough to let me stay with her.”

He scoffed. “That surprises me.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She just doesn’t seem like the caring type,” he said, his voice bitter. “She’s so … inconsiderate. And rude. Plus, isn’t she too busy dealing with her own mom issues?”

It took me a second to remember that last time I’d talked to Ryder about my mother, he’d still thought he was talking to Amy. “Hey,” I said, feeling defensive even though that was exactly the image I’d wanted him to have of Amy. “She gets it, okay? Besides, she’s my best friend.”

“I know,” he said. “I just don’t know why. You’ve said she’s great, but I don’t see it.”

“You saw it before,” I pointed out. “In fact, it wasn’t that long ago that you said the same thing about me. That you couldn’t see why Amy would be friends with someone like me.”

He shrugged. “I was wrong. I thought she and I had something, but it was IMs and text messages. In person, there was nothing. She wasn’t the person I thought. It just took me a while to accept it. But with you …” He looked up at me and smiled. “There’s always been something there, I think. Even when we were fighting in Mr. Buckley’s class, there was this … energy. Chemistry, I guess. I just didn’t realize it. And then on Friday …”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my feet. “Look, about Friday, things were a little crazy and —”

“I don’t think it was crazy,” he said. His hand folded over mine, and he pulled me toward the couch. “In fact, I think kissing you may have been the most sane thing I’ve done since I moved here.”

I rolled my eyes, because — let’s be real — that was a cheesy line. Even if it did kind of give me butterflies.

I was standing right in front of him, my legs touching his as he looked up at me. My heart was pounding and I’m sure my face was beet red.