Kody Keplinger - Lying Out Loud

Slowly, he began to walk toward me. “You know, I like nineties teen movies,” he said. “John Cusack holding a boom box over his head is from Say Anything, which is an eighties movie.”

“Yeah, well, you try finding an iconic, grand romantic gesture that isn’t lame in a nineties teen movie. At least I got the soundtrack right.”

“Goats Vote for Melons grew on you?”

“You wish. I just happen to like this one song. And luckily, in dorky hipster fashion, they released this album on cassette. Weirdos.”

He started to smile, but then he caught himself. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“At school the other day, in the art room, I didn’t say everything I needed to.”

“You sure?” he asked. “You said quite a bit.”

I cringed. “I may have gone overboard.”

“Well, you weren’t entirely wrong.” But he didn’t elaborate beyond that. “Is that the flannel I gave Amy?”

I looked down at the red shirt. “Oh, yeah. It is. She’s not really into grunge — that was all me — so she gave to me.”

“It looks nice on you,” he said.

“Thank you.” The song on the boom box faded away, so I set the archaic machine down in the grass. “Listen, Ryder, there’s one more thing I needed to —”

The garage door slid open and Ms. Tanner’s car backed out, stopping in the middle of the driveway. She honked the horn once, then stared at us from the driver’s-side window.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked Ryder, surprised.

“The airport,” he said.

“Oh. Where are you headed?”

“DC.”

My face split into a smile I couldn’t hold back. “You’re visiting your dad?”

“Yeah. Mom’s not too thrilled about it, but … So you had something you wanted to say, Sonny?”

“Right. Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I know I said a lot of things the other day, about your flaws. And I meant it. You’re pretentious and stubborn and you drive me insane sometimes, but … I love you. And I just needed you to know that.”

There, I’d said it. I now wanted to throw up. But I’d said it.

I hadn’t expected him to say it back. I really hadn’t. But for just a second, as we stood there in his front yard, I thought he might. I thought my grand gesture, my honesty, might have won him over.

He opened his mouth, but before any words could come out —

“Ryder!”

We both turned and saw his mother leaning out the open driver’s-side window.

“We’ve got to go,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at me. “I’ve got to go.”

He started to walk away, but I panicked and grabbed his arm and nearly tripped over the boom box. “Wait,” I said. “Just wait. Can … can you catch a later flight?”

“No,” he said. “That only works in the movies.”

I let go of his arm, feeling defeated all over again.

“Sonny, I …” He stopped himself, then shook his head. “I’ve got to go,” he repeated.

“Okay,” I said.

I stayed where I was, watching as he walked away.

He climbed into the passenger’s side, and his mom rolled up her window. She acted as if I wasn’t there now, a heartbroken teenage girl with an old boom box in the middle of her front lawn.

I felt my bottom lip begin to tremble, and I choked back the lump in my throat. I didn’t want anyone, but especially her, to see me cry. I stood there, telling myself that this was exactly what I’d expected. That I’d had no preconceived notions of changing his mind or convincing him to forgive me. That I’d only come here to tell him how I felt, to finish off my confession.

But that vow of honesty meant I had to be honest with myself, too, and the truth was, part of me had held on to hope. Some small part of me had thought that this big romantic gesture and declaring my love for him eighties-movie-style would be enough. That maybe it would make him see that, no matter how I’d screwed up, I was still the girl he’d fallen for. Twice.

But his mom was pulling out of the driveway now, delicately maneuvering past Gert, and turning onto the street. Chauffeuring him off to a plane that would take him even farther from me.

It’s over, I thought.

But then —

Maybe it was just my imagination or wishful thinking, but I thought I saw Ryder look back at me as they drove away.

I didn’t hear from him.

I didn’t expect to, but Amy did.

“I thought he would call,” she said. “I was sure he would.”

“See, this is why you need someone like me in your life,” I said. “You are too optimistic for your own good, Amy Rush.”

She sat down next to me on the bed. “Maybe after spring break … Maybe he’s just busy with his dad in DC.”

That was possible. The news coverage did make it seem like they were pretty busy. Ryder and Senator Cross had posed for photos with some foreign diplomats, and Greg Johnson had done a whole story about it.

Senator Cross might not have represented our region, but that hadn’t stopped Ryder from becoming a bit of a local celebrity.

As much as seeing him on the screen had made me ache, it had also made me happy. In the photos, Ryder looked genuinely pleased to be there with his dad. I hoped that meant they were working things out.

Amy wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rested her head on top of mine. “If he can forgive his dad, maybe he’ll —”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t give me a reason to hope. I screwed up, Amy. He has no reason to forgive me…. I told him I loved him, Amy. And he didn’t say it back.”

“He’s an idiot,” she said.

“He’s not, but thank you.”

As much as it had sucked to lose Ryder, I knew I was lucky to have Amy back. Knowing how much I’d hurt her over the past few months still made me sick. She was, without question, the most important person in my life. And the most selfless friend I could have asked for.

I knew she didn’t fully trust me yet, but we’d find our way back eventually. And no matter what, I would never, ever let anything — a boy, a lie, or my own insecurities — get between us again.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said as she untangled herself from me. “For locking us in a room together and helping me find the boom box. I’m not sure I ever would have gotten him to listen to me if you hadn’t done that.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I wish it had made more of a difference. I just really thought if he heard you out …”

“It did help, though,” I assured her. “It wasn’t just about getting him to forgive me. It’s about being honest. It’s something I’m still working on.”

“I like Honest Sonny.”

“Good, because she’s here to stay.” I frowned. “And honestly? Honest Sonny is not a fan of that purple lipstick on you.”

“Honest Sonny can get over it.”

I grinned. “Oh. Fierce Amy is fun, too.”

She blushed, but she smiled.

I was proud of Amy. She was still shy, still sweet, but she’d stopped letting people push her around. Even me.

Especially me.

Amy looked down at my phone again. “He’ll call,” she said.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just am. You two had something special, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I shook my head. “You’re being too nice even for you. Bring Fierce Amy back. Hurry.”

She tossed her brown curls over her shoulder and grinned. “This is Fierce Amy. And I am fierce in my assertion that he’ll call.”

I laughed and got to my feet and extended a hand to her. “Come on, Fierce Amy,” I said, pulling her up, too. “Honest Sonny is honestly starving.”

“Pizza?” Amy asked, heading for the bedroom door.

“Hell yes.”

“Who are you writing to?” Wesley asked, looking at the pieces of pale blue stationery I had spread across a section of the dining room table. He’d arrived at the Rush house on the first night of spring break with a suitcase full of dirty laundry and a big grin on his face. As any college student would. But the week was nearly over, and he’d be flying back to New York the next day.

And I’d already handed him the last of my payments to cover Gert’s repairs, thanks to my new job at Daphne’s. I was no longer in debt to him. At least not financially.

The truth was, I owed a lot to Wesley and his family. I’d never be able to pay them back for everything they’d done for me over these past few months. And I knew they’d never let me even if I could.

“My dad,” I said, shaking out my aching wrist. “We’ve started writing letters to each other.”

Wesley sat down across from me with his bowl of cereal. His gray eyes flicked over the table, counting the pages I’d already filled. I blushed. I’d only meant to write two or three, but this letter was beginning to resemble a novel.

“Why not type it?” he asked. “It would probably be faster.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of technology for a while,” I admitted. I put down my pen, deciding to give my wrist a break. This was the most I’d handwritten in years. “Besides. This feels more personal. And I think that’s what my dad and I need right now.”

Wesley smiled. “I am rather fond of handwritten letters.”

“You write letters?”

“I wrote a couple in the past. You’re right. They are more personal.” He stared off for a minute, something wistful in his smile. Then he shook his head and focused on me again. “So everything’s going all right with you and your dad?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have him back in my life. Even if it has to be like this. And hopefully he’ll be out in a few months and … we can go from there.”

“What about your mom? Have you heard from her?”