Four Truths and a Lie (17 page)

By the time I get to the front of the library, my eyes are a little bit more adjusted to the darkness, but I'm still having a little trouble seeing. I have to use my hands to
move down the stacks of books and maneuver myself over to the couch.

I finally get there, but when I plop down on it, I scream.

SOMEONE IS ON THE COUCH.

And that person screams too.

I'm about to run for the emergency exit, not even caring if I get caught (being expelled from school = much better than getting killed at age thirteen), when I realize the person has stopped screaming, and is calling my name.

“Scarlett, it's me,” the form says.

“Who?” I say, not turning around completely in case it's a crazy stalker killer person. I look around for something I can use as a weapon.

“Me,” the person says. And then I realize the voice sounds more like that of a teenage girl than of a scary killer. So I turn around.

“Amber!” I've never been so happy to see someone in my life.

“It's about time,” she says, plopping back down on the couch. “I've been waiting for you forever.”

“What time do you think they get here?” Amber asks. It's a little before midnight, and still no sign of Karli. Actually, I don't exactly know what Karli looks like (I've only seen
her a couple of times in the hall, and it was just a rush of blond hair and a giggle—in fact, that's the only reason I know who she is. Sometimes I hear Crissa say, “Ugh, that Karli Montesorri and her giggle make me want to cut my ears off, it's sooo annoying.”) But it doesn't matter if I know exactly what she looks like. As Amber pointed out a few minutes ago, how many people would end up in the library at midnight with their boyfriend? And then I said, well, what if it's some kind of trick question that Crissa's testing me with, like, some tenth grader
does
meet her boyfriend in the library, but it's not Karli? And then Amber said it was okay, she knew what Karli looked like and to stop obsessing. So I did. Well, sort of.

“I dunno,” I say, taking a bite of granola bar. “But I'm sure probably soon. I mean, how late can it possibly get before they show up?”

“True,” Amber says. We're both on the same couch, with our feet up, facing each other from different ends. I'm really, really glad she's here, since it's kind of spooky in here. Every time we hear even the smallest noise, I jump. What I actually want to do is scream, “Who is it?” and run out of here, but I can't.

“Hey,” Amber says, leaning forward and breaking off a piece of my granola bar. She pops it in her mouth and
chews. “You don't think they're going to be making out in here, do you?”

“Of course they're going to be making out in here,” I say. “Why else would they be meeting here after curfew?”

“That's disgusting,” Amber says. “What are we going to do while they're slobbering all over each other?”

“Ewww,” I say. “Do you think they slobber?”

“Yes, I do,” she says. “Although I've never been kissed before, so I'm not sure.”

“Me neither,” I say, and for some reason, James's face pops into my mind. But then I push him out of my head, because when it comes down to it, he is not the cute boy recommending me really good books and not making fun of me for reading romances. He is the horrible, disgusting ex-boyfriend of Crissa and accomplice to a blackmailer. Of course, he didn't know what she was doing. But still.

“You're thinking about James, aren't you?” Amber says, grinning.

“No,” I say. I can feel my face start to get hot. “I don't think about total jerks.”

“He's definitely a jerk,” she says. “But he's really cute, isn't he?”

“No,” I lie. “There are loads of boys at my old school way cuter than him.”

“I dunno,” Amber says. “It doesn't seem like—”

But she's interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a giggle from the other side of the library. Amber looks at me with a panicked look. We grab our stuff and dive behind a rack of nonfiction books on Buddhism.

And just in time, too, because Karli's voice is moving down the library. “It's not just that I don't like my roommate, it's that I don't like the things she does,” she's saying. “Like how she's always looking for her bathroom cup. And how I can't really eat microwave popcorn at night because she can't stand the smell, you know?” She giggles.

“Mmm hmm,” we hear a deeper, male voice say. But it sounds totally uninterested.

“Blake, are you listening?” Karli demands.

“Yes,” Blake says. “You don't like your roommate because of microwave popcorn.”

“That is not the point,” Karli says. Amber and I cover our mouths to hide our giggles. We're crouched down, and I accidentally step on Amber's foot.

“Ow,” she squeaks. Oopsies.

“What was that?” Karli asks. Amber's eyes get wide and we both hold our breath.

“Nothing,” Blake says. We hear the squeak of the
couch as he sits down. “Probably just settling. Look, do you want to get started or what?”

Jeez. That's romantic. If any guy ever tries to kiss me by saying “Do you want to get started or what?” I will never, ever kiss him. This Blake must be pretty cute for Karli to put up with that kind of treatment. This is exactly the kind of thing my mom warns me about, guys not treating girls the way they deserve to be treated.

“Yes,” Karli says, and we hear the couch squeak again. Probably Karli sitting down next him.

Amber mimes putting her finger down her throat and pretends to gag. It is pretty gross. I wonder if we can sneak out of here now without anyone noticing. Hopefully we can—

“Innocuous,” Karli says. What? What's innocuous? His kisses? That's not a very good sign, if she's calling him an innocuous kisser. But really, what can she expect from a guy who says, “Do you want to get started?”

“‘Innocuous' means innocent, nonthreatening,” Blake says. Then we hear the sound of a page turning.

Amber rolls her eyes and mouths something that looks like
They're such nerds
.

Totally nerds. I mean, they're not even kissing yet. Not that I want them to. Thinking about kissing makes me
start to think about James. Which makes no sense. Because I don't like him. Not even a little bit. I mean, he's—

And then I realize what Amber was saying.
They're practicing SAT words
.

Oh. How lame.

And we proceed to listen to them do exactly that for the next two hours, until it's two o'clock in the morning and we're so tired we can barely keep our eyes open. We pass the time by quietly eating snacks and writing notes. But it's very nerve-racking, since we have to be überquiet. Plus, the night security guard, Jasper, keeps walking by the window right over our head. Usually he's whistling. One time he seems to be eating something, and one time he gives a large burp.

When two o'clock rolls around, Karli and Blake decide to pack it up. Amber and I wait until they're gone, then clear up the granola bar wrappers and empty juice cans that are littered around us. Amber looks kind of the way I feel—very tired and disheveled.

And then something horrible happens. When we go to climb back through the window, we realize that although we could get IN by lowering ourselves down, we can't get back up. It's too far off the ground, and even when we move a chair over to stand on, neither one of us has the upper
body strength to pull ourselves up and through. We realize we're going to have to sneak through the side door, which is locked from the outside, but not the inside. Which would be fine, except the side door empties right out onto the sidewalk. And so we have to time our escape perfectly, so Jasper doesn't see us prowling around.

“Quick,” Amber says, pushing me through the door. We run up the sidewalk and use our key cards to get back into the dorm.

When I get back to my room, Crissa doesn't stir, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I slip between my sheets. I hadn't really stopped to think about what would happen if Crissa woke up when I got back. Would she have asked me what I was doing? Would we both have pretended she didn't know where I was? What if she could tell I knew the truth? I'm not sure if I'm that good of an actress.

I don't have too much time to contemplate it, though, because my eyes close as soon as I hit the pillow, and I'm asleep about two seconds later.

The next morning, here's what I write to James:

Dear James,

Okay, I did it. I snuck into the library. My friend Amber came with me, which was very nice of her. Anyway, Karli does meet her boyfriend there, but all they do is practice
SAT words
.
That's very lame. But not as lame as meeting someone in a bookstore, lying about who you are, and blackmailing them. I'm looking forward to getting my next two tasks, getting this over
with, and never having to speak with you ever again in my life.

Sincerely,
Scarlett Northon

On Thursday, I get two letters back.

The first one says this:

Dear Scarlett,

I know Karli's boyfriend. His name is Blake Henderson, and I'm not surprised that they practice SAT words. He's kind of wimpy. You'd think that since they're both risking getting caught that they'd do something a little more fun.

When I get a car, I'm going to do something way more fun than drive out to BAFG just to practice SAT words. And I will most definitely not charge anyone by the minute.

Anyway, I'm sending your task in a separate letter. I'm glad you only have one more left after this. Also, I understand you're still mad at me. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I'll be at the Brookline social. Maybe we can talk in person. I'm sorry. I should never have gotten involved in this.

Talk to you soon,
James

Here's what the second letter says:

Dear Number Seventeen:

For your next task, you must figure out if the following is true or a lie.

HANNAH WILCOX GOT BUSTED OVER THE SUMMER FOR SHOPLIFTING, AND ALMOST WASN'T ALLOWED BACK IN SCHOOL.

You have the weekend to figure this out.
Good luck.

From,
Number Seventeen

My cheeks are flushed. Does he really think I'm that easy? That I could just forgive him? No, there's nothing he can do to make it up to me! Not to mention the fact that he's still obviously so hung up on Crissa. What nerve! Sending me a letter suggesting we meet up at the dance when he knows I hate him. I probably should burn it or something. Instead, I slip it in my bag and read it about three million times before lunch.

Lunch. I'm trying to tell Amber about the nerve of James McFayden, but for some reason, she can't get over the fact that Hannah Wilcox might be a thief.

“She's so quiet,” she muses, sticking a straw in her milk. Amber's always drinking white milk. She claims she likes it, which I find very strange. Who likes white milk? Especially when there are chocolate milk and juice to be had.

“Yeah, well, she quietly might have shoplifted,” I say. I take a bite of my goulash. Eww. Kind of rubbery.

“I'll bet that's the lie,” Amber declares. “There's no way. She's like the most normal, most quiet—”

“That doesn't make any sense,” I say. “There's no way that Crissa would give me the lie now. She wants to inflict as much pain as possible. She wants to really make sure I suffer. She's going to save the lie for the very last one.”

“You just never know about people's secret lives,” Amber says, glancing over at Hannah Wilcox, who's sitting by herself in a corner, eating a peanut butter sandwich and glancing through a supplemental.

“Ain't that the truth,” I say. “Anyway, enough about Hannah. Let's talk about the total and complete nerve of that loser James McFayden.”

“He has some nerve,” she says. “That loser James McFayden.”

I nod. “I'm not going to even dignify his whole dance comment with a response. In fact, I'm not even going to write him back until I figure out if Hannah really did shoplift.”

“How are you going to do that?” Amber asks.

“I'm just not going to write him back.” I shrug. “I have very good self-control.” This isn't exactly true, but I can if I want to. “Not that I need self-control to not write him back. I mean, I don't even want to write him back, he's completely—”

“I mean, how are you going to find out about Hannah?” Oh.

“I'm going to ask everyone,” I say. “Someone must know, right?”

“I guess,” Amber says. She shifts in her seat.

“What?” I ask.

“It's just … I dunno, I mean, if there was a rumor going around about that, we would know about it.”

“Well, whether there's a rumor going around or not doesn't really change if it's true or not.” I wonder if my mom will take me shopping for a new dress for the social. Something with a swirly skirt perhaps. In pink. Or maybe red. Something that doesn't cost too much. I run through my closet inventory in my head, thinking if I have anything dance appropriate. Something that will make James McFayden so sorry that he ruined any kind of chance he would ever have with me. Something that will make a nice, cute, normal, nonblackmailing Brookline boy ask me to dance.