Liar (18 page)

“Great,” Sarah says. “He keeps her sex life private but not mine.”

I don't say anything for the moment, but then I think, why not? We're all being honest, aren't we? “He was too ashamed. Why would he tell anyone about me? You saw what everyone said when they found out. First they didn't believe it. Then they acted like they felt sick. 'Cause Zach and
me
? No way!”

“I believed it right away,” Sarah said. “I heard it and I knew.”

“Really?” I ask. “I thought you said I was too ugly for him. I'm like an ugly boy, you said.”

“Harsh,” Tayshawn says.

“I was mad,” Sarah says. “I'm still mad.” She's not looking at me.

“It's what everyone was thinking,” I say. “Is thinking.”

“Not me,” Tayshawn said. “I don't think you're ugly. I mean, you're not beautiful or anything, but ugly? Nope.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling. It feels strange on my face. The muscles almost don't know what to do. Sarah and Tayshawn laugh. “It's not me not being pretty. I know that. It's what a freak I am. I mean, look at me, look at you. You wear makeup and walk and talk right. Anything I say, people stare. You got your hair all pretty and relaxed and long. I'm cropped short.”

“I wish I could do that,” Sarah says. But I know she's lying. She's proud of her hair. “You got any idea how long this takes?”

I do. I can't imagine spending that many hours every morning combing my hair out. But I like the way it looks on her just as much as she does. Loose curls that tumble to halfway down her back.

“What do you think happened to him?” Tayshawn asks.

I don't know what to say. I've thought about it. I've wondered. But I know so little.

FAMILY HISTORY

I remember my first visit to the Greats. I was very small. Too small for coherent sentences, but already walking around.

My father hadn't been speaking to them since his first baby—me—was born. He wasn't answering their calls and returned letters unopened. That was until my mother wore down his resistance and made him take me up to see them for the first time. She didn't join us.

I remember being in the front seat, even though I should have been in back in the car seat. I remember wriggling out of the straps that held me to the seat, so I could crawl in front and see over the dashboard and out the windows to the trees bending in over the car as it went up the bumpy road. I remember green leaves as far as I could see, the sunshine blurring blades and veins and stems together, so that all those branches and leaves swaying in the wind became a green, almost golden, glow.

It must have been summer.

I remember laughing at the sparkling gold green light and my dad shushing me and cajoling me to sit down again but I wouldn't: I wanted to see.

Then we were almost at the house.

Dad stopped the car. We got out and Dad pulled me up onto his hip so I could see as good as he could from almost as high. We pushed through trees until we were at the house that was right in the center of them. Trees leaned in so close they were almost pushing in through the windows. The only clear space was the veranda that wrapped around the house.

Five adults were sitting in rocking chairs. There were children in their laps and at their feet. A few as little or littler than me, but mostly bigger. They were tugging and nipping at one another.

The adults stood up when they saw us, but they probably heard us before then. All the Wilkins have good ears. Even Dad.

I don't remember which adults it was, probably Grandmother and Great-Aunt and Hilliard, maybe two of Dad's cousins. Mine were the children on the floor. They were who I was looking at. They weren't like the children from day care.

One of them hissed at me.

Like a monkey on a nature show. I pressed in closer to my dad, rested my head against his shoulder.

“It's okay, sweetie,” Dad said. “They're your kin.”

I'd never heard him use that word before. Even little as I was I didn't trust it.
Kin
. It sounded dangerous.

BEFORE

“Do you love me?” Zach asked, panting between each word. We were going up Heartbreak Hill. Zach always liked to talk during the hardest part of the run.

“That's not a question boys ask.” I was not panting nearly so hard as Zach.

“How do you know? I'm your first.”

“Just do.”

Zach's expression said he didn't believe me.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

Zach slowed way down. “That's definitely a question girls ask.” The sweat dripped into his eyes.

“I know. So, do you?”

“I never answer.”

“Never?” How was that fair?

“Nope,” he said, slowing even more. “This hill gets bigger every time we climb it, don't you think?”

I didn't, but I grunted in a way that could be a yes or a no. “So what do you say when they ask you?” I wondered how many theys we were talking about.

“I say . . . Can we stop for a second? Need breath for this.” He staggered to a stop, bent down, and put his hands on his knees, took long gasping breaths.

I halted beside him, standing on my toes to stretch a little, before letting my heels touch the ground for the first time in many miles. My calves clenched and then unclenched, thanking me for the consideration.

“Thanks. Damn, girl. I wish you'd sweat more.”

“I'm sweating.” Though not nearly as much as him. “I can't help it if you're not as fit as me.”

“Well, I'm not whatever it is you are. So, you know, I pant and sweat.”

“And bitch and moan.”

He grinned. “ 'Cause I'm regular people.”

I punched him.

“Shit, girl.” He rubbed his arm.

“You're so regular,” I said, “you'll probably get a ball scholarship to college. I heard there are scouts watching every time you play. Then there's you not even going to a high school with a real team.”

Zach shrugged. “I'd rather get a scholarship for my brains. But we'll see. Imagine if they saw you run! Wouldn't be a college in the country that wasn't throwing money your way.”

“Shut up. Tell me what you tell all your girls.”

“Well, you know,
that
. I said it to you, didn't I? How sweet you are.” He touched my cheek with his fingers. I rolled my eyes. I wondered if he said it to Sarah, too. “How about that,” he said. “You do sweat!”

“Everyone sweats. But you haven't answered my question. When they ask you if you love them,” I said, “how do you answer?”

“I say”—he leaned into my ear and started whispering—“ ‘you're so sweet. Just the way you look and taste. Well . . .' And then, like I can't control myself, I kiss them—”

He leaned in, I leaned away.

“Don't be that way.”

“What's with the ‘them,' anyway?” I asked, moving still farther away. “I thought you were only dating Sarah.”

He laughed. “There've been others.”

“I'm sure.” I was. Girls often looked at Zach. I didn't think he was that good-looking. His skin was clear and his eyes bright, but his nose was kind of big and some of his teeth crooked. He wasn't straight-up handsome like Tayshawn.

“We're both sure then,” he said, kissing me.

I pulled away. “Why'd you ask me? If you never say it yourself.”

“Keeps things uneven. Get the girl to say it, but never say it to her.”

“That's nasty.” It was but he didn't say it in a nasty way. “What happens if you fall in love?” I didn't think I was in love with Zach, but I was happier when I was with him than when I was with anyone else. But best of all was being alone. Do you want to be alone when you're in love?

“Then I'll say it. But not till then.”

I wondered why it didn't hurt me that Zach was telling me he didn't love me.

“Okay, that's fair,” I told him. “I'll do the same.”

“So that's a no, then?” Zach asked, grinning so wide his face was about to split.

“A big fat no,” I said, taking off up the hill at a pace I knew he couldn't match.

AFTER

“The cops asked me how he seemed. You know, last time I saw him,” Tayshawn says. We're still in the cave, sitting, with the echo of Zach's funeral in our heads. I have no desire to be back there.

Sarah nods. “Me too. They came to my house. Dad was freaking out. He doesn't like cops. Doesn't trust them.”

“Mine too,” I say. “Dad says they're looking to bust a black man at the first opportunity. Specially when he's got an education.”

“Your dad and mine should meet,” Sarah says. “Seeing as how they say exactly the same things.”

“Not mine,” Tayshawn says, and I remember that Tayshawn's grandfather was a cop. I think an uncle is, too. He has firemen in the family as well. I don't remember ever seeing a black fireman. His mom, though, is an accountant and his dad's in business. Not a very successful business. They're as broke as my parents. But I guess they still count as a cop family.

“These cops were a lot meaner than any of your family, I bet,” Sarah says. “The younger one—”

“Stein?” I ask.

Sarah nods. “He kept trying to make me and Zach going out sound nasty. He wanted to know if I was jealous of you, Micah. Didn't believe me when I said I didn't even know about you.” Her voice changes tone, drops. “Not until after.”

“Yeah,” Tayshawn says. “They wanted to know if me and Zach ever fought. I mean, what if we had? Everyone fights. Doesn't mean you're going to go kill someone. Just 'cause you're mad at them. I don't think they have any idea what happened. Whatever it was, it was . . .” Tayshawn pauses, trying to find the right word.

Sarah and me both lean toward him.

“I heard it was done with a knife,” Tayshawn says. “That his face was so cut up they didn't know who it was.”

Sarah covers her mouth.

“If that's true, how did they find out it was Zach?” I ask.

“The DNA test we did in class,” Tayshawn says. “It wasn't so useless after all.”

I think of that class. When everyone was looking at a piece of paper to tell them how black or white they were. I think of how Zach hadn't said a word. I shiver, imagining that somehow Zach knew his test results would be used to identify him one day. Mine were still sitting in my drawer.

“What else do you know?” Sarah asks.

Tayshawn shrugs. “They're working on it. He doesn't tell us a lot, my uncle, I mean. He's not homicide. But he hears stuff. He met Zach a few times. Knows he's my best boy. He tells me what he can.”

“Such as?” Sarah says louder. “I'm sorry. It's because I don't know anything. His parents won't talk to me. His mom just cries and his dad says he doesn't know. I offer to help but they say there's nothing I can do. I know he's their son. I can't imagine . . . But, I mean, I
can
.” She's crying now. Mascara-tinted tears run down her face. “I lost him, too. I thought we were going to be together forever.” She sniffs, wipes at her face, smearing makeup. “I know. I'm seventeen. I know most people don't stay with their first boyfriend forever, especially if he's cheating on them. But, I really thought that. I still think that. I didn't know he was cheating on me. I didn't know there were all these other girls.”