Liar (29 page)

She leads us into a room on the other side of the closet. Her study, I guess. There's a desk, a couch, chairs, a stereo, and lots and lots and lots of books. I didn't realize one person could own so many.

Sarah's bedroom is made up of three different rooms. My entire apartment is made up of four.

“I know,” Sarah says. “It's a bit much, isn't it?”

She sits on the couch and crosses her legs. Her skirt rides up a little so that I can see her knees. They're smooth, not ashy like mine. She probably bathes in milk or something. She makes me feel gangly, awkward, ugly. But I still want to kiss her. I wonder why either of them wanted to kiss me. If they do anymore.

I'm pretty sure it's because of Zach.

“How rich are your parents?” I ask, knowing I shouldn't.

“Not that rich,” she says. She shrugs. “I mean, they're above average.”

Neither me nor Tayshawn says anything.

“Okay, a lot above average but I wouldn't say rich, you know?”

“Damn,” I say. “What did you think when you saw my place?”

The walls of our apartment haven't been repainted since before I was born, the paint flakes and chips off. We don't have a living or dining room, the pipes clang so loudly in winter sometimes it's hard to sleep, the hot water shuts off randomly, and water from the upstairs apartment's bathroom seeps through the ceiling even though the super's fixed it a hundred times.

Sarah blushes. “I didn't think anything. I mean, not that I thought
nothing
. I . . . your place is lovely. It's—”

“Shit,” I finish for her. “You don't even have to compare it to this place to see that.”

“It's not my fault we're rich,” Sarah says.

“It's not our fault we aren't,” Tayshawn replies, mocking both of us. Though mostly Sarah, I think.

“I'm sorry,” I say. Though I'm not. “I didn't realize.”

“I'm still me,” Sarah says. “With or without money.”

I doubt that, but I don't tell her so. Her being rich makes understanding her easier. The way she acts, the way she talks, how she's always dressed right—the dress she wore to the funeral was definitely
not
borrowed from her mother. She might be scared of some things, and girly and all, but there's a certainty about her. She knows she's going to college. She doesn't need a scholarship or student loans. She doesn't worry about any of that.

She's not a wolf either. She's not going to wind up living the rest of her life on a crappy farm without electricity or hope. Suddenly I want to hurt her.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I ask.

She points to a door I hadn't noticed. I close it behind me.

Her bathroom is four times the size of my bedroom.

HISTORY OF ME

You're wondering why I lie, aren't you?

The shrinks and counselors I've seen over the years have had a million theories, but they boil down to just two:

1) Resentment.

Of my brother. (Who I made up.)

Of people with more money than me. (Which is almost everyone. Not just Sarah.)

Of people with less hair than me. (When I was a hairy little girl. Before the change came.)

Of people who are smarter than me. (Which doesn't leave many to resent, does it?)

2) Anger.

At all of the above.

Plus at my parents for loving my imaginary brother more than me. At my father for passing on the family illness. (And various other reasons only shrinks and counselors would come up with.)

Also at all my teachers and all the students.

Really, according to the shrinks, I am angry at everyone ever. Especially them.

I am all anger and resentment all the time.

Not one of them has ever suggested that maybe I lie because the world is better the way I tell it.

AFTER

When I come out of the bathroom Sarah is still sitting on the couch and Tayshawn is in a chair opposite her. As far away as he can manage.

“Nice bathroom,” I say. I don't know where to sit. The empty chair is too close to Tayshawn and I can't sit on the couch next to Sarah. I don't want them to think that I want us to do what we did after—during—the funeral. Even though that's exactly what I want. I sit down on the floor. The carpet is soft as fur.

“You don't have to sit there,” Sarah says. She pats the couch next to her.

“That's okay,” I say. Neither of them is flushed or sweating. They don't have the same fever I do. Is it because I'm a wolf and they're human? Humans don't rut whenever and wherever they want to. But we did before, in the cave in Inwood. What's different now?

Tayshawn coughs. “We all miss Zach,” he says.

I turn to stare at him. For once I hadn't been thinking about Zach.

“Yes,” Sarah says.

I realize that the only time I haven't missed Zach is when the three of us are together. I look at Tayshawn, legs wide, elbows resting on his knees. On the wall behind him is a framed photo of Sarah as a child. Sarah is cross-legged on the couch, bouncing her fingers on the armrest.

“There's no bringing him back,” Sarah says. It's one of those sentences that's been said a hundred times before. I don't know what it means.

“If we did he'd be a weird-ass zombie freak,” Tayshawn says. He's smiling but it's not very convincing.

“Ha,” Sarah says. Her laugh is less convincing than his smile.

I want to tell them about the white boy and what I have to do. I want to kiss them.

I cross my legs the opposite way to Sarah. I should remind them that we're supposed to be studying. I don't want to be studying.

Sarah and Tayshawn exchange a look and I wonder again if they are seeing each other without me. Tayshawn pushed me away when I kissed him. Maybe because they are together and he was too embarrassed to tell me. On Sunday I left first. Did they keep kissing?

Them together is natural. They look good. It makes sense, too: Zach's girl winding up with Zach's best friend.

“Nothing's ever going to be . . .” Sarah trails off. “I miss him.”

“We all do,” Tayshawn says.

“Micah?” Sarah asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tayshawn says. “You're kind of bouncing there.”

“Huh?” I ask, before I realize that I'm crouched down on my heels rocking back and forth. “Sorry.” I can't say
I just want us to make out again
, can I? “It's weird being here. With you two. If Zach weren't dead I wouldn't be. Here, I mean.”

“It's true,” Tayshawn says. “I've never been here before.”

“You came to my birthday party last year,” Sarah says.

“Not like this. Not the three of us alone,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Are we going to do it again? 'Cause I liked it.”

Sarah flushes. I laugh.

“I want to,” I say. A shiver of warmth covers my whole body.

“Sarah?” Tayshawn says.

She nods.

We don't move. We've all said yes, but no one's ready to be first.

I stand up, spring up, really. I nod toward the bedroom. “I'm game if you two are.”

Then we're on her king-sized bed, teddy and giraffe pushed aside.

It's more awkward and ashamed than it was before. I'm certain this is the last time it will happen, but I don't care, I'm getting what I want. Some of the fire and need that has built up so large in me drains away.

I can face the white boy. Stronger and better now. I can go upstate to the Greats, find out what to do, and then do it.

Sarah and Tayshawn give that to me. It would be greedy to want more.

LIE NUMBER SIX

That didn't happen.

I mean, yes, I went to Sarah's home and, yes, her apartment is crazy big. Yes, she has a whole room for her clothes. But nothing happened. We studied. We talked about Zach. Cried. Studied some more.

The room was full of everything we didn't do.

We didn't kiss. We didn't touch.

I wanted us to. I think Sarah and Tayshawn, I think they wanted it, too. The air between us burned. I'm not lying about that. We were all in heat.

But Sarah and Tayshawn . . .

I don't know how they did it. Somehow they managed to turn it off. They made it not happen.

No kisses, no touching, no skin. No nothing.

The air did not ignite.

Except here, in my dreams.

BEFORE

Besides the last time I saw him, up in the cypress tree, there was one other time I thought of telling Zach about the wolf inside me.

We spent so much time together. Sure, we ran way more than we ever talked, but when we did talk the lies bent my words out of shape, created a wall between us.

I wanted to tell him the truth: I am a wolf.

Zach would have believed me. He knew how fast I run, how strong. He'd seen the residues of the wolf in the human. “What are you?” he'd asked me more than once.

I thought of showing him. Though I never figured out how. Not without scaring him or killing him. I hated the idea of him watching me change.

If Zach had lived, I would have told him.

Eventually.

Zach was good at keeping secrets.

I'd like to be able to tell Tayshawn and Sarah, but there's no way. First, I don't know how they feel about me. Second, however they feel, I don't think we're going to be friends for long. Third, if I tell them the truth and they believe me they will think I killed Zach. Our friendship will be over.

I am afraid of losing them.

The first time I started to tell Zach, we were making out in Tompkins Square Park. I had to be home but we were elongating the good-bye, wrapped around each other on a park bench as far from the dog run as I could get. Sometimes dogs go crazy if I get too near.

Making out in Tompkins Square was stupid of us. It's way too close to home and there's not exactly much cover. But it was after dark and we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

Zach's hands were on my waist under my shirt, his fingers on my bare skin. Mine held his face. We were kissing deep and long, heating up. I felt a stirring inside me. Like, but not like, when I change.