The Girl Who Kissed a Lie (3 page)

“Yeah, I guess she could be an incognito witch,” Kelsey allows, now twisting at the paper clips. “But if Mrs. Bourne is a witch, don’t you think she could cast some spells to make this place cleaner? The first spell I’d learn if I were a witch and owned this store would be a dusting spell.”

Kelsey makes a good point.

And while I am pondering that good point, boys from school come into the store.

This is a big deal. I realize that I am unprepared for what a big deal I find it. But they come in and smile at us, the easy, self-assured smiles of the high-school confidently popular, and I stare as if they are celebrities who just walked up to me, and I hate myself for this, because they’re just
boys
from
school
.

Andy Webber smiles at Kelsey and says, “Hi, Kels.”

Brody Fletcher smiles at me and says, “Who’s your friend?”

So Kelsey and I have become friends, which feels strange to me. I have a friend now. I really like Kelsey, and it seems as if Kelsey really likes me. She’s funny and smart, and I wish I was half as cool as she is. I mean, I’m spending all my time fretting that Mrs. Bourne is some kind of weird supernatural being because this is the life I lead, and Kelsey is just shrugging and talking about dusting spells and
flirting
with
boys
. You should see Kelsey flirt. She is an expert at it. She has a habit of catching her tongue between her teeth when she is talking to Andy, and somehow the effect of this is adorable. If I did this, I’d just manage to bite my tongue and make it bleed or something. Nothing fazes Kelsey; she’s up for everything. It takes me forever to make a decision about the smallest thing.

For instance, I haven’t told her about Ben. We talk a lot and Kelsey has a lot of stories about people she’s been meeting in the neighborhood and I always feel pathetic for never knowing any of these people. I could say that the one person I know is Ben, but I don’t feel like I can tell her about Ben. I feel like I want Ben to be
mine
. And then I wonder if I’m really that selfish a person. (Apparently, the answer to that question is
yes
.)

Andy and Brody keep stopping by the store. And while Andy and Kelsey are busy flirting with each other, Brody and I have nothing to do but talk to each other. I say “talk,” but that really isn’t accurate. We don’t have much in common, and I don’t know what to say to him, and he just spends a lot of time staring at me very intently, which makes me uncomfortable. Talking to Ben is so easy, so natural. Even our silences are natural. Talking to Brody is the very opposite of this.

“Brody Fletcher
likes
you,” Kelsey tells me eventually, and her face is glowing with the thrill of having this scoop.

I blink at her, feeling like I can’t quite translate that sentence. Brody Fletcher likes me? Brody has big, chocolate-brown eyes and shaggy, sandy-brown hair and plays lacrosse and last year was rumored to be dating a senior. Brody Fletcher doesn’t like
me
. Brody Fletcher stares at me while I stammer my way through stupid comments about the weather and
The
Scarlet
Letter
.

“He does?” I ask dubiously.

“He told Andy to ask me if you have a boyfriend,” Kelsey continues casually, as if this news hasn’t thrown me completely for a loop. She slides behind the front desk with me. “But you don’t, right?”

I think of Ben. And then think,
Well, what the hell
is
Ben?
I don’t know what to make of him. And if Ben wanted to be my boyfriend, didn’t he have plenty of opportunities to…do something about it? Anything? And didn’t I want a normal boyfriend? Didn’t I want to go out on dates like someone
normal
?

“No,” I answer slowly, drawing the word out an impossibly long time. “But—”

“Excellent. I didn’t think so. He’s cute. Do you think he’s cute?”

I don’t know what I think. I mean, yes, Brody is obviously cute; there is probably no girl on the planet who doesn’t think Brody is cute. But does that mean I
like
Brody? Does that mean I want to
date
him? Shouldn’t this all be so much clearer?

Because I’m nervous and flustered, and because it makes me feel better, I tuck a couple of rubber bands off the top of the counter into my pocket. Really, you just never know when you might need things; it’s best to have really full pockets.

Not that I have ever desperately needed anything in my pockets. But you never know, and it makes me
feel
better to know all this random stuff is there.

The next time that Brody and Andy stop by, Andy and Kelsey do their flirting thing, and I try my best to really like Brody. I try to copy Kelsey, being clever and witty and smiling adorably. Brody, as usual, just stares at me.

I tell Kelsey that. “I don’t know what to think about Brody,” I say. “He kind of just…
stares
all the time.”

“That’s because of how much he likes you,” Kelsey informs me wisely. “He thinks you’re beautiful.”

“Really?” I am skeptical. “He does?”

“Yes.” Kelsey must hear the skepticism in my voice, because she looks at me with frank disapproval in her face. “You
are
beautiful, you know. And you’re funny and you’re smart and you’re nice. Why do you think Brody wouldn’t like you? I mean, why
wouldn’t
Brody like you? You’re a catch.”

I want to point out that nobody likes me. Not in a mean way, but just in an I-fly-under-the-radar way. I am flustered by all these things that are so
new
to me in a life that seemed to have nothing new for so long. Is this what it feels like to be normal? Is this why it feels so new to me? Because I haven’t been normal before? I feel very out of my element. Maybe that’s why I don’t think I like Brody back. Maybe I am scared.

Which annoys me. I hate being scared. My aunts are constantly scared of things that aren’t there. The gnomes are only part of it. They are terrified all the time of the world around them, of the way time marches on and I get older and I have to be in this world and they hate it. I have always vowed I wouldn’t be like them—I wouldn’t be
scared
of things.

And then, the day I make up my mind not to be scared of Brody Fletcher anymore, to really
like
Brody Fletcher, is the day that Mrs. Bourne meets him, coming unexpectedly out of the back room to find Kelsey and Andy flirting as usual, me doing whatever it is I do, and Brody staring at me.

“What’s all this?” Mrs. Bourne demands.

I think that she is going to be upset that we’re entertaining guests instead of doing our jobs, and I hasten to come up with a response. She is staring at Brody, narrow-eyed, and I think that’s a bit unfair, because Kelsey and Andy are clearly much more distracted.

“Nothing, Mrs. Bourne,” Brody tells her, smiling his patented jock smile at her. “Just getting to know Selkie.”

Wait
, I think,
he
knows
Mrs. Bourne?

“Hmph,” says Mrs. Bourne. “I am not sure I entirely approve of that.”

Wait
, I think,
who
is
she
to
approve
or
disapprove
of
who
I
talk
to?
I mean, granted, I probably shouldn’t be doing all this during work hours, but it’s not like she can tell me who to be friends with. I’m just her employee.

But she doesn’t really say anything, just turns and walks back into the back room.

Kelsey looks up and says, “What was that all about?”

I didn’t even think she would notice, as intent on Andy as she was. “I have no idea,” I say.

Kelsey looks hesitant. “Do you think she was upset?”

“Are we going to get you in trouble?” Andy asks.

“Well, she didn’t ask you to
leave
,” says Kelsey, chewing on her lower lip.

“I had an idea, anyway,” Andy says, looking closely at Kelsey.

“An idea?” says Kelsey.

“That maybe we should hang out outside of the store sometimes.”

Kelsey goes pink with pleasure, and I am happy for her. She’s really wanted this, and now she’s got it.

And then Kelsey surprises me by saying, “All of us could!”

“What?” I say, surprised.

“That would be fun,” says Andy. “Salem Willows, maybe? Maybe next weekend? Or the weekend after?”

Salem Willows is an amusement park outside of Boston. Well. I say “amusement park.” It’s really just a little cluster of ancient arcade games that barely work anymore. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never gotten to go there, because I never get to go
anywhere
, but I’ve heard people at school talking about it.

I echo blankly, “Salem Willows?” Because I don’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, you know, up in Salem? It’s a—”

“No, I know what it is. I just…” I’ve just never thought about going out with friends like this. I’ve never done it before. I don’t know what my aunts would make of it. I look up at Brody, uncertain. As usual, I can’t read the expression on his face for the life of me. Why am I so terrible at knowing what other people might be thinking?

And then the bell over the door rings. A customer.

I glance up, and the woman who’s entered is looking at me. Not at us. At me. Gazing with intense curiosity. She looks like she is not entirely with it, and I wonder if she has just wandered in here accidentally. She looks that bewildered.

“Can I help you?” I ask politely.

“Who are you?” she demands.

I blink, caught off-guard. “Um,” I say, “Sel—”

Mrs. Bourne comes bustling out from the back room. “Don’t tell her!” she shouts at me, and I jump, startled anew. “Honestly, Matilda, don’t you have any manners at all?” she scolds, and then she herds Matilda up the stairs, the way she usually does.

I feel confused and uneasy about the encounter.

“That was weird,” I tell Kelsey.

She shrugs. “She is just a crazy old lady.”

See what I mean? I wish I could be that cool, but I can’t shake the feeling of dread that hangs over me—because a crazy-looking lady who I’d never met before looked at me strangely and asked who I was. Why should I
care
so much about this?

“So,” Kelsey says. “Salem Willows?”

It makes me feel like a toddler to say that I need to ask my aunts about the whole thing. Although I do, of course. But with Brody and Andy both waiting patiently and everyone acting like this is no big deal, I can think of nothing to do but to pretend that it’s not a big deal. Because it occurs to me that the reason they don’t think it’s a big deal is because to them it’s
normal
.

I say, faking brazen confidence, “Yeah. Sure.”

***

When our shift is up and Kelsey leaves—no one ever comes in to relieve us; we just leave Mrs. Bourne alone with the store—I tell her I’ve got a quick question for Mrs. Bourne.

“Is this about Brody and Andy being here?” Kelsey asks. “I don’t think it was that big a deal, but I’ll stay with you if you want.”

I love this about Kelsey. She is always willing to stick by my side, no matter what.

I shake my head. “No,” I tell her. “It’s fine. Anyway, my aunts are old friends of Mrs. Bourne’s, so I’ve been meaning to…talk to her about that.” It’s a lame lie, but Kelsey lets it go.

I turn from the store’s front door and walk carefully to the back, making sure not to brush up against any of the shelves, which could start a domino effect of everything in the store toppling to the ground.

“Mrs. Bourne?” I call and tap cautiously on the door to the back room.

There is no answer.

“Mrs. Bourne?” I call again louder.

Nothing.

I debate, standing there, indecisive. Should I push the door open? If Mrs. Bourne were there, she would answer me, right? But she must be there. I saw her go back there. But she can usually hear everything going on in the front of the store; it’s how she knows when she’s got a visitor. So maybe that means something terrible has happened to Mrs. Bourne?

Kelsey
would
have
just
opened
the
door
already
, I tell myself.

So I open the door.

I don’t know what I expected the back room to look like. I think that I thought it would be crowded with eye of newt and unicorn horn and things like that, because Ben’s comment about her being a witch has really gotten under my skin.

But no, instead, the room is surprisingly airy and open and light. It faces a back garden, and there are large French doors and windows letting the green-filtered sun spill through. And the room is filled to the brim with lace and embroidery. There are shelves all along its walls piled with shining white fabric that has spilled over onto the floor, so that I feel like I am wading through a sea of stiff, frothy waves as I move slowly into the room.

Mrs. Bourne is in the back garden, sitting in a wicker rocking chair full-on in the sunlight, sewing away at something and humming as she rocks back and forth.

“Mrs. Bourne?” I say, pausing on the threshold of the open French door.

She looks up in surprise, but she doesn’t look angry. “Oh,” she says. “Yes? Is there something wrong?”

Now that I’ve made it this far and everything seems fine, I feel like a huge idiot. “Um,” I say and consider what I should say next. I could ask her about Brody, but I don’t care about Brody, really. Not really. And I don’t know what that says about me. What I care about is that strange woman. “The woman who came in today…” I trail off because I don’t know what else I’m going to say.
She
looked
at
me
strangely? Why did she want to know who I was?

Mrs. Bourne waves the needle in her hand about before stabbing it back into the fabric she’s holding on her lap. “Oh, don’t mind her. It’s just that she knew your father.”

I go cold all over, standing there in the hot summer sunlight. Because I don’t talk about my father to people. And no one ever talks about my father to me.

“My father?” I echo, my voice sounding strangled.

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Bourne tells me absently. As if this is no very big thing.

But this
is
a very big thing. Because, other than my aunts, I have never in my life met anyone who knew my father.