The Thing About the Truth

  Before

  Isaac

  I’m drunk. At least, I think I am. It’s hard to tell. Probably because I’m so drunk. All I know is that this was the right choice. Definitely a good idea to come out here and have fun at the beach. I love the beach! There’s water! And sand! Everyone thinks it’s cold, but it’s really not.

  We have a fire. All my classmates are around the fire. I love the fire.

  The only thing I don’t love is Kelsey. She didn’t answer when I called her earlier, and even though I’m drunk drunk drunk, it’s bothering me. I want to call her again, but Marina will not leave me the fuck alone.

  At first I kind of liked it. It was fun. I even danced with her after I had my third beer. But now she’s just annoying. She won’t stay away from me. I think maybe my good-time drunk is starting to fade.

  When I get drunk, there are always two phases. Happy Drunk Isaac comes first. This is when I’m the life of the party, dancing and having fun. I love everyone. Then Mean Drunk Isaac comes. Actually, I wouldn’t call it mean, exactly. More like Ornery and Slightly Irritable Isaac.

  “Don’t you want to dance some more?” Marina asks. She might be even drunker than I am. But she’s still very much in happy mode. She’s sitting next to me on the sand, and she leans in close, slurring her words against my neck.

  “No.” All I want to do is call Kelsey. “I’ll be right back. I have to make a phone call.”

  I walk a little ways down the beach and pull out my phone. I can’t believe I’m calling a girl for the second time in one night. I never, ever do that. Usually I have a list of girls I call, and if one doesn’t answer, I just move on to the next. Okay, that sounds horrible. It’s not, like, literally a list. I just like to have options.

  I dial Kelsey’s number. It takes me two tries. I keep messing up, hitting Ken in my contacts list instead. I don’t even know a Ken, hahaha.

  Oh! It’s ringing! Ring . . . ring . . . ring . . .

  This time she answers!

  “Hello?” She sounds hesitant.

  “Well, hello there,” I say, trying to sound suave.

  “Are you drunk?” she asks immediately.

  “Why would you ask that?” God, what is it with this girl? Every time I talk to her, she’s always thinking the worst of me. I decide it’s time to turn on the charm.

  “Because it’s eleven o’clock at night and you’re calling me saying things like ‘hello there.’”

  “I tried to call you earlier,” I point out. “But you didn’t answer.” I plop myself down in the sand and almost fall over. On the other end of the line, Kelsey’s silent. “Did you say something?” I ask. “If you did, I missed it.”

  From down the beach, around the fire, I hear the sound of laughter.

  “Where are you?” Kelsey asks.

  “At the beach,” I say. Then I remember something. Something very important. “Hey!” I say. “You were supposed to come here with me! Remember? We were both invited!” I realize I’m talking kind of loud. So I decide to lower the volume. “You were invited,” I whisper. “You should come down here.” I don’t know how to get here. But maybe she has a GPS. Wait. She doesn’t drive. “Maybe your parents can drop you off,” I try.

  “I can’t believe you’re calling me when you’re drunk,” she says. “I have to go.”

  “You have to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What are you doing? Where were you before? I wanted to talk. It was important.” Suddenly I feel really upset. I’m thinking about what happened with my dad earlier. And I want to tell Kelsey about it for some reason.

  “I was at the mall with my friend,” she says.

  “And you didn’t have your phone?”

  “I had my phone,” she says. Then she sighs. “Isaac, you’re drunk. Do you have a way home?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “There’s a designated driver.” I forget her name, though. Ray? No, that’s a boy’s name. Actually, it could be a girl’s name too. But it’s not Ray. Rochelle? Rachel? Raymond? Raymond is definitely a boy’s name. I laugh.

  “Good.” She pauses. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” That’s it. That’s all she says. Not “Call me tomorrow” or “Hey, that was really nice when we kissed” or “I’m going to come down and meet you at the beach so I can make sure that Marina girl doesn’t steal you away from me.”

  “I’ll talk to you later?” I ask incredulously.

  “Isaac,” she says. “You. Are. Drunk.”

  “Yeah? And what do you have against drunk people? Ooof.” I fall over into the sand. It gets in my mouth and I try to spit it out.

  “Nothing,” she says, “but I don’t want to talk to you when you’re drunk.”

  “I fell into the sand,” I say.

  “Goodbye, Isaac.” The line goes dead.

  Well. I guess that’s that. I stare at the phone, kind of unable to believe it. How could she just hang up on me like that? Especially since I haven’t been able to think about anything but her. Well, that’s not exactly true. There was that whole thing with my dad. But still. The point is, I’ve been thinking about her, missing her, wanting to talk to her. And she was just . . . I forget what she said. At the mall. With her friend. Probably a boyfriend.

  “What are you doing down here?” Marina asks. She’s somehow lost her shirt and is now wearing just a bikini top. All of a sudden I’m very warm. Probably because I’ve had so much to drink.

  “I was making a phone call,” I say, holding up my phone. “But now I’m done.”

  “Good.” She leans into me. She smells very good. Like flowers mixed with baby powder and something else that only girls can smell like. A slight breeze blows her hair into my face, and she reaches up and pushes it back behind her ear.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling at me. And the next thing I know, she’s kissing me. I pull back.

  “What’s wrong?” she breathes into my ear. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

  I think about it. I don’t want to kiss Marina. I want to kiss Kelsey. Don’t I? My head is all cloudy now. Kelsey doesn’t want to kiss me. Kelsey is trying to blow me off. She’s not even answering her phone when she’s out, she’s . . . she’s rejecting me. I can’t even believe it. I never get rejected.

  My drunk brain cannot wrap my mind around this. Or, I mean, my brain can’t wrap its . . . Fuck, I don’t know. All I know is that Marina is here and I’m drunk and I want more beer and she wants to kiss me.

  But before I can figure out if I want to kiss her, or answer her, she’s moving her lips back toward mine. And then she’s kissing me. And there’s nothing to do but kiss her back.

  Before

  Kelsey

  I can’t sleep. I’m just lying here in bed thinking about Isaac. I was hoping he’d call me back. I hate the idea of him being at the beach with Marina. I hate the idea that he called to invite me, and that I didn’t answer just because of some stupid thing that happened at my old school with Rex. I hate that I’m awake thinking about it, that the exact thing I’d wanted to avoid—obsessing over Isaac—is happening.

  At around two in the morning I give up and turn my light on, deciding to try to read. But I can’t find any books I’m interested in. The crazy thing about it is that my to-be-read pile is so high it’s about to fall over. But there’s nothing I want to read. The thing about me and books is that whichever one I’m reading always reminds me of whatever’s happening in my life during that time.

  And since I like to reread really good books, I’m afraid to start reading something new. What if it’s a really good book that I want to read again sometime? And I can’t because it will always remind me of the night I spent lying awake thinking about Isaac. That’s what happened with this book by Susan Mallery that I was reading when that whole thing happened with Rex.

  The book was so good, and it had the best romance ever. But I couldn’t finish it. It’s still sitting there on my shelf. I can’t read it. It’ll bring up too many memories.

 
At around five the sun starts to peek up over the horizon. I wish I was the kind of girl who was always going out for runs. Runs are supposedly really good for your mental state. The girls in the books I’m reading are always going out for runs really late at night or early in the morning to work out all their sexual frustration or get some guy off their minds. It always works, and they get superfit in the process, causing whatever guy they were all brokenhearted about to want them back. Of course, by then they’ve moved on to someone better.

  I’ve always hated running. Too boring. And hard. I’ve tried listening to music, but even then it sucks. You can’t even turn the music up too loud, because if you do, you won’t be able to hear, and then you might get accosted by some kind of crazy attacker.

  Still. As long as I’m awake and it’s technically morning, I might as well get up and do something. Maybe some homework.

  I throw on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, then tiptoe downstairs. I brew a pot of extrastrong coffee, then grab my bag and set it down on the table. I pull out my notebook and start to make a checklist of all the work I have to do. I like to have checklists. That way, I can make a check next to each thing as I do it. It’s very satisfying.

  I’m done with my list and just deciding that I should probably start with my math, since it won’t take too long, and that way I can earn a check right off the bat, when I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Someone’s coming down, and I can tell right away that it’s my dad. My mom’s usually not awake this early, but my dad sometimes is. He’ll get up early so that he can work in his office on some of his web design projects.

  “Good morning,” he says to me, nodding as he walks into the kitchen. He looks at all the books spread out in front of me. “Doing some work?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. He just stands there, and I just sit there, neither of us knowing what to say. Awwwk-ward.

  “How’s your new club going?” he asks finally.

  “Fine,” I say. I’ve been deliberately vague about Face It Down, telling my parents only that I’m working on something with the senator’s son. I just don’t want them getting all involved in it, asking me all kinds of questions, putting me on the spot. Especially because it might not work out.

  “So what’s going to happen?” my dad asks. “What’s the objective?”

  “Um,” I say, “well, we’re going to be inviting some students from Concordia Prep to get together and do some community building.”

  He nods, then crosses the kitchen and pulls a mug down from the cabinet. He walks over to the coffee pot and then pauses. “Do you mind if I have some coffee?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, “there’s a whole pot.”

  He pours himself a full cup, adds milk and sugar, and then sits down at the kitchen table across from me. “And how has it been, working with Isaac Brandano?”

  I think about it, trying to keep the fact that we kissed and that I’ve been up all night out of my mind. “It’s been okay,” I say. “At first I thought that maybe he wasn’t going to take anything seriously, but it seems like he’s really on board.”

  “That’s great.” My dad takes a sip of coffee. “This is good,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  There’s another awkward silence. “So, I heard that you hung out with Rielle last night,” he says. “That’s nice.”

  “Yup.” I nod.

  “Well,” my dad says, standing up, “I guess I should get to work.”

  “Yeah, I should get back to work too,” I say, for some reason not wanting him to think he’s the one who’s cutting our conversation short.

  But once he’s gone to his office and the kitchen is quiet, I can’t concentrate. I decide to pack it up and head to the university library. It’s the perfect place to study—it’s within walking distance, it’s open twenty-four hours, and they never ID. They have comfy chairs, and the place is always deserted on Saturday mornings.

  I used to go all the time when I was at Concordia Prep. It was like my secret little place—I never told anyone about it, even Rielle. I didn’t want any distractions, and I didn’t want anyone else going there. I was competitive like that. I used to think that everyone else was going to keep me from getting what I wanted. Kind of ironic that the one person who kept me from getting what I wanted was myself.

  I pack a bag with a few Rice Krispies Treats, my school-books, my laptop, and some extra pens. I grab a thermos out of the cupboard and fill it with coffee, adding extra sugar, figuring if I keep a steady stream of caffeine pumping through my veins, it’ll combat the inevitable sugar crash.

  It’s a really nice day out already, and the fresh air and the walk to the library help lift my mood. Once I’m there, I give the girl working the front desk a friendly smile. I always smile at the student workers to avoid any kind of suspicion. I mean, why would I be so smiley if I was sneaking in?

  I head to my favorite table, all the way in the back of the second floor, in front of the huge picture windows that look out over Lake Swanscott. It’s peaceful and picturesque, and my favorite place to study.

  But when I get to the table, someone’s already sitting there. A girl.

  “Hey,” she says, looking at me like she knows me. It takes me a second to place her. That happens to me sometimes when people show up places where they shouldn’t be.

  But then I figure it out. It’s Chloe. That girl from the bathroom at school. The one who kept asking me about my broken heart.

  “Hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I come here to study.” I sit down across from her. She doesn’t have any books or anything, so I’m assuming that maybe she pulled an all-nighter and now she’s packed up her stuff and is ready to leave. In which case, I’m happy to have my table back.

  “You came here to study?” she asks. “At six o’clock on a Saturday morning?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you?”

  “Didn’t I what?”

  “Come here to study.”

  “No.” She shrugs. “I was at a party near here last night.” And that’s when I notice that she’s definitely not dressed for a study session. She’s wearing a short black skirt and a tight black shirt, her hair looks kind of wild, and her eyeliner is all smudged.

  “So if you were at a party,” I ask, “then why are you at the library?”

  “Because,” she says, “this is where I wait.”

  She’s eyeing my coffee, and so I pull the top off the thermos, pour some into the cup that doubles as the top, and slide it across the table toward her. She accepts it and drains it in a few long swallows. I refill the cup. But that’s all she’s getting. I mean, I haven’t slept all night. I need the caffeine.

  “This is where you wait for what?” I ask her. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not going to take too long. She’s definitely cutting into my studying time. Although, when I think about it, she’s also providing a distraction from thinking about Isaac. Not that I’m having to work really hard not to think about him, la la la.

  She bites her lip, and I can tell she doesn’t want to tell me.

  “Is it”—I lean over the table and lower my voice to a whisper—“your drug dealer?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but I say it like I’m totally serious in an effort to get her to smile. It works.

  “No,” she says, “it’s not my drug dealer.” She thinks for a second. “Although, in a way, I guess it is.”

  She pulls her bag up onto the table and takes out a tiny little mirror. “Oh my God,” she says, studying her reflection. “I look horrible.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say. It’s kind of true. She looks a little disheveled, yeah, and like she’s been out partying all night, but she also looks kind of sexy. Kind of . . . dangerous. If I was a guy, I’d be all over it.

  “Yes, I do.” She sighs, then wipes some stray eyeliner from under her eye. She puts the mirror back in her bag, then leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her che
st, her blue eyes boring into mine. She tilts her head to the side like she’s sizing me up, giving me some kind of test, trying to see if I’m worthy of what she’s about to tell me.

  “Did you mean what you said before?” she asks.

  “About what?”

  “You know, the broken heart stuff.”

  I nod. I thought we already went over this.

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “I told you,” I say. “It means—”

  She holds up her hand, silencing me. “Please,” she says. “That’s so not the whole story, and you know it. You just didn’t want to get into it because that Isaac kid was there.”

  “Whatever.” I shrug, deciding not to deny it but not to admit it either. I mean, I don’t owe this girl anything.

  “So what happened?” she asks. “I know it’s something scandalous.”

  “What happened with your broken heart?” I counter. “I know it’s something scandalous.” I try to mimic her tone of voice.

  “You first,” she says, “and then I’ll tell you mine.”

  It’s the oldest trick in the book, obviously. She wants to know my secrets and gossip while reserving the right to keep hers quiet. But I think about telling her anyway. No one knows exactly what went on with me and Rex except for Rielle. And my parents. And some choice administrators and teachers at school. Even the students at Concordia Prep who think they know don’t really know for sure. They just speculate, start rumors, etc. Rex knows. At least, I’m pretty sure he does. I haven’t talked to him since it happened.

  I wonder if keeping it a secret is what’s giving it so much power. I mean, what happened at my old school has been the reason everything in my life is going the way it is. The reason I’m starting Face It Down. The reason things with my parents are so weird. The reason things are different with Rielle. The reason I didn’t answer my phone last night when Isaac called, which probably ended up forcing him into Marina’s arms. Not that that last one is a big deal. Isaac and I obviously weren’t going to be anything. We’re way too different. But still. Even if it was just going to be a fling, what happened with me and Rex is what’s keeping that from happening.