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The hardest part was admitting to myself that if I really liked one of them, knowing that if we really started dating, I’d have to let go of the others.
And I felt the lure every time they called, touched, or said my name. The pull dared me to do what North said. Let go. Assume others know what they’re doing. What did I know about friendships and dating? I wanted desperately to make them happy, to give back to them for what they’d done for me. If I thought North’s advice applied to this, I should let them ask me where they wanted me to go, let them kiss me if they wanted, and simply trust they would tell me where they wanted me.
But did his advice apply to this?
TRUTH AND LIES
"Come here, Trouble," Gabriel beckoned to me as I slumped next to Kota. Gabriel was on the grass on the ground.
I rose, and drifted over to him. He snagged my hand, pulling me down.
"Don't let her sit in the grass," North said.
"She looks like shit," Gabriel said. "What the hell are you all doing to her?" He nudged me to lean into him. "Lay down if you want."
I didn't want to do that, because I didn't want to go to sleep. I would have been tempted to sleep all day. I did sit on the softer grass, and leaned against him.
Gabriel pressed his cheek to my forehead, cupping my head in his hand. "You're not coming down with something, are you?"
"She's fine," Kota said.
"Will you shush? I'm asking her."
Luke laughed. "Look at Mr. Protective now."
"Shut up," Gabriel said. He shifted until he had his legs parted and leaned back on his hands, and had me move until I was sitting, neatly tucked, between his legs. I wasn’t in his lap, but it was close. He pulled me until my back was against his chest so I could rest against him. "Trouble, if you're that tired, we'll skip class today."
"No skipping class," Kota said.
Gabriel reached around, collecting my cheeks, making me do fish lips and rocking my head back and forth to make me mimic like I was the one talking. "Tell him, Sang. Say 'Gabriel and I want to go home and sleep.'"
"She was out all last week," Kota said. "She's not skipping out now."
Gabriel grunted, and leaned in to whisper in my ear. "You tell me when you want to skip school, okay? I've got keys to the cars, too, you know."
I stifled a giggle, only letting Gabriel hear me. He grinned, and this seemed to appease him for now.
But I didn't skip. I knew better. The longer I stayed away from class, the harder it would be to adjust back into something almost normal. Whatever normal was to become for me now.
After math class, since Nathan was gone, North escorted me to the music room.
“Sang,” he said, pausing outside of Music Room B. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
I tilted my head at him. I wasn’t sure if Mr. Blackbourne would like this. “Should I have you with me? I thought Mr. Blackbourne was just going to tell me what to say to Mr. Hendricks if he asked for me.” I’d been so preoccupied about them that I didn’t have a chance to contemplate today and what Mr. Blackbourne would do.
North’s lips teased a smile on his otherwise serious and intense face. “He’ll probably tell you that, but he’ll probably teach you other things. I wasn’t sure if you were really ready for this.”
My shoulders stiffened and my breath escaped me. My hand absentmindedly went to my mouth. “I want to ask you,” I said honestly, “only I don’t know if Mr. Blackbourne would want it. And you really shouldn’t miss class.”
North collected my hand at my mouth and squeezed it. “Text me if you need. I don’t care if I’m in class. You’re in good hands with him, okay? Trust him.”
I nodded. He let go of me and left.
I entered the classroom, the violin case in my hands, a decoy to my real reason for being there.
Mr. Blackbourne stood on the other side of the room, expectant, his arms crossed over his chest. His light brown hair was perfectly cropped around his ears. His gray eyes met mine, commanding me without having spoken yet. “Miss Sorenson.”
“Mr. Blackbourne,” I said in greeting.
“Let’s get started,” he said. He gestured for me to come closer.
I dropped my bag and the violin in a chair by the door. Mr. Blackbourne directed me to stand near the chalkboard. He picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote: Nathan was at CPR training today.
“Read that out loud for me,” he said, rubbing at the dust on his fingers.
I repeated the line, glancing at him.
“Not bad,” he said. “Try it again, but look me in the eyes when you say it.”
I sucked in a breath for the courage to look at him. I repeated myself.
His gray eyes bore into mine, scrutinizing. He nodded after, the millimeter smile returning. “Good. You’re a quick study.” He erased the sentence from the board.
“Is that where he is?” I asked.
“Actually, yes. This time, he is. There’s an all-day first aid and CPR recertification at the university hospital. It’s Nathan’s turn to attend.”
“They all get that?” I asked. “Is it an Academy requirement?”
Mr. Blackbourne pursed his lips, drawing in a breath and holding it. He released it and answered me. “We like to insure our students are prepared for anything.”
“Should I tell Mr. Hendricks where he is? That he’s at the hospital?”
“You can,” he said. “What I want you to concentrate on is how he responds. You’re already very perceptive.”
“I am?”
“Females are generally more aware of tones and inflection of voices than males. Women can often sense when men are angry before they know it themselves. It’s ingrained.” He wrote another sentence on the board: Nathan is a karate class right now.
“Now read this,” he commanded.
I read it out loud.
His head tilted at me, a curious expression in his eyes. “Remarkable.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re an open book. You can’t even read something with a steady voice if you know it’s a lie. The words are on the board, you’re reading the phrase, but since you know it’s false, it doesn’t matter. Concept over context.”
I frowned. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s perfect,” he said, turning to erase the sentence.
“But Nathan once told me I should learn how to lie. They wanted to teach me so I wouldn’t get in so much trouble.”
“Oh no, we won’t do that,” he said. “There’s hundreds of human facial tells that you’d have to learn to control to become any good at lying.”
“But Dr. Green had told me to lie to my mother if needed.”
“Your mother was taking the wrong medication and handcuffing you in the shower,” he said in such a blatant way that I cringed at hearing it. “You could have said the sky was blue and she would have thought you were lying, so truth or lies didn’t matter. Keeping her from killing you was all that mattered.”
I bit my lower lip, unsure of how to respond.
He wrote another sentence on the board: North ate pancakes for breakfast this morning.
I blinked at him. “Is it true?”
“Read it before you ask me.”
I sucked in a breath, reading the line out loud.
“Not bad,” he said. He rewrote the sentence: Mr. Blackbourne said that North ate pancakes for breakfast this morning.
“Read,” he commanded.
I did, but even I noticed I said it with more confidence.
“This is the key,” he said. “If you aren’t sure, placing the responsibility of the truth onto someone else is enough to keep you from wavering. As long as you’re willing to trust that what I’ve said is true, you can relay the information in confidence.”
I touched my fingers at the base of my throat, thinking of his meaning. “So you’re saying you could feed me information, and not tell me if it is a truth or a lie. If I told him you told me, he’d believe that I was being honest.”
