“This, with me.”
Her expression softens. “You didn’t give me a chance to figure that out,” she says, “so it’s not really a fair question.”
I pause, thinking about those early days. How everything went down. How hard it was to lie at first, and how much easier it became. “After a while, it wasn’t the worst thing to be someone else. You guys liked me because of it.”
It’s quiet for a moment and I’m grateful for the silence.
“I think we liked you for you,” Deanna says. “And part of me hopes some of that is real.”
“It is.”
She sighs. “I want to be so mad at you.”
“And I get that. I would be too. I just don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry.”
“That I know or that you lied?” she asks, and it’s a good question.
“I’m still figuring that out. It felt good to be accepted. And at some point, having that clean slate felt worth all that I was doing for it. A lot of the other girls in there don’t get a chance to start from scratch like I did. Some of them go to jail next and never get another chance again. I was really grateful, and after a while, it didn’t feel like a lie. I didn’t want it to be.”
“If you’d just told us, we would have been fine,” she says.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t have thought of me differently if you knew I was in a detention center?”
“You’re right. I guess we can never really know.”
“So, what happens now?”
She fidgets with her skirt. “You tell me about Amari.”
I draw a breath as deeply as I can without being too obvious. I was waiting for this moment. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Are you over her?”
No more lies.
“I’m not interested in her,” I say, “but I do think we need closure.”
Deanna nods. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You’re gonna have to tru—”
“Trust you?” she finishes with a smirk. “Yeah, way too soon.”
“Then nothing I say is gonna matter, Deanna.”
She senses my frustration and backs off a bit. “I don’t want to be a jerk, but this is hard. I’m scared to believe you.”
“I’m scared too.”
She looks relieved.
“I hate being a disappointment to people I care about,” I say, and that’s exactly what I felt like when this whole thing happened. Especially with my mom. “What can I do to fix this?”
Deanna leans back on the bench and stares up at the sky. “Nothing’s broken,” she says, “just a little bent.”
I smile. “Then how do I straighten it out?”
She stands and brushes the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Let’s just go get something to eat. Okay?” She holds her hand out.
