Page 131 of Tell No Lies

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Dance … Mike … my friends.

I repeated this mantra in my head on my way to school. Even when I picked up Mckayla, I kept my mouth shut and ran through my short list of things I was allowing myself to think about.

She took one look at me and sat back without an attempt to chat.

The silence was broken once I put the car in park.

“Who kicked your puppy?”

Snapping my head toward her, I noted her concern.

“Seriously? What’s wrong? Yesterday you were floating around on cloud nine, but now you’re … well, this.” She waved her hand up and down in front of me with an air of disgust. “You could have at least tried some concealer on those bags. How long were you up crying?”

I pulled down the visor to check how bad it was. I hadn’t bothered this morning with makeup, or brushing my hair for that matter, but I hadn’t thought anyone would notice. She handed me a compact, which I accepted gratefully. As I dabbed powder under my eyes, I could feel her eyes drilling into me.

“Your first official day as Bayview’s new power couple, and you show up looking like you just got dumped. Did you?”

“No.” My voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Then why do you look like you’ve suddenly given up? Is this what Mike gets after weeks of chasing you?”

It felt strange that this was something that truly mattered to her.

Some crazy person was still out there watching me, dance competitions started this weekend, and my heart was one twisted mess, yet I was supposed to pull myself together for appearance’s sake?

Mike could only be seen with the pretty, put-together version of me?

Marilyn Monroe said it perfectly: “If you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”

After focusing for a few seconds on calming my emotions, I turned to her. “No, Mckayla. This is who I am when I have a rough night. I can’t be perfect all the time.”

Her face softened until she sighed. “That’s not what I meant to say. I’m just worried about you. Actually, I’m always worried, but seeing you like this is a red flag. What’s going on?”

“I just had a bad night.”

“You said that already, but it doesn’t answer my questions. You could have post-sobfest eyes for a number of reasons. Favorite show got canceled, you stubbed your toe, you talked to your mother … anything, really.”

I tried to laugh at her attempt at humor, but it turned into a huff. I contemplated telling her about Carter, but I didn’t want her to judge me for having feelings for my older brother’s best friend who was not my current boyfriend. It sounded even worse when I thought of it that way. What was wrong with me?

“It was just something I had to get out of my system. I’m over it now.” I checked the mirror one more time and confirmed that I looked only slightly better before handing her compact back to her. “Let’s go meet everyone before class starts.”

Reaching behind her to get my bag, I snuck a look at her and caught the disappointed look on her face. I wished she would understand that I shared all of the important stuff with her, but this was too personal. Judging myself was enough; I didn’t need others weighing in.

She silently followed me to the quad where our friends were already sitting. Mike saw me and jumped up from the table. Sliding his arms around me, he squeezed me in a hug that turned out to be exactly what I needed.

I snuggled into him and enjoyed the feeling that was exclusively Mike. He was my Polynesian god, my protector, and now my boyfriend. When I was with him, things felt perfect. Maybe if I could manage to spend all my time with him, the heartbreak and emptiness would disappear for good. With Mike, I didn’t notice the absence of Carter. He was enough to fill the cracks and make me feel wanted.

I smiled up at him and caught him staring at me.

“Good morning, gorgeous. Miss me?”

“Yeah, Mike. I really did.” The words felt true, but I knew there were conflicting thoughts floating around the edges of my conscious that would move in when he was gone.

“Here, I brought my letterman for you to wear.”

He lifted his backpack from the table and revealed the jacket decked out in the school colors, navy and yellow. His name was embroidered on the back for the whole school to see who had claim over me. I knew it was tradition for girls to wear their boyfriend’s jackets—in the fifties. I hurriedly put on a smile and pretended as if I didn’t feel like he’d just branded me like a cow.