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I turn in Billy’s direction next. “Billy, tell Larissa that she should have kept her big mouth shut.” Billy has been quiet since I approached their little gang.
“I—uh…I, yeah I will,” he says, his gaze flicking up toward the front window of his townhouse.
“Good,” I correct him, noting the flickering TV glowing through their curtains. “Go now,” I say. “Then after you tell her…then you two can figure out how to make this rumor disappear.”
“H-how?” Billy asks, sounding strangled.
“Dude, just go talk to your sister,” Kyle suggests, muttering under his breath.
Billy scuffles along the pavement and jogs back toward his townhouse to talk to his darling sister, Larissa.
“Don’t worry too much, Billy. I’m sure this will all sort itself out because when someone lies, something bad always happens after. You know—karma…ever heard of it?” I say, calling after him.
He turns to look over his shoulder at me while continuing on his path home. “What? What is that supposed to mean,” he questions.
I leave Billy’s question unanswered and instead follow him to the townhouses. I have no desire to be out here alone with his crappy friends. By the time I reach the stairwell, he’s closing himself up inside his unit. His deadbolt locks and echoes against the wooden paneling.
Jerks.
I make it back inside and throw my back up against the door, fighting the urge to fall into a puddle of misery and cry.
The tears never come. Instead, my blood boils through every inch of my body.
Everything I’ve ever thought to be true is in question. My parents—the two people who supposedly love me more than anything else in the world have been lying to me. My genetics and DNA obviously don’t come from two healthy people.
What we don’t know can’t hurt us—that’s what Mom has said to me many times over the years when my curiosity is beyond her liking. It didn’t make sense to me until now.
What isn’t a cold, hard tangible fact can’t hurt me either. I need this article to be fake.
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m short of breath and a cold sweat is seeping down through my arms and legs until the air in my lungs becomes cold too. I’m dizzy as I make my way back into the house, circling around as if I’ll find a fix for my problem.
When someone lies, something bad always happens.
On the kitchen table, Mom has a half-melted candle that smells like apples and cinnamon. I stare at it, knowing the scent of the melted wax has always given me comfort, made home feel like home. It’s a scent. Just a scent. Mom and Dad should be making our house feel like a home.
I lift the candle from the table and take a whiff, then take the book of matches.
An echo of laughter seeps in through the cracks of my home. It isn’t the boys outside this time. It’s coming from next door. All I can hear is a female cackling.
I move to the side of the table and pull the blinds on our sliding glass door that leads to our small inset balcony. It’s in the corner of the townhomes with a bit of privacy. It’s nice to feel alone sometimes and listen to the frogs and crickets whilestaring up at the stars. Maybe the townhome will block the sound of laughter and give me a moment of peace to calm down.
The moment I open the door, I realize I’m out of luck, as their laughter carries on the wind. Still, I continue outside and sit down against the wooden railing, knocking into a tin canister of lighter fluid for our charcoal grill. It spills out onto the wooden deck, seeping through the cracks. I can hear the droplets hitting the deck below but only because the laughter has stopped for a moment.
Drip, drip, drip.
Laughter.
I can’t listen. My chest hurts from my heart racing so hard. I stand back up and make my way toward the glass sliding door, the sound following me with every step I take.
Before closing the door behind me, I unclench the book of matches in my hand and tear one out to light. I stare at the flame dancing in the light breeze, watching as it burns the wooden stick. How can I be weaker than this small flame, unable to burn those who are unworthy of my presence? I toss the match onto the balcony and close the sliding door. I reach into my pocket, ensuring I have the article secured where it belongs, and return to my bedroom to collect a few belongings.
A pop from what sounds like a large, overfilled balloon alerts me before the smoke alarms do. When I step out of my bedroom, I see what I’ve done. What I will tell myself I never intended to do.
I watch the flames lick the wooden panels outside the sliding glass window. The sound of crackles drowns out the laughter. The fire is beautiful as it grows.
Bad things happen to those who lie.
It’s the only way to stop the lies…
