Lies My Girlfriend Told Me
Page 6

“Swanelle Delaney. I came up with it.”
Like that’s important? “Do you know her? Personally?”
“I met her a few times. At the games Swanee took me to. She’s a bitch.”
Again with the games. “What games? Where?”
“She’s a cheerleader at Greeley West.”
What about cheers being stuck-up sluts? Maybe that only applied to Betheny. “How long were they together?”
“You’re really a masochist, aren’t you?”
“I just think someone should tell her about Swanee. If, um, she doesn’t already know.”
Joss mimics my exasperated breath. “When you find her phone, look in Swan’s contacts list. She might still have the number.”
I almost slip and say I know Liana’s number. “Don’t you think she should be told in person?”
“By who? Me? No way.”
Well, I’m not going to call her. That’d be the cruelest way ever to deliver heartbreaking news about someone you’re obviously still in love with.
I hear voices in the background and Joss says, “We’re off to score some native weed. Want me to bring you back some?”
“No. Do you know when you’ll be home?”
She disconnects without answering the question.
One piece of the puzzle is in place. If Liana didn’t know Swanee’s last name, it’s conceivable she hasn’t connected the dots of Swanee’s death.
And now, with Joss out of town, it’s my sole responsibility to tell Liana. In fact, I have a burning desire to know everything about her because I think she’s the key to cracking a safe full of secrets about Swanee.
Chapter 7
Greeley is a cow town north of Arvada. I Google Greeley West to check out the sports schedule and note that the only home event this week is wrestling on Thursday. That morning I ask Dad if I can borrow the car and he says, “A blizzard is rolling in later.”
I figure I can get to Greeley and back in an hour, hour and a half. Telling Liana won’t take long, depending on the number of questions she hits me with.
Dad says, “You sure you don’t want me to take you and pick you up?”
The way he has ever since I was in elementary school and the weather was bad. I click my tongue in disgust. “I think I can drive six blocks in the snow.”
Dad sets a stack of pancakes in front of me and says, “You can walk six blocks, too.”
“Or I could drive.” I feel angry at him and I don’t know why. I’m angry at the world. “Please? I swear I’ll be careful.”
Dad cradles Ethan on his lap with a bottle while he squirts syrup on his pancakes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Alix. I know you’re a good driver.”
So what’s the problem? “Can I take it?”
He cuts into his pancakes and says, “All right. But if it gets really bad and you don’t feel comfortable driving home, call me.”
“And you’ll do what?”
He chews and swallows. “Bundle up Bubba here, and hoof it up the hill to rescue you.” He smiles.
He would, too. Why does he have to be so irritatingly… Dad?
Around noon the snow starts with a fury. Dad calls me at lunch and asks, “Are they letting you out early?”
“Not that I know of,” I tell him.
“I really don’t want you driving—”
“Dad, it’s six blocks. I’ll be fine. If nothing else, I’ll just put it in neutral and slide down the hill.”
He doesn’t laugh.
I skip Physics class and race to the Prius, slipping and sliding through the parking lot. The sheet of ice tests the law that a body in motion stays in motion until it butt-checks the ground. Wadsworth Boulevard is a skating rink, as they say, but I take it slow, eventually exiting I-70 onto I-76, heading for Greeley.
Dad would literally kill me if he knew.
People are driving around thirty on the highway, and even that seems too fast. When I finally reach the Greeley city limits, my jaw aches from my clenching it so hard.
The snow’s heavier here, and visibility is almost zero. The map I printed out to the school reads, “Exit west toward Loveland, approx. two miles.”
I check the dashboard clock: 3:49. The match starts at four.
Greeley West is easy to spot, with its sign reading SPARTAN PRIDE. The building is one-story brick, newer than Arvada. I take a left past the school to the west parking lot. It’s full, so I have to park a block away.
The snow and wind buffet me across the street, to the wide front steps, and through the front door.
Inside I hear the band and see groups of people on their way to the gym. My cell reads 3:53, and I want to make sure I catch Liana before the match starts. I realize this is not the ideal time to tell her that her ex is dead, because either she’ll have to pretend nothing’s wrong or she’ll lose it completely and have to leave. I don’t really know her, so I have no idea how she’ll react.
Suddenly a girl appears out of the restroom. A cheerleader. I recognize her from the theater. Our eyes meet and she says, “Hi,” and then turns to go.
“Liana.” A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. She swivels back. “I’m Alix. A, um, friend of Swanee’s.”
She has these caramel-colored eyes, enormous, the size of half dollars. “Who’s Swanee?”
Shit. She didn’t even know her real name. “Swanelle?”
“Oh. Swan. She never mentioned a friend named Alex.” A buzzer blares from the gym and Liana adds, “I have to go.”
“I’m Swan’s…” I want to say “girlfriend,” but something holds me back. “I need to tell you something.”
She looks toward the gym, and then back to me. Her expression is expectant.
How to do this?
I say, really fast, “She died. She was running and she had a heart attack. A cardiac arrest.” I don’t really know the difference. I hope she doesn’t ask.
All I can do is stare at this girl while she stares at me.
Liana starts shaking her head. I feel her disbelief. Not horror or grief. That’ll come later.
I tell her, “She died on February second. That Saturday morning.”
Liana’s eyes slit. “You’re lying. Swan’s alive. I talked to her yesterday.”
You texted her, I want to say. You never actually talked. “Check the news reports.”
“I read about that girl who died. But there were no pictures, and her name was different. At the time I thought it was strange for two people to have such unusual first names. The last name was different, too, though, and she went to a different school.”
I can imagine Jewell and Asher not wanting Swanee’s picture splashed all over the news and in the paper. What school did Swanee tell Liana she attended? I wonder. “She gave you false information,” I say. “Her real name is—was—Swanee Durbin. And she went to Arvada.”
Liana’s eyes bore into mine. “So who’s been texting me?”
I open my mouth to tell her the truth, but what comes out is, “Someone’s been texting you?”
“Joss,” she hisses.
“No. She wouldn’t.” She couldn’t because I have the phone.
“Is this one of Swan’s pranks? Because it’s not funny. It’s cruel and evil. And so are you and Joss for going along with it.” Liana whirls and sprints off, disappearing into the gym.
Oh, God. I slump against the wall, closing my eyes. I should be proud that I found the courage to tell her, but all I feel is sick to my stomach.
I have to drive all the way home in first gear, riding the brakes, to maintain a speed of three miles per hour. No doubt the transmission will need a total overhaul. It’s almost dark by the time I pull into the driveway. Mom and Dad are both in the kitchen, looking pissed. “Where have you been?” Dad asks. “We’ve been calling you for the last four hours.”
Four hours? I check the microwave clock and see that he’s right. It’s almost eight.
I’m not about to tell him I’ve been in Greeley.
Mom seethes. “I even called the Durbins.”
That gives me an out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear their phone ring. And my cell was on vibrate.”
“Alix, I told you they need time to themselves.”
“They’re not home. They went to Hawaii.”
Mom and Dad exchange a frown.
“To regroup,” I add. “I told Jewell I’d water her plants while they were gone.” Where did that lie come from? “Plus, it’s quiet over there, so I can study.”
Up in his room, as if on cue, Ethan begins to cry. Dad heads for the stairs.
“Did you even once think to call us, that we might be worried about you?” Mom says.
I did think to call, but then other priorities intervened. “I said I was sorry.”
She gives me her classic “you’re the most irresponsible person on the face of the planet” look. Then adds, “We ate without you.”
Like it’s the worst punishment in the world to miss our family meal.
I look up Liana Torres on Facebook. Naturally, her profile is set to private. All I can see is her recent activity, which is a change in her profile picture. She’s gorgeous. A pang of jealousy shoots through me and I can understand why Swanee would want me to break off my relationship with Betheny, even if it was only friendship.
If I want to learn more about Swanee through Liana, the only way is for her to accept a friend request from me so I can check out her albums and read her wall and time line. She might initially add me, until she figures out I’m that lying bitch who showed up at her school to tell her the truth about Swanee. I could fake a name, like Swanee did. Or use Alixandra. Or remove Swanee Durbin as my girlfriend.
Forget it. That will remain permanent on my Facebook.
Thinking about the hatred in Liana’s eyes when she thought Joss was playing a joke on her brings tears to my eyes. Why did I lead her on, let her believe Swanee was still alive? Why didn’t I just call after the first text and let her know what happened on Swanee’s run?
It was selfish of me to want to know who Liana was. In time Swanee would’ve told me, if I’d asked. She didn’t like talking about her past. But we didn’t keep secrets, either.
I could let it go and allow Liana to believe whatever she wants, if it weren’t for the fact that she blames Joss now. I don’t know why I care, but I do.
No, it’s going to stop here. Liana needs to know the truth. Period.
I send her a friend request and wait to see what’ll happen.
Surprisingly, Dad asks if I want a ride to school. He doesn’t seem mad about yesterday, but I worry that he’ll never let me borrow the car again.
“That’s okay,” I say. “But thanks.”
In the mudroom, I pull on my boots and see that Mom’s already left for the hospital. Then it hits me. I return to the kitchen and ask Dad, “How’s Ethan? Did they figure out what’s wrong?”
Without looking up from his iPad, where he reads the newspaper every morning, he says, “I wondered when you were going to remember him.”
My face flares. I remember. I care that he’s sick. I just have a lot on my mind.
“It’s an intestinal bug that seems to be going around,” Dad says. “He probably caught it at day care.”
Why doesn’t he add, When you didn’t want to babysit?
“But he’ll be all right?”
Dad meets my eyes and nods. “Will you?”
It takes me a moment to absorb his meaning. So many feelings well up inside, I want to run to him and have him hold me, tell me everything’s going to be okay. But we don’t have that kind of relationship.
I miss Swan so much.
I can’t even respond as I race out of the garage and punch the key code to close the door behind me. Dad’s shoveled the driveway, but not all the side streets have been cleared. I trudge up Sixty-Ninth, the hill that leads to Dover Court and Swanee’s house.
On the spur of the moment, I decide to ditch. I’d never skipped a whole day of school until I met Swanee. She persuaded me to do a lot of things I’d never done. Like smoke weed. And drink. Begin to liberate myself, the way she had. Apparently, she took off from school whenever she felt like it, and Jewell and Asher didn’t care. When I told her my parents would flip, she said what I already knew: “Haven’t they heard that slavery was abolished?”
Her house is older than ours. More shabby. We moved farther west, to a newer subdivision, when Mom got her job at St. Anthony She wanted me to transfer to Arvada West, which scores a higher grade than Arvada, or go to a charter school. But all my friends are at Arvada. Betheny, the GSA, mathletes, ski club. And then I met Swanee.
I know Mom has high expectations of me following in her footsteps and becoming a doctor. I hate to tell her that dealing with death on a daily basis would harden my heart like lava. Or eat me alive from the inside out.
I find the Durbins’ key under the frog on the porch and let myself in. Before heading to Swanee’s room, I wander around, touching objects, picking up interesting artifacts. Swanee told me Jewell and Asher met while backpacking across Europe. I always thought it’d be cool to take off like that, camp out, meet people on the road. Swan said, “Fuck that shit.” She required hot water for showers, real food, and flushing toilets.
My attention is drawn to an object on the mantel. The urn. I take it down and open the lid. The ashes aren’t loose inside; they’re stored in a plastic bag. They aren’t black, the way I imagined. They’re gray. I never viewed Swanee as a gray person. She was every color of the rainbow.