I need to have a plan for my lies too.
“Come on, Ell. What the hell is going on? You’ve never liked guns, and now you’re trying to return one in the middle of the night to a Kmart on the east side. Are you nuts?”
“It’s not the middle of the night. It’s only ten.” He glares at me; it stings me, I feel his stare deep within. I don’t want to let him down. “Someone’s stalking me. I have it to keep me safe.”
His rage transforms into concern then back to the rage again. “You really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true.”
“Why the shotgun? It’s not like you can pop it out easily. Why would you need a gun? If there’s really a stalker, I’d know.”
“Someone got it for me.”
That wasn’t a lie. I’d found a guy outside the Walmart and asked him to buy it for me. I had originally thought it was Kmart because they kind of look alike and Walmart is only a block down the street. It was so easy to get the guy to buy it for me. I had a lot of money saved up for my trip, so I just offered him an extra twenty bucks and that was enough for him. I never learned the guy’s name, but he gave me the receipt, and it didn’t have his name on it since he’d used the cash, so I thought I could return it. I just got my marts mixed up, like I’d told Clementine.
“Are you capable of telling the truth?” He looks at me sternly and I have to come up with something quick.
“I’m taking shooting lessons. Thinking of trying hunting, you know, make a trip up to Michigan with this hunter I know who’s from there.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. Jackson loves to hunt and doesn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to. He’ll buy this lie.
He nudges me back. “That’s crazy. I didn’t know you wanted to hunt.”
I shrug. “Wanted to surprise you. You ruined it, jackhole.”
He smiles and shakes his head at the same time.
I often wonder why he keeps protecting me. Our friendship has become one-sided and he hasn’t noticed. His standards are much too low.
“So, where’s the gun now?” he asks.
“Colter took it from me.”
The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “You really thought you could return a gun with a receipt? And a Walmart one at Kmart?” He chuckles.
My insides lurch into wonderful convulsions at his voice. His laugh could heal the world if it were bottled and given out like a Coke.
“Not my finest moment.”
He curls his arm around my shoulders. “You never cease to entertain me.”
“Were you on a date?” I ask.
“Yeah, Ginger Speilman. Total hag. She smokes too much. I felt like my lungs were burning.”
“You still slept with her anyway, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I have needs.”
Happy Ellery laughs.
5
1 Day After
I dread going to English ’cause I know I’ll have to see Colter and I’ve never talked to him, except last night; haven’t had a reason to.
The collective voices in the room sound like buzzing bees as I stroll through the door. I make my way to my usual seat in the back of class, and hike my bag up over my shoulder, skimming through a positively titillating conversation two girls are having about Jasper Collins, the guy whose dad was on the TV show Big Brother last season. They think if they get with him they will somehow be famous.
Pathetic.
Colter’s not in the classroom yet, but I’m already sweating over everything, literally. It’s running down the back of my neck and pooling in my sweatshirt. I stare at the clock as perspiration collects between my breasts. With each tick, my stomach burrows deeper into my body. I was too nervous to eat breakfast. Mom had no clue what went down last night. After I got home, I called and canceled the cleaning crew, and patched up the hole in the ceiling as best I could.
My mind didn’t change when the sun came up. I’d read that somewhere. If you just believe the sun will rise again, you won’t want to kill yourself. I call bullshit. I don’t care about that. I know it’s selfish. I know I’ll probably go to hell, but I just don’t want to do it anymore. Feel it. The pain, the feeling of dread when I open my eyes in the morning. The guilt and shame. That cringing, scraping pit in my stomach that won’t go away because of what I’ve done.
I sit up higher in my seat as Colter strolls in and fist-bumps some guy who’s in my history class before sliding into his seat three desks from the front. He turns around, searching for someone, looking worried he won’t find them. His gaze lands on me and stops.
I sink down into my seat. That feeling of dread magnifies ten times when his gaze penetrates me. Shit. What does he want? Does he know? Now I have to worry about a fucking hall monitor watching me.
Mr. Kramer sits tall at his desk and twists his red pen in his fingers, waiting, watching for the next victim. “Flanders?”
Jason Flanders cowers in his chair. “Yeah, Mr. Kramer?”
“Yes,” Kramer corrects him.