Kody Keplinger - Lying Out Loud

RYDER: Is it, though?

ME: Excuse me, Mr. Big City, but around here Greg Johnson is practically famous. He’s the closest thing we have to a celebrity in Hamilton.

RYDER: Again, not sure if this is sad or adorable.

ME: He’s also very handsome, so there’s that, too.

RYDER: Is it weird that I’m a little jealous of this guy now?

I felt a smile spread across my face. I knew it was wrong. I knew he thought he was flirting with my best friend, not me. But I couldn’t help it.

ME: If you pay for my gas, I’ll call you handsome, too.

RYDER: Duly noted.

By the end of October, there was no way around it. Somehow, I’d developed a big, stinking crush on Ryder Cross.

And he had one on my best friend.

But somehow, I thought I could fix that. I could turn this around and make Ryder see that I, not Amy, was the girl he should be with. It would just take some planning, a lot of lying …

And a little help from my best friend.

“You want me to do what?” Amy’s eyes were wide and totally freaked out.

I glanced around our table to make sure no one was listening. It was Monday, and I’d spent the weekend piecing together my plan before springing it on her over lunch.

Satisfied that we weren’t being spied on — and that Ryder was nowhere near us — I explained.

“Not just you. I’m in on this, too.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Fair point.” I popped a soggy french fry into my mouth. Once again, I’d lied to the cafeteria lady so I could get a free lunch. Now that I was unemployed, this would likely become an all-too-regular occurrence.

Amy had asked that morning if I needed lunch money, but I’d said no. She was already doing so much for me, letting me stay in her room, and I wouldn’t take money from her, too. I told her I had a little cash saved. And, of course, she believed me.

“Trust me, though,” I said. “This will work.”

“I’m not sure what this is.”

“Right. Okay.” I pushed my empty tray aside and leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “So Ryder likes me, but he thinks I’m you. And he hates the me he thinks I am. Following?”

“Barely. But I’m confused. You chatted with him again after the first time?”

“Just … once,” I said, cringing a little.

It had been more like half a dozen times.

“Oh,” Amy said, clearly made a little uncomfortable by this. “That might have been nice to know. It would’ve explained why he kept waving to me in the hallway, if he thought we’d been chatting online. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I know,” I said. “But it just sort of happened. I didn’t mean to do it again.”

And again … and again …

“Well, I’m still not sure why you can’t just tell him it’s you he’s been talking to.”

“We’ve been over this,” I said with a groan. “I’ve tried. He won’t let me get a word out in person, and when I try over IM, he just logs off. And I’m scared if I tell him now or write it in an e-mail, he’ll think I’ve just been screwing with him.”

“So the alternative is … lying to him more?”

“Precisely. But for a good cause.”

“A good cause,” Amy repeated, dubious.

“My love life,” I said. “It’s in desperate need of some charity. Helping me would really just be doing a good deed.”

“I don’t know …”

“What’s there not to know?” I asked. “It won’t be hard and it won’t take long. Basically, we just have to convince Ryder that it’s me, not you, he’s interested in. Really, it’ll be beneficial to both of us.”

“How do we do that?”

“I’m glad you asked, my dearest, bestest friend. It’s simple. We start by making him warm up to me. I’ll act like I’m just playing nice for your sake, and he’ll agree because he’s into you. But then, we convince him that you aren’t at all the kind of girl he wants to be with, make him think he was wrong about you. By then he’s gotten closer to me, realized just how charming I actually am, and bam! Ryder and I are making out in Gert’s backseat while Boyz II Men plays on the stereo.”

“Who?”

I gave her a disappointed stare. “You should really listen to that nineties playlist I made you. You’d understand so many more of my references.”

Amy decided to ignore this and returned to the more important conversation. “I’m still not sure what you expect me to do,” she said. “How do we make Ryder think I’m wrong for him?”

“Well, first, I won’t IM him on your account again. And if he IMs you, you ignore him. Or say something rude.”

Amy grimaced, as if the idea of being rude, even to someone she disliked, was physically painful.

“Or you can ask me to say something rude. Whatever.”

“And what about in person?” she asked. “We go to school together. He thinks we’ve been talking this whole time — he’s already trying to hang out with me.”

“You blow him off,” I say. “Act flaky. Or self-absorbed.”

Even as I said it, I knew this was going to prove to be a challenge for Amy.

“I’ll help you,” I said. “You guys don’t have any classes together, anyway. But when he does come up to you, I’ll be your director. We’re pretty much together all the time as it is, and I know exactly what it takes to piss off Ryder Cross. I might as well have a PhD in it.”

“I’m still not sure …”

“Please, Amy.” I clasped my hands together and gave her the biggest, saddest eyes I could manage. “Please. I need this.”

“You really like him that much?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

I was not a particularly romantic person. Up until now, I’d only ever had two crushes in my life. The first was my childish obsession with Amy’s brother. The second equally as unattainable crush was on Greg Johnson, the news anchor. A celebrity crush, if you will.

But Ryder was different. The fluttery feeling I got in my stomach wasn’t based on how he looked (though staring at him in history class was not entirely unpleasant) or just because he was nice to me (because he wasn’t always). My feelings for him had formed over the course of our instant message conversations — all of which had lasted hours. I’d never talked to anyone for hours before, aside from Amy. We’d just clicked. He was smart and surprisingly funny.

Even if he was also a pretentious hipster.

“You hated him a couple of weeks ago,” Amy said. “What if you change your mind about him again?”

“I won’t,” I assured her. “Believe me, Amy. He’s not the asshole we thought. I mean, he sort of is, but not exactly. Ugh. I know I sound crazy. Just tell me you’ll help. You have to.”

She looked down at her half-eaten lunch. “I guess I will. As long as it doesn’t go on too long —”

“Eee! Thank you!” I sprang across the table to throw my arms around her, my chest landing right in her plate of french fries. “I love you, I love you, I love you! You are my favorite human being, Amy Rush.” And with that, I planted a kiss right on her cheek.

She blushed, either pleased or embarrassed. Then she said, “Um … Mr. Buckley just walked into the cafeteria, and he’s giving us a very strange look. Probably because you’re on top of the table, so …”

I laughed and pushed myself up and away from her, easing back into my seat. “I’ve done weirder things in class. He’s used to it.”

“I don’t know if that’s something to brag about,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Your shirt.”

“What?” I looked down.

Ketchup.

On my white shirt.

All over my boobs.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” I said, even though I was laughing.

“Sorry,” Amy moaned. As if it was her fault I’d launched myself across the lunch table.

“It’s cool,” I said. “I’ll just tell everyone I’m dressed as a murder victim. I mean, we’re only a few days from Halloween. No one will think twice.”

The bell rang and we threw our trash out before heading to our third block classes.

“I have my gym clothes in my locker,” Amy said. “You could borrow that T-shirt. It might be a little stinky, but there’s no ketchup on it.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Maybe I’ll start a new trend.”

But my mind changed when I spotted Ryder heading down the hallway toward us. The reality of what I must look like hit me, and I was suddenly far less comfortable with it. I was supposed to be making a good impression, after all, and perhaps it wasn’t best to start off with a giant red splotch across my breasts.

I ducked into an alcove, dragging Amy with me. We pressed against the wall and stayed quiet as he walked by, alone.

He was always alone.

My heart ached for him a little, almost overriding my embarrassment.

Once he’d turned the next corner, heading toward the library, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Amy gave me a small, knowing smile.

“So …,” I said. “Yeah. About that stinky T-shirt.”

“How do I look?”

Amy squinted two very sleepy eyes at me. She wasn’t really supposed to be awake yet, but I was about to sneak out before her parents got up, and I needed her opinion on this crucial matter. So, with great effort, I’d shaken her out of sleep to show her the outfit I’d chosen. Jeans, newly clean and a little snug, and a hunter-green cowl-neck sweater with elbow-length sleeves.

It was the only nice top I’d brought to Amy’s with me, and I’d been saving it for special occasions or, now that I was unemployed, job interviews. Interviews that, to my intense distress, had not yet occurred. It was my good-impression top, and today I needed to make a damn good impression.

“I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that question before,” Amy said.

“Well, I’m asking you now.” I glanced at the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. My curls, despite my best efforts, were still a little wild, but they weren’t too outrageous. “I’ve got to be friendly with Ryder today, and Snobby McSnobberson won’t be so willing if I look like the homeless ruffian that I am.”

“It’s too early for you to use words like ‘ruffian,’” Amy mumbled. She stretched her arms over her head and let out a huge yawn. “And if he’s so snobby, why are you doing this?”

“Because he’s cute and I want to kiss his face.”

“Right.”

“The problem is, he wants to kiss your face. So today is the beginning of our master plan to change that. Which means I need to look decent, so … how do I look?”

“Like a back-to-school clothing commercial.”

“Perfect.” I picked up my backpack, gave my hair one last check, and grinned at Amy. “Today, it begins.”

“Mm-hm.” She flopped back on the bed, eyes already closed.

I hurried out of the Rushes’ house and down the street to where Gert waited. And, to my relief, she decided to run that morning.

I arrived at school with enough time to pop into the bathroom and give myself one more once-over before heading to Mr. Buckley’s class. I was feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

I might have had a major crush on Ryder, but he still couldn’t stand me. Which meant I had to ease him into it. If I could get him to tolerate me, it would only be a matter of time before he realized that I, not Amy, was the person he wanted to make out with.

This was the most crucial step of the plan, and I couldn’t afford to screw it up.

The classroom was almost full by the time I slid into my seat behind Ryder. He didn’t even look up as I walked past.

“Good morning,” I said.

No response. But that wasn’t a surprise.

I’d gone over and over the words I wanted to say to him, the phrasing I’d use to convince him to hear me out. But staring at the back of his head, at the hunched muscles in his shoulders, I felt myself start to panic. What if it just went down like last time? What if he didn’t let me get a word out? What if I made him hate me even more?

What if this was all just a waste of time?

Before I could climb out of the doom spiral I’d begun to sink into, the bell rang and Mr. Buckley appeared.

“So,” he said, walking to the whiteboard. “Who wants to talk about the Tudors?”

I sank back into my seat, the moment lost. I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Ryder again until the end of class, and that was only if he didn’t rush out, in a hurry to get to his next class. The boy did put a lot of emphasis on punctuality.