Four Truths and a Lie (20 page)

Honestly I think I should become one of those time management people who write books about how to manage your time wisely and sometimes even end up on
Oprah
to
talk about it. My mom reads lots of books like that. Which is probably one of the reasons she thinks spending time reading romance novels is a waste. In my time management book, I will make sure to allocate time for romance novel reading, and low-budget makeovers. Hmm. Low budget, time management makeovers. What a fab idea.

I also think it's very interesting that I will be able to wear three different outfits—casual, dress-up, and sport—all in one. This is very good for time management. I think I am also going to look in to designing a line of clothes that can change into outfits for all occasions. Then I can possibly tie those in to my time management book, for the busy girl on the run. And they'll be affordable, too, of course. Maybe I'll even get to come back to Brookline for a special assembly, where I'll premiere my line of clothes that are aimed at juniors! How fun!

“So I guess I'll see you at the game, then,” Amber's saying.

“Yes,” I say. She heads down to the dining hall and I pump the air with my fist and pretend I'm throwing the game-winning shot.

6:07. 6:07 and Mrs. Walker is not here. The clock is ticking, getting closer and closer to the time when I have to leave.
I am sweating. Of course, this may have less to do with worrying about the time, and more to do with the fact that I'm wearing a warm up, a wrap dress,
and
a basketball uniform.

Tick. Tick.
The second hand on the clock is moving around, faster than a speeding bullet. And obviously this is not good for my mental state, because I have never used a Superman reference before. Ever.

“So sorry I'm late!” Mrs. Walker says, bustling into the room. She's holding a big sheaf of papers and file folders, and she sets them down on her desk. “I hope you haven't been waiting long.”

“I haven't,” I lie. “It's okay.” Which it's not. Okay, I mean. And why is she holding a stack of papers and file folders? It seems like maybe she brought them in from her car or something. Her face looks all flushed, like she was outside. You'd think she would have just been waiting here at school for me, since she said she had a meeting. And if she was going to go home first, and she knew she was late, why would she stop to bring in a huge stack of papers?

And then Mrs. Walker drops that whole stack of papers all over the floor. “Oh, no!” she exclaims. “And they were all in order, too!” She looks like she's about to have an aneurysm. “Some help please, Scarlett?”

Oh. Right. I bound out of my chair and over to help her. I start gathering up all the papers into a messy stack. And then I have a horrible thought. What if she starts putting them all in order again before she gives me my test? Even worse, what if she expects me to help her? I'm not that good at alphabetizing.

The clock moves over her head. 6:10. I decide to play the basketball card.

“So anyway,” I say. “I have to leave for my game at seven, so—”

“Oh, don't worry,” she says, waving her hand. “The test will only take you about half an hour.”

How about twenty minutes?

“Now, let's see,” she says. She starts thumbing through the big stack of papers on her desk. I really hope my sheet isn't in there. She'll never find it, especially now that everything's a mess. “Where could it have gone? Hmmm.” She spends the next two minutes looking through her pile of papers, and just when I think she's not going to be able to find it, she extracts a sheet from the pile and hands it to me. “Aha!” she says. “Here you go!”

The paper has a big footprint on it (I think maybe mine; whoops, must not have been watching where I was stepping).

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing it and heading to my seat. Mrs. Walker sighs and starts to lay out her papers in a row on the floor, I guess so she can get them organized again. Good luck with that. Yikes.

The test is harder than I expected. There are twelve problems, and I'm supposed to do all of them, then pick the ten I'm most confident in, circle them, and hand it in.

I check the clock. Nineteen minutes. So that's 1.9 minutes for each problem. No sweat. The first problem takes me three and a half minutes. The second one only takes three, but still. Not fast enough. By the time the clock hits 6:25, I only have five minutes to do the last five problems. So I take a deep breath, and rush through them as best I can. I leave the last two undone, and then circle the ones that I've finished. She never said I had to get all of them done, right? And besides, how would she know for sure that the last two weren't the ones I didn't want to count? I feel fairly confident that I got the first ten right anyway.

“Done!” I announce, marching up to her desk and placing my paper down with a flourish. Under my warm-up, I can feel my dress sticking to my basketball uniform, which is sticking to my thighs. Eww.

“Already?” Mrs. Walker asks. She's on the floor, scowling at her papers.

“Yup,” I say. I grab my bag and start to back out of the room, before she can say, “But how come you didn't even try to do the last two problems” or, worse, “Hey, Scarlett, why don't you stick around for a second and help me with these papers?” I dash out the door with a quick “Thanks for letting me make that up!”

I slide into the girls' bathroom and into a stall, but then realize that I can't really take my track suit off in here, since there are girls in the bathroom, out by the mirrors. Some tenth graders who I don't know, but still. I can't really just walk out of the bathroom or out of the school wearing a designer navy blue wrap dress that makes me look like I'm going anywhere but a basketball game.

I flush the toilet like I was going to bathroom, then venture out of the stall. I wash my hands (fake bathroom-going obviously must be followed by fake hand washing), and then check my reflection. My hair is a mess from running down the hall—it looks like I've had my head in a blender.

I wish I had time to curl it, but obviously I don't, so I settle for brushing it and reapplying my lip gloss. After a quick swipe of glitter over my eyes, I head back out into the hall and walk quickly through the dorm and outside. There's a little bit of a chill in the air, and I wrap my warm-up suit around me. Actually, it's a good thing I have this on. Turns out it might
be a little too chilly for my wrap dress. Of course, a cute pair of leggings would have totally remedied that problem, but I'm lucky I even had the dress.

I check my watch. 6:33 p.m. Great. This gives me way less time than I thought I'd have.

Then I have to wait five MORE minutes for the coast to be clear so I can head into the woods in the back of the school, where James and I have planned to meet. There's a little wooded area back there, with a picnic table and pavilion that hardly anyone uses.

I try to look casual as I stroll into the woods, my eyes sort of glancing from side to side to make sure no one's watching. Once I'm safely in the trees, I remove my warmups and straighten my dress. Hmm. They won't fit in my bag, so I drop them under a tree and vow to pick them up later. Then I walk swiftly to the clearing.

When I get there, James is waiting for me. He's sitting on the picnic table, wearing his gray hooded sweatshirt, track pants, and a totally cute expression on his face.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” I say, trying to calm my beating heart. There's nowhere else to sit, so I sit down across from him on the picnic table, and try to ignore the fact that our knees are almost touching.

“So listen,” he says. “I'm sorry to make you come out here like this, but I needed to meet you in person, and I could not take the chance that Crissa would see me.”

“So what is it?” I say. I lean a little closer to him so that he can hopefully smell my perfume, which I sprayed on during my walk over here. He's a jerk, but I want him to see, you know, what he's missing out on.

“First, I want you to know that I'm still really sorry about all this. And the only reason I'm going along with it is because you told me not to stop.”

Well. That is true. He did offer to stop.

“I know,” I say. “And I do appreciate that.”

“Scarlett, I need to tell you what your last truth is, and it's not going to be pleasant.”

“What is it?” I ask. Not that things could get any worse. I mean, I'm already close to being kicked out. Hopefully I won't have to risk my life or anything. Oh my God. Our knees are touching. Our knees are totally touching. And he's not moving away, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

“Scarlett, Crissa wants you to find out if Amber's dad is really stationed overseas.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused. “Of course he is.” I hold up my wrist to show him the bracelet she
gave me. “This is her dad's bracelet. It's been in Iraq and everything.”

“I don't mean take Amber's word for it,” James says. “I mean …” He sighs and takes a deep breath. “Look, Crissa seems to think she's lying about her dad being in the army.”

“Why would she—” And then I trail off. Because I've lied about things too. About my past, about my dad. Maybe Amber's hiding something as well. And now I'm supposed to poke around and try to find out. “Are you kidding?” I say. “I can't do that to her.”

“Good,” James says, nodding. “I think you're right. It's time to call this whole thing off, to tell her you won't do it anymore.”

I start to feel a rage coming over me. This was supposed to be my fresh start, where no one knew me. I'm not supposed to be in trouble all the time, running around like a crazy person, doing things that are wrong. And then I look at James, and I start to get even angrier.

“I can't believe you would go along with something like this,” I say, jumping up from the picnic table. “I mean, what kind of person does that?”

“Scarlett, I told you, I didn't know she was going to start this whole crazy blackmail thing.” He reaches for my arm, but I pull it away. “I wanted it to stop, I wanted to—”

“Oh, I know,” I say. “You wanted to stop, blah blah blah. But you didn't!”

“Because you told me not to!” he says. “You told me to keep going, or else I never would have done this.”

“No,” I say. “You're a really terrible person. I never, ever want to see you again. And I don't care what you tell Crissa. You two deserve each other.” He looks like I've just slapped him, but I can't stop myself. “I hope you know that you've ruined my life.”

“Scarlett—” He holds his hand out to me, like he wants me to take it, and I see the look in his eyes, how sorry he is, how bad he feels. And for a second, I want him to just put his arms around me and let me cry.

And then something horrible happens. A voice behind me says, “Hello, Scarlett.”

It's Jasper, the security guard.

“Scarlett, this is a very serious violation of
school rules,” Headmistress O'Neal is saying. She's sitting on the other side of her desk, but she's not wearing her usual school uniform of a suit and pearls. She's wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, because she had to leave her house to come into her office and deal with me.

After Jasper found me, he immediately called her, and she came right over. “Scarlett, you have already been spoken to about leaving school grounds.”

“But I was just meeting my friend,” I say. Jasper immediately sent James back to his ride. Headmistress O'Neal frowns and her eyes darken. I know what it looks like. I know it looks like I was meeting him in the woods
to make out or something. “Look,” I say, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I'm sorry I was in the woods; I know I wasn't supposed to be there, and that it was a violation of school rules.” I take a deep breath. “I know I'm going to have to be punished for it, and I'm okay with that.” Well, okay as I can be. “But right now, I really, really have to get to my basketball game, because the bus is about to leave. And if I don't go, we're going to have to forfeit, since we won't have enough players.”

“Scarlett, I'm not sure you really understand what's going on here.” The headmistress leans back in her chair and shakes her head at me. “Violating your probation is a very serious infraction. You knew you were not allowed to have visitors of any kind.”

“But—”

“Scarlett,” she says. “Please sit down. Getting in trouble while you are already on probation means you are forbidden from participating in any extracurricular activities, or being allowed to go to any school event.” I gape at her. “And until I figure out how we're going to deal with this, you're not going to your game.”

I can't believe this. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. She didn't let me go to the game. She told
me that she would notify the coach and my team, and that she was very sorry, but it was school procedure. Everything is a huge mess. Not only is Crissa probably going to tell everyone in school that I'm Steve Haverhill's daughter, but my mom is going to be so mad. Headmistress O'Neal tried to call her, but of course she was at my game, and her cell phone was turned off. Now I'm not going to be able to go to the dance, and everything's just… ugh.