How to Ditch Your Fairy (24 page)

That’s the way it is.

I hate when that happens. When people figure out that what you were saying wasn’t true and your elaborate construction crumbles.

The lies stop spinning, there’s no lubrication, gears grind on gears. That’s the moment when Sarah stared at me after I laughed, and said, “You’re a girl.”

That moment could have lasted a week. A month. A year.

I was ashamed and angry and hating being caught and already spinning more lies to explain it al away.

But it was also a relief. It’s
always
a relief.

Because the air is clear, now—
at last
—I can tel the truth. From this moment on everything wil be true. A life lived true with no rotten foundations. Trust. Understanding. Everything shiny and new.

Except I can’t, not ever. Because my truth is so unbelievable—

lies wil always be easier.

Spin, spin, spin.

I have been through the moment of being found out a hundred times, a thousand times, maybe even a milion. I’m only seventeen, but I’ve already seen that look of shock—she lied to
me
—so many times I have lost count.

It never gets any better.

Yet that’s not the worst danger of being a liar. Oh no. Much worse than discovery, than their sense of betrayal, is when you start to believe your own lies.

When it al blurs together.

You lose track of what’s real and what’s not. You start to feel as if you make the world with your words. Your lies get stranger and weirder and denser, get bigger than words, turn into worlds, become real.

You feel powerful, invincible.

“Oh sure,” you say, completely believing it. “My family’s an old family. Going way way way back. We work curse magic. Me, I can make your hand wither on your arm. I could turn you into a cat.”

Once you start to believe you stop being compulsive and morph into pathological.

It happens a lot after something terrible has happened. The brain cracks, can’t accept the truth, and makes its own. Invents a bigger and better world that explains the bad thing, makes it possible to keep living. When the world you’re seeing doesn’t line up with the world that is—you can wind up doing things—
terrible
things—

without knowing it.

Not good.

Because that’s when they lock you up and there’s no coming back because you’re
already
locked up: inside your own head.

Where you’re tal and strong and fast and magic and the ruler of al you survey.

I have never gone that far.

But there are moments. Tiny ones when I’m not entirely clear whether it happened or I made it up. Those moments scare me much more than getting caught. I’ve been caught. I know what that’s like. I’ve never gone crazy. I don’t want to know what that’s like.

Weaving lies is one thing; having them weave you is another.

That’s why I’m writing this. To keep me from going over the edge. I don’t want to be a liar anymore. I want to tel my stories true.

But I haven’t so far. Not entirely. I’ve tried. I’ve realy, realy tried. I’ve tried harder than I ever have. But, wel, there’s so much and it’s so hard.

I slipped a little. Just a little.

I’l make it up to you, though.

From now on it’s nothing but the truth.

Truly.

Justine Larbalestier
is also the author of Liar and the Magic or Madness trilogy. She battles daily with an annoying procrastination fairy that wil not go away, but she hopes that her good-boots fairy wil stick around. She divides her time between Sydney, Australia, and New York City. Justine blogs daily at www.justinelarbalestier.com/blog.

In
How to Ditch Your Fairy
, just about everyone in New Avalon has a personal fairy.