The Truth Beneath the Lies Read online

  The trash chute is next to apartment 21.

  I charge out the door with the trash bag flapping against my leg. Apartment 21 opens. “Hey. Hey, Tracey’s girl.”

  I dump the trash down the chute.

  “Hey, Tracey’s girl.”

  I spin around. He’s a walking skeleton now. Clumps of his hair are gone. Open sores dot his inflamed face. “What do you want, Finn?”

  “It’s lonely in here, Tracey’s girl. Come in, have a taste with me.” He opens the door wider. Inside, it reeks of pot, alcohol, and vomit.

  I cross my arms. “A girl just got attacked in the building, and you want me to come inside?”

  He steps out and jabs a finger at me. “I don’t touch little girls. You know that. When you and your ma were staying with me, I never touched you.”

  Back when he had hair and clear skin, he used to bring me presents like gum and suckers. Then he’d pass out in the middle of the living room floor.

  His eyes travel up my body. “How old are you now, Tracey’s girl?”

  I know what he sees. Young, pretty girl. Good for running errands. Good for paying back old debts.

  “Sorry, Finn. Still sixteen, like the last time you asked.”

  “Come have a taste with me. It’s in your blood. You know it is.”

  I walk away. “Send your ma over,” he calls, laughing.

  Mom has been watching through the peephole. She wrings her hands and paces back and forth. Her clothes hang unflattering on her slight figure. Her hair sticks out in all directions from a messy bun that slipped to the side of her head. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t. One time, Kayla. That’s all it takes. One time.”

  “I know, Mom.” I take her hands to quiet them. The familiar guilt knocks on my heart. She holds it together for me. She doesn’t leave the apartment for me.

  “You’ve been sober for three years.” I hug her.

  She holds me tight. “I love you,” she whispers.

  My mother never sees me. She sees her sixteen-year-old self. Bright girl with a bright future. Waist-length brown hair. Fell in love with a boy named Finn. Nice boy, nice family. She and Finn went to a party at the rotting flophouse of a friend of a friend. And never came out again.

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  And I do. Still, she terrifies me.

  Finn’s right. It’s in my blood. It always has been. One slip, one mess-up, one very bad day. One needle in one vein, and I will be her.

  —

  I take a shower to wash the grit of No Limit Foods and bloody stairwells off me. The steam on the cracked mirror evaporates to expose my eyes, my nose, my hair dripping puddles onto the floor. Just me. No makeup, no clothes, no curls.

  Truth is, when I look at myself, I’m not sure who I see staring back.

  Teddy’s truck rumbles past a football stadium filled with splintered bleachers and patches of brown grass to the drop-off lane of San Justo High. It’s a sprawling, flat-roofed, one-story compound in the center of town. Like everything else, it’s sunbaked, dust-covered, and falling apart. We’re early. The first ones in line.

  Teddy puts the truck in park and turns it off. He gives me the once-over, steps out, and slams the heavy door behind him. Through the windshield, he shoots me a warning glance. I get out and follow him like a baby duck to the main office.

  The secretary is startled by our sudden appearance. Teddy smiles at her. Redness passes over her cheeks. He throws an arm across my shoulder.

  “This is Betsy Hopewood. She’s a brand-new junior.”

  The secretary shuffles papers around on her desk. And again. And again. “I’m sorry I don’t have her paperwork.”

  “Not a problem. I can fill out anything you need. I’m her uncle.”

  “He’s not my uncle,” I mutter.

  “I practically am. I’ve known Betsy since she came into this world.” He smiles at me, but his fingers press hard into the bones of my shoulder.

  The secretary doesn’t seem to care who we are. She hands over the paperwork. Teddy whistles as he fills out my pertinent details.

  A woman walks in the door behind us. She’s tall, fit, and blond. Her sleek, tailored clothes didn’t come from Walmart or the mall in El Paso like everyone else’s I’ve seen in my brief encounters with life around here.

  Teddy tries his magic smile on her. No such luck, Teddy. She’s too young to be dazzled by you.

  The secretary points to the woman. “This is Miss Jones.” Her eyes run up and down Miss Jones’s body. “I’ve got a new one for you, and I don’t have any paperwork,” she says with a tone.

  Miss Jones smirks. “Come on back.”

  Teddy tips his hand in a wave. “See you after school, buttercup.”

  Buttercup. That’s new. I don’t like it.

  I follow Miss Jones. She unlocks a door and motions for me to go inside. Even though the walls are decorated with bright posters and snappy sayings, I can tell it used to be a closet.

  I sit in a hard plastic chair. The air conditioner blows directly in my face. The skin on my arms goose-bumps. I don’t make eye contact.

  The secretary flaps the papers with Teddy’s scrawl at Miss Jones. She takes them and nods as she reads about my educational history. Skinny girl from North Dakota. Has all her shots. Passed all her classes so far.

  “My cousin lives in North Dakota.” A bead of sweat runs down the back of my neck. “He says it snows a lot.” She laughs. “Not something you’re going to have to worry about here.”

  My face grins in downward-looking agreement. I think.

  “It’s going to take a while to get the records from your last school. Until then”—she picks up the keyboard resting on top of her computer and puts it in her lap—“we’ll have to give you the standard junior schedule.” She starts typing. “Are you good at math?”

  I want to scream, Yes! Let me have something. Something that is a part of me. Something from before. Sweat coats my skin under the tank top. I shake my head.

  “Okay, we’ll put you in Algebra Two.”

  I don’t cry. I try to smile. I try to act like I’m a normal girl from North Dakota, where it snows a lot. Where I was bad at math. Where no one died.

  Where it wasn’t my fault.

  She makes one more definitive tap on the keyboard. “Welcome to San Justo High, home of the Juggernauts.” A printer activates in the hall.

  She leans in close. “I know, right? Why pick juggernauts when it’s pronounced San WHOSE-toe?” She winks, as if we’re both in on it now. Two pale girls from somewhere else.

  —

  My first class is something called Life Skills. Miss Jones examined me and decided that I need help with living. She is so right.

  The hallway is filling up. I go directly to the classroom and sit in the middle seat in the middle row.

  A short, chubby girl bounces in. She’s surrounded by an entourage of thin, perfumed, made-up girls. One carries her book, another her backpack. They walk her to the seat cattycorner to mine, circling her like a pod of dolphins protecting its young.

  They glare at me. I’m a shark.

  The girl slides into the seat. From the way the others are focused on her stomach, I can guess what they’re fawning over. She’s knocked up, expecting, with child.

  “I’m starving,” she announces. “I didn’t have time for breakfast.”

  Chastising clucks come from the circle. They riffle around in their bags and purses but don’t produce anything. They look relieved when the bell rings.

  I don’t have control over my hands. They unzip my backpack and feel around for the lunch Mom packed in the misplaced hope that I would eat it.

  I watch myself balance an apple at the end of the girl’s desk.

  “Thanks,” she says with a big smile. “I’m Happy.”

  My eyes glide over to her. My face feels blank. I don’t know how to respond to this strange greeting. Hi! I’m a ticking time bomb.

  When she giggles, her eyes squish togethe
r. She’s so young and innocent. In need of protection.

  “That probably sounded funny, huh? My name’s Mirasol Alegría, but everyone calls me Happy.”

  I can’t help but glance down at her stomach.

  —

  When the final bell rings, I bolt. I throw open the door to the outside, but the heat knocks me back like an explosion. The pregnant girl catches up.

  “You wanna hang out?” she asks.

  Teddy’s truck is parked in the pick-up lane. I can go with the pregnant girl or I can go with Teddy.

  “Okay,” I say to her. She giggles. Her world seems to be a joyful, funny place.

  A boy runs up carrying her purple backpack.

  “Happy, you can’t keep leaving your stuff everywhere.” He freezes when he sees me. Our eyes meet. His are a deep, soul-searching brown. I have to look away before he sees the blackness inside of mine.

  The pregnant girl talks constantly as we walk off campus. I take out my toxic pink, sparkly phone and text Teddy.

  Going out with friends :)

  I delete the :). I don’t want him to come chasing after me, guns blazing, thinking I’m being held against my will.

  Seconds later, his truck pulls out of the pick-up lane and drives slowly past us. I turn away.

  “Hey, what’s your name?”

  Happy asks me twice before I realize she’s talking to me.

  “Betsy. It’s a family name.”

  “Betsy’s a nice name.”

  No. It’s not.

  She juts a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Adrian Morales.” I don’t turn around to acknowledge the boy with her backpack.

  We cross the street against the light to the strip mall where Mom works. Next to the florist is C&J’s Mexican Restaurant. Mom’s talked about eating lunch at this place. She’s made friends with the owners.

  Adrian hands Happy her bag as we go inside and then disappears into the kitchen.

  Paper flowers in faded bright colors collect dust on the tops of booths. Chipped, wobbly looking tables are scattered haphazardly through the remaining space. It smells like ancient cigarette smoke, bleach, and yesterday’s cooked onions.

  I slide into a booth across from Happy. The seat is torn. I have to scooch against the wall to keep from sinking into its fuzzy white insides. I put my elbows down, and they stick to the table.

  “My boyfriend, Tomás, always picks me up here.” Happy looks around the restaurant. We’re the only people in it.

  The door doesn’t jingle when it opens. A waitress in her early twenties wearing a name tag that says ANGIE slips in, catching the door behind her to let a kid through.

  The kid sees me. She moves at hyperspeed to our booth, stops, and locks her fingers behind her back. “Hi,” she says.

  I glance at Happy. She points to the kid. “That’s Rosie.”

  The kid laughs at my name when Happy introduces me. “How old are you?” Rosie asks.

  “Sixteen,” I mumble. I force myself to look at her shiny, smiling face. “How old are you?”

  “Four,” she announces. “But my birthday is October sixth.” An awkward moment of silence passes between us. I’m afraid she’s going to ask about my birthday. Then she throws her arms open. “Can I give you a hug?” That’s worse. Much worse.

  I shake my head. She scrambles onto the red vinyl seat anyway. Angie dives forward and grabs her wrist. “She said no.” Rosie’s little face crumbles.

  “You can give me a hug, Rosie.” The kid grudgingly crawls off the booth and into the open arms of Happy the pregnant girl.

  “Sorry about that. The preschool wants us to work on boundaries with her,” Angie says, like this is something I need to know.

  Two red plastic cups of soda appear in front of us, followed by two straws. I feel Adrian’s stare on the side of my face.

  “Where’d you move here from?” he asks. This is a small town. Everyone who sees me knows I’m not from around here.

  “North Dakota,” I say.

  “What’s it like there?”

  I shrug. “It’s okay.” I raise my eyes and look at him. A mistake. He regards me with suspicion, like I’m a trespasser in his territory. I don’t like the way he searches my face with his stare. Like he’s trying to read it. Read me. Figure out who I am. I can’t let him figure me out. I can’t let anyone do that.

  He smiles. A quick bounce of the lips. “North Dakota. That’s like Mount Rushmore, right?”

  I bite my lip. Shit. Where’s Mount Rushmore?

  I nod. I smile pretty and show him all my teeth. He picks up the straw wrappers from the table. “Welcome to San Justo,” he says, and walks away.

  Happy sticks her straw into her soda. Angie whooshes past our table. “Uh-uh.” She rips the cup from Happy’s hand.

  A couple of minutes later, the cup, filled to the top with orange juice, is returned by an older woman. Her face is lined and sags. Her black hair, threaded with gray, is pinned up in a messy mass of curls. She’s short but strong. She looks like she hasn’t slept in decades.

  Her eyes glance at Happy and then land on me. Disapproval washes over her face. She knows. She can sense it. I’m here to rain plague and ruin upon her household.

  She turns toward the kitchen and yells something in Spanish. A hairy arm reaches through the window and gives her a thumbs-up.

  Happy giggles.

  The woman turns defiantly and marches away.

  “Mrs. Morales thinks you’re too skinny. She’s going to feed you.”

  I lean over the table. At any moment my eyes could fill up and send my head ducking for cover. “I don’t have any money,” I whisper.

  Happy snorts. “Even if you did, she wouldn’t take it.”

  I rub my eyes.

  Happy unzips her backpack and takes out an object about the size of a quarter. She puts it on the table inches from her belly.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s my good-luck charm.” She holds it up in front of my face. It’s a figurine of an orange fish.

  My heart stops.

  I tug up on the neck of my shirt and cross my arms high on my chest.

  “Where did you get that?” I try to make it sound like a casual question, but she has to hear the shake in my voice, see the sweat forming on my forehead.

  “From Adrian. He got it for me in Seattle. He was picked to go to a school conference there freshman year.” She beams. “It was a conference for really smart people. He came back with his chest all puffed out. That didn’t last long around here.” She laughs.

  Black spots appear in my vision. I try to appear calm. “You got that from Adrian?”

  Happy tips her head and narrows her eyes. She studies me. I drop my hands down to the table and try to smile. It’s a weak effort, more like baring my teeth than pleasantness.

  It’s a coincidence. It has to be. This can’t happen twice in one lifetime. Unless…unless that was the plan all along. Something to keep me in line. Under control.

  “Yeah. Adrian has one too. He usually carries it in his pocket….Hey, Adrian,” she calls into the back of the restaurant.

  “No,” I whimper, but in three large strides, Adrian is standing in front of us. I will my hands to stay in plain sight. I don’t touch my shirt. I look straight ahead.

  “Show Betsy your fish,” Happy says. Adrian digs around in his pocket. He flashes it in front of my nose.

  “Nice.” My voice cracks, and my eyes meet Adrian’s. And I see it. The smug upturn of his mouth and a little spark. A glimmer of something. Of curiosity. Why do I want to see his fish?

  I look down. I can’t speak. I can’t cry. The pain in my stomach shoots up to eleven. I feel Adrian step away from the table. Happy makes her fish swim through the air between us. Then she places it on her belly.

  I have to get out of here.

  The hairy arm comes out of nowhere and puts a plate in front of me. Bright yellow cheese melted between two tortillas and cut into perfect triangles. The owner of
the arm winks. “No chile.”

  Adrian, pretending to sort silverware, watches me from the bussing station. I have to eat. I have to act normal. I can’t let him see what’s happening inside of me.

  I pick up one cheesy triangle. This is something you would feed a child. My lips clamp themselves closed.

  Happy talks with her mouth full. She has no problem raising the fork, chewing. Adrian’s still watching.

  I take a deep breath. I’m in control. I force my mouth open and shove the entire triangle in. My throat closes. I cough and choke. But I swallow.

  Mom walks out of the flower shop and appears in the window outside. She sees me force another triangle into my mouth. She clasps her hands together and holds them under her chin in delight. She comes inside and approaches the booth.

  “Hi, I’m Happy.”

  Mom smiles at the giggling pregnant girl sitting across from me. “Everyone calls me Happy.”

  “I can see why,” Mom says.

  “Can I give you a hug?” Rosie pulls on Mom’s pant leg.

  “Sure, sweetie.” Mom kneels down and wraps her long arms around the kid’s little body.

  Adrian stands behind them. Eyes on me.

  My stomach rejects the food.

  I slap my hand over my mouth and push past them out the door that doesn’t jingle. A mush of cheesy triangle floating in bile splatters to the hot asphalt.

  I sit back on the curb. My skin sizzles. Mom comes up behind me. Mrs. Morales joins her. Mom says I have a stomach bug. I’m grabbed hard around the upper arms and hoisted to my feet and shuffled down the sidewalk into refrigerated, carnation-scented air.

  I am sat down on a stool. The whisper of a voice blows through my ears. “You have to try, Betsy. You have to try.”

  Mom settles herself among the vases of flowers. I do have to try. She smiles sadly at me. It’s not only my life that depends on it.

  I’m way too old for this, but still my heart dips down to my knees at the thought that she might not come. I hang my toes over the edge of the curb in front of Clairmont High School and rock back and forth. The bell is going to ring soon. Paige and the rest of the girls from the dance team stand a respectable distance away. They glance over, but Paige distracts them by holding up her freshly manicured nails with tiny paintings of moons and stars on them. We’re the Clairmont Explorers, and this year’s Explorer theme is space.