If I Lie
Page 22
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but you have to know it would never work. People don’t exactly smile and say ‘Cheese’ when they see me.”
He folds his hands and considers me. He doesn’t look ready to give up, and I sigh.
“Seriously, this is a bad idea.”
“Think of it as something to put on your college applications.”
“I’m a senior,” I counter. “That ship sailed last semester.” I’d applied to a few schools with photojournalism programs in the fall, but I didn’t yet know if I’d been accepted. Boston University was my dream school, but I wasn’t holding out any great hope.
“Okay,” he says. Now he squares his shoulders like he’s getting ready to negotiate. “What can I do to convince you?”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but I stop to think about his request. Maybe there is a way to work this to my advantage.
“Sixth period,” I say. “I have study hall with Mr. Baransky.” And Nikki, who likes to use the class to torture me. “You get me out of sixth period, and I’ll take your photos.”
“Deal!” He says it so quickly I wonder if that’s what he intended all along. I’m sure it is when he continues. “I’ll have you transferred into my sixth-period Yearbook class tomorrow. You free tonight for your first assignment?”
I scowl and give a sharp nod. I can’t exactly admit I’d rather be stalking the halls at the hospital. He takes a slip of paper out of his back pocket and tosses it down next to my elbow.
Horowitz nods at the paper. “Think candid shots. And welcome to the Yearbook staff, Miss Quinn.”
He practically skips out of the room, and I pick up the paper with suspicion. A ticket. The Spring Semiformal, I read. The last place I’d want to be tonight, and he knew it.
Ambushed. Damn, Horowitz is good. He’d make a great soldier.
* * *
At dinner that night, I tell my father about Horowitz asking me to cover the dance for Yearbook. He grunts and continues eating his meat loaf. I take that as him giving his permission to go.
Standing in front of my closet a half hour later, I curse Horowitz. I have nothing to wear. It’s bad enough I’m going, but the best dress I own is the one I wore to last year’s spring dance and it’s now too big. I hadn’t realized I’d lost weight, but it doesn’t surprise me, considering I don’t eat half the dinner my father serves every night. Our neighbors’ brown Labrador, Rueger, has gained ten pounds, though, eating all the steak, meat loaf, and pot roast I’ve given him. Mr. Daltry swears old Rueger grins like an idiot whenever he sees me from their front window.
I wish I could be at the hospital searching for my mother instead of going to a stupid dance. Thinking of my mother, I remember the few belongings of hers that I’d secreted away in the attic. She’d left some of her clothes and jewelry behind in her hurry to get away from us. My father had thrown out most everything, but I’d managed to hide a few things.
It takes minutes of searching through dusty boxes to find a dress that fits me. Violet chiffon ruffles fall below a ribbon sash at the waist, and a sweetheart neckline hugs me, set off by the two cap sleeves. The dress is perfectly modest, but I feel decadent wearing it. After dressing, I barely have time to throw my hair back into a messy knot and add a tiny headband for decoration. A little makeup and I’m out the door with my camera and my coat.
Walking through the gym entrance, I remember a different time, a better time, when Carey walked in at my side. Graduating early meant Carey missed prom, graduation, and his senior trip. So he’d insisted we make the most of Homecoming. I’d agreed, wanting to hold on to him for as long as I could.
Blake, Angel, and I had laughed our asses off when Carey was crowned Homecoming King to Jamie’s Queen. She had campaigned hard, though, and deserved it, but Carey grimaced his way through the ceremony. He dropped his crown on my head as soon as he left the stage, refusing the King and Queen couple’s dance. Jamie had glared at me for the rest of the night, but I hadn’t cared as Angel and I danced circles around the boys.
Good times. The best times.
Now, any hope I had that I would go unnoticed in the dark gym is lost when I arrive to find Angel and Nikki working the ticket table at the entrance.
Nikki takes one look at me and snaps, “No way. We don’t have any tickets left.”
I hand my ticket to Angel. “Relax, Nikki. I’m here to work. Yearbook.”
Angel takes the ticket. “Since when are you on Yearbook staff?” she asks, curiously.
My smile is wry. “Since Mr. Horowitz conned me into it this afternoon.”
She points to my coat. “Let me check that for you.”
Something about Angel has changed. She hasn’t smiled at me, but she seems nicer than before. It makes me suspicious, but I unbutton my coat and pass it to her. I hear a whistle, and turn to find Josh Danvers standing behind me.
His appreciative look turns into a scowl. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Nice to see you too, Josh.”
Nikki glares at me, and I remember she’s dating Josh this week. “Nice dress,” she says, but it’s clear she doesn’t mean it.
“Thanks,” I reply anyway. I don’t mention it was my mom’s. I’m not stupid enough to bring those comparisons on myself. Instead, I nod at Angel and head into the gym with my camera.
The gym has been transformed into a “Springtime in Paris” theme, with cardboard Eiffel Towers propped against the walls and tissue-paper flowers hanging from the ceiling. Students are having their pictures taken in front of a one-dimensional Arc de Triomphe, and the place has been lit up to resemble the City of Light. It actually looks pretty amazing, though the scent of sweat lingers under all the glitter.
He folds his hands and considers me. He doesn’t look ready to give up, and I sigh.
“Seriously, this is a bad idea.”
“Think of it as something to put on your college applications.”
“I’m a senior,” I counter. “That ship sailed last semester.” I’d applied to a few schools with photojournalism programs in the fall, but I didn’t yet know if I’d been accepted. Boston University was my dream school, but I wasn’t holding out any great hope.
“Okay,” he says. Now he squares his shoulders like he’s getting ready to negotiate. “What can I do to convince you?”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but I stop to think about his request. Maybe there is a way to work this to my advantage.
“Sixth period,” I say. “I have study hall with Mr. Baransky.” And Nikki, who likes to use the class to torture me. “You get me out of sixth period, and I’ll take your photos.”
“Deal!” He says it so quickly I wonder if that’s what he intended all along. I’m sure it is when he continues. “I’ll have you transferred into my sixth-period Yearbook class tomorrow. You free tonight for your first assignment?”
I scowl and give a sharp nod. I can’t exactly admit I’d rather be stalking the halls at the hospital. He takes a slip of paper out of his back pocket and tosses it down next to my elbow.
Horowitz nods at the paper. “Think candid shots. And welcome to the Yearbook staff, Miss Quinn.”
He practically skips out of the room, and I pick up the paper with suspicion. A ticket. The Spring Semiformal, I read. The last place I’d want to be tonight, and he knew it.
Ambushed. Damn, Horowitz is good. He’d make a great soldier.
* * *
At dinner that night, I tell my father about Horowitz asking me to cover the dance for Yearbook. He grunts and continues eating his meat loaf. I take that as him giving his permission to go.
Standing in front of my closet a half hour later, I curse Horowitz. I have nothing to wear. It’s bad enough I’m going, but the best dress I own is the one I wore to last year’s spring dance and it’s now too big. I hadn’t realized I’d lost weight, but it doesn’t surprise me, considering I don’t eat half the dinner my father serves every night. Our neighbors’ brown Labrador, Rueger, has gained ten pounds, though, eating all the steak, meat loaf, and pot roast I’ve given him. Mr. Daltry swears old Rueger grins like an idiot whenever he sees me from their front window.
I wish I could be at the hospital searching for my mother instead of going to a stupid dance. Thinking of my mother, I remember the few belongings of hers that I’d secreted away in the attic. She’d left some of her clothes and jewelry behind in her hurry to get away from us. My father had thrown out most everything, but I’d managed to hide a few things.
It takes minutes of searching through dusty boxes to find a dress that fits me. Violet chiffon ruffles fall below a ribbon sash at the waist, and a sweetheart neckline hugs me, set off by the two cap sleeves. The dress is perfectly modest, but I feel decadent wearing it. After dressing, I barely have time to throw my hair back into a messy knot and add a tiny headband for decoration. A little makeup and I’m out the door with my camera and my coat.
Walking through the gym entrance, I remember a different time, a better time, when Carey walked in at my side. Graduating early meant Carey missed prom, graduation, and his senior trip. So he’d insisted we make the most of Homecoming. I’d agreed, wanting to hold on to him for as long as I could.
Blake, Angel, and I had laughed our asses off when Carey was crowned Homecoming King to Jamie’s Queen. She had campaigned hard, though, and deserved it, but Carey grimaced his way through the ceremony. He dropped his crown on my head as soon as he left the stage, refusing the King and Queen couple’s dance. Jamie had glared at me for the rest of the night, but I hadn’t cared as Angel and I danced circles around the boys.
Good times. The best times.
Now, any hope I had that I would go unnoticed in the dark gym is lost when I arrive to find Angel and Nikki working the ticket table at the entrance.
Nikki takes one look at me and snaps, “No way. We don’t have any tickets left.”
I hand my ticket to Angel. “Relax, Nikki. I’m here to work. Yearbook.”
Angel takes the ticket. “Since when are you on Yearbook staff?” she asks, curiously.
My smile is wry. “Since Mr. Horowitz conned me into it this afternoon.”
She points to my coat. “Let me check that for you.”
Something about Angel has changed. She hasn’t smiled at me, but she seems nicer than before. It makes me suspicious, but I unbutton my coat and pass it to her. I hear a whistle, and turn to find Josh Danvers standing behind me.
His appreciative look turns into a scowl. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Nice to see you too, Josh.”
Nikki glares at me, and I remember she’s dating Josh this week. “Nice dress,” she says, but it’s clear she doesn’t mean it.
“Thanks,” I reply anyway. I don’t mention it was my mom’s. I’m not stupid enough to bring those comparisons on myself. Instead, I nod at Angel and head into the gym with my camera.
The gym has been transformed into a “Springtime in Paris” theme, with cardboard Eiffel Towers propped against the walls and tissue-paper flowers hanging from the ceiling. Students are having their pictures taken in front of a one-dimensional Arc de Triomphe, and the place has been lit up to resemble the City of Light. It actually looks pretty amazing, though the scent of sweat lingers under all the glitter.
