Justine Larbalestier - Liar

LIAR

Table of Contents

PROMISE

I was born with a light covering of fur.

After three days it had all fallen off, but the damage was done. My mother stopped trusting my father because it was a family condition he had not told her about. One of many omissions and lies.

My father is a liar and so am I.

But Im going to stop. I have to stop.

I will tell you my story and I will tell it straight. No lies, no omissions.

Thats my promise.

This time I truly mean it.

AFTER

When Zach isnt in school Tuesday morning I am worried. He said hed call me Monday night. But didnt. Friday night was the last time I saw him. That isnt usual.

Zachary Rubin is my boyfriend. He isnt the best boyfriend in the world, but he usually does what he says he will.

If he was going to skip school hed have taken me with him. We couldve gone running in the park. Or ridden around on the subway all day laughing at the crazies, which is mostly everyone.

Once we walked from the Staten Island Ferry all the way up to Inwood, right next to the big hospital and the bridge that leads to the Bronx. It took us all day. Wed get sidetracked, checking things out, looking around. Enjoying the novelty of walking instead of running.

Broadway was our path north through the island. Zach said it used to be an Indian trail, which made it the oldest street in Manhattan. Thats why it twists and turns, sometimes on the diagonal, sometimes straight like an avenue.

Me and Zach had an argument about what the water under the bridge to the Bronx was called. Was it the Hudson or the East River? Or did they meet in the middle under the bridge? Whatever it was called, the water was gray brown and nasty-looking. So it couldve been either one.

That was our best day together.

I hope Zach isnt doing anything that cool without me. Ill kill him if he is.

I eat lunch on my own. A cold steak sandwich. The bread is gray and wet, soggy with meat juice. I eat the steak and throw the rest away.

In class I stare at the window, watch the reflection of my classmates superimposed in mottled glass over gray steel bars. I think about what Zach looks like when he smiles at me.

AFTER

The second day Zach isnt at school, I wear a mask. I keep it on for three days. I forge a note from my dad to say I have a gruesome rash and the doctor told me to keep it covered. I carry the note with me from class to class. They all buy it.

My dad brought the mask back from Venice. Its black leather painted with silver and unfurls at each corner like a fern. The silver is real.

Under it, my skin itches.

They tell us Zach is dead during third period on Thursday.

Principal Paul Jones comes into our classroom. He isnt smiling. There are murmurs. I hear Zachs name. I look away.

I have bad news, the principal says unnecessarily. I can smell the bad news all over him.

Now we all look at him. Everyone is quiet. His eyes are slightly red. I wonder if he is going to all the classes or just us seniors. Surely we would be first. Zach is a senior.

I can hear the minute hand of the clock over the whiteboard. It doesnt tick, it clicks. Click, click, click, click. No ticks. No tocks.

There is a fly in the room. The fan slices through the air. A murky sliver of sunlight cuts across the front of the classroom right where the principal is standing. It makes visible the dust in the air, the lines around his eyes, across his forehead, at the corners of his mouth.

Sarah Washington shifts in her chair and its legs squeak painfully loud across the wooden floor. I turn, stare at her. Everyone else does, too. She looks away.

Zachary Rubin is no longer missing. His body has been found. Principal Pauls lips move into something between a grimace and a snarl.

A sound moves around the classroom. It takes me a moment to realize that half the girls are crying. A few of the boys, too. Sarah Washington is rocking back and forth, her eyes enormous.

Mine are dry. I take off the mask.

BEFORE

The first two days of my freshman year I was a boy.

It started in the first class of my first day of high school. English. The teacher, Indira Gupta, reprimanded me for not paying attention. She called me Mr. Wilkins. No one calls anyone Mr. or Ms. or anything like that at our school. Gupta was pissed. I stopped staring out the window, turned to look at her, wondering if there was another Wilkins in the room.

Yes, you, Mr. Micah Wilkins. When I am talking I expect your full and undivided attention. To me, not to the traffic outside.

No one giggled or said, Shes a girl.

Id been mistaken for a boy before. Not often, but enough that I wasnt completely surprised. I have nappy hair. I wear it natural and short, cut close to my scalp. That way I dont have to bother with relaxing or straightening or combing it out. My chest is flat and my hips narrow. I dont wear makeup or jewelry. None of themneither students nor teachershad ever seen me before.

Is that clear? Gupta said, still glaring at me.

I nodded, and mumbled in as low a voice as I could, Yes, maam. They were the first words I spoke at my new school. This time I wanted to keep a low profile, be invisible, not be the one everyone pointed at when I walked along the corridor: See that one? Thats Micah. Shes a liar. No, seriously, she lies about everything. Id never lied about everything. Just about my parents (Somali pirates, professional gamblers, drug dealers, spies), where I was from (Liechtenstein, Aruba, Australia, Zimbabwe), what Id done (grifted, won bravery medals, been kidnapped). Stuff like that.

Id never lied about what I was before.

Why not be a boy? A quiet sullen boy is hardly weird at all. A boy who runs, doesnt shop, isnt interested in clothes or shows on TV. A boy like that is normal. What could be more invisible than a normal boy?

I would be a better boy than Id ever been a girl.

At lunch I sat at the same table as three boys Id seen in class: Tayshawn Williams, Will Daniels, and Zachary Rubin. Id love to say that one look at Zach and I knew but that would be a lie and Im not doing that anymore. Remember? He was just another guy, an olive-skinned white boy, looking pale and weedy compared to Tayshawn, whose skin is darker than my dads.

They nodded. I nodded. They already knew each other. Their conversation was littered with names they all knew, places, teams.