Liar Read Free

knew that. Why would Brandon say that you were?”
    â€œWhy don’t you ask him?”
    She shakes her head. “I did. It didn’t help. He’s still dead.” She slumps, wavering between me and the door, her eyes heavy with tears. I wonder how there can be any water left in her. “Brandon loves to make trouble.”
    I step away from the dryer, ignore the stinging of my hands. “True,” I say.
    â€œAfter-hours girlfriend?” she says, echoing Brandon’s tone of voice. “I never even saw him look at you. Not once.”
    â€œThere you go then.”
    â€œHe didn’t come to school sometimes. And you—you’re always skipping class, skipping whole days. Is that where he went? Was he with you?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
    â€œI don’t believe you. You never tell the truth.”
    â€œThen why ask?”
    She steps away, leans against the wall again. As though standing is too hard, too much effort. She cries harder. “I want to know what happened to him. His parents won’t even let me see his body. How do I know he’s dead if they won’t let me see?”
    I can’t imagine her wanting to see a dead body. She won’t even cut up rats in biology. “Well, I heard he was shot,” I say, even though I haven’t heard any such thing. “That can’t look good.” I try to imagine. But I can only see the whole Zach. Smiling at me, laughing.
    â€œI saw my grandma dead,” Sarah says. “She was lying in a coffin, all bundled in white silky fabric. Her hands around this big bunch of white lilies. Open casket, they call it. All I could think of was how much she hated flowers. Cut ones, I mean. Always said they were pointless and a waste. ‘What are they gonna do?’ she’d ask. ‘Rot. That’s what. Best leave ’em growing.’ That’s what happens when you die—you rot.”
    Sarah doesn’t bother to wipe away her tears. “I can’t believe he’s dead. Everyone liked him. Who would kill him? Who would hate him that much? Do you know?”
    I don’t, but I want to know. I never saw Zach hurt anyone. Not on purpose. He preferred things to slide by, for everyone to be easy. He didn’t like to argue or fight or even mildly disagree. He’d shrug and say, “Sure. Whatever.” It wasn’t that he was a pushover. He mostly got things to bend his way, but without any obvious effort.
    His kisses were sure and easy, too. I put my hand to my mouth, remembering what he tasted like.
    â€œYou were with him,” Sarah says, staring at my mouth. “Weren’t you?”

    AFTER
    The day I find out Zach is dead is the longest day of my life. School has always sucked. Now it’s hell.
    Everyone is staring at me. Not just Sarah, not just everyone from the counseling session, but every student in the entire school, even the freshmen, the teachers, the administrative staff, the janitors.
    It’s much worse than when they found out I wasn’t really a boy.
    Zach is dead.
    I cannot make sense of that. How can he be dead? I saw him Friday night. We climbed a tree in Central Park. We kissed. We ran. Principal Paul must have it wrong.
    I wish everyone would stop looking at me. They think they know something about me and Zach, that we were—whatever it is that we were—that somehow they have something on me.
    They don’t.
    I keep my head down. Try to block my ears to the “slut” coughs. Try to focus on my remaining classes. Distract myself studying in the library. Try not to think about Zach. Try not to think about anything other than my studies.
    Brandon mouths a word at me as the final bell rings.
    Killer.
    At least I think that’s what it is.
    I push my way out of class, down the corridor, down the front steps, quick as I can with backpack slung over shoulder, hands gripping the straps tight,