Lies I Told Read Free

a last drink of her coffee before walking to the sink and dumping the rest of it. “I told you they were coming, remember?”
    My dad turned away from the window. “Tell me again why we need landscapers?”
    â€œYou have to spend money to make money,” the rest of us said in unison. Parker didn’t bother to look up from the newspaper.
    It was true, but I knew my mom enjoyed it. In her eyes, buying clothes to fit the part or furnishing a new house every six months wasn’t work—it was a perk of life on the grift. My dad didn’t get it. For him, the con was all about the con. It was the challenge he loved. The danger.
    He leaned against the counter, looking like a middle-aged but still good-looking actor, his dark hair dusted silver at the temples.
    â€œWhat’s on tap for you today?” my mom asked him.
    â€œI’m touring Allied Security,” he said. “I might buy a system for the house. I also need to check out the club and ask about membership. How about you?”
    â€œI have a hair appointment in town. Figured I’d get the lay of the land.”
    I wasn’t surprised by the vague dance of questions and answers. No one said anything specific about a job outside of the War Room. Ever. It was one of the rules.
    â€œGood. We’ll have a family meeting tonight.” He tossed a set of keys to Parker. “Saab’s out front and ready to go.” He turned to me. “You ready, Gracie?”
    I nodded, remembering the dark-haired boy with deep brown eyes from the subject files. It was time to go to work.

Three
    A balmy breeze lifted my hair as I followed Parker down the stone path at the side of the house. Foliage grew thick overhead, blocking out the sun as the strange green pods of the paloverde trees crunched under our feet.
    We were almost to the driveway when a chill iced the back of my neck. It was that universal feeling of being watched, and I looked up at the house next door just in time to see a curtain drop over one of the second-story windows. I kept walking. Some things were different city to city, but nosy neighbors were everywhere. I made a mental note to be extra vigilant.
    The black Saab was like a jungle cat, sleek and gleaming in the morning sun. My dad had arranged it—in addition to the Volvo he’d purchased for my mom—just like he did everything. Parker didn’t even pause to admire it. He justclimbed into the driver’s side, waiting for me to buckle my seat belt before backing out of the driveway.
    We didn’t talk on the way to school, which wasn’t unusual. We spent a lot of our time together in silence. It was one of the things I loved most about being with Parker: we didn’t have to pretend. We both had our demons, and we knew from experience that talking about them didn’t change anything. I needed to concentrate anyway.
    The new school wasn’t a big deal. Mom made that easy, insuring that we were pre-enrolled, our fake transcripts and immunization records sent over ahead of time so that all we had to do was show up and get our schedules.
    It was the other stuff that was hard. The pretending to be someone else. The being careful not to let slip who we were, where we came from, what we’d done.
    More and more, I had to really think about that part. Had to prepare myself for weeks or months of being in character, of losing a little more of myself with each passing day.
    Parker turned a corner and the sign for Playa Hermosa High School came into view. His face was impassive as he reached over, cranking the music until the car vibrated. He hated loud music, but it went with the territory. A successful con required careful balance between avoiding the wrong kind of attention and getting the right kind.
    And we needed the right kind at Playa Hermosa High.
    The parking lot was nearly full when we pulled in. Some of the kids got out of their cars and hurried into the building, while others