Page 34 of The Roommate Lie

“Small towns have long memories.”

Edna’s not wrong. The last time I got in trouble in Ponderosa Falls was at her house eight years ago. Yet glancing around, you’d think it was yesterday. The fact that I’m vying for a job at our only elementary school makes it worse. How am I going to get hired if even the sweet old ladies in town don’t like me?

Everywhere I look, they’re eyeing me suspiciously. More than usual, actually. I can’t figure out why until a dozen book-club ladies sit down at our table, their gazes fixed on Alice.

Has Charlie been treating you okay?they ask—right in front of me.Has he tried anything?

Are they serious? I barely talk to Alice. I won’t even let myself call her Carrots, not even when I really want to. Not when that nickname is on the tip of my tongue, and I’m pretty sureshewants me to.

I’m making real sacrifices over here. A little credit would be nice.

Lydia defends my honor. “We’re having a great time, aren’t we, Alice? Charlie’s such a good host.”

Alice nods. “It’s been great!”

Her voice is a few decibels too loud now that all eyes are on her. Too energetic and cheerful. As if Super Happy Alice is her go-to move when she’s nervous, and I really wish I didn’t find that so adorable.

Pressing my lips into a hard line, I try not to smile, but the Old Birds notice my reaction. They notice everything. Thankfully, the next round of bingo starts, and everyone’s focus shifts to the numbers being announced. Except Alice.

She’s sitting between Lydia and me, and she gives my knee a playful bump under the table. Like she knows those women were being hard on me, and she’s trying to make me feel better.

I don’t look over.

I can’t.

If I learned anything in that attic today, it’s that little moves lead to big moves when it comes to Alice. One second, you’re standing politely by her side, calmly rescuing her from the creepiest baby doll this world has ever known. Then you’re holding her tight against your body, and you can’t catch yourbreath. Because she almost died in that attic, and part of you feels like it almost died too.

So I don’t look over. Alice bumps my knee to make me feel better, and I pretend it didn’t happen. That I don’t love and appreciate that perfect tiny gesture.

Ignoring her almost kills me. Then my phone buzzes with a text. Because I gave that woman my number—like a fool.

Alice:Thanks again for letting me stay with you. You’ve been so good to me—a perfect gentleman.

That might be the sweetest text that’s ever been written. I know it’s the nicest one I’ve ever received.

No problem, Carrots.My fingers beg me to type those words, but I can’t. I won’t. Forcing myself to leave off the nickname at the end, I text my response.

Then I bump her knee with mine. I can’t help myself.

Someone across the room yells bingo a few minutes later, and Henrietta growls in defeat. There are a million things the women at my table could talk about while we wait for the next round, but we end up where we started. The land of whispered warnings and suspicious glances.

Edna doesn’t stick up for me; I don’t want her to. We both know we aren’t going to change anyone’s mind—it’s been eight years. People either like me, or they don’t.

Dottie can’t help herself, though. She’s the heart and soul of the Old Birds. Being sweet while accidentally ruining lives is kind of her specialty.

“Well, I think Charlie’s a catch. If Alice is lucky, maybe all this forced proximity will lead to something good. You know what they say…”

Yes, I do know what they say. We all know what they say. But if she thinks I’m going to let her recite our town’s favorite love slogan,think again.

Before I can stop her, Alice does the dirty work for me. Jumping in, she tries to save the day—while also jamming a knife between my ribs. “It’s not like that,” she stammers. “We’re not—it’s not—I just got out of a relationship, and Charlie’s great but?—”

That poor girl isn’t cut out for this. I bump her knee playfully under the table to help settle her nerves, and she jumps. Eyes frantic, her words leap back on track. Like a record that’s finished skipping and can finally play the rest of the song.

“He’s not really my type.”

There it is.

I knew that already. I’ve seen Alice’s ex, and I’ve read her books. I know what her type is, and it’s not me.

---