Page 11 of The Lair

Charlie

What can I say, I’m full of surprises.

Me

Full of shit too.

Charlie

Hahaha

Don’t Travis me.

And why my heart leaps at the mention of our boss will forever remain a mystery.

Charlie found out carrot cake is my all-time favorite food two months ago when Sandra brought a huge one to the bar on her birthday. I had one slice and took two home, and he has been teasing me about my obsession with it ever since. I’m not bothered by it.

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to accept Charlie’s invitation and have fun at the bonfire with his friends. Being with them, even if only for an hour, would help me feel that sense of normalcy I’ve been craving for years.

“Friends make the world a little brighter,” Jada would always tell me.

But then I remember all the reasons I shouldn’t get close to them. Why it would be better for everyone that I stay away.

Me

I don’t think I can make it.

I’ll let you know if I change my mind.

We both know I won’t. I never do.

He texts something back, but I don’t read it. Looking at my phone is making me light-headed, so I focus on wiping the excess dye off my neck and forehead before I get in the shower to rinse it all off.

Charlie might think he wants to hang out with me, but I’m saving him from heartbreak. Because no matter how many times I tell myself that I’m doing this because I need to, because it sets me free, I can’t ignore the truth.

I’m lying to everyone in this town.

Chapter Four

Age 11

Mockinglaughter invaded my eardrums as I rushed down the packed hall, keeping my head down.

Maybe if I didn’t look at them, everyone would forget I was there. Maybe they would forget what they saw.

I spotted my friend Marie in the classroom, whispering something into Eve’s ear. As soon as she saw me, she pulled away and gave me a wavering smile.

“Hey,” I greeted them, pretending I didn’t know all eyes were on me. Pretending I couldn’t hear the hushed whispers.

“Um, hi,” Marie said nervously, looking around awkwardly.

A quick glance at the clock told me Mrs. Jada wouldn’t be here for another few minutes, so I busied myself taking out my notebook and colored pencils. I wrote down the date in fancy lettering—an attempt at making myself look busy and unbothered. But pretending I couldn’t hear them didn’t make the whispers stop.

“It was like she wet the bed but more gross.”

“She’s so embarrassing.”

“I watched that video, like, ten times, and somehow it kept getting worse.”

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