Page 28 of The Liar's Reckoning

Ididn’t get my growth spurt until senior year. I was seventeen. I’d been home schooled for the two years prior to that due to the intense bullying I’d suffered at the hands of bigger boys and even a handful of girls at my co-ed Catholic high school. No one cared who my family was—or they did care, and they hated me for it. I was an easy mark. Five foot three, a hundred pounds. Glasses. Baby face.

Father Michael was my only source of solace. I was his altar boy, one of his favorites. I’ve heard the word on the street about Catholic priests, and I’m not saying Father Michael was purely innocent, but all he ever did with me was show affection—the kind of affection my family didn’t show. Long hugs. Soft strokes of my hair. Holding my hand and occasionally rubbing my shoulders—listening to me.

He was the one who convinced my parents to take me out of school when the bullying got to be too much—when I had no chance of ever being accepted by my so-called peers.

“He actually sounds like a nice guy,” Silas says. “Not a creep.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “You hear enough, and you wonder whether you just got lucky.”

“Has anyone ever accused him of anything?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And he helped you get through a tough time?”

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe he just knew what you needed and gave you that. I’m pretty sure not all priests are groomers and pedophiles. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No,” I say. “I remember it well. And I remember not trusting him, too.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

We’ve hit a steady jogging pace I’m able to keep up with and breathe at the same time. My shins are killing me, but not so bad they make want to stop. I’m determined to finish this run—as determined as Avery was to wear those heels.

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought everyone was out to get me. Like it was a trick. Because some of the kids at school used to do that, too. Make me think they were being friendly and then end up embarrassing me. Public humiliation was like a competitive sport to them.”

The girls were the worst. Sitting with me at lunch only to distract me long enough for someone to sneak up and pour milk over my head. Tricking me into thinking they wanted tutoring after school only to set me up to get my ass kicked by a circle of jocks. The most embarrassing thing was how long it took me to figure it out. I kept wanting to believe that there was good in people—the way Father Michael always told us. But after one too many brutal beatings, one of the guys finally broke my arm, and that was when my pissed off parents pulled me out of school.

“So it’s about trust?” Silas asks after I explain everything. “Why you don’t have many friends?”

I don’t haveanyfriends. Not unless I count Avery, and I think of her more as a co-conspirator. Another transactional relationship. She knows more about me than most people do—not asmuch as Silas now does, but I wouldn’t consider her a friend. More of an ally.

“What about college?” Silas asks. “When you finally got taller and started getting some hair on your chest.”

“Head down, studying. I was Valedictorian of every class I ever graduated from. Including Harvard Law.”

“And that was enough for you? You never went to parties or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Seems like such a waste.”

“I don’t think of it like that,” I say.

“How do you think of it?”

“Like my focus got me where I am today. No scandals. No people coming out of the woodwork to spill the beans about me?—”

“No fun.”

“I never said it wasn’t fun.”

“How could it have been fun?” Silas asks, turning us down another isolated trail.

I have to admit, I’m not used to being in this city without a hundred eyes around at all times. It’s amazing there are public places where you can still manage to be alone. “I was focused,” I say. “My reward system was doing well in class, earning the praise of my professors, respect from my peers. Having my papers published.”

“And when people asked you out?”

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