Page 3 of The Lies Always Told

The music shifts, as if on cue, from hip hop to upbeat rap that has everyone screaming and shouting.

“Damn, this song was a whole bop! Do you remember?” Bee asks Victoria, who is mumbling the lyrics, but I just shake my head.

“Not you. You were probably listening to Beethoven all the way until college. Agh, let me get a drink to forget how uneducated I am.”

“Bee, just because I listened to classical music doesn’t mean I only listen to that. I don’t remember this song, but you know better,” I reply, grabbing one of the high-top stools that freed up after some girls went to dance.

“It still makes me feel uncool, especially when my bestfriend is finishing her master’s degree at the same time we’re just graduating with our bachelor’s,” she says.

I finished high school earlier than most people; I took all my high school classes in middle school. Then, in high school, I did most of my undergrad online. By the time I was eighteen, I was only a year away from college graduation, and I entered the master’s program immediately. All my life, I’ve been either too young to hang out with Cara’s friends, too young to hang out with my college friends, or too grown to hang out with people my age—hence stealing Cara’s ID and pretending I’m older for everyone’s sake.

“I don’t hang out with uncool people. You’re smart, beautiful, and kind.” She beams at my praise, and Victoria rolls her eyes. “Now, can we hurry up and order our drinks?”

She turns around to signal to one of the bartenders. I train my eyes on the exchange that’s about to happen, because Bee flirting with everything that walks is my favorite thing to watch.

When I met her a few years ago, I had zero clue how to initiate any type of conversation, especially if I was interested in someone. I would just sit with my cute glasses and my drink and watch. The night we met, she tried to flirt with me, and when I told her the only vagina I liked was mine, she practically spit out her drink and sat next to me. We talked for hours that night, becoming instant friends. A few weeks into our friendship, she told me I was awkward as fuck with other people. I laughed so hard at that, explaining how difficult it was for me to not be blunt or read social cues. We talked about some of the challenges that came with being gifted, and after hours of explanation and scenarios, she told me I needed to approach social interactions the same way I learned school subjects: by paying attention. And she was right.

She’s the best wing woman, and for months, she would let me watch and practice. She would pose a scenario, and I would act it out. Sometimes, it was a conversation I wanted tocontinue, and sometimes, it was one I wanted to avoid. She helped me figure out how to deal with both. Some days, the practice went great, earning me a date, an easy lay, or even just a good time. Other days, I wanted to cringe and die. Needless to say, I’m a lot better at it now, but she’s still the queen of banter.

“Hey, sexy. Can we have three martinis, doubles, one with extra olives please?”

“For you? Anything, gorgeous. Be right back,” he answers with a wink. I don’t take my eyes off him, watching our drinks and making sure nothingextragets put into them. I catch Victoria doing the same. One can never be too cautious about these things anymore.

He brings us our drinks, placing them in front of us in a straight line and taking Bee’s card to open a tab. I slide my martini over and pop the extra olives into my mouth one at a time.

The bartender brings Bee her card and lingers for longer than any bartender with a bar full of people should, but eventually, he leaves us to our conversation.

“Okay, hot,” Bee says, taking a sip of her drink and roaming over the bar with her eyes.

“Alright, ladies. Let’s see if we can find our victims for the night,” I say, sitting up taller on my stool and looking around the room.

TWO

DON’T TEMPT ME

DropIt Low by Ester Dean&Strangers by Kenya Grace

Gus

“Who’sgonna be your girl for the night?” Abraham says next to me, scanning the room. It’s our last night in Savannah, and I’m sure he’s ready to pick a girl and go. It’s the main reason why he’s the best guy to go partying with—he has two things in mind at all times: pussy and alcohol. I don’t necessarily indulge in the latter, but the first? I can ride that train. I do regularly, actually.

After spending last weekend with my family at my sister Allie’s house, this trip was well needed. I love my family, but sometimes, being in the same room for three days straight is too much. Spring break in Savannah, though? So far, so good, but it can be better. Everyone is always asking us if we’re ever growing out of this phase, the traveling to find a good piece ofass phase…and maybe would be the right answer, but not this year, and definitely not this weekend.

This is our third bar of the night, and so far, all the girls I’ve talked to have seemed too eager. I enjoy an easy lay as much as the next guy, but I would love to find a good girl who can do both—talk and fuck. Not too much for a relationship, claramente, but definitely enough to not lose my interest after one conversation.

“You calling dibs, Abraham?” Jean Luis, our other friend, asks. This one doesn’t know what he’s doing. Recently divorced after marrying his high school sweetheart, he doesn’t know how to talk to girls, let alone take the initiative.

“We should all be calling dibs, loco. Last night. Might as well do something about it,” I add, roaming the room to see if someone catches my eyes. The place is packed, and the line outside looks like it stays full constantly.

The fiery redhead writhing in the middle of the dance floor raises her glass at me. No, thank you.

I avert my eyes quickly, looking around and meetingsomebody else’s. Brown skin, dark eyes, champagne glass up high. No, thank you.

Blonde with the mini skirt, licking her lips? Also pass. The two brunettes grinding on each other, dropping their asses low every time the song ‘Drop it Low’ says so? Also no.

Maybe I’ve finally made it to the age where the same thing every weekend is not what I want, considering this whole trip has been a complete waste.

“Hey, twelve o’clock,” I hear Abraham say over the loud music. When I turn my head, I see three girls laughing while they scan the room. At least, I assume they’re all laughing, because one has her back to me, and I can’t see her face. Her shoulders are relaxed, and she’s holding a martini in one hand while gesturing as she talks.

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