No. Absolutely not. I will not let them bring her into this, no matter how well-meaning they might be.
My mouth opens without my permission, and words have sprung to my lips before I can stop them. “His,” I say.
Next to me, Veronda frowns. So does Herb.
“Sorry?” he says, his lined brow wrinkling even more.
“Histhoughts,” I say. I nod to the screen. “You’d love to gethisthoughts.” I force my curled fists to relax and then go on, telling reckless stories for reasons I’m only now beginning to understand.
And it’s an absurd claim, full of plot holes. Not little plot holes, either, but the giant, gaping kind that you could trip over and break your neck. Still, I think I can explain those away.
I have to.
So even though my mother raised me to be an honest man—even though I try not to lie—I keep going. I spit out one of the biggest falsehoods I’ve ever told.
“The person in that costume, Veronda,” I say. I straighten up and look her right in the eye. “It was me.”
FELIX
Whatever my coworkersexpected me to say, it wasn’t that.
Veronda’s eyes have popped wide open, a clear rim of white around her irises; that’s how much they’re bulging. Herb’s jaw has dropped, his face slack, and although I don’t look at anyone else, I can hear the rest of them murmuring to each other.
It takes a good ten seconds for Veronda to recover the ability to speak.
“It—that’s notyou.” Her fish eyes have calmed down a bit, but she’s still speaking through gaping lips. “You said you covered this event?—”
“No, I didn’t. I said I covered thepageant,” I tell her firmly. “The pageant, which consisted ofmanyevents. I did not report on this.” I point at the screen. “I performed in it, along with a group of local friends.”
“But that—” She breaks off, and then she points to the screen too. “That didn’t look like you!”
“I’ve beefed up,” I say with a shrug. “And I’ve grown a bit—as people do,” I add, looking around the table.
Do not be ashamed,I warn myself.Just power through.
Veronda’s jaw snaps shut, and for a second, she looks unsure—like she’s questioning everything she thought she knew.
I’m so sorry,I apologize silently.
“My point is,” I go on, because I just want to shut this down as quickly as possible, “I absolutely don’t feel comfortable with this footage being shown on television.” I turn to Herb. “You can understand that, right?” I clear my throat. “That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.”
“I—we—” he blusters, and I feel bad for him, too, because his face is turning purplish-red. “I—of course,” he finally manages to get out. “Of course we understand.” He flaps his pudgy hand at Veronda, a silent command for her to drop the subject, and then he all but dives at the camera, yanking the cord out.
“We understand,” Veronda says too, her voice faint, her expression still gobsmacked.
I swallow. “I’m sorry,” I say, and part of me truly is. I feel bad for makingherfeel bad. “I know you wanted to use this. But I really can’t stomach the thought of that footage out there again, even though no one else would know it’s me.” I pause and look around the table. “Obviously, I would also appreciate if this information didn’t leave this room, either.”
And although they still look surprised, my coworkers nod; a few murmurOf course.
My heart is beating violently against my ribcage—I was not made for coming up with elaborate stories on the spot—but at the same time, a sense of relief begins to flood through me, cool and calm. I inhale deeply and then let it out again as my pulse slows down, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
I didn’t realize I was so stressed about this, but it feels good to set that burden down.
One crisis has been averted. Unfortunately, I have just told a bald-faced lieto my bossin order to protect a woman from an embarrassment she’ll never even know about.
I think I know what that means. One crisis has been averted, but another one is looming just on the horizon.
“You told themwhat?”