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  “Oh my God, no,” Jonathan said with a smile. “It’s not that bad here. It’s just not very diverse.”

  “Gotcha,” I nodded. “Well maybe that’ll change with time. After all, I’m here.”

  I grinned and he chuckled.

  “Yeah, you are, thank God.” He blushed and shoved his hands back into his pockets, his shyness returning. “So, what made y’all decide to move here?”

  “My mom’s a lawyer and she was offered a better job here, so she decided to give it a try. Especially after everything that went down with my dad last year. He… well,” I paused for effect. “He died of cancer early last year and the memories back home were just a little too much for Mom. She wanted a fresh start, so she accepted the job offer.”

  Jonathan’s face fell and those gorgeous eyes of his softened even more.

  My heart thawed… well, it’s not like it had been frozen before. Or maybe it had. Maybe years of lying does something to your heart without you even realizing it. And then one day, someone’s kindness or empathy thaws those frozen sections and all of a sudden, you’re melting from the inside out.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jonathan said, his voice soft. “Were you close to your dad?”

  The question threw me.

  I’m not sure why. I was used to lying about my past.

  Maybe it was because Jonathan, with his gorgeous eyes and sympathetic nature, was the one asking the questions.

  So, I found myself blurting out the truth, “Yeah. I was closer to him than my mom.”

  Jonathan looked at me intently and asked, “What was he like?”

  “He was,” I paused, remembering my father. “Incredibly goofy, always trying to make me and mom laugh. And he had these stupid sayings he’d come up with. Like, instead of cursing when he was upset, he’d say, “Holy cheese whiz” or “burnt biscuit bottoms.””

  Jonathan chuckled. “Sounds like he was a funny guy.”

  “He was,” I agreed, grinning. “There was this one time…”

  At this point, I forgot to keep lying.

  I started telling Jonathan a real story about my dad.

  Had Mom been at that bus stop with me, she would have told me this reaction to Jonathan’s kindness was my first mistake.

  She would have said women in our situation had to stay on top of our game. We had to stay cold and distant, otherwise we’d melt and wash away into the gutter with the rest of the unwanted debris.

  But for the first time in four years, I forgot to do what Mom said.

  I forgot to be guarded and for the duration of a fifteen minute conversation with a cute boy at a bus stop, I didn’t have to lie.

  I was just me, and I kind of liked it.

  Chapter Two

  An hour after my relaxing conversation with cute bus stop boy (also known as Jonathan), I found myself in Sunnyville High School’s loud gymnasium, facing three of the school’s cheerleaders.

  “Libby?” Jen Struthers asked with a frown and a sneer of distaste on her blood orange colored lips. They were nearly as red as her hair.

  I frowned right back at her and repeated my new name with a confidence that was as real as her fake Dollar Store eyelashes.

  “Libby,” I slowly replied, enunciating my every word as I looked down my nose at her.

  She blinked back at me, surprised.

  I’m sure Jen was used to girls tip-toeing around her snobbery.

  Not me.

  One of the earliest lessons I’d learned was that you couldn’t let a popular girl walk all over you. Especially not on you first day at a brand new school.

  Instead, you had to show them how to treat you. Even if it meant putting on a show of confidence that you actually didn’t have.

  But hey, if fake eyelashes can turn heads, fake confidence can ward off snobby cheerleaders.

  Jen’s two ladies in waiting, a tall blonde chick named Kimberly and a stunning brown-skinned Yara Shahidi lookalike named Lindsey stood on either side of their Queen.

  Both Kimberly and Lindsey glanced at me with newfound respect, their perfectly shaped eyebrows going up as they reassessed me.

  That’s right, ladies, I silently said as I lifted my chin, I might have a little more fluff than you, but my feigned confidence and I will not bow to your Queen.

  We were in first period, which was unfortunately gym class. And we were all standing around in clusters, talking while we waited for the bell to ring.

  In most schools, during moments like this, the new kid was typically ignored.

  But Sunnyville was such a small town that it was like an alternate universe. In Sunnyville, kids actually walked up to the new girl and asked her who she was and where she came from.

  It was kind of weird. But then, Mom and I had never lived in a small town before.

  “So, I’ve only been here a few days, but Sunnyville seems pretty quiet,” I said. “Is there anything to do other than go to the movies? I’ve already been to the movies three times in three days. Just to get out of the freaking house.”

  Kimberly chuckled and Lindsey smiled. Jen frowned.

  “No, you’re so right,” Kimberly said. “Our town’s way lame, but we know how to make lemonade out of lame. We make it work.”

  She grinned and despite her cheesy metaphors, I instantly liked her.

  “Yeah,” Lindsey said. “You just missed an epic bonfire. I try to have them once a month. Come to the next one and you’ll see how boring we’re not. Trust.”

  Butterflies fluttered around my stomach the way they always did when one of the Populars accepted me.

  I wasn’t a natural Popular, so I wasn’t always accepted. And when it happened, it was pretty epic.

  “Sweet,” I nodded. “Tell me when and I’m down. Otherwise, I’ll just be …you know, going to the movies, again.”

  Lindsey and Kimberly laughed.

  “We’ve got to get you out of that movie theater,” Kimberly said. She nudged Jen. “Libby should come with us tonight.”

  Jen slow-blinked me the way a one-eyed cat who’s preoccupied with its hemorrhoid problem slow-blinks an annoying dog.

  “Don’t you have to, like, unpack, or whatever?” Jen’s gaze went to my stomach. “Or eat dinner? I’m sure that’s important to you. I wouldn’t want to disrupt that.”

  Heat crept into my cheeks and, not for the first time, I wished I’d inherited my mother’s dark skin. It sucks when everyone can literally see your embarrassment as it creeps up your neck and into your face.

  Lindsey frowned and glanced at Jen before turning to me. “You’re coming. Tonight. Eight o’clock. We’re having a ‘first day as seniors’ sleepover. It’s not as lame as it sounds. I swear.”

  My nerves subsiding, I smiled. “Okay.”

  Kimberly reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you Jen’s address.”

  The bell rang and some Coach shouted at us to find a seat on the bleachers. As the four of us headed towards the gym’s raggedy set of bleachers, I gave my number to Kimberly and she added me to her contacts.

  I stepped up and onto the bleachers and slid into the first available seat while the three popular girls continued making their way up.

  Lindsey turned around and glanced at me with a slight frown. “What are you doing? Sit with us.”

  My heart may have actually jumped for joy in my chest …and then skipped a beat or two due to stress.

  Reasons for joy? Popular girls + Liking you = Parties and Happiness.

  Reasons for stress? Popular Girls + Liking you = You have to keep impressing them or else they ditch you.

  Even though my throat had gone dry with nerves, I stood up and smiled at Lindsey as I followed her.

  Side benefit of growing up as the daughter of a professional liar: You get really good at smiling through anything.

  I could probably smile through my own execution.

  “Come on, people,” the Coach shouted from behind me. “Hurry up and grab a seat, we
don’t have all day.”

  While I lowered myself into a spot between Lindsey and Kimberly, I spotted Jonathan making his way onto the bleachers.

  He sat in the first row, where I’d originally intended to sit.

  I silently cursed my fate. Of course the one time a group of popular girls beg me to sit with them, is also the one time I miss out on sitting next to a cute guy I’d really like to get to know. Thanks, fate. You’re the best.

  “Smile,” Kimberly said. I glanced at her and she’d whipped out her phone. She leaned towards me and grinned as she aimed it at us.

  I smiled beautifully while panicking internally.

  Another downside to getting in with the popular group was that before you knew it, your face was posted all over the internet. And that’s when things could turn. It was difficult to stick to one story when the online footprint created by your profile pictures told a completely different tale.

  It was for this reason that Mom didn’t allow me to have a real social media account on any platform. I was only allowed to create one fake Twitter account every time we moved. But since it was created in my fake identity, I’d have to delete said account every time we packed up to leave.

  Kimberly snapped the selfie.

  “Perfect,” she said as she assessed the picture. “See?”

  She shoved her phone in my direction and she was right, we both looked really cute.

  “Adorbs,” I agreed. “So what all are we going to do tonight at the sleepover? Should I bring anything? Like, some food or whatev?”

  “No,” Lindsey said from my left. “Just bring yourself. You’ll see. Jen has everything we need. You’re going to love it.”

  “Yeah,” Kimberly agreed. “You’ll be so glad you came. Just wait.”

  That still didn’t exactly answer my question.

  Five hours later, my first day of school done, I found myself standing in Jen’s living room, all of my questions answered.

  And the answers were nothing like what I’d expected.

  Chapter Three

  I looked around at Jen’s mobile home with a mix of fear and awe. It was like an episode of Hoarders had exploded inside of an episode of Naked and Afraid. And if you’re scratching your head and thinking that sounds like a weird combination, yes, it does. But it is also an accurate description of what I was looking at.

  The entire home was about 72 feet long by 15 feet wide, which was half the size of our living room. Not only was it a tight space, but the fact that nearly every inch of said space was overflowing with potted plants, made our surroundings even more cramped. I looked to my left and saw a tiny dining room table filled with small pots of little blue flowers. On the windowsill behind it were several flowerless plants containing long, green leaves. I turned around and realized that most of the greenery in the trailer looked like these flowerless plants.

  You’d think a room full of shrubs and flowers would smell like the fresh outdoors but this place smelled like a mix of skunk and urine.

  And that wasn’t the worst part of it all.

  After knocking at the front door, I’d been greeted by a topless woman.

  That’s right- topless, as in half-naked.

  She’d told me her name was Jasmine and that I was welcomed to come in and make myself at home while she went to fetch Jen.

  As I stood near the front door, looking around at Jen’s strange home, Jasmine (still topless as ever) emerged from the small hallway beyond the dining room.

  Dear God, why isn’t she wearing a shirt?

  I did my best to maintain eye-contact with Jasmine while she smiled and said, “Jen’s coming out in just a few minutes. You’re the first one here.”

  Jasmine was pretty, with long black hair and pretty blue eyes. But I almost didn’t even notice seeing as I was all distracted by the fact that she was half naked.

  She sauntered past me, her large breasts quivering like two bowls of Jell-O in an earthquake, and I briefly wondered how uncomfortable the average woman’s life must have been before bras were invented.

  Also, since they’re invented now, why isn’t this woman wearing one?

  Uncomfortable, I cleared my throat and remembered my manners. “Thank you for letting Jen know I’m here.”

  “Sure thing,” Jasmine said as she headed to the tiny kitchen behind me. “You have the loveliest bone structure. Very Ethiopian. Are you part Ethiopian?”

  “Um…” I hesitated. “I don’t know? My Mom’s black and my dad’s… uh, he was Irish. But I don’t know about Ethiopian.”

  Doing my best to avoid looking at her, I kept my gaze on the blue flowers at my right as I changed the subject and asked, “So, are you Jen’s sister?”

  Jasmine laughed. “I get that a lot. No, I’m the mom. I got started young. My body and I were introduced to the tangible form of love at twelve. By thirteen I looked like I’d swallowed a watermelon.”

  She had a light and breezy tone of voice, which almost made everything she said sound normal.

  Almost.

  “Oh, um, oh,” I stammered, my gaze still on the blue flowers. They were delicate but their leaves were thick and covered with fuzz that looked like hair. A small black bug crawled on one of the leaves.

  “So, here I am, in my twenties with a sixteen-year-old,” Jasmine went on as she banged around in the tiny kitchen, the sound of a cabinet door slamming from behind me. “And you know what?”

  “What’s that?” I readjusted my oversized Gucci bag on my shoulder, wondering what excuse I should use to leave.

  At that point, all I wanted to do was call my mom, ask her to come back and break me out of nightmare town.

  “I wouldn’t trade her for the world,” Jasmine said with a sigh. “Jen is beautiful, smart as a shark’s tooth, and great at picking friends. Like, her friend Curtin. Or is her name Cove? Or maybe Candle? You know who I’m talking about. The skinny blonde? Her name starts with a ‘K?’ She could be a model.”

  “I think you mean Kimberly,” I said, trying to sound polite as I wracked my mind for a good excuse to leave. Could I get away with faking a stomach bug?

  “That’s right, Kimberly. Then there’s the gorgeous black one, Lindsey. Such a beautiful girl and funny as a captured merman on speed. She should be a stand-up comedian, that one. So, what about you little momma?”

  “Uh, what about me?” I asked as I decided to lie and say my period came unexpectedly, along with sudden cramps. That sounded legitimate enough to leave a sleepover.

  I’d tell Jasmine as soon as this uncomfortable conversation was over.

  “Yeah,” Jasmine said with a laugh. I moved closer to the flowers and pretended to examine them as I wondered why she was laughing hysterically.

  Did she say something funny that I somehow missed? Or is she just crazy?

  I dared a glance at Jasmine and she was petting a spoon as if it were a kitten.

  Oh, okay. No, she’s just full-on crazy.

  “What do you want to be after high school?” she asked as she suddenly tired of petting the spoon and set it in the sink before returning her attention to one of her kitchen cabinets. I politely returned my attention to her plants as she continued, “Do you want to be someone great? You certainly have the hair for it.”

  I have the hair for greatness. That’s nice to know.

  I tucked a strand of my curly brown locks behind my ear and said, “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Jasmine laughed again. “I don’t believe that for a second. Your aura says you know everything about everything, because you’re a planner. A perfectionist.”

  At this I couldn’t help but briefly turn and glance at Jasmine.

  She was right. I was a perfectionist.

  “You know what you want,” Jasmine said in her airy voice, “you’re just scared as elephants to say it to another soul. But fear me not, hon. Even if I had loose lips, no one would believe my soliloquies. No one listens to Jasmine Struthers. Every secret I know is safer than the r
ecipe for Cane’s sauce.”

  As Jen’s clinically insane mother launched into another episode of manic laughter, I realized that she was probably correct about one thing: No one believes the things crazy women say. People are unusually willing to believe crazy men, but not women.

  Mom told me that after my dad went postal on her, she ran to a neighbor for help.

  But apparently, my father had convinced our neighbors Mom was on medication for a mental illness. So they didn’t believe her when she begged them to help her get away from her abusive husband, even when she showed up at their doorstep covered in blood.

  Honestly, when she’d first told me the truth about my father’s abuse, even I hadn’t fully believed her.

  Dad was always so nice. In fact, between the two of them, Mom was the one who seemed more likely to lose her temper during an argument.

  But the thing was, they’d rarely even argued.

  They were in love, and they’d always been honest with each other.

  Mom’s relationship with my father was the only time I’d seen her honest with a man…

  As I was staring at one of Jasmine’s weird, stinky plants and mulling this over, a possibility suddenly hit me…the way I’d felt that morning, when I was talking to Jonathan, maybe that didn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe I could have another moment like that.

  At the bus stop with Jonathan, I didn’t have to lie. I was just myself and he listened, and it was nice.

  Maybe I can have that again right now. Because maybe when I’m talking to someone like Jasmine, I don’t have to lie.

  After all, if she tries to tell anyone what I’ve said, who’s going to listen to her?

  I gulped.

  This could be risky. But I wanted another moment of truth; even just a few minutes of not having to lie seemed incredibly appealing.

  I stole another peek at Jasmine as she pulled a loaf of bread out of one of her cabinets.

  Maybe this isn’t risky. Maybe this is smart- like putting myself through therapy.

  I need to talk to someone. And a person like Jasmine is my best bet because if she shares my secrets, no one will believe a word she says.