White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 15

Chapter 14

I have told a lot of lies in my lifetime.

And I've often wondered which of them, exactly, could be appropriately deemed as my Biggest Lie. There was plenty of options to choose from. I didn't even know where to start.

Faking albinism had been a big one. It had resulted in the annihilation of my already limited social life. Telling those big, bad, important people that Jennifer was the murderer had been more serious than that by far.

But there had been another major lie. A big one. A defining lie to set the tone for all the others.

A seven-year-old's white lie for Daddy Day.

Daddy Day. The one day in which little boys and girls could bring their fathers to class. We'd all gather around, listening to fathers in all shapes and sizes gloat and boast about how their fun, exciting jobs.

It was a horrible day, to say the least.

The first terrible sign that it would be a terrible day was that there were thunderstorms. I sat alone on the yellow and black school bench at the front of my classroom We called it our Honey Bee Bench – one I was never allowed to sit on, due to my lonely and friendless state. There were too many children who by then had already learned the skill of imposing isolation and exclusion unto others. Even in their formative years.

I was hated as a child, even by other children. It was like all other beings could sense that I was something awful.

Heavy rain gathered atop the clouds and splattered onto my shiny blue shoes, as if the very sky hated me as well. I hadn't been bothered by it. I never was. I rested my chin on my hands, watching as little boys and girls unbuckled their seatbelts and rushed out of their cars in excitement, dragging their sheepish looking fathers towards their awaiting teachers. Despite the fact that the sky was threatening to split itself apart, everybody was still very happy.

Except for me. I had one tiny dilemma.

I didn't have a dad to bring.

"You don't have a daddy anymore. You're special," my mother explained as she endured the heavy rainfall and heavy traffic on her way to school drop off. "You have one parent instead of two parents. Everybody else has two parents except for you, Jessie. You don't need a mommy and a daddy. You only need me."

She was every bit of a liar as I was.

"Why can't I tell them?" I asked.

"You can't. You mustn't," she answered sharply. Then she quickly softened her tone, like it never happened. "Look at me. I am both your mommy and your daddy. Two parents rolled into one. I bet you nobody else in your class has that. And if they did, they would be very special. Just like you."

I brightened up at the thought, and asked her to please, please come with me to Daddy Day, so that I could show off my mommy-daddy. She just shook her head, smiling ruefully.

"I can't, Jessie. I have to work."

I had huffed and pouted, but she wouldn't give in. She dropped me off at my usual spot the front of the school gates, then rolled down her driver-side window for a quick word.

"Now remember. Nobody else has a mommy and a daddy rolled into one. Only you do. You have to keep it a secret, so that the other kids don't get jealous."

I nodded eagerly. A mommy-daddy. Only I had a mommy-daddy. I felt something warm glow inside me.

Now, as I looked at the other children laughing and chatting with their daddies, I reconsidered. What if I didn't want to have a mommy-daddy? What if I wanted a regular mommy and a regular daddy, just like everyone else?