Started With a Lie – Chapter One
“Hey, Ivory, can you pass the orange juice?” Mom asks me, her hand outstretched.
“Here,” I say, passing her the container of orange juice. I continue to eat my cereal, but steal a glance at her.
I can never get over how she looks almost exactly like me—except a little older and a few more gray streaks in her hair. Her face has some paint splattered on it, and the apron she wears all the time has the fresh smell of paint.
My mom’s an artist.
She spends ninety percent of the day in her studio—working on new masterpieces to help pay off the bills. Of course, I have a job too. I won’t let Mom do all the work. Especially not after my Dad passed away a couple years ago. Since then, all the bills have been weighed on her shoulders. But since I’m seventeen now, I can help her with a part-time job of my own.
I’m proud of my Mom. She was strong even when my father passed away.
She smiles at me and finishes her toast. After breakfast, she’ll probably go back to her studio. She only comes out for meals, or if I was home and needed her for something.
I’m cool with it though. Mom loves what she does. Her green eyes—the same ones I inherited— twinkle whenever she is in her studio. If my Mom is happy, I am too.
“So, isn’t today the first day of senior year?” she asks me, taking a sip of her orange juice. A golden curl of her hair falls out from her bun. She pushes it behind her ear. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, and yes,” I respond. I take a spoonful of my cereal and stare at it. My stomach really isn’t helping. It’s all jittery. It happens every time I get nervous. “Do you think I’ll be okay?”
“Honey, you’ve survived the last three years—you can do it again.”
“But this is my last year and I’m really nervous,” I tell her. Also because of all the drama last year, I secretly add.
She reaches over the table and pats my hand. “You’ll do fine.” Mom looks at her watch. “Look at the time! You’re going to be late!”
I grab all my belongings—my backpack, sweater, and phone. I run from the kitchen to the living room of our small two-story home and slip on my sneakers. There is a small mirror next to the door that Mom had put so we could see if we look okay before we head out. It’s mostly because Mom forgets she has been working in her studio and has paint all over her.
Since it is the first day, I am wearing a new top and a fresh pair of jeans that I bought on my mini-shopping spree when I had saved enough money over the summer. My frizzy, uncontrollable dirty blonde—almost brown—hair is straightened completely. But, no matter how much I try, my sea green eyes pop out compared to my pale—tan much needed—skin.
“Bye, Mom!” I yell as I open the front door. “Don’t loose track of time and forget to each lunch!” Sometimes, I would come home and find Mom dazed in her work—just as I’d left her in the morning.
“I won’t!” she yells back. “Have fun at school!”
I close the door. Like having fun at school is even possible, I think as I lock the door. The air is chilly and the wind is blowing leaves off the trees in the front yard. I escape to the safety of my Honda Civic. Autumn is already starting.
Radio pop songs boom from the speakers of my car as I drive to Brownwood High. People already have crowded the parking lot. I find a place to park. Brownwood, New York is a small town where everyone knows everyone since birth. One scandal here and you get judged for life.
“Ivory! How was your summer?” someone says as I get out of my car.
I would know that chirpy voice anywhere.
“Hey, Candy!” I say as I slam my car door shut. Candace—or Candy is the only person that knows what happened last year and still continues to be my friend. “My summer was great! Brent went to college so I finally have the house to myself on the weekends.”
Brent is my nineteen-year-old brother. He can be nice when he wants and he can be nasty when he wants. Unfortunately, I’ve seen both sides. He went to some college in Florida—wonders how he even got in with his grades. He’d have loud, stupid parties every weekend when Mom went to galleries in other states.
But now I’m finally free.
“You mean your cute brother?” Candy pouts. “I’m going to miss him.” She holds some big, thick textbooks close to her chest. Candy is one of the smartest people I know—despite her deceiving name.
“Ew.” I scrunch up my face is disgust. She also has always had a crush on Brent—if that’s humanely possible. “What do you see in my brother?” I swing my backpack strap over my shoulder and walk side by side with her.
“He’s everything I dream of,” she sighs.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Let’s not get too overrated. I don’t want to throw up my breakfast.” The bell suddenly rings. I grab Candy. “Hurry! We can’t be late on the first day!” We run to homeroom, take our seats, and start gossiping about the latest couples that hooked up in the summer.
“Well, well,” a sly voice says. “Look who we have here.”
I don’t need to see who it is to recognize that voice. It’s the voice of my ex-best friend. Karen. I scold myself to not look up—to ignore her. To stay uninvolved with her like the guidance counselor told me to.
But I look up anyway.
There, she stands, all perfect and pretty in her bright floral sundress. It hugs her every curve. I take notice that she has cut her blonde hair. It’s now up to her chin. Most people can’t pull off the short hair look—but she’s not most people. Her haircut makes her face look even more round and innocent looking.
But I know it’s all just a mask.
“Hi, Karen,” I greet her, offering a small smile. Another thing my guidance counselor said to do. Offer an occasional smile or to say “hi.”
“Hello, Ivory.” She smiles—acting like the two-faced person she is. But I know better than to trust her looks. “How was your summer?” I’m just about to answer when she cuts me off. “Mine was great. Peter—you know Peter, the good-looking guy that I’m dating? —Well, we went on the most romantic dates!”
I grip the edge of my seat. She knows I know who Peter is. Heck, Peter and I basically have known each other our whole lives. She also knows that he’s my weak spot. I had liked Peter. And apparently, she had too.
“Oh, Peter?” I say. “I don’t know any Peter.”
I watch as the smirk fades from her face. I can’t believe this is the person that I was best friends with for seven years. I used to tell Karen everything—from secrets to crushes. Everything. Like last year, when I told her I liked Peter. I also told her I’d been crushing on him for three years. But obviously, she didn’t care if she went behind my back and hooked up with Peter anyways.
The betrayal was unexpected.
It was random even. Out of nowhere, she stole the guy I liked, spread rumors about me, started hanging out with the “popular” kids—the same people we made fun of for acting like they were so cool—and she even picked on me in front of others.
I had no idea why either.
I had enough one day and slammed her face into the wall somewhere in the last few months of junior year. We got into a huge fight and earned warnings from the principal—who let us off because we had never gotten in trouble before. Principal Appleton also made us each see a guidance counselor to “solve our emotional issues that our teenage hormones were causing.”
After that, my popularity kind of zoomed up. I was the good girl who randomly punched Karen. But it wasn’t random. Only I knew that though. She acts all nice and beautiful in front of others but to me, she’s pure evil.
I snap back to reality.
Karen leans closer to my desk. “Don’t play dumb,” she whispers. “Though you don’t need to pretend to act dumb.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Just ask your father—he got himself killed.”
Anger rages inside me. There are boundaries—lines—thing that tell us when we’re going too far. And that was definitely way too far. She knows what happened to my father—and yet here she is trash talking him. Bitch.
“Pardon?” I grip the table to fight the urge to strangle her. Candy—who I almost forget is next to me—pats my shoulder and mouths: she’s not worth it. I try some breathing exercises—also another thing my guidance counselor told me to practice.
“You heard me. You’re dumb… just like your father.”
That’s it. I don’t take crap from nobody. Especially when it’s about people I love. I stand up and push the desk back—causing everybody to look over here. The teacher isn’t in the room yet. All eyes are on me.
“Oooh! Another catfight!” someone hollers.
“Fight, fight!” someone else screams, and soon everyone joins in.
Karen stands there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. This is what she wants. To humiliate me—make a fool out of myself. I won’t let her win.
Just then, Peter walks in—one of my closest friends, who chose Karen over me. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening. It looks like he’s rushing over to me, but quickly changes directions and heads to Karen’s side. Like always. His eyes send me an apology.
I glare at him.
“Karen, what’s going on?” Peter asks, putting an arm around her.
She glares at me for a couple more seconds before replying, “Nothing.” Karen snuggles into Peter’s arms. Something inside my stomach churns.
She’s just trying to get to me, I tell myself. I sit myself back down and set my desk back where it formally was. I shouldn’t get in trouble on the first day either and certainly not because of her. Before anything else can happen, Mr. Hopkins—our teacher—walks in and makes everyone take a seat.
Candy nudges my side. “You okay?” she whispers. Mr. Hopkins is writing out his name on the board.
I nod and give her a small smile. “I’ll be just fine.”
Classes go by in a blur. The teachers had just mostly introduced themselves and tried to pronounce everybody’s names correctly. Currently, I am sitting at lunch, staring at mush—supposedly pasta and meatballs—but I don’t see the meatballs or the pasta, for that matter.
Candy slides in the seat across from me. “The new math teacher is so young!” she exclaims. “And good looking. Did you go to his class yet?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “He’s decent.”
“Decent?” she echoes. “He’s like a Greek god.”
I laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell Brent you’re over him now. Thank god.”
She suddenly waves her hands in the air, cheeks red. “No, no, no! I still like Brent. Just saying the math teacher is cute.”
I laugh some more. Teasing Candy is always fun.
A girl with lots of zits and tons of makeup suddenly walks to our table. I recognize her as Betsy, the gossip queen of the school. She’s always yapping away—talking about something. “Did you guys hear?”
“Hear what?” Candy asks, stabbing the mush on her lunch tray.
“Peter is having a party—his usual year starting party. It’s going to be by Brownwood Lake. Everyone is invited. Everyone will be there. I’ll,” she points to herself, “be there. Are you?”
That’s right! Peter always has a party on the first day of school—even if it’s a Tuesday or any other day. I don’t even consider Mom letting me go. Letting me go to a party is one thing, but going to party on a school night is another.
Besides, do I even want to go? It is Peter’s party.
… And where Peter goes, Karen will follow.
“Yeah!” Candy chirps. “We’ll see you there!” Betsy nods and walks to other tables to spread out the news. “Are you going, Ivory?”
I groan. “Do I have to? I don’t even know if Mom will let me.”
“Of course you have to go!” She sips her apple juice. “This is our last year of high school. We need to live the entire high school experience!”
I think about it for a second. What she says is true. At the end of this year, everybody will separate and go to different colleges. This might be the last year to really know whom you’ve been going to high school for the last four years with.
Candy smiles at me, knowing that I’m on the verge of going. “Fine,” I say, giving up. “But I still have to ask my Mom.”
She squeals. “Great!” She taps her chin. “What should we wear? Should we wear sexy-but-not-a-slut or cute-but-attractive?”
I shrug and she starts going into an entire conversation on outfits and the latest trends. I zone out as always and nod in the right places. My mind wanders of somewhere else—on someone else.
Peter will be there tonight.
New story! it's inspired by Lie to Me, but its different trust me. anyways, its been a while. (:
I still got my creative juices . . . kinda. Haha, anyway's :
ENJOY. VOTE. COTE. COMMENT. VOTE. FAN. ANYTHING! xoxo, Aury.