Текст книги "Lying Out Loud"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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Lying out loud
by Kody Keplinger

Chapter 1

I, Sonny Elizabeth Ardmore, do hereby confess that I am an excellent liar.

It was never something I aspired to be, but rather a talent that I couldn’t avoid. It started with lies about my homework – I could actually convince teachers that my dog ate it, with fake tears and everything if needed – and then I told lies about my family – my father was an international businessman, not a deadbeat thief who’d been tossed in jail when I was seven – and, eventually, I was lying about everything else, too.

But as excellent a liar as I may be, lying hasn’t led me to much excellence lately. So let the record show that this time I am telling the truth. All of it. The whole shebang. Even if it kills me.

* * *

I tell the most lies on bad days, and the Friday my cell phone – one of those old, clunky, pay-as-you-go bricks that only played polyphonic ringtones – decided to stop working after six long years of use, was a particularly bad day.

It had flatlined sometime in the night, a peaceful, quiet sort of death, and left me without my usual five a.m. alarm. Instead, I awoke when Amy’s phone (the newest, most expensive model of smartphone, naturally) began blaring an all-too-realistic fire truck – style siren.

I bolted upright, my heart jackhammering, while next to me, on her side of the bed, my best friend snoozed on.

“Amy.” I shoved her arm. “Amy, shut that thing off.”

She groaned and rolled over. The siren kept wailing as she fumbled with the phone. Finally, it went silent.

“Why in God’s name would you want to wake up to that sound?” I asked her as she stretched her long, thin arms over her head.

“It’s the only alarm loud enough to wake me up.”

“And it barely accomplishes that.”

It wasn’t until then that I realized what Amy’s horrible wake-up call meant. I was supposed to be up before her. I was supposed to get ready and sneak out of her house before her parents woke up at six. But my phone wasn’t working and it was six-fifteen and I, to put it bluntly, was fucking screwed.

“Why don’t you just tell my parents you fell asleep here last night?” Amy asked as I scrambled around the room, dragging out the duffel bag of wrinkled clothes I kept hidden under her bed. “They won’t care.”

“Because then they’ll want to go reassuring my mom about where I was,” I said, pulling a green T-shirt on over my incredibly impressive bedhead. “And that’ll open up a whole new set of questions, and just no.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t just tell them she kicked you out.” Amy stood up and started combing her dark curls, which, despite all the laws of physics, still looked perfect after a night’s sleep. Amy was one of those rare people who looked gorgeous first thing in the morning. It brought a whole new meaning to “beauty rest.” I would have hated her for it if I didn’t love her so much.

“It’s just too complicated, okay?”

I took the comb from her and began to work out the knots in my hair. That was the only thing Amy and I had in common – we both had insanely curly hair. Like corkscrew curls. The kind that everyone thinks they want but, in reality, you can’t do a damn thing with. But where Amy’s were long, dark brown, and perfect, mine were shoulder length, blond, and slowly destroying my sanity. It took forever to pick out the tangles each morning, and today, I didn’t have forever.

“Well, I hope you and your mom get it worked out soon,” she said, “because I love having you stay here, but this is getting a little too complicated.”

“You’re telling me.” She wasn’t the one who was about to make a two-story drop out of a window.

In the hall, I could hear Mr. Rush moving around, getting ready for work. Now, with my teeth unbrushed and without a speck of deodorant to cover up my glorious natural odor, was the time to make my escape.

I ran over to Amy’s window and shoved it open. “If I die doing this, please deliver a somewhat humorous but overall heartbreaking eulogy at my funeral, okay?”

“Sonny!” Amy grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the window. “No way. You’re not doing that.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, it’s not safe,” she said. When she realized that wasn’t enough to deter me, she added, “And also you’d be dropping right past the kitchen window. If Mom’s down there eating breakfast and sees a girl falling from the sky …”

“Good point. Damn it. What do I do?”

“Just wait until everyone leaves,” she said. “You can sneak out and lock the door with the spare key. It’s under the —”

“Flowerpot next to the door. Yeah. I know.”

And while this was a more practical plan, to be sure, it wasn’t the most suited for punctuality. Amy’s parents didn’t leave until seven-thirty, only fifteen minutes before I had to be at school. The minute the front door slammed, I scrambled down the hall and into the bathroom to finish my necessary hygiene rituals before bolting downstairs and out the door myself.

I locked up, then cut across their backyard and down Milton Street to the Grayson’s Groceries parking lot, where I had left my car the night before.

“Hello, Gert,” I said, tapping the hood of the old silver station wagon. She was one ugly beast of a car. But she was mine. I climbed into the front seat. “Hope you slept well, but I’m in a hurry, so please don’t be in a shitty mood today.”

I turned the key in the ignition. It revved, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. I groaned.

“Not today, Gert. Have some mercy.”

I tried again and, as if she’d heard me, Gert’s motor finally started to hum. And, just like that, we were off.

The bell had already rung by the time I pulled into the senior parking lot, which meant the main door had locked and Mrs. Garrison, the perpetually grumpy front desk lady, had to buzz me in.

“Sonya,” she said, greeting me when I got to the main office.

I cringed. I hated – hated – my full first name.

“You’re late,” she announced, as if I somehow wasn’t aware.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just …”

Showtime.

My lip started to quiver and, on cue, my eyes began to well up with tears. I looked down at my shoes and took a dramatic, raspy breath.

“My hamster, Lancelot, died this morning. I woke up and he was just … in his wheel … lying so still….” I covered my face with my hands and began to sob. “I’m sorry. You probably think it’s stupid, but I loved him so much.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but … I just … I’m sorry, Lancelot.”

I was worried I might be playing it up too much, but then she shoved a tissue into my hand and patted my arm sympathetically.

“Let it out,” she said. “I know it can be hard. When I lost Whiskers last year … Listen, I’ll write you a note for first block. I’ll say you had a family emergency. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure this is excused.”

“Thank you,” I sniffed.

The tears had dried up by the time I reached my AP European history class. Mr. Buckley was in the middle of his lecture when I slipped into the room. Unfortunately, he never missed anything, so there was no chance of me sneaking back to my chair without him noticing.

“Ms. Ardmore,” he said. “You finally decided to join us.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I have a note.”

I handed him the slip of paper I’d been given at the front desk. He read it quickly and nodded. “Fine. Take your seat. I suggest you borrow notes on the first part of the lecture from one of your classmates.”

“That’s it?” Ryder Cross asked as I slid into the seat behind his. “She comes in half an hour late and there are no consequences?”

“She has a note from the office, Mr. Cross,” Mr. Buckley said. “What consequences would you suggest?”

“I don’t know,” Ryder admitted. “But she disrupted the class by coming in late, and it’s not as if this is the first time. Back at my school in DC, the teachers were much more strict. Excuses were rarely accepted. And the students cared much more about their education, too. Here, it seems like just about anything can get excused.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Then go back,” I suggested. “Don’t worry about us simple folk here in Hamilton. We’ll make do without you. I assure you, you won’t even be missed.”

There was an appreciative murmur from the rest of the class. Even Mr. Buckley gave the tiniest of nods.

Ryder turned in his seat so that he could look me in the eye. The sad thing was, if he hadn’t been such a tool, he probably would have been popular around here. He had smooth brown skin and shockingly bright green eyes. His black hair was kept short and neat, but he was always dressed as if he was on his way to a concert for a band no one had ever heard of. Slightly disheveled, but in a very deliberate way. His clothes, though, always looked like they’d been tailored to fit his lean, muscular frame. On occasion I’d even seen him wear thick-rimmed glasses that I knew he didn’t need.

In other words, he was hot, but in an annoying, hipstery sort of way.

Since he’d arrived at Hamilton High at the beginning of the semester, he’d done nothing but dis everything about the school and its student body. The lunches at his school in DC were so much better, the kids at his school in DC walked faster in the hallways, the teachers at his school in DC were more qualified, the football team at his school in DC won more games, et cetera, et cetera.

Now, I wasn’t exactly bursting with school spirit, but even I couldn’t stand his attitude. Which became even more repulsive when he started posting snarky Facebook statuses about how lame our small town was. You’d think our lack of five-star fine dining was putting him in physical agony.

The long and short of it was, Ryder came from money. Political money. His father was a congressman from Maryland – a fact he never failed to share at any opportunity – and in his not-so-humble opinion, Hamilton and everyone who lived here sucked.

Everyone, that is, except Amy. Because Ryder had developed a disgustingly obvious and totally unrequited crush. I couldn’t fault him for that, though. Amy was gorgeous and rich, just like him. Amy, however, was the kind of girl who gave personalized Christmas cards to all of the lunch ladies, and he was a dick.

He was still staring at me, and I suddenly became all too aware of the jeans I’d been wearing for almost a week without washing them and the torn hem on the sleeve of my T-shirt. I straightened up and stared him down, daring him to compare me to the girls at his school in DC, but before he could say anything, Mr. Buckley cleared his throat.

“Okay, class. Enough’s enough. History is long, but we only have a year to get through this material. Now, let’s get back to the Great Schism, which, I know, sounds vaguely like toilet humor, but we’re going to press on, regardless.”

Ryder turned back around in his seat, and I went about my business taking notes on that unfortunately named moment in history.

Things were looking up until third block, when I realized I’d left my chemistry book at Amy’s. I had to convince Mrs. Taylor, who was a total hard-ass and known to give detention for lesser things, that I’d been tutoring at the local children’s hospital in Oak Hill and had accidentally left it with one of the kids.

“I’ll get it back from her tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going to see her before she starts her next round of chemo. I promise to get it back then.”

And she bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.

I was aware of my status as a terrible person. But I liked to think of my lying abilities as gifts. And why else would I have them if not to be used? Especially on days like this, where everything just seemed to be going wrong.

I didn’t have enough money in my wallet for lunch, so rather than admitting that things were shitty at home and I was broke, I told the much-too-soft-hearted cashier that I’d given my last dollar to the homeless man who occupied the corner a few blocks from school.

She covered it for me.

Then the strap on my crappy two-dollar flip-flop broke, a volleyball slammed right into my face in gym class, and, to top it off, I started my period.

Amy would call it karma. She’d say this was the universe’s punishment for all the lies. But, the truth was, the lying helped. When everything felt out of control, it put me back in control.

I was sure the day couldn’t get worse, which was, perhaps, my fatal flaw. When you let yourself think that things can’t get worse, they inevitably will.

“So I’ll see you tonight?” Amy asked as we headed out into the senior parking lot.

“Yep. I can’t text you, though, so you’ll have to watch for me. I’ll be outside around the usual time.”

“Okay.” She gave me a quick hug. “Have fun at work.”

I waved as she hurried off to her Lexus. I tried to tell myself I wasn’t horribly jealous of her and her rich parents and her fancy car. I had Gert, after all. Who wouldn’t want Gert?

I might have been good at lying, but even I didn’t buy that one for a minute.

I climbed into the car and tossed my backpack into the passenger’s seat. “All right, Gert,” I said, sticking the key in the ignition. “Time for work.”

But while I was a reliable employee (most of the time), Gert had decided she wasn’t in the mood today. The engine revved and revved, but nothing happened. The battery was dead, and I had to be at the movie theater for my shift in twenty minutes.

I grabbed my cell, planning to call Amy to ask for a ride, only to then remember that my ancient phone had recently breathed its last breath. I hopped out of the car, hoping to flag her down before she left the parking lot, but I was too late. I could already see the Lexus speeding off into the distance.

There was no way around it. I was stuck. I’d have to find someone to jump-start my car, and who knew how long that would take.

And just then, because it’s possible that all Amy’s theories about the universe’s revenge were true, the sky opened up and it began pouring rain. Leaving me with only one thing to say:

“Motherfucker.”

Chapter 2

The senior parking lot was already close to empty when the rain started. I sat inside Gert, watching the exit and hoping someone would come out soon. Unfortunately, the first person to appear, my would-be savior, was a tall boy in the T-shirt of an obscure band, a distressed but still clearly expensive hoodie, and two-hundred-dollar jeans.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said as I reached for the door handle. I wanted to just wait for the next person to come out, but who knew how long that would be. Chances were, the rest of these cars belonged to the overachieving types who stayed after school for chess club and student government. Those nerds and their resume-building activities were no good to me right now. So Ryder Cross was my only choice.

I hopped out of the car, holding my history textbook over my head to protect my curls from the downpour of doom.

“Ryder!” I shouted. He was already halfway across the parking lot. “Hey, Ryder!”

He stopped and turned to look at me. He didn’t have an umbrella, and the rain was making his clothes cling to him. The view wasn’t half bad. Unfortunately, however, my next question would require him to speak.

“My car’s dead,” I said. “Do you have jumper cables or something?”

He started walking in my direction, but he was shaking his head. “I don’t.”

I sighed. “Of course not. Let me guess, the cars in DC don’t die? Or need repairs?”

“Can’t you call someone?”

“My phone doesn’t work.”

“Seems like everything around you is faulty.”

“Well, not everyone has politician parents to pay for our things. Some of us actually have to work for what we own. Your concern is appreciated, though.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to be like that, then forget it. I was going to let you use my phone.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not an asshole.”

“Debatable.”

“You’d be calling Amy, right?”

And there it was. The ulterior motive I’d been expecting. He was right, though. Who else would I call? I knew she wouldn’t have jumper cables, but she’d at least be able to give me a ride to the theater.

We climbed into Gert, both of us soaked. The carpeted seats would be brilliantly moldy the next day – something to look forward to. He handed me his phone, the same model as Amy’s, and I quickly dialed her number. It was the only one I had memorized.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Amy.”

“Sonny? Where are you calling from? I don’t recognize the number.”

“Our favorite human being was kind enough to bestow the honor of telephone usage on me.”

Silence.

“I’m borrowing Ryder’s phone.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t have to see her face to know her tiny button nose had wrinkled.

“My car’s dead and my phone is broken. And my shift is in … oh, seven minutes. Please help.”

“On my way.”

I returned the phone to Ryder. “She’s coming back to get me. So you can go now.” And then, with every ounce of willpower I had, I forced myself to add, “And thanks. For the phone.”

He shrugged, but he didn’t move to get out of the car.

“Do you need something?” I asked.

“No. I just figured I’d stick around until Amy gets here … just to see you off safely.”

I snorted. “Oh, yes. I’m sure my safety is a priority of yours. Stop wasting your time with this crush on Amy. It’s annoying and pathetic and, if you want the truth, she’s not into you. At all.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you spoke for Amy now.”

“I’m her best friend. I know how she feels about pretty much everything. I’m just trying to save you the heartbreak.”

“You care about my heartbreak about as much as I care about your safety.” He shook his head. “I’d rather hear Amy’s feelings from Amy, if you don’t mind.”

“You won’t. As much as she can’t stand you, she wouldn’t tell you that. She’s too nice.”

“Clearly it hasn’t rubbed off on you.”

A second later, Amy’s Lexus turned the corner into the parking lot. I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the station wagon, Ryder not too far behind me. Amy slid into a parking space, and I heard the click of the passenger-side door being unlocked.

“Later,” I said, hopping into the Lexus, but Ryder grabbed the door, sticking his head into the cab before I could close it.

“Hello, Amy,” he said.

“Oh. Hi, Ryder.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Which is code for ‘annoyed,’ ” I said.

She elbowed me.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said. “It was really nice of you to come back and get Sonny.”

“Of course. Thank you for letting Sonny use your phone to call.”

“Sonny is right here,” I said. “And I already thanked him.”

“So, Amy, are you doing anything this weekend?” Ryder asked.

Amy glanced at me, her eyes widening in a way that clearly meant, Oh, dear God, help me get away from him.

“Um … I don’t know,” she said.

“Well, we should —”

“Go,” I interjected. “I can see you’re trying to court my lovely friend here —”

Ryder flustered.

“– but it’s raining and you’re holding the door open and getting my right side soaked in the process.”

“And she’s late for work,” Amy added.

“That, too.”

“Right. Sorry about that. I guess I’ll see you at school Monday?”

“Probably,” Amy said.

“Excellent. See you around.”

Ryder stepped back, but he held the door open for just a second longer, ensuring the right leg of my jeans was thoroughly drenched before he closed the door. I glared at him out the window. Somehow, he didn’t seem to mind that he was sopping wet. And from a purely aesthetic perspective, I didn’t mind that he was either.

“Why must someone so handsome be such an ass?” I asked as Amy pulled out of the parking lot.

“All of the handsome ones are,” she said.

“Not your brother.”

“He used to be.”

Amy’s brother, Wesley, was a few years older than us. He’d been blessed with the same godlike DNA as the rest of the Rush family. He had the same dark, curly hair as Amy, the same tall frame, only where she was slender, he was broad and toned.

It would be fair to say I’d had a slight crush on Wesley growing up. It would be more accurate, however, to say I was madly, deeply, head over heels in love with him up until a couple of years ago.

Throughout most of high school, Wesley had been what you might call a “player.” He hooked up with every girl who showed interest.

Every girl but me. To him, I was little Sonny Ardmore, his sister’s troublemaking but undeniably adorable best friend. Flirt as I might, Wesley never seemed to see me as anything other than the nine-year-old who had once broken her arm attempting to ride the banister in his house.

Not that it mattered much now. His senior year, Wesley had actually started dating someone seriously. Her name was Bianca, and now they were both off at college in New York City, still together.

It was several minutes later when we pulled into the movie theater’s parking lot. I worked at a tiny movie theater in Oak Hill, the next town over from Hamilton, where all the big box stores, restaurants, and alcohol could be found. Hamilton was a dry, one-stoplight town with a minuscule population. Oak Hill was the closest thing to a “city” we had until you reached Chicago, which was a couple of hours away.

The oh-so-cleverly named Cindependent Theater only showed foreign and indie flicks. And I had the honor of handing our pretentious customers their extra-buttery, fat-loaded popcorn. Not exactly my dream job, but hey, it paid.

“Thanks,” I told Amy. “I’ll get a ride back to your place.”

“With who? None of your coworkers live in Hamilton.”

“I can hitchhike. There are some really cute truck drivers who come through here.”

Amy swatted my arm, and I laughed.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Or I could just pick you up and drive you back to my place.”

“But your parents —”

“It’s Friday night. It’s normal for you to stay over. They won’t mind, and they won’t even think to check in with your mom. And tomorrow my mom can go jump your car.” She smiled. “It doesn’t always have to be complicated, you know?”

I nodded. “Fine.” I leaned across the seat and hugged her. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

If anyone had said that to me, I would have made a funny quip or replied with something snarky – purely out of habit. But not Amy. She just hugged me back and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

I climbed out of the Lexus and hurried through the nearly empty parking lot, toward the theater.

“You’re late!” a voice yelled the second I walked through the door.

“Sorry, Glenda.”

“Not gonna cut it this time, Sonny.”

My boss, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a chin-length black bob and cat-eye glasses, stepped out from behind the popcorn machine. Judging by the scowl on her face and the veins bulging in her thin neck, I had a theory – an inkling, really – that she might be pissed.

“We just started screening that new sea turtle documentary and you missed the rush. You left us short staffed.”

I glanced out the window. There were, at max, six cars in the parking lot. “Rush? Really?”

“It’s Friday.”

“It’s three-thirty.”

“No. Three-thirty is when you’re supposed to be here. It’s almost four.”

“Glenda —”

“I’m sick of this, Sonny. This happens all the time. I told you last time you were late that if it happened again, you’d be fired.”

She had, that was true. But I’d kind of figured she was blowing smoke. She’d threatened to fire Grady, one of my coworkers, a thousand times, but he was still here. I’d honestly thought it was impossible to get fired from Cindependent.

“On top of that, you come in here looking like crap. Look at you, Sonny. You’re soaking wet. No one wants you handling their food like that.”

“I’m sorry, Glenda. My car broke down and my phone isn’t working. I was trying to get help, but then it started raining —”

“Stop. Your lies don’t even sound believable anymore.”

“But I’m not lying!” Not this time, anyway.

“Why should I believe you?” Glenda asked.

I couldn’t think of an answer. In the year I’d been working at Cindependent, I’d lied to her countless times. Yes, I did clean the gum off the bottom of the seats in theater two…. No, I didn’t spit in that asshole’s soda…. I’m late because my grandfather had a heart attack – don’t worry, he’s fine now! She really had no reason to believe a word I said.

“I’m done, Sonny,” she said. “You’re fired.”

“But I …” And again, I actually told the truth. “I really need the money. Right now more than ever.”

Her face softened, but only a little. “Then maybe you’ll be more responsible at your next job.” And with that, she turned and headed to her office.

I had to borrow Grady’s phone to call Amy. It had a thin coat of butter on the keypad, and I kept it about an inch from my face to avoid cross contamination. Amy hadn’t even gotten to Hamilton yet, so she just turned around and headed back to the theater to pick me up.

I waited outside, in the rain. I knew if I waited inside, I’d just end up punching the popcorn machine. Not because I’d gotten fired. Who needed some shitty job at a movie theater? I mean, I did, but that was beside the point. No, it wasn’t getting fired – it was everything. Everything with my mom and my phone and my car and my awful day and my awful life.

Yes, I was a whining, teenage cliché. And, according to Amy, I had a flair for the dramatic, so there was a slight chance that, had I stayed in the theater, I may have made matters worse by pouring a Cherry Slushie on Glenda’s head. It was, after all, something I’d fantasized about doing since I’d been hired.

But I still had my dignity – dented though it may have been – and I refused to give in to my wrathful adolescent urges.

“You okay?” Amy asked when I climbed into the Lexus a few minutes later.

It was a testament to how much she loved me that she let me get into her fancy car – twice now – while I was sopping wet. She hadn’t even cringed.

“Swell,” I said. “Just swell. Let’s get out of here. Please.”

* * *

“Good night, girls,” Mrs. Rush said, poking her head into Amy’s bedroom later that night. “We’re headed to bed.”

“Night, Mom,” Amy said.

“Good night, Mrs. Rush.”

She smiled at us, then slipped back out of the room.

It was just past eleven, and despite being dry once again, snug in some frog-patterned pajamas Amy had lent me, I was still in an awful mood. Amy was doing her best to comfort me, seemingly unaware that I was a lost cause.

“What about Giovanni’s? That Italian restaurant in Oak Hill? You could get a job there,” she suggested once her mother had gone.

“Brenna Steward works there. She says the owner makes passes at all the young waitresses.”

“Ew. Do you think that’s true?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not find out.” I flopped backward onto her bed. “Besides, my dry wit – charming as I know you find it – isn’t always appreciated by the general public. Which does not bode well for me when it comes to tips.”

“That’s true.”

I glared at her. “You were supposed to disagree with me.”

“Oh, I mean … people love you, Sonny. I’m sure your sense of humor —”

“Too late now,” I said. “Jump ship while you can.”

“You’ll find another job,” she assured me. “My mom will go help you with your car in the morning, and you can use my phone until yours is fixed. No one but Wesley ever calls me anyway. Besides you, but you’re always here, so …”

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re being very sweet, and it’s appreciated. But right now, I think I’d rather just wallow.”

Amy sighed. “All right.”

I buried my face in her pillow and listened as she stood up and walked across the room. I heard her laptop booting up at her desk. I figured she was doing homework until …

“Um, Sonny? I know you’re busy wallowing, but you’re not going to believe this.”

I kept my face in the pillow. “I’ve told you before – if it’s a Nigerian prince offering to wire you millions of dollars, don’t send him your bank account information.”

“It’s not that. Ryder Cross e-mailed me.”

Now I sat up. “What did he say?”

I was across the room, peering over her shoulder, before she could answer.

Hey, Amy —

It was really nice talking to you this afternoon in the parking lot. I’m just sorry the awful weather and your friend’s schedule cut our conversation short.

I snorted. “‘Your friend’? Like he doesn’t know my name. And what conversation? You were barely talking to him.”

“Keep reading,” she said.

But I’d really like to keep talking to you. Maybe we could get dinner sometime? I know there aren’t any nice places to eat in Hamilton, but Oak Hill has a few decent restaurants. I was thinking maybe next Friday night?

“Oh my God,” I said, unable to even read the last little bit of the e-mail. “He asked you out.”

“I know. I don’t even know why he would.”

“Because you’re gorgeous? That part is obvious.”

She blushed.

“Less obvious,” I said, “is why he thinks he has a chance. Amy, you have to reply to him. You have to say you’ll do it.”

“What? I don’t want to go out with Ryder.”

“You won’t. You’ll just say you will. Just to tease him a bit.”

“I can’t do that,” Amy said. “It’s too mean.”

“Then I’ll do it. Move over.”

“Sonny, you can’t.”

“Please,” I begged. “I’ve had an awful day and fucking with Ryder’s head will make me feel so much better.”

“I thought you were wallowing?”

“Being mean is so much more fun than wallowing. And he’s such an asshole. You know it, too. He deserves some torture after the way he’s talked about Hamilton and everyone who lives here. Let me pick on him a little bit. Please?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. Amy was anything but mean. Even to people she hated, she was always incredibly polite and respectful. It was unnerving, really.

But if anyone could convince her, it was me. Sonny Ardmore – a bad influence for thirteen years and counting.

“Fine,” she said, scooting over so we could squeeze together on the chair. “But only because I know it will cheer you up … and because he really is awful. Maybe this will get him to leave me alone.”

“That’s my girl.”

I hit the REPLY button and started to compose my masterpiece, reading it aloud as I typed each sentence.

“Hello, hottie.”

“Oh God,” Amy squeaked. “I’m already feeling weird about this.”

“I’d love to keep talking to you.” I read it to her in a slow, sexy voice. “But not at a restaurant. My room is much more comfortable. And the only thing I want to be eating is whipped cream off your chest, lover boy.”

“Sonny!” Amy cried. “You can’t say that!”

“Why not?”

“He’ll think I’m some sort of freak.”

“That’s the point. He’ll be creeped out – and perhaps slightly turned on, though he’d never admit it – by your over-the-top e-mail and too embarrassed to ever speak to you again.”