Little White Lies Read online

  “I’m surprised. We’ve all faltered at some point.”

  She drew her gaze back to his. How he could relax, proportioned in a chaise half his size, she didn’t know. The single afghan barely reached his knees as he burrowed his body beneath it.

  “Why don’t you wear a jacket?” She held the blanket above her lips to keep her smile hidden.

  “You act old when you do that.” James spread out the cover more, pulling the edges to their limit.

  Charley patted the knee resting against her armrest.

  “And yet you look like you could be—”

  “Don’t say it. It’s really gotten old, and I am so over it.”

  James’s boom of laughter shook the trees. “Fine, fine. You don’t want me to tell you that you’re the most beautiful two-hundred-something eighteen year old around? No problem.”

  She mock-punched his shoulder.

  “Ahem.” Cael stood in the frame of the sliding glass door, so very different from James in every way except height and form, shape and strength.

  Lily snuck in under his arm—an easy feat given her tiny stature. “You’re awake.” She slid her butt onto the edge of the chair at Charley’s toes. “Feelin’ better?”

  “I screwed up, Lil.”

  “No, no. Giving up who we are? That’s how we move on in this world. You know that better than any of us.” Lily’s head bobbled. “How’d you know he was the right one, though?”

  Charley caught James’s gaze before Cael’s. “It’s a long story. I just can’t believe we met up tonight, of all nights.”

  “Any other day of the year you’d have been safe to show off your wild and youthful age.” Lily giggled.

  “Ooh … and about that. Happy Birthday, Charley.” James leaned in, added a kiss to her forehead.

  “To eighteen again!” Cael smirked and held out his fist.

  She bumped it.

  Lily eyed her with a hint of mischief. “Maybe he was your birthday gift. Maybe that means another chance is around the corner.”

  2

  One year later

  The blare of the bell vibrated through speakers as the masses began their hourly class change. Feet shuffled and screeched, shoulders bumped backpacks, and laughter rang out within the halls of West High.

  “Whoops. Sorry, man,” Wyatt called over his shoulder. A hand—as sincere an apology as he’d get—waved back at him. Like the others, he jostled for space and position amidst the sea of sweaty, over-cologned jocks and pretentious girls. Five minutes between classes didn’t offer much time for socialization, though as senior class president, Wyatt found himself the forced exception.

  “Yo! Wyatt!”

  One quick move, and he met his childhood friend between a set of well-graffitied lockers—Jill and Jordan 4-ever and Cate loves Sam the most prominent of the numerous tokens of love scribed in magic marker of various colors.

  “Man!” Out of breath, Stuart leaned over, placed his hands on his knees. His hair shook as his chest heaved. He twisted backward to lean against the wall and held one finger out, sliding it down to Wyatt’s face. “Dude! Did you see her?”

  Head cocked, Wyatt squinted. In the course of his ten-yard walk, he’d bumped into, waved at or said ‘hello’ to a dozen or more students—a number of them of the female variety. Some he’d recognized; others he figured were underclassmen not worthy of his acknowledgement.

  “Oh, c’mon, man! That girl! The hot one.”

  Wyatt shook his head.

  “Oh my god, man! You so totally missed it. Her. She. Oh man, she is smokin’!” Stuart slapped his palm against his thigh. Head against the metal, he turned to Wyatt. “You really didn’t see her?”

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” To have missed new-hot-girl broke their sworn code—always share when the worthy appear.

  “Kevin said, that Cam said, that Jen said she’s from Sweden or something,” Stuart said.

  At once, Wyatt remembered. His high school had accepted a one-month exchange student from New Zealand.

  “She’s here? Already?” He hadn’t expected her until after lunch—his fourth-period study hall—which turned into a daily bitch-and-moan session with his fellow seniors. The plan had been to greet their visitor and give her an honorable, if vivacious, West High welcome.

  At Stuart’s nod, Wyatt threw his backpack over his shoulder, slammed his palm into Jill’s scrawled name, and with a quick yell of ‘Gotta go!’, took off. One ‘Where’s the fire?’ and a number of apologies later, he reached the main office.

  West High’s secretary greeted him with a giant smile on her pudgy face. “Wyatt!”

  “Hi, Miss Stillman.” He returned her sentiment with his own grin. Wyatt let his backpack fall to the floor and leaned over the chest-high counter. The glass from one office reflected through all the others—a direct shot inside the privacy of closed doors.

  Hot-girl sat with Principal Stone.

  Fiery-gold ringlets draped from a single pony tail; it swished and swayed as she spoke. Her hands flew in the air. Her head tilted back with laughter. Whatever they chatted about must have been hilarious as Principal Stone mirrored her every action.

  “Wyatt.”

  Lips painted soft pink, skin a luscious milky white, neither marred by the strength of the sun.

  “Wyatt.”

  Her legs bumped the edge of Principal Stone’s desk as she crossed one knee over the other and left her calf exposed.

  “Wyatt!”

  He blinked. “Sorry. What?” His eyes stayed focused on her.

  “Mr. Stone is ready for you.”

  Wyatt continued to stare through the glass walls.

  “Wyatt!” Miss Stillman rapped her hand on the desk. “Stop ogling and get in there! Principal Stone is ready to introduce you.”

  Sweat broke out on his palms as he stuttered, “Yes, ma’am,” and began the too-short walk. Stuart hadn’t lied. In his dreams, Wyatt had imagined some overweight mousey girl with braces, glasses and out-of-date shoes. She’d have been short, her hair knotted and her voice gruff. Not that it mattered, of course.

  Her voice will be gruff, Wyatt thought to himself. No way she’s that perfect.

  With concentrated effort, Wyatt steered himself toward Principal Stone’s office and knocked on the outer edge.

  “Ah, Wyatt. Join us.”

  Principal Stone motioned Wyatt to the second seat, a mere inch from where she sat. In all his life, he’d never seen anyone like her. Even Julie, West’s head cheerleader and the football team’s fantasy, couldn’t touch her.

  “Wyatt? This is Amiria.” Principal Stone held out his hand as Wyatt maneuvered around and lowered himself onto the molded plastic. “Amiria, this is Wyatt Moreland, our senior class president.”

  She turned toward him with eyes of blazing blue. Wyatt would have sworn they held speckles like a robin’s egg. He longed for one of the ten-year-old mints in the bowl on Stone’s desk as his mouth dried out and his throat closed up on itself.

  “Hello, Wyatt.” Her voice infused with the lilt of her native accent. “You can call me Mira.”

  No, not gruff at all. His head lolled forward and backward once. Idiot! I should say something!

  She turned back to Principal Stone when he failed to speak. This sucks. Gotta open my mouth!

  “Wyatt’ll give you a tour and get you settled into your classes this afternoon, Mira.” Principal Stone folded his arms across his desk in that I’m-done-now-you-go gesture he’d perfected over Wyatt’s four years at West.

  “He will—” Wyatt fumbled his words, mixing up his hand gestures until he didn’t know what he’d actually signaled. “I mean, I will. I. I will. Absolutely. Sure. Uh huh.” He nodded in her direction again. Hands tight against his thighs, he squeezed until his nonsensical ways were behind him. “Ah, so. A tour?”

  She turned toward him again. Her smile grew and the corners of her eyes creased. Wyatt’s heart did one big flip flop.

  I am so in l
ove.

  • • •

  Charley pushed at the deep walnut door, silent on its hinges. Her heels clicked against ceramic tile as she stepped inside.

  “Wet floor!” Lily’s voice struck Charley from around a corner.

  She slid to a halt. Her bag slammed into her shoulder as momentum forced her forward. Hands raised for balance, she braced and took a step back onto the threshold.

  She leaned in to peek around a corner she couldn’t reach. “No, it’s not!”

  Her balance wavered when she stretched too far. No reason to piss off Lily. Charley snuck her way across, one toe at the corner of each square, as close to the grout as would fit her sole. Satchel dropped to the sideboard, she continued with measured precision.

  Charley relaxed her gait when she stepped from tile to the soft, ivory carpet. Artwork adorned the walls, some created by her family, others purchased. She passed the maple banister, brick fireplace, Cael’s wide screen television and the man himself in full repose along the length of the sable, leather couch.

  “Hey, Cael.” She received a grunt in response.

  Her smile grew. He’d had a long night—an even longer week. She opted to let him recover rather than rouse him for kicks.

  Three more steps and she found Lily at work, dropping orange and yellow sticks into a pot as droplets of water bounced out. Lily continued to sweep various shapes from the maple cutting board. Color by color, the rainbow of food plopped in to boil.

  “What’cha makin’, Lil?”

  Lily tilted her gaze up from her pot. She froze, hands midair, eyes wide, as if she’d been doused with ice water.

  Charley mirrored Lily’s head tilt.

  “You went gold.”

  Charley shifted her head the other way, confused at Lily’s answer.

  “Your hair … it’s a cross between Nicole Kidman and—” Lily scrunched her eyes. “—that actress from Titanic.” She left her pot, walked around the island and ran her hands through Charley’s curls.

  “You like?” Charley kept Nicole’s pale skin but added a rose blush to her entire body. She’d added inventive ringlets with a soft bounce, too.

  Lily mm’d and huh’d for a moment. “You look …” Her eyes scanned the length of Charley’s body from her mocha knee-boots to her eighties leggings and up to her paisley skirt and raspberry sweater. “You look, young. And hip. And quite hot, actually.” She added the last with wiggled eyebrows.

  “That was the idea.” Charley raised and dropped her arms against her sides. “I’m supposed to be eighteen, remember?”

  “But, you’re always eighteen.” Lily swung back around the island and resumed her activities.

  “Yeah, but two-hundred eighteens doesn’t make me eighteen in today’s terms. It’s like inflation—you gotta upgrade and pay for it each time.” Charley chuckled.

  “You know—” Lily waved the Food Network chopping knife. “I actually understood that.”

  With the weapon in its rightful place, Charley considered re-asking her question, though she maneuvered herself atop a bar stool and stole a carrot beforehand.

  The kitchen, while Lily’s domain, remained one of Charley’s favorite places. The bright, red, black and white design had been Lily’s doing. The youngest of the four, her wild spirit infused their home.

  “So, uh, Lil?” Charley pitched her voice over Lily’s repetitive chop.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you making?” Moving from the colander to the pot in a matter of seconds, Charley couldn’t tell a red pepper from a tomato as they slid in and around.

  “Just a stew.” Lily continued to chop and slide.

  Much like Charley, Lily had taken on a young persona. She, James and Cael all found themselves in the realm of the teenage years again—each for different reasons.

  Unlike Charley, who preferred locks and softness, Lily chose a wispy, iron-flat, mid-back blonde and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt to suit her age. No one would have believed someone so young could be a master chef—completely at home in her state-of-the-art, stainless steel, double-oven, multi-sink paradise.

  Charley propped her elbows on the speckled-black granite, tilted her head to peel off one contact lens; she repeated with the other. Gone were the blue and in their place, the color of her kind. She let her chin rest against clasped fingers.

  She caught Lily’s quick lash raise—would have missed it if she’d blinked. The window behind Lily mirrored the ghost of movement, a shift from dark to light and light to dark again.

  “Hey, James,” Charley said.

  His fingers dug into her shoulders, stretched and pulled muscles she’d worked to relax. She sighed in complete and utter pleasure.

  “How was the first day, Charley? Or should I say Mira?”

  “Fantastic.” She closed her eyes as he continued to knead.

  A little more weight into her shoulder, a whiff of his cologne, and she found James’s head just above the same spot he worked.

  “And did you see him?”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “And?” His fingers continued their discovery into muscles across her arms and pulled her spine tight. She’d made her change earlier that morning, so he knew where she’d still be sore.

  “Handsome. Strong. Kind. Conscientious. Nervous.” With each descriptor, Charley let her head shift from one side to the other. The stretch gave her a moment to consider.

  “Still can’t believe you’re taking your vacation for this.” Cael’s groggy voice added to his slouched form as he shuffled into the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, Cael.” James’s hands left her shoulders and sent a light punch which almost toppled the six-foot-seven Cael.

  “Unh.” One hand shot out for balance. “Not mornin’.”

  Charley couldn’t help the smile. “You guys truly are brothers.” The quick squeeze from above told her James heard her soft comment.

  Cael stumbled his way to the fridge.

  A knife-wielding Lily reappeared. “Get outta there! I’ve got dinner coming!”

  Cael ignored her in favor of grapes and cheese. Mouth full and tray in hand, he turned to Charley. “You look the part, by the way.” He popped another of the green fruits.

  “Thank you.” Charley planted her forearms flat on the counter.

  He tilted his head over each shoulder as if to shrug. “So, I gotta ask—” He threw a grape above his head and caught it between his teeth. “Given what happened a year ago with this same boy, what’re you going to do when he falls for you? What happens when … this time … you can’t give him up.”

  Charley pulled one hand out from under the other, noting James stopped his massage, and Lily stared at her.

  Cael nodded once. “And this time … you don’t have to?”

  At the end of the four weeks, could she disappear—return to her made-up homeland of New Zealand—and leave Wyatt none the wiser?

  • • •

  Wyatt found her in the cafeteria, surrounded by students. Light danced off her hair, which she had pulled up into a tail. Laughter rang from her entourage. He wanted to run up, scatter the crowd and keep her for himself.

  Idiot! You’re hung up on a girl who’s gonna leave.

  Instead, he sauntered—not too slow, not too fast—toward the group. A lowly freshman caught his gaze and whispered to another. As soon as Wyatt reached them, the entire group dispersed to other tables. In what used to be the center of the flock, Mira sat, books and bag under her folded arms, relaxed and comfortable.

  “Uh, hi!” Wyatt stood, hands in his pockets, longing for a less awkward reunion.

  “Hi!” As she tilted her head in his direction, her curls escaped from her band and dropped onto her shoulder.

  Wyatt fought the desire to reach out and twirl them, to pull her face right up to his and be the man his friends all thought him. He shook off the fantasy and let himself fall onto the seat next to her.

  “So. Um …”

  The corners of her mout
h turned upward. “Um?”

  Idiot! He screamed in his head again. After a number of ‘ahems’ and a few fantastical delusions, he tried a second time. “Sorry, allergies.” The lie worked as well as it could, which he assumed meant not at all. “Uh … so, how’s day number two?”

  “It’s okay, I guess.” She shifted in her seat. Her curls fell further as she did.

  Stop! Wyatt chastised himself with an internal groan at his stupidity. “Anything I can help with?” Kidney? Liver? My car?

  “Well …”

  Wyatt left her to her thoughts, though he’d have preferred to take them over. Hands on the table, he entwined and unlinked his fingers. Sure she could see the heat rise in his cheeks, he crossed his arms, propped one foot under the table and pushed to lean back.

  “Let me know anything you need. I am the class president and all. I have some pull around here.” He gestured with a thumb toward the doors and levered himself back with his foot.

  “Well … the girls? Here earlier?” Her head tilted so her hair trailed to her shoulder.

  He itched to tug at it.

  “They said there’s a dance coming up, and I should go.” She moved her hands to her lap.

  Metal clambered against ceramic as he dropped the feet of his chair to the ground. “You could go with me. I could take you. We could go together.” He pointed back and forth between them. “I mean, I have to go ’cause I’m the—well, being neutral, I wasn’t going to pick a date or anything. But, it’d be great if you went with me. Right? I’d be happy to take you.” He smiled too big, spoke too fast. Heat rushed to his cheeks again, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact.

  She looked back at him, her eyes wide. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

  “Cool!” Wyatt slapped his thigh, realizing he’d become a complete dork. One foot back under the table, he lifted the chair’s front legs off the floor again. “So, um, who’re you staying with?” He hadn’t nosed into personal details during their tour the previous day, instead kept it simple and straightforward.