[16] Liar, Liar

(Malory)

“You’re incompetence as an actor makes me suicidal.”

It’s been a while since I’ve used that word.

“Oh please, don’t kill yourself and fulfil all my wildest dreams,” Kyle says, his tone is drenched in sarcasm.

It’s been almost an hour of rehearsing lines and Kyle can’t get a single thing right. I’m anxious. I’m frustrated. I’m concerned. I’m confused. I’m tired. I want to go home. I want to lie in bed and not get up. I want to sit around and do nothing. I want to fade from existence.

“Here we go again,” I hear Ron mutter to Olivia. They’re both sitting in the front row. Olivia turns to him to stifle a laugh.

Olivia... how could you laugh at that?

“Go to Hell,” I tell Kyle.

“Been there, done that. I’m not the one planning to kill myself so I won’t be the one going to Hell.”

“Mrs Cole,” I say, frustrated, turning to her.

“I’m listening,” she says, obliviously.

“Maybe you should focus on the other actors for a while. Standing here and watching this buffoon suffer from not knowing anything is giving me more of a headache than this whole cooperation thing.”

She raises a brow at me. “You’re insisting that we leave the perfecting of a lead until the end? How do you think that’s going to work out?”

I feel my anxiety welling up. I shut my eyes and try to keep myself as calm as possible.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“I’ll help him,” I say. “I’ll work with him.”

“What do you have to say to that?” She asks my co-star.

He turns from our teacher to me. “Can we do this without killing each other?”

We’re supposed to be cooperating, no?

Cooperating doesn’t mean I’ll stop insulting you or wanting to beat you up… or plotting your murder.

No promises on zero attempts at murder, Kyle Davidson.

Suddenly I feel pushed off the edge and I yell, “Look, Kyle, I need you to stop being a literal shit and cooperate. I can’t fail!”

My academic accomplishments are all I have. Extracurricular activities are all I have. Distractions are all I have. If I lose them or if I lose something that throws me remotely off balance I’ll crumble. My grades need to stay above average –even in this school for the gifted. Everything I do needs to be as close to perfection as I can manage to get it. I need to stick to my schedule. I need to do things to keep myself from falling apart and having a break down.

With the way I’m feeling, it doesn’t seem like I can do much about falling behind on everything…and it’s making me furious.

It takes me a few minutes to realise how loud I’d yelled. I glance at Kyle.

“Whoa, okay. Okay,” he says in a low voice.

I can see it written all over his face; Worry. His eyes are asking the question, ‘Are you okay?’ But what do I tell him?

My eyes move to Mrs Cole –wearing an expression of disbelief at my outburst- and then over to the students in the auditorium. I finally turn to Ron and Olivia. The room goes silent. Too silent. Everyone’s looking at me. I feel a prickly sensation all over my skin. My hands begin to shake uncontrollably. A chill runs up my spine. I clasp my hands together almost aggressively to keep their trembling from being noticed by anyone. I fidget with my fingers for a moment before turning back to Kyle.

What did I just do?

Why did I do that?

I feel my heartbeat racing.

I walk past Kyle and stumble down the stairs to exit the stage. As I pass Mrs Cole, I don’t stop but to say a mumbled “Excuse me”. When I reach halfway down the aisle I begin running towards the exit.

Why are you so on edge, Malory?

Why are you panicking so much?

What’s wrong?

Get yourself together. Get yourself together. Get yourself together.

***

(Ron)

“What was that?” I ask, turning to Olivia.

Kyle stands completely shaken and motionless on stage. He’s staring at the closed auditorium doors at the back of the room. He appears distraught.

“Did you see her hand shaking?” Olivia asks. “I have to talk to her. This has gone too far.”

“Didn’t you have a plan to find out what was happening?” I ask her.

Mrs Cole calls Kyle off stage and he goes over to talk to her.

Olivia sighs. “I do. I can still use it. But Malory’s in a bad place right now. She needs me. The plan can wait. Let’s cancel practice this evening. Since I have church at seven, I won’t be able to talk to her until much later tonight if we actually practice today. I’ll go see her at work instead. Talk to your best friend. I’ll talk to mine.”

Talk to him?

I don’t know what to say to him.

It’s shocking enough that he’s been trying to get into contact with me, but the truth is that his absence from my life has been rather pleasant and appealing -peaceful, even. I don’t stick around him like a pet, wondering and worrying about him anymore and I don’t find myself having the need to. Kyle does a good job taking care of himself anyway.

But Kyle’s expression is worrisome. He’s caught up in thoughts about Malory Lloyd. The same Malory Lloyd he’s been at war with for the past few years. Something serious and important must have happened for them to genuinely start caring about each other.

Kyle’s expression goes blank as Mrs Cole lectures him on facial expressions. I find it utterly ironic and scoff.

***

(Malory)

“Your orders; Three-In-One for you, and Chicken Mushroom for you,” I say, resting a tray with two large bowls of soup on a dining room table between a man and a woman.

“I... ordered a chicken corn soup not a chicken mushroom soup,” says the woman.

Did she?

I fidget with my hands for a moment, realising my mistake. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll fix it right away.”

“It’s okay,” says the woman, offering me a comforting smile. “You look a little tense this evening. I know you well enough since I’m a regular. I’ll let this one slide.”

I’m grateful.

“Can you get us some drinks?” the man opposite to her says, “I’ll have a coke.”

“Right away, sir, and what will you be having anything?” I ask the woman.

“Just a glass of water for me will be fine, thank you.”

I nod and make my way with haste to get the ordered drinks.

Stupid, Malory. Stupid. Get yourself together. It’s Friday. Just get through this evening’s work and you can go home and do nothing if you so desire.

***

(Olivia)

I walk into the restaurant with a sigh that relieves tension from my shoulders. Katy spots me and smiles. I wave at her. She gestures towards the kitchen, where Malory is, and frowns. I shrug and frown back. I take a seat at an empty table and she comes to sit opposite to me.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“What’s going on?” she asks, worriedly. “She’s been anxious all evening. Getting orders wrong. Shaking. She can’t stay still for two seconds. It’s like she’s getting bad again.”

“It’s my fault,” I admit. “I haven’t spoken to her all week. I’m sure it’s my fault. Things are bothering her and I haven’t been there for her to get it out of her system.”

“You two had a falling out?” she wonders, puzzled. “Is that why the group chat has been a ghost town lately?”

“Did she tell you about the incident with Kyle?” I ask.

“She told you about the bruise?”

I nod. “Well, I found out. Ron found out too. It’s sort of how we fell out.”

“What about it, though? She seemed pretty worried about him.”

I would like to know the whole story, too.

“When did she tell you?” I ask her.

Thinking, she shrugs. “A little while ago. About a week and a half ago? I can’t remember exactly.”

A week and a half?

“Right around the time when he’d stayed away from school? Seriously?” I scoff and roll my eyes. “So she told you but she didn’t want to tell me.”

“She thought you’d try to address the situation,” Katy explains. My face goes sour. “Kind of like you’re doing right now.”

“She didn’t tell me the entire story so I still don’t know everything.” I say.

“Me either. All I know is that there was a fight,” Katy insists.

Malory appears from the kitchen with some drinks. She spots Katy and me and freezes up. I offer her a concerned expression and she inhales deeply to carry the drinks to the table of customers. She’s done her job in less than a minute and rushed off to the back again, only to return with both her hands free. She stands before me and looks away.

“Can I... get you something?”

“Can you give yourself a break?” I ask.

She looks around. There’s need for her as at the moment, so Katy scoots around to give her a place to sit. I stare at my best friend who can’t seem to keep her legs from shaking under the table or her fingers from tapping on top of it. Malory can’t even look at me.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” I ask.

“Are you done being mad at me?”

I lean in to stare harder and more intently at her. “Malory, do you even know why I’m mad at you?” There’s a pause before I continue. “It’s because you knew something was wrong and you didn’t tell me right away. You tell me everything. And...” Malory just doesn’t stop tapping at the table as she listens, “Clearly something’s still wrong because you look like you’re on the verge of having a panic attack if someone just pokes you.”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she insists, suddenly. She looks from me to Katy. “I know that I tell both of you everything... and maybe my anxiety is acting up and I do need to release some things so I can feel more at ease but...” she hesitates, searching for words, “there’s something that I... can’t tell you. At least not yet.”

“What happened to Kyle?” I ask.

How did Ron and I not manage to see the bruise when it was worse?

Did Kyle stay away solely to hide it?

Did Malory lie and say he was sick to protect him?

“That’s the one thing I can’t tell you,” Mal says. “Can you at least trust me on this? We do tell each other everything. I will tell you both what happened eventually –if it even matters later on. But for now... can you just accept that he got into a fight and he doesn’t want to talk about it?”

I roll my eyes. “At least tell me you either saw the fight for yourself or he told you the story.”

“He told me about it –when I went over to his place.”

Why do I still feel like she’s lying?

“Why can’t you tell us what happened? It doesn’t have to leave this table,” I tell her.

And anyway, I could always get help from Adrien to find out what the hell is going on. That’s my plan, anyway.

“It doesn’t matter, Olivia,” Mal says, raising her voice. “He probably deserved it anyway.”

I raise a brow. “That’s coming from the girl who became friends with Kyle Davidson and has gone out of her way to look out for him since then.”

“I will tell you what happened in due time,” she insists. “Right now, I need to find a way to calm my nerves. I really can’t get a panic attack here… or now… or anytime soon.”

“What else is bothering you?” I ask, frowning. “You can’t possibly be so much on edge all because of him.”

“I...” she starts off lowly, searching for words again, “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what’s bothering me.”

That doesn’t sound like the Malory I know.

“I feel like that’s a lie,” I state.

Just then, a group of customers enter the restaurant and find seats at a table. Malory stands as though she’s grateful for the intervention. She hurries off to the counter to grab a notebook and head to work.

Katy and I stare at her for a moment before looking at each other and sighing without another word.

***

(Kyle)

It’s not the outburst that’s bothering me. It’s her trembling hands. It’s her heavy breathing. It’s the slight break in her voice as she yelled. It’s Malory Lloyd being anxious and almost falling limp again. She hasn’t been that way in a very long time. I haven’t seen her that vulnerable in years. That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t want her to fall unconscious anywhere. I don’t want her to get panic attacks. I don’t want her to lose battles against depression or anxiety. I don’t want any of that for strong-willed, stubborn, incredible Malory. I know about those battles –and I probably know more about them than she does.

Not being able to help her makes me feel like slamming my own head against a giant boulder just to kill myself. It would be easier than standing around and watching her suffer. It would be easier than not being able to do anything to help her.

My fists, tied in a tight few layers of white gauze, meet with the long, black punching bag again. There are beads of sweat dripping down from the top of my forehead, running down my cheeks, and gluing my hair to my skin before meeting to form large drops at the bottom of my chin, dripping to the floor. Some heavy drops are crawling down my neck and running into my white, arm hole gym T shirt. I punch. I think about Malory. I punch again. I think about my uncle. I punch so many times in one go that I think the bag should be on the floor. If it were a person it would be dead by now. It would be dead for sure. My skin burns, my bones ache. I’m tired and sweaty and upset but I don’t want to stop.

A familiar voice appears out of the blue, behind me.

“If you punch any harder your knuckles will be worse than your face.”

I don’t turn to look at him.

Of course Ron would know where to find me.

Whatever the reason, I’m glad he showed up unexpectedly. I’m glad he showed up at all.

“Are you done ignoring me?” I ask him, punching at the bag again.

I’m about to punch again when he asks, “How does it feel to be ignored?” making me stop mid-punch.

I turn to him. “Like Hell, honestly.”

“Good,” Ron says, with a smirk.

We take a seat on the benches lining the wall. I open my water bottle and take a big gulp, swallowing bit by bit slowly. Ron switches his head from one side to the other until we both hear the cracks on the left and on the right. That sound always makes me uneasy for some odd reason.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say to him.

“I’m sorry I ignored your existence for a week,” he replies.

I scoff. “I deserved it for being a prick.”

“Are you ready to tell me what happened?” he asks.

I take another big gulp of water to give myself a few moments to think it through.

Do I really want to tell him everything?

Even if I wanted to, I can’t. It’s confidential. It’s off limits. It’s private.

“I got into a fight,” I tell him. “I was sick and a man and his crew were being rude as they drove into the compound to get something fixed at the mechanic’s. They were being pricks to a co-worker of mine and I already had so much of a headache without them needing to worsen it. I tried settling the matter in a civilised way until they pushed me to my limits. I said some things to them. He threw a punch. Things got out of hand. That’s pretty much it.”

“You didn’t get in trouble with your boss?” Ron asks.

“He wasn’t there. Who knows where he had been. I’m glad, though.”

There’s silence for a moment. Ron nods once and sighs.

“Hey, Roomie?” I say, after a beat.

“What?”

“What I did to you was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He knows I’m referring to all the years of silence. He knows I’m referring to keeping the secrets from him. He knows I’m referring to the way I kept everything from him all this time.

He scoffs and turns to me with a confused smile. “What you did to me? You make it sound like some sick crime, man.”

I guess he doesn’t know.

“You’ve been my best friend for long enough,” I say. “And how much do you know about me exactly? It is a sick crime. You shouldn’t be feeling like a stranger at this point.”

“Oh,” he says, going blank.

I turn to the punching bag and let my eyes unfocus as I make my decision and reveal it to him. “If you want to know certain things, all you have to do is ask. You know that. If I can’t tell you something, I don’t. I know I’ve been a selfish ass in keeping most of my life to myself. So I’ll try to be more open with you. I promise.”

I know he’s surprised, because he’s blinking at me in disbelief.

“Whoa, dude… you’re serious?” He asks. I nod. “Took you long enough, man,” he says, grinning as he pats me on the back.

I smile at him before exchanging my happy expression to one of pretend-anger. “But stop being such a bipolar hormonal deadbeat. It’s like you’re my mom sometimes.” I shudder. “I’ll be fine.”

***

(Clark)

Six-Forty-Five P.M.

The familiar, shiny black Maserati pulls up at the automatic gate and the glass on the driver’s door rolls down to reveal a familiar middle aged man with a greying stubble that I know is going to be dyed back to black one day and then shaved off entirely by the end of his two weeks back here.

“Good evening, Clark,” Mr Davidson greets me, his tone formal.

“Good evening to you, Mr Davidson. You’re back from work abroad, I presume?”

I flip the switch so the gate opens.

“Yes. It’s been hectic this time,” he replies. He puffs out a breath for effect. “Have you spoken with Kyle while I was away?”

There’s an aura to this Mr Davidson that puts me in an uneasy mood. My gut always tells me to protect Kyle in whatever way I can –especially after what happened… that one time…

“Yes,” I tell him. “He’s been well. Going to and coming from school safely.” I add a relieved smile to the lie.

Mr Davidson inhales deeply and nods. “Did we have any visitors?” he asks.

I steal a moment to think about the girl who had visited Kyle a few times while he was gone. What did she say her name was? Grace? Whatever the case, I know she was lying.

I search through the records book blindly to tell Mr Davidson, “No” with a smile. He nods at me, wishing me a pleasant evening and heading into the compound.

I was genuinely surprised to find that Kyle had a guest over –a girl at that. Usually no one ever visits Kyle. No one has ever visited him here. Not to my recollection.

This girl must be special for that to be the case.

I don’t think it’s my place to get involved in their business at all. But I get the feeling if Mr Davidson finds out about this, he’ll hurt Kyle.

Kyle deserves some sort of happiness. He often shows the expressions of a respectable boy who means well. He does well, seems well and appears genuinely content, but Kyle...

He isn’t happy.