Deadly Little Lies by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online Page A

call.
    It’s a little after eleven and I can’t sleep. I’m almost tempted to go downstairs to my studio. Instead I grab a random book off my shelf— Teens, Tweens, & Yogi Machines , obviously something my mother bought me. There’s a lengthy forward about finding your inner om . I try reading the first few pages, but I can’t concentrate. Finally I reach for my cell phone and dial Ben’s number.
    “Hi,” he answers on the first ring.
    “Did I wake you?”
    “No. I couldn’t sleep.”
    “Me neither.”
    There’s silence between us for several seconds—just the sound of each other’s breath—but then a few moments later a car alarm screeches in the background, on his end of the line.
    “Where are you?” I ask.
    “Riding around. I just stopped at a gas station.”
    “Where?”
    More silence.
    “You don’t want to tell me?” I ask.
    “It’s not that.”
    “Then what?”
    Still, he doesn’t answer.
    “Forget it,” I say, my heart beating fast. “I was just hoping that maybe we could talk. Not over the phone, though. I need to see you.”
    “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
    “Not really,” I say. “It’s sort of important.”
    There’s another long pause on the other end. Meanwhile, I can hear police sirens blaring on his end of the phone. They seem to be getting closer to wherever Ben is.
    “What’s going on there?”
    “Okay,” he says, ignoring the question. “I’ll swing by your house.”
    He hangs up and I reach for my coat, hoping we can go for a ride. Not two minutes later, I hear the rev of his engine from down the street. I open my window wide as he pulls up in front of my house, steps off his bike, and removes his helmet.
    He looks even better than earlier today. A black leather jacket clings to his chest, and his hair is rumpled to perfection. He gazes up at me, his silhouette highlighted by the moon.
    I wave, barely able to hold myself back—to not go tearing out the window and running into his arms.
    “Hey,” he says, when he gets within earshot.
    “Hey,” I repeat.
    He smiles slightly, as if he wants to talk to me too, as if caught off guard in the moment—like the way things used to be.
    “So, shall we go someplace?” I ask.
    “We don’t have to,” he says. “You can just say what you have to tell me right here . . . right now.”
    My pulse stirs, almost tempted to invite him in, just imagining him inside my room. I peer over my shoulder at my bedroom door, noticing how my schoolbag is caught in the doorway.
    “Please,” I whisper, suddenly eager to get away, to not have to worry about my parents busting in and catching us together. “Can you take us somewhere?”
    He looks toward his motorcycle. “How about we go for a walk? The streets are a little slippery tonight. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if we wiped out.”
    I know it’s a lame excuse, that he doesn’t want to go for a ride because that would mean I’d have to touch him. I crawl out my window, shutting the curtains and drawing the pane closed behind me. Then I hop to the ground, completely aware that Ben doesn’t help me.
    We walk down the length of my street, passing by Davis Miller’s house on the right. His bedroom light’s still on. Maybe he can’t sleep either.
    It’s quiet and awkward between Ben and me again; there’s just the sound of our boots as they crunch over gravel and patches of snow. I glance at his hands as he crams them inside his pockets, remembering that night at Knead last September, when his clay-soaked fingers slid up the back of my T-shirt, against my skin, turning my insides to putty.
    “I’m sorry about earlier,” Ben says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole.”
    “You didn’t,” I lie. Except maybe it’s only a half-lie.
    “I really care about you.” He stops to face me. His lips are chapped from the cold.
    “I’m glad,” I say, feeling my cheeks blaze. “Because I really care about you too.”
    Standing