Even When You Lie to Me by Jessica Alcott Read Free Book Online Page B

popping. Lila and Mr. Drummond grinned at each other. I stared at him. I felt unmoored, as if I were out at sea for the first time and everything was slightly off-kilter, shifting unsteadily when I tried to get a fix on it.
    “This is just one interpretation,” Mr. Drummond said, “but I don’t want you to be afraid to make intellectual leaps like that. If you feel like a text is leading you somewhere, don’t be afraid to go with it, no matter how odd your idea might seem.”
    I looked at Mr. Drummond, and he looked back. I smiled.
    —
    He caught up to me as I was leaving after school. He was wearing a battered leather jacket and carrying an equally weather-beaten messenger bag the same dark brown as his hair. A hot shiver ran through me, as if dozens of needles were pricking me from the inside.
    “You wanted to speak up today, didn’t you?” he asked. When I didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Sorry, that was a really presumptuous thing to say.”
    I laughed; it came out sounding like a car trying to start. I wasn’t used to talking to him, especially alone. I wished Lila were there for backup. “Why was it presumptuous?”
    “Maybe more condescending than presumptuous. I suspect you don’t need another teacher telling you that you should speak up more in class.”
    “I do get that a lot,” I said.
    “Well, in that case I will tell you to feel free to stay silent,” he said. “It just struck me that you might have had something you wanted to say.”
    We had slowed down to an amble. Our steps fell into sync until I deliberately took a few short strides so he wouldn’t think I had done it on purpose.
    “I did, I guess,” I said. “It wouldn’t have been anything helpful, though. It would have just been, how the hell did you think of that?”
    “I doubt that,” he said. “But I know that not everyone gets comfortable at the same speed. Back when I was in school, whenever anyone told me to speak up, it just made me shyer.”
    “You were shy?” I said. “I find that hard to believe somehow.” I was nervous about teasing him; I felt a blush spread on my face like a sunburn.
    “You mean because I’m such an annoying loudmouth now?”
    I looked at him; he smiled, inviting me to complete the joke. I noticed suddenly how blue his eyes were. “Yes,” I said.
    He laughed. “Would you believe I’m actually less annoying than I used to be?”
    “No.”
    “Fair enough,” he said. “But I mean it when I say we get plenty of noise from the usual bloviaters. It’s good to hear from people with fresh insights.”
    “So you’re telling me to find a way to shut Lila up.”
    “I wouldn’t ask you to do what I can see is clearly impossible.”
    I laughed out of surprise. Was he just teasing about Lila? Or was he confiding in me? Even teachers I liked had never talked to me like that.
    We stepped outside, into the newly chilly air. I was relieved that the seasons were finally changing. Autumn had always felt like the hinge of the year to me. Summer was stagnant—it was too hot to move or to think—but fall swept in with fresh air. There was always a chance that things would start over, better than they had been.
    We walked a little way in silence. I wasn’t comfortable with pauses in conversation; I assumed they were my fault.
    “It’s pretty out today,” I said, to say something.
    “If you like sunshine and vivid colors and that sort of nonsense,” he said.
    “You’d do well in England.”
    “I do like being damp.” He stopped in front of a beat-up Volvo station wagon.
    “Is this your car?” I asked.
    “Afraid so.” He fished his keys out of his coat pocket. “I’d offer you a ride, but it has this funny quirk where none of the doors except the driver’s open.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Oh, no, I—I have my dad’s— I’m fine.”
    “Ah, good,” he said. He smiled again. He had dimples when he smiled.
    “All the doors work, at least.”
    “You’ve already got me beat.”