Lies My Girlfriend Told Me by Julie Anne Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

Greeley and back in an hour, hour and a half. Telling Liana won’t take long, depending on the number of questions she hits me with.
    Dad says, “You sure you don’t want me to take you and pick you up?”
    The way he has ever since I was in elementary school and the weather was bad. I click my tongue in disgust. “I think I can drive six blocks in the snow.”
    Dad sets a stack of pancakes in front of me and says, “You can walk six blocks, too.”
    “Or I could drive.” I feel angry at him and I don’t know why. I’m angry at the world. “Please? I swear I’ll be careful.”
    Dad cradles Ethan on his lap with a bottle while he squirts syrup on his pancakes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Alix. I know you’re a good driver.”
    So what’s the problem? “Can I take it?”
    He cuts into his pancakes and says, “All right. But if it gets really bad and you don’t feel comfortable driving home, call me.”
    “And you’ll do what?”
    He chews and swallows. “Bundle up Bubba here, and hoof it up the hill to rescue you.” He smiles.
    He would, too. Why does he have to be so irritatingly… Dad?
    Around noon the snow starts with a fury. Dad calls me at lunch and asks, “Are they letting you out early?”
    “Not that I know of,” I tell him.
    “I really don’t want you driving—”
    “Dad, it’s six blocks. I’ll be fine. If nothing else, I’ll just put it in neutral and slide down the hill.”
    He doesn’t laugh.
    I skip Physics class and race to the Prius, slipping and sliding through the parking lot. The sheet of ice tests the law that a body in motion stays in motion until it butt-checks the ground. Wadsworth Boulevard is a skating rink, as they say, but I take it slow, eventually exiting I-70 onto I-76, heading for Greeley.
    Dad would literally kill me if he knew.
    People are driving around thirty on the highway, and even that seems too fast. When I finally reach the Greeley city limits, my jaw aches from my clenching it so hard.
    The snow’s heavier here, and visibility is almost zero. The map I printed out to the school reads, “Exit west toward Loveland, approx. two miles.”
    I check the dashboard clock: 3:49. The match starts at four.
    Greeley West is easy to spot, with its sign reading SPARTAN PRIDE . The building is one-story brick, newer than Arvada. I take a left past the school to the west parking lot. It’s full, so I have to park a block away.
    The snow and wind buffet me across the street, to the wide front steps, and through the front door.
    Inside I hear the band and see groups of people on their way to the gym. My cell reads 3:53, and I want to make sure I catch Liana before the match starts. I realize this is not the ideal time to tell her that her ex is dead, because either she’ll have to pretend nothing’s wrong or she’ll lose it completely and have to leave. I don’t really know her, so I have no idea how she’ll react.
    Suddenly a girl appears out of the restroom. A cheerleader. I recognize her from the theater. Our eyes meet and she says, “Hi,” and then turns to go.
    “Liana.” A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. She swivels back. “I’m Alix. A, um, friend of Swanee’s.”
    She has these caramel-colored eyes, enormous, the size of half dollars. “Who’s Swanee?”
    Shit. She didn’t even know her real name. “Swanelle?”
    “Oh. Swan. She never mentioned a friend named Alex.” A buzzer blares from the gym and Liana adds, “I have to go.”
    “I’m Swan’s…” I want to say “girlfriend,” but something holds me back. “I need to tell you something.”
    She looks toward the gym, and then back to me. Her expression is expectant.
    How to do this?
    I say, really fast, “She died. She was running and she had a heart attack. A cardiac arrest.” I don’t really know the difference. I hope she doesn’t ask.
    All I can do is stare at this girl while she stares at me.
    Liana starts shaking her head. I feel her disbelief. Not