Little White Lies

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 In his dreams, Wyatt had imagined some overweight mousey girl with braces, glasses and out-of-date shoes.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 love.

***

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