Little White Lies

“What’re they like?” He knew most foreign exchange students, at best, disliked their host families. For whatever reason, the accommodation process stunk, and every year, one or another of the students left early on account of the families.

“They’re wonderful. There are three my age-Jack, Carter and Leena. Very sweet.” She smiled as she mentioned their names.

He didn’t recognize them, though he knew a couple Turner Point families-the few who risked the hill were districted to go to West. More comfortable with the path of their conversation, he kicked his chair back a notch. His hands fell to the seat where he could drum underneath.

“So what made you pick the U.S.?” His fingers tapped out a beat from the school’s fight song.

She bit the corner of her lip. “A boy.”

Wyatt opened his eyes wide. He’d never considered she might have had a boyfriend already. Here for a boy? Here? Who? Where? Rambled thoughts kept his attention elsewhere and caused his foot to slip.

He missed the support bar.

In his correction, he overcompensated, and before he could catch the table, he caught air. With a crack, gravity won and the tile exacted payment on its behalf.

“Wyatt!” The voice echoed through his head, pounding in his ears. Be quiet, he wanted to say. He reached over his head, rubbed at the spot that throbbed, ached and burned all at the same time.

“Wyatt?” The same voice reached into his mind.

The repetition added to the heartbeat which jolted and bumped within his head. Please make me the invisible man!

Warm palms pressed against his cheeks. Despite his utter embarrassment, his hands met hers at his temple. The bump of jewelry told him they came attached to Mira.

“Owww.” Eyes closed, his cheeks burned under her touch.

He peeked at her from half-closed lids, her face no more than an inch from his. The speckles of lavender in the crystal blue of her eyes sent warmth away from his cheeks and straight to his center. For a moment, he’d have sworn her pupils constricted into vertical slits.

“Oh my god, I’ve got a concussion.” Elbows against the cold floor, Wyatt struggled to right himself.

One hand left hers to hover over the point of impact, where a bump made its home against his skull.

“No, strike that. I’m okay.” Not in a million years would he get away without the memory of the story.

“You’re not okay. Let’s get you to the nurse. Have her take a look.”

Her concern melted his resolve and his distress over the ‘boy’. She did care about him-at least a little. He smiled, though he had no idea what the effect would look like on his face as the back of his head continued its battle with knives and swords.

“God, that hurt.” He rubbed as her hand met the same spot.

Their glances cemented themselves to one another.

Maybe she can like me as much as whoever it is.

Her gaze broke. She stepped around him, wedged her arms under his and pulled until he stood, with a strength he didn’t expect from a girl her size. Cheers erupted around him. His squint, an attempt to reduce the volume, didn’t work.

She must have understood his expressions as her hands covered his ears for him. The touch, and the tingle that went with it, tugged at his heart.

Despite the cheers and cat-calls, to leave would mean her hands would drop, and when they did, their connection would be broken.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem.” She mouthed the words.

Despite the throb and the beat that matched his heart, she continued to hold tight. Wyatt shifted his legs to prevent any accidental, visible growth.

“Let’s get you to the nurse.”

“I’m okay, really.” Just keep your hands right there.

“I don’t care.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “If I have to drag you myself, I will.” She added a foot stomp, and her hands left his ears to the mercy of the room.

He grinned. “Hold my hand?”

She grabbed both of them, worry etched into her forehead.

He’d fall off a chair every day if he needed to.

3

If the walls could talk, Wyatt would have let them sing. He stood, books in hand, hip leaned into the locker below his and watched as his girl glided her way to fourth-period art. They’d spent every moment of three weeks together with no mention of any other boy. Wyatt couldn’t help the smile that grew.

A slap on the back brought him out of his reverie. He cringed and pulled his shoulders inward as the sting shot to his toes. He braced, prepared to return fire only to find his best friend.

“What gives, man? That hurt!” Wyatt reached through the top of his T-shirt and rubbed the spot between his shoulders.

“She’s lookin’ good there,” Stuart said. “Mmm, Mmm.”

“Get your eyes off her ass, idiot.” Wyatt rubbed at his back as his eyes moved to the same place as Stuart’s. “And next time, don’t hit so hard.”

With his girl secured in class, Wyatt turned back to find Stuart dumping the contents of his backpack into Wyatt’s locker. “Why?” He pointed into its ten-inch depth.

Stuart continued unloading. He whistled a breathy, out-of-tune melody only he could have found beautiful.

“So, how’s the head?” A grin accentuated his straight teeth, compliments of two full years of braces with Wyatt as the go-to for all whines and complaints.

Head comment aside, Wyatt loved Stuart like a brother. “Been ten days, man. Head’s fine.” Wyatt dug through Stuart’s pile of junk to reach the papers he needed and stuffed them into his own bag.

“Could’a had a recurrence.” Stuart added a lighter punch to Wyatt’s arm and a casual slap to the back of his head.

“What’s goin’ on, man? Why all the physical?”

“Heard you’re goin’ to her house for dinner.” Stuart flung his empty pack over his shoulder, pocketed his hands and walked away.

“Yeah. I told you. So?” Wyatt threw the locker door against its frame, so it snapped in place. Since he and Stuart were headed to the same class, it took only a few strides to catch up to him.

“You been spending every day with that girl.” Stuart’s head hung. “We gotta hang, man. We got senior stuff to do.”

“Oh. My. God.” Wyatt imitated Stuart’s younger sister. He stopped mid-stride, turning toward his friend. Wyatt moved his head back and forth. “You… are… jealous!”

Stuart waved a fist, returned it to his pocket, but not before Wyatt caught the faint smile he’d tried to hide. A girl had never come between them before. Neither dated a lot, and if they did, they doubled.

“Come with. It’s just dinner with her host family. You know, the more the merrier?”

“Nah, man. I’d be third wheel.” Stuart toed a divot in the floor as he slowed to a stop.

“You wouldn’t. She told me there were others our age there. The other girl is really hot too. And dude, it’s at the top-” The flat of Wyatt’s hand measured air above his head. “-of Turner Point.” He took a deliberate step toward Stuart, and with his own fist, punched him in the chest.

The blow knocked him back a foot. A bigger smile emerged. “’K.” Stuart bobbed his head in what Wyatt took as reluctant agreement. “I’ll go. It’s not a dress-up deal, is it?”

At peace with each other, Wyatt shook his head. They bumped shoulders as their tensions dissolved, and in a