Free The Secret to Lying by Todd Mitchell Page B

van. Luckily, it took an odd bounce and rolled away.
    Jess told me all about how she’d grown up in the city sneaking into clubs and watching shows. When she was fourteen, she could pass for twenty-one. She talked about bands that I’d never heard of, and how she wanted to be a DJ. In addition to knowing a lot about music, she’d played a few concerts herself. Not rock concerts, though. Jess played classical piano. “Mozart’s pretty hard-core,” she said. “Seriously. Put in the third movement of Mozart’s Requiem Mass, crank it up, and tell me you don’t want to thrash your head and slam someone. Chopin is good, too.”
    I pictured her onstage in her black combat boots and fishnet stockings, blowing the stodgy audience away. “Maybe sometime I can hear you play,” I said.
    “Sure. You’d be amazed by what I can do with my hands.”
    I duffed the ball I was supposed to hit toward the school. Then Jess took the same shot and chipped it onto the roof. After that, we had to look for some of the balls we’d already hit.
    “So besides fighting, what do you do?” she asked.
    “I write letters,” I said. “Long, gut-wrenching, protean letters.”
    “Protean letters? What’s that mean?” She gave me a coy smile. I wondered if she really didn’t know what I was talking about, or if this was part of her game. “Are you one of those geeks who spends all his time in chat rooms?” she asked.
    “Could be.”
    “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”
    “Depends who you’re writing to.”
    “I guess.” Jess glanced away, as if avoiding something.
    The silence became awkward. I thought of what ghost44 had said, about how she could only be herself in secret. I didn’t want to risk losing her by asking too much, so instead I changed the subject. “I’ve also been in thirteen car accidents,” I lied.
    She laughed. “Thirteen?”
    “Well, they weren’t exactly accidents.”
    “You mean they were intentional?”
    “Call it purposefully accidental. My friends and I would borrow cars and drive them to the country to do
Dukes of Hazzard
moves. On dirt roads, I could usually pull a few 360s.”
    “Remind me to never let you drive.”
    “I’m a good driver. Most people don’t know how to crash. But I like crashing.”
    “Me, too.” Jess smiled mischievously. “I’m all about crashing.” She tossed me a ball and pointed to her dorm. “Your turn.”
    I hit a beautiful shot. The ball arced, becoming a tiny white speck as it floated toward a second-floor window.
    “Uh-oh . . .” I muttered.
    The sound of breaking glass echoed across campus like a starter’s pistol. We sprinted to the pond, and I tossed the club into the water. Then we ducked behind some bushes near the cleavage. Lights flicked on as security guards and RCs streamed out of the dorms like angry ants.
    “Crap! Crap! Crap!” I said.
    Jess giggled and kissed me. “So we blend in,” she whispered, glancing at another couple that was walking the pond.
    We kept kissing. My heart beat so crazily I could feel the blood thumping through my veins.
    “I like this game,” she said.

ghost44: Knock knock.
    johnnyrotten: Nice try, but I’m not going to ask you who you are anymore.
    ghost44: Really? Have you finally moved beyond such superficial things?
    johnnyrotten: Nope. I figured it out.
    ghost44: You did?
    johnnyrotten: Yup. I know who you are. Only I’ve decided to keep it a secret.
    ghost44: If you wanted to keep it a secret, then why tell me that you know?
    johnnyrotten: Because — I like this game.
    ghost44: All right, Mr. Know-It-All, let’s play another game. Questions. I’ll answer one of your questions if you’ll answer one of mine. But no *who* questions.
    johnnyrotten: Do I go first?
    ghost44: Yes. My turn.
    johnnyrotten: Hold up. That doesn’t count.
    ghost44: It was a question. Rules are rules.
    johnnyrotten: Bring it on.
    ghost44: Do you like Jessica Keen?
    johnnyrotten: I can’t imagine why you’d ask that.
    ghost44: So