Free Lies My Girlfriend Told Me by Julie Anne Peters

Liana behind my back—cheating—she told me I was the love of her life and that we would always be together.
    My cell rings on my way home, but I know better than to answer while I’m driving. The ringtone indicates it’s Mom or Dad, so no emergency, other than checking up on me. I hope to God they didn’t call Betheny’s house.
    I pull into the garage and check my voice mail. It’s Mom telling me they’ll be home around five and to please figure out something for dinner.
    Swanee never had to cook dinner for her family. I don’t know of one time they even ate dinner together as a family.
    Swanee.
    I’m so baffled now I’m not even sure who’s lying to who. If Swanee had given Liana her real name, she’d have known about Swanee’s death. I wonder if Swan gave a single thought to how much pain it would cause both Liana and me if either of us found out about the other.
    Why I care about Liana’s feelings is a mystery. Except I know how much I’ve been hurting since Swanee died, and I’d only been going with her for a few weeks. We hadn’t even slept together.
    Mom calls again and I answer, feeling numb. She says, “Did you get my message?”
    “Yes.” Marching orders received.
    “How was Betheny’s?”
    “Fine,” I say.
    “Did you finish the project?”
    Rather than lying, I say, “I better get started on dinner. Do you care if it’s edible?”
    I hear amusement in her voice when she replies, “You’re a great cook and you know it.”
    At least I like to cook. Betheny and I used to watch the Food Network a lot, so I’ve developed a small repertoire of recipes. In the freezer I find a package of chicken breasts, which I microwave to thaw, and all the makings for panko-crusted chicken and scalloped potatoes. After I assemble everything and get it in the oven, I realize I’m starving. I grab a bag of Double Stufs to take to my room.
    Swanee loved Oreos. We had this sexy way of eating them where she’d separate the halves, take a long lick of the frosting, and then hand it off to me to do the same. We’d repeatthis until all the frosting was gone. Then she’d cover her eyes with the cookies and say, “Kiss me, Cookie Monster.”
    I almost laugh at the memory, but it catches in my throat.
    I make myself a PB-and-banana sandwich for lunch and throw in a handful of Oreos. Then I take the Oreos out and stack them back in the package.
    At school, as I’m about to enter the media center to eat, the librarian is locking the door.
    “Oh, Alix,” she says. “You can’t eat lunch in here every day. I thought you understood that.”
    I did, of course. I do. It’s the rule.
    I could eat in the restroom, I guess. How gross. As I trail a herd of students into the cafeteria, I see my regular spot is empty—the place where Swanee and I used to take up residence. Someone has even confiscated the chairs and left the table deserted. I look around as if I’m seeing the cafeteria for the first time. How all the cliques sit together. The jocks and the cheerleaders, the stoners, the loners, the Hispanics, the blacks. How depressing. So much for diversity training.
    I hear the gays laughing and joking around, and I know I could go sit with them. But I haven’t been to the GSA in so long I sort of feel like an outsider now. Raucous laughter a few tables over draws my attention. Betheny’s eyes catch mine and hold. I wish I could go back in time to when we were BFFs. She glances away before I can even toss her an offhanded smile. That bridge went up in flames because of me. Relationships can’t be reconstructed from ashes.
    I can’t stay here. I go to my locker, take out my coat, and eat outside at one of the picnic tables where all the smokers gather.
    My fourth period is English and Mrs. Burke assigns a persuasive paper on the topic “Ignorance Is Bliss.” I’m so distracted I miss the part where she asks for volunteers to take sides so we can discuss it next week. “Alix,” she says, “would you mind