I was just getting into the story and wondering how it was going to play out, because I’m such a good storyteller that I’d fascinated myself, when the four kids jumped up, squealing for balloons. I blew up balloons until my cheeks ached and I was light-headed from oxygen deprivation. I tied the balloons to the kids’ arms and sent them outside. Thing 1, Thing 2 and Thing 3, along with Markie, sat quietly under the lilac bush, and I congratulated myself. Mary Poppins, eat your heart out.
Then I read the World section of the newspaper to see if there were any international military developments I needed to catch up with that would inspire me in my plan to make Tina think I would be a terrific boyfriend.
Eventually, though, Markie’s friends got called home for supper and I was looking down at one grubby kid with a limp balloon trailing behind him.
“Dutchdeefuddy, play with me.”
“Why don’t you watch a video?”
“Bo-wing.”
“How about getting out some of your toys?”
“Bo-wing.”
“All of them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you could—”
“Dutchdeefuddy?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s a ’vorce?”
“A what?”
“Mommy’s getting one. What is it?”
It was like looking at a tiny me.
What the sweet screaming monkeys was in the water in this neighborhood?
“Is it bad?” Markie asked.
I sighed and wondered what to say and if anything was going to go right for me that day.
“Well, Markie, it’s not good.”
His little face looked so miserable I wanted to kick myself. See? This is why I lie. When I lie, everyone always looks happy.
I thought of all the things I could tell him: ’Vorce is just another way to say his dad’s a superhero—the very one I’d told the story about earlier—going off to save puppies and kittens; his parents will probably patch things up; or ’vorces aren’t that bad, everyone’s having them, don’t be a baby and let it get to you.
I squatted down and looked him in the eye.
“A divorce means, well, that your mom and dad aren’t going to be married anymore. But … you’ll still be a family. Just different.”
“Daddy’s leaving again, isn’t he?” he asked.
“Yeah, probably.”
“Oh.”
Yeah, oh; that’s about the only response there is to news like that. Smart kid.
Then Markie said something that completely blew me away.
“Dutchdeefuddy, I want to be just like you when I grow up.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause when I asked everyone else about the ’vorce, they didn’t tell me the truth. But you did.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Uh-huh, ’cause now I know.”
Well, sure, every kid should have a full working knowledge of ’vorces, I thought.
Then Markie said the second most astonishing thing ever.
“You’re my dutchdeefuddy.”
“What does that mean, anyway?”
“Best, most favorite buddy. In the world forever.” He slipped his little paw into my hand and looked up at me with the sweetest smile I have ever seen in the world forever.
All those times, I’d thought he was babbling, and here the kid had been telling me how much he liked me.
“Thanks, Markie, you’re my dutchdeefuddy too.”
Maybe the truth, in small, preschool-sized doses, wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
Markie, holding my hand and swinging his feet as he sat on a kitchen chair, looked pretty calm.
The opposite of how I felt.
Maybe Dutchdeefuddy was on to something.
10. A GOOD LIE CAN TURN ON YOU
I’d gotten home late from babysitting the night before. I hadn’t told Dutchdeefuddy’s parents about our talk. I was feeling about as wiped out as they looked. Romantic dates, right. My guess was that they’d been in a lawyer’s office.
When I got home, I avoided my family. Or they avoided me. Every door in the house was closed, with someone behind it. Alone. Even the door to the basement was shut, which meant that either Mom or Dad had camped out downstairs rather than share their room with each other. And Buzz didn’t swing by our kitchen on her way up to her apartment to say hi like she always does.
I didn’t sleep well, thinking about Markie and his parents. About me and my parents. About me. About how I lie to everyone. All the time. About everything. The only totally truthful thing I’d said lately was when I’d told Markie his folks were splitting up. And that had seemed to go a lot better than anything else had.
It was Friday morning and I figured I’d pushed skipping classes about as far as I could, but since the week was mostly shot, I’d take this one last day. I’d make it an even week and start fresh on Monday.
I chewed a granola bar as I walked to school and thought it might not be a bad idea if I dropped back from a 10 to a 5 in the lie department. Before things started getting out of hand.
Not that I expected they would, of course—I still had everything under control.
I’d start by telling Katie the truth about my health and begin doing my part on the assignment. We had until next Friday; I could easily make it up to her. No sweat.
I caught her in the hall by the front doors before the bell rang as she headed toward homeroom.
“Hey, Katie, I gotta come clean with you: I’m not really sick. I was just trying to get out of doing the project,” I blurted.
I couldn’t read her face and I felt nervous because of the way she wasn’t looking at me. So I started talking again to fill in the silence. Besides, the sound of my own voice always calms me down.
“But I feel really bad about it. I know there are only a few days left before we have to hand in our project and make our presentation. What should I get started on, boss?” Sucking up is always a good plan when your back’s against the wall.
“Now? Nothing.”
“What?”
That was not how this scene had played out in my head as I walked to school—she was supposed to be happy I’d confessed and secretly pleased that she could rely on me in the last few tense days of finishing up. Not to mention relieved that I wasn’t sick. Then we’d share a good laugh over what a rascally sense of humor I had and would bond over the experience. She wasn’t getting the big picture here. She was totally ruining my great plan.
“Everything’s done—the research, the final draft, everything; all that’s left to do is hand in the paper and make the report to the class.” She still wouldn’t look at me.
“Well, yeah, but there’s got to be something I can do. What about fact-checking? I could go over the PowerPoint and maybe jazz it up. Maybe I can handle the oral presentation? You know, take that burden off your shoulders? I’m great in front of an audience.”
She shook her head. “I told you: everything is done. You can’t put your name on the project if you didn’t do any of it and you’re not really sick. And I’ll get in trouble for cheating if Crosby finds out about our deal. I’m going to hand in this project as mine alone.”
“What about me?”
“You’ll have to do your own.”
“But it’s due next Friday! Everyone else had an extra week and a partner.”
“Then you’ll have to make really good use of your time. And”—she did look at me here, and her glance made my blood run cold—“it’s your own fault that you don’t have enough time and a partner.”
“I know you’re probably mad at me—”
“You used me.”