Liar, Liar: Foreword–Chapter 1

I’m only fourteen, but I’ve known for as long as I can remember that there will be times when I’m going to have to tell a lie. It’s a universal rule, a cosmic inevitability.

I tell my parents what they expect—school went well and I had a good day; yes, I did my homework; dinner was great; I’d love to drive 116 miles to go to a flea market and look for antique cookie jars and old political memorabilia with you and Dad this weekend; and no, I don’t have any dirty dishes under my bed.

I tell my teachers what they want me to say—yes, I understand the equation and how you solve it; I missed the foreshadowing until you pointed it out, but now it’s as clear as day; I really do have to use the bathroom and I don’t just want to walk around the halls during class wasting my time; no, I didn’t see who lobbed that apple across the cafeteria, nearly taking out the lunch lady’s eye (by the way, that apple missed her by a mile; everyone knows Neil Walker throws like a girl).

I’m not bragging or being conceited. I’m just making what they call objective observations.

I’m not bragging or being conceited. I’m just making what they call objective observations.

I have a knack for knowing what needs to be said and done.

I told her that I have chronic, degenerative, relapsing-remitting inflammobetigoitis. Which doesn’t exist.

I culled symptoms of mono, plantar warts, shingles, borderline personality disorder and a bladder infection, as well as listing a bunch of side effects from some TV ads for drugs.

She’s some sort of mechanized humanoid, made up of spare computer parts, all the leafy green vegetables that no one ever eats and thesaurus pages.

The Friday before, we’d been assigned to be each other’s partner for our social studies independent study project: a ten-page paper and an oral presentation in which we would “illuminate some aspect of our government relevant to today’s young citizen.”

The Friday before, we’d been assigned to be each other’s partner for our social studies independent study project: a ten-page paper and an oral presentation in which we would “illuminate some aspect of our government relevant to today’s young citizen.”

I really dig Mr. Crosby; he’s pretty laid-back except when he starts talking about what he calls “government pork,” and then he gets all wild and upset. I must have irked him somehow to get assigned to Katie.

I turned and broke out a killer smile. I can always tell when it’s time to crank up the charisma.

“Hey, Katie, I meant to—” I started, but she cut me off before I could come up with plausible and inoffensive reasons why I’d ignored her all weekend.

“Hey, Katie, I meant to—” I started, but she cut me off before I could come up with plausible and inoffensive reasons why I’d ignored her all weekend.

She flipped open her notebook and handed me a sheaf of papers.

I utilized the time by getting started on the initial research. You can see that I brainstormed about a dozen ideas we could examine that I believe to be unique and ripe for exploration.

“Uh...yeah, right. I see that you, wow, you typed up—what’s an abstract, again?”
“A brief summary and succinct explanation, the theoretical ideal, if you will, behind the project topic.”

“Uh...yeah, right. I see that you, wow, you typed up—what’s an abstract, again?”
“A brief summary and succinct explanation, the theoretical ideal, if you will, behind the project topic.”

“Uh...yeah, right. I see that you, wow, you typed up—what’s an abstract, again?”
“A brief summary and succinct explanation, the theoretical ideal, if you will, behind the project topic.”

“Of course”—she pushed her glasses a little higher on her nose—“because that kind of organization and attention to detail will enable us to make the best possible choice among our options. Besides, I’m sure I can put the seemingly superfluous work to good use in the form of extra-credit projects later in the year.”

“The analysis of data collected during the most recent national census about the underserved population and how they interact with and regard the government services structure, especially pertaining to the link between educational grants and future acts of public service?”

She looked intrigued, which was new, because Katie usually walks around with this distracted expression on her face, like she’s busy figuring the square root of the prime number closest to the gross national product.

I was feeling pretty lucky right then that JonPaul is a total hypochondriac who’s always worried that he’s coming down with something rare and dangerous.

I could rattle off the names of all those different kinds of doctors like I was a fourth-year medical student because we spend a lot of time entering his alleged physical ailments in medical website search engines.

“It started with night sweats, which caused the dehydration. Then I developed mood swings, hair loss and cotton mouth. And, of course, there’s the sensitivity to light, rapid heartbeat, dizziness, dry skin, loss of appetite and frequent thirst, which were worrisome. But all that wasn’t nearly as bad as the muscle aches, migraines, gastric reflux, bleeding gums and mild to moderate confusion when fatigued.”

“It started with night sweats, which caused the dehydration. Then I developed mood swings, hair loss and cotton mouth. And, of course, there’s the sensitivity to light, rapid heartbeat,, dizziness, dry skin, loss of appetite and frequent thirst, which were worrisome. But all that wasn’t nearly as bad as the muscle aches, migraines, gastric reflux, bleeding gums and mild to moderate confusion when fatigued.”

I figured all this was icky enough to make Katie want to keep her distance but not so bad that she’d wonder why I wasn’t in the hospital. Or quarantined.

She looked horrified. “Oh, you poor brave thing.”
I nodded sadly and tried to look brave. Brave and wan.

“I’d, well, you know, I’d wondered about you. That maybe something was amiss,” Katie said sympathetically.

“Look: I can handle the project for both of us.”
I opened my mouth to pretend to talk her out of her selfless offer, but she raised her hand to shush me.

Without knowing it, I must have sensed that she’d rather work alone. Even if it was because her partner was chronically ill and that meant she’d have to share credit. I’m a very intuitive guy.

“No. I haven’t felt...comfortable enough to share this. But there’s something about you; you’re a really good listener, and a person feels like he can confide in you.”

“That sounds amazing, Katie, thanks.”
With a conspiratorial wink, she headed off to her next class.

Suh-weet! I’d essentially be proofreading—checking for errors and making suggestions about work that had already been done on behalf of “our team.”