I look around to make sure Monty is still preoccupied with chatting up Marcy before I talk to his sister. “Hey there, Tiny Dancer.”
“Hey there, Nerdballs.”
“Olivia,” Mr. Montgomery reprimands her. He can be stern with her sometimes.
“Ohhhh, there he is—the genius!” Monty’s mom comes over with her arms outstretched.
“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery.”
She’s a good hugger. The best. “I was hoping to see your mom and dad here.” She feels sorry for me, but she’s trying not to show it.
“Yes, they asked me to say ‘hi’ to you. They’re on a business trip. They’ll be back late tonight.”
“Oh, well, you must come have dinner with us tonight,” she says.
“I’d love to, but I think the team’s going out to celebrate.”
“Oh, that’s right. Nathan said. I forgot. You come stay with us afterward if you’d like. I’ll text your mother if you do.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I made your favorite zucchini-and-banana bread,” Mrs. Montgomery says. “I’ll leave some out for you.”
“I will save room for that. Thank you.”
Olivia has been watching me. Studying me, her head tilted. She doesn’t leave when her parents go over to talk to our coach.
“What?”
She shrugs. “You’re different with my mom.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve always treated her the same way.”
“I mean you treat her differently from how you treat other people,” she says. “You’re nicer to her.”
“I’m nice to everyone.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not mean. You don’ttryto be rude; you just don’t try hard enough not to be. But you do with my mom. You try not to be rude, I mean.”
“I don’t think being rude is the same as not being nice,” I say.
“It is. Why do you pretend to like her zucchini-banana bread? Nobody likes it. Not even Mom. It’s literally where organic zucchini and bananas go to die.”
“What makes you think I don’t like it?”
“I see how your whole body tenses up before you take a bite. Even when you heard her mention it just now.”
Olivia pays attention. She makes intuitive and intellectual connections. I like that.
“Your mom kept making it for me after I said I liked it once. Nobody’s ever done that for me before.” There’s an unexpected crack in my voice. I clear my throat as I push my glasses up my nose and look directly at her so she can see that I’m not crying. I’m not emotional; I just appreciate how nice her mom is to me.
She doesn’t convey surprise at my revelation; she just nods. “It does make her happy. And it makes you happy. So, if one little lie makes two people happy, then it’s okay?”
Olivia questions things. It’s impressive for her age. Not everyone does that at any age, I’ve noticed.
“I suppose it depends on the nature of the lie.”
She pauses to consider before saying, “I wouldn’t want anyone to lie to me to make me happy.”
