“If you lie to me again, Dana, it won’t end well for you.”
“Lie to you? Lie toyou?” I mirrored his pose on the other side of the island. I’d barely looked at my father since finding out about Brandon, but standing across from him while he prepared to lecture me about honesty was more than I could bear. I almost said it, right then, almost screamed out what I knew. My mouth was opening again, the truth ready to pour out, when the only thing that could have stopped me in that moment entered the kitchen behind Dad.
Mom looked between me and Dad. “What is going on in here?”
Dad’s eyes never left my face. “She lied about where she was last night.”
“Dana?”
“And she’s gonna tell us where she went right now.”
Both my parents were staring at me, though with polar-opposite expressions. Mom looked confused, like she was waiting for me to explain away a misunderstanding. Dad looked pissed, like he was waiting for—demanding—an explanation that he’d already decided he wouldn’t accept. I was torn right down the middle. I was so angry with him, but I still didn’t know how deep his betrayal went. Laying into Dad the way I burned to would shatter Mom. It was going to hurt enough when I did; unanswered questions would only make it worse.
So I beat the words down. But that did nothing to cool my temper. “Fine. I lied.”
Dad’s expression wavered. He hadn’t been expecting me to come right out and admit it.
“I didn’t go to Jessalyn’s, and I didn’t do homework. I went to the batting cages with a guy. I didn’t tell you because I thought you might say no. So I lied.” I drew out that last word, making sure to hold Dad’s eye as I did. I couldn’t help it. If I’d felt more guilty over blowing off Dad, I might have tried to lessen my lie by pointing out that Jessalyn and Sadie had shown up too, but I didn’t feel guilty enough to want to try. I didn’t feel guilty at all.
“A boy?” Mom said. “You lied to us over a boy? What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing,” I said, eyeing Dad and his inexplicable silence.
“I lied because I never do anything besides softball and homework. But don’t worry, Dad.” I shifted my eyes and only my eyes to him. “I hit better than I ever have. I’m good for the game tonight.”
It would have been cool to toss my banana peel in the trash can on my way out of the kitchen after that, having left both my parents speechless in my wake, but I didn’t get to be cool—I got to be yelled at, tag team–style.
Lying was wrong, ninth commandment–level wrong, and let’s throw in breaking the fifth commandment about honoring parents too, since I obviously hadn’t done that either. I didn’t know that I’d ever been yelled at so thoroughly and for so long before in my life. Not because lying was the worst thing I’d ever been caught doing, but because I wouldn’t apologize. I was defiant and obstinate at every turn. I didn’t express remorse. I didn’t promise never to do it again. I was like a kid possessed, one who was too stupid or too far gone to see that every willful and barb-tongued response was only digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole of my own making.
It might have gone on indefinitely had it not been a game day. Like matching Pavlovian dogs, Dad and I both turned to the kitchen wall clock the second it hit five o’clock.
Games were sacrosanct. Not even a knock-down, drag-out fight could delay them.
Dad and I left the kitchen to change and gather our stuff, then met back downstairs in the garage.
“Adriana, are you coming with us?” Dad asked Mom, who was still in the kitchen where we’d left her. She tossed the sponge she’d been using on the island countertop into the sink and shook her head.
“So our daughter can complete her transformation into Pete Rose, ready to charge the mound the second she gets on the field? No. I’ll text Selena to pick me up on her way.” With one last head shake of disgust from her in no particular direction, Dad and I headed out.
I simmered during the entire drive, ready to boil over again at the slightest comment from Dad, almost hoping for it. Without Mom’s presence, I might not be able to hold back. But he was as silent as I was. We didn’t exchange a single word until we were walking to the field from the parking lot.
“This is over now. You play, I coach—”
“We win,” I said, my gaze locked ahead.
“Win or lose,” he went on, “everything about last night is over. Next time you want to make other plans, fine, tell me. Do not lie to me or your mom—do you understand me?”
I glanced at him. He was squinting into the setting sun, not looking at me. “I understand you better than I ever have.”
“Good. And you’re grounded next week.”
Play ball!
CHAPTER 18
We won the game. Jessalyn and I didn’t talk, but I hit the crap out of everything that came my way, fielded like my life depended on it, and yelled and cheered so much that my voice was gone by the end of the night. Not that I needed it. Dad kept his word about dropping the argument. We didn’t mention it driving back from the game or once we got home. Mom must have said something to Selena, because she refrained from commenting about the total lack of bragging—on my part—and game analysis that we all usually shared in after a win. Rather than winding me down, however, the atypical quiet only added to my resentment toward Dad. Here was another thing he was taking from us.
If I’d been Selena, I’d have taken one look at the faces around me once we spilled into the living room and kept my mouth shut about anything even remotely contentious. But Selena could be a huge dumbass sometimes, and she couldn’t leave well enough alone.
