December 10, 2014 - Lies

What in the hell am I even doing?

That question didn’t casually pop into my mind - it slammed into me the moment the bus rolled out of the terminal, like someone had lobbed a steel chair straight at my frontal lobe. From that point onward it looped relentlessly, circling my skull with the stubborn persistence of a cursed ringtone on a phone whose volume button had long stopped working. Eight hours on this freezing metal tube and the only thing louder than the engine was the arm-wrestling match between my thoughts and my dignity.

None of my friends could come. Yesterday morning, June had apologized at least four times in under a minute before blurting out an invitation to Jackie’s art show - and “invitation” was generous. The way he speed-talked it sounded like a man trying to confess before a firing squad. We all would’ve gone, honestly, but eight hours on a weekend, through traffic thick enough to qualify as a natural disaster, made it impossible for anyone to commit.

Anyone but me.

Apparently, my brain is wired for self-inflicted quests. Eight-hour bus ride, stay barely an hour, sprint back to catch the last trip home? For some reason, Allen considers that “manageable.” And of course I had already saved the date. My calendar had a giant question mark on December 10 - the day Jackie had written in her notebook months ago. I copied it into mine the second she looked away, like a stalker with excellent penmanship. I didn’t know what it meant then. Now I did.

An anime art convention - her art convention.

So here I was, eight hours away from home, sitting alone on a bus set permanently to “Antarctica Mode,” feeling like the loneliest anime protagonist in a series no studio wanted to adapt. When I woke up that morning, I still checked my phone, hoping one of my friends had developed the miraculous ability to teleport.

Nothing. No Kyle. No Mike. No Joseph. Just me and my thoughts - and my thoughts were the kind of roommates who stole your food, never paid rent, and left the door unlocked.

What in the hell are you doing, Allen? Why are you traveling eight hours just to suffer? Are you stupid? ****? Both? Was this emotional masochism? Not physical pain, but walking straight into heartbreak to check whether the wound still stung?

Jackie had already chosen. And I wasn’t even an option to begin with.

So why was I here, knees mashed into the seat ahead of me, shoulder slowly dying from the cramped space, cold air shooting at me like the bus held a personal vendetta against my existence? Why was I traveling for an art show I would only see for a few minutes?

By the time the bus finally pulled in, the sky had shifted to that dramatic, burning orange - the kind of lighting that makes everything feel like the season finale of a show centered around your terrible decisions. As soon as I entered the mall, the crisp air conditioning slapped me across the face, bright and judgmental. I **** my legs to walk normally after being folded into chair-shaped origami for eight hours. Meanwhile my brain rehearsed excuses in case Jackie asked why I came.

“I’m here to support my bestest friend ever June.”
“I’m actually a renowned art connoisseur.”
“I’m absolutely not going to cry quietly in public transportation after this.”
“I’m- you know what, just marry me.”

Then I heard giggles. Familiar ones. The kind that could raise my heart rate faster than a medical emergency.

I glanced to the side, did a double take, and nearly swallowed my soul. Ginny and the rest of Jackie’s friends were sitting on a bench right in my path like a trap spawned by the universe. I immediately ducked behind a wall with the grace of a ninja who had never completed his training.

My palms grew sweaty. My chest got tight. I wasn’t even at the booth and my social survival instinct was already short-circuiting. If they saw me, I’d look pathetic - a lone pilgrim who’d traveled eight hours for a girl who didn’t owe him anything.

Fine. I admitted it. I came to see Jackie - and her art. The drawings she made quietly in class, the ones I pretended not to watch as they formed little by little. Those things mattered to me more than I ever had the right to say.

June mentioned she’d be selling her manga. I thought I’d buy one. Friendly. Supportive. Normal. Far less creepy than Plan A: “accidentally steal a sketch and run.”

Barely less creepy.

I messaged June.

Me: Yo, June. Where you at?
June: Convention. I told you guys about this.
Me: I know. I'm here at the mall. Gonna buy one manga to support you.

Silence.

Me: I’m gonna bounce right after.

A few seconds later:

June: That’s great.

Me: Tell me when you're alone. Don’t wanna make this a whole thing.

I lowered my phone and nearly jumped out of my skin. Ginny was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could see the freckles across her nose like someone had flung tiny stars at her face. She wore a baseball cap, a sleeveless shirt despite the cold, long shorts, and sneakers so scuffed they looked like they’d survived at least one small war. Her whole vibe radiated “problem child with extracurricular chaos.”

I fumbled my phone three times before catching it on the fourth - currently the most impressive accomplishment of my day.

“Jackie’s that way,” she said, pointing.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied way too fast. “Just gonna buy something.”

“Flowers?” She tilted her head, smirking. “You know June’s with her, right?”

I glared. “No, dum-dum. And I’m here because June invited me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

Ginny scoffed. “He told us he invited you guys two weeks ago. We thought you would plan a trip together.”

My stomach dropped. “Guess he forgot.”

“Mhm.” She did not believe that for a second.

She looked me up and down like she was trying to figure out whether I came with glitches included, then shrugged. “We thought you guys were gonna rent a hotel. Make a weekend out of it.”

There was absolutely nothing I could say without either betraying June or sounding like a complete idiot, so I stayed quiet. Ginny watched me squirm with the delighted patience of a cat studying prey.

“You said you’re buying something? I’m coming with you,” she declared. “The girls are shopping.”

I stiffened. “Did you tell them you saw me?”

“Nope.”

Then she flashed a grin — sharp, toothy, threatening.

Translation: Run, and I will end your entire reputation.

“…Fine.”

We walked in silence - Ginny entertained, me undergoing spontaneous emotional combustion - until I saw it.

A bookstore.

A real, glorious bookstore, glowing like a miracle dropped into the mall. I walked toward it instantly, without thought, like my soul was magnetized. Ginny followed me in with her arms crossed, already judging the entire building.

“So you really do like reading now,” she muttered.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My feet had already carried me straight to the horror section. The familiar rows of spines, the dark covers, the musty-paper smell - it all settled my nerves faster than breathing exercises ever could. My shoulders relaxed. My heartbeat slowed. For the first time since stepping off the bus, I felt like a person again.

“Why horror?” she asked.

“Horror writers have to grab your whole brain,” I said, tracing the edge of a thick spine. “If they can’t pull you in completely, nothing works. Fear doesn’t work halfway.”

What I didn't say was why I started liking it. It's simple really - a good horror book compeletely shuts off Jackie and June when in class.

Ginny glanced at me, and something in her expression softened before she quickly hid it. “You used to be loud,” she said. “Funny. Always had something smart to say. Now you just... brood.”

I swallowed. Explaining everything - the humiliation, the guilt, the karma I kept waiting for - would take forever, and I didn’t have the emotional energy or self-esteem.

“Dum-dum does, dum-dum do,” I muttered, almost to myself. “Said it to the guys once. Thought the alliteration sounded cool.”

Ginny frowned. “Your group stopped swearing. What the hell does dum-dum even mean?”

“It’s a stupid person,” I said, glancing at her before pretending to focus on the shelves again. “Kyle stopped swearing because of Minny. We all got affected by it.”

It surprised me that she’d noticed. It wasn’t sudden - it happened slowly, the way habits shift when you’re not paying attention.

“That’s so dumb,” Ginny said. “You were easier to ignore when you were annoying.”

I didn't even know what to do with that, so I let it float off into the void. Then I gasped — the sequel to a book I’d been searching for for months sat right at eye level. I grabbed it immediately, my mood lifting like someone flipped a switch.

Ginny’s voice cut in again. “Next time you borrow from the class shelf, write your name. I’m tired of doing it for you.”

I turned slowly to look at her. That was a bold lie. No one appointed Ginny as class librarian. The adviser told us to write our names, but the sheet was ancient and untouched - except apparently by Ginny, for reasons beyond mortal comprehension.

“Right,” I said flatly.

“I’m going back,” she said.

“Can I get your number?”

It flew out before I could stop it. Time pressure had dissolved my remaining brain cells.

I quickly added, “So you can text me when June’s alone. He’s not replying.”

Ginny blinked - confused, irritated, then begrudgingly accepting. “Fine.”

She typed it like she was signing a legally binding curse, then walked off.I checked the book in my hand, knowing if I bought it I wouldn’t have enough for Jackie’s manga. With a sigh I put it back carefully, like it was something sacred. Then I walked outside and found an open spot on a bench, sitting quickly. I checked the time. I had an hour in the mall. Now only thirty minutes left until I’d have to run for the last bus. I wondered if June was busy, or if Jackie couldn’t step away from her booth.

I set a five-minute warning alarm. If I sprinted, I’d make it. Cutting it close, but whatever - I’d already traveled eight hours. I was going to milk every remaining minute.

I watched the crowd pass by and mentally prepared myself. If ten more minutes passed without a message, I’d just walk by “accidentally,” buy whatever Jackie had out, and act ready to go home. Cool as a cucumber - pretending I didn’t care, even though I definitely did.

Then my phone buzzed.

Ginny: Come, dum-dum.

I stood immediately and went straight to the convention.

Jackie’s booth was impossible to miss. Her drawings – once half-finished doodles in class – were now fully inked, vibrant, and arranged with the kind of confidence that made my chest tighten with warmth and pain at the same time. It felt strange seeing them finished. Like watching a secret finally step into the light.

Then I heard her voice.

“Yo.”

My entire body locked up. I turned too fast and nearly tripped over absolutely nothing. My mind wasn’t empty though – it was full of aggressive, unprintable thoughts aimed directly at Ginny.

Jackie stood there in an oversized hoodie, her hair tied loose in a way that looked accidentally perfect. She smiled at me like I wasn’t a malfunctioning piece of outdated machinery glitching through life.

“You made it!” she said.

“Y-yeah,” I managed, my voice cracking in a way that would’ve been charming if I were in a coming-of-age indie film. I was not.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“I heard they went shopping…”

“No, dum-dum.” She giggled – warm, bright, dangerous. “I meant Kyle and the others.”

“Oh.” I shrugged, brain scrambling. “They’re busy.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah. Kyle’s mom’s birthday. Big celebration.” A lie delivered with the confidence of a man duct-taping his life together.

Jackie pouted a little, then gave me this small, soft smile that hit harder than it should have. “That’s too bad. But hey – you’re here.”

I turned away and pointed at her artwork like a mature adult who definitely wasn’t melting internally. “These are amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said, stepping closer.

My heart attempted gymnastics it was not trained for.

“Can I buy one?” I asked.

She blinked, surprised. “What?... Really?”

“Yeah. Always wanted one.”

Then my phone alarm went off – the last bus. Of course it did.

I panicked, scanned the table, then grabbed a manga without even checking which one it was. It didn’t really matter which one I took. “How much?”

“Five dollars.”

“You should charge more,” I said as I handed her the coins. Our fingers brushed – barely – and my entire brain rebooted in silence. I bowed. I actually bowed like I was suddenly transported into a historical drama.

“I gotta go,” I blurted before fleeing with the dignity of a criminal escaping a flashing security camera.

On the bus, I texted Kyle:

Me: It’s your mom’s birthday today.
Kyle: …Okay?

Perfect. Flawless. Covered.

I hugged Jackie’s manga like it was fragile treasure. With my luck, a robber would enter the bus, ignore everyone’s phones and wallets, and steal only this ten-page booklet out of spite.

I read it the whole way home, chewing myself out for not asking for an autograph. The art was beautiful – soft, shoujo-style panels with dramatic hair and sparkles everywhere. The plot was barely coherent, but honestly that didn’t matter.

Because it was hers.
And now it was mine.
And, as usual, that had to be enough.

---

The next day at school, break arrived. June walked straight to Jackie. I walked straight to the bookshelf. We passed each other like everything was normal. He grinned; I slapped his shoulder. For a second, I wondered why he never texted me back yesterday, but it didn’t matter. I got what I came for.

Ginny caught my eye and flashed that sharp, toothy grin. I scowled. She cackled.

I grabbed a new book – then froze at the log sheet. My name. Written in cursive. Dates. Times. An entire column dedicated to me. She had logged every book I borrowed. I was the only name on the sheet.

Which made zero sense because Joseph had borrowed a book and never returned it, and Mike had borrowed one and returned it in a record-breaking four minutes.

“She has way too much free time,” I muttered.