I sit down on the bare wooden chair in front of the mirror. I am disgusted by my lies. They can hurt people. They can help people. But do they hurt me or help me? First I get angry. I pound the counter. I kick the walls. My picture of dad and little me floats out of my pink pocket. Then I feel grief.
Why does dad have to be gone? If he were here, we wouldn't have to live in an attic. I wouldn't have to lie. I would be happy. My brothers would be happy. Mom would be happy.
Next comes sadness. I just want mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. The word echoes in my head. I just want to hug her, inhale her mocha scent. She would make everything okay. The tears come.
I hear knocking and Lisa's voice: “Kayla, are you in there?”
“Go away,” I mumble.
“Kayla...You can't just hide in there. You're not a hermit.”
“I can hide.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn't.”
“Why not?”I let her in. She walks over to me.
“Kayla, I need you. Your family needs you. Think about what would happen if you locked yourself away.”
“I wouldn't have to lie.'
“Why do you lie?”
“Because my dad is gone.”
“That's not a reason.”
“Then what is?!”
“I don't know. What I do know is this: you're lucky to have me as a friend.”
“It's not about you! Am I really lucky? A friend wouldn't pry.”
“Well then. I guess I'm not your friend.'
“I guess not.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Lisa storms off. I leave the bathroom feeling crummier than when I walked in.
I walk down the hallway, keeping my head down. I stop by my locker to grab my art supplies and shuffle around the corner.
