The Truth About You & Me Read Online Free Page B

great sense of humor. Maybe that’s past tense. I don’t know at this point.
    â€œYeah. Most Saturdays,” I said. “I like the quiet of it. Before the rest of the world wakes up.”
    You looked at me then. Really looked. Your blue eyes have this way of seeming kind of intense, you know. Not in class, but when it was just me and you and you let your guard down, let me see who you really are. You’re more flippant in public, but that quiet sincerity of yours took over when it was just me and you.
    â€œI know what you mean,” you said. “It’s relaxing.”
    â€œExactly.” We’d been hiking a few minutes, and our breathing had grown labored. We were only halfway up the mountain, but I made up my mind I would keep up with your long strides. You’re at least six inches taller than me, so it was no small feat (feet? Ha ha, get it?), but I couldn’t stand the idea of falling behind like some silly kid left in the dust. “How about you? You come up here a lot?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve been hiking it every weekend, but on the other side,” you said, jutting your thumb over your shoulder.
    â€œThe road?”
    â€œYep. I didn’t even know there was a trail on this side, until I was standing at the top last week and someone appeared on the opposite side, where the trail emerges.”
    â€œIt’s prettier,” I said. “I’ve always preferred this way.”
    You nodded. “Yeah. I like this side better.”
    You were talking about the trail, but I imagined you meant something about me, too, like you enjoyed hiking together.
    â€œCan I ask you a question?” you said.
    â€œSure.”
    You glanced over at me, still breathing hard. “My class seems easy for you. You were the first one done with that pop quiz. How’d you get to be so smart?”
    I smiled and looked down at the trail, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “I don’t know. My dad’s a PE teacher at Enumclaw High School. He’s really driven, wants me to succeed. He’s always been there if I needed help, and I knew what the expectations were. If that makes sense.”
    You blinked. “Wow, did that suck? That you went to school with your dad there?”
    Two things occurred to me in that moment:
    (1) I wanted nothing less than to talk about my father with you.
    (2) You’d asked that question in past tense, because you assumed I had graduated. But it was past tense, Bennett. It still is. I was never going back to high school because I was in college. Maybe I didn’t have a diploma yet—I won’t for two more years—but I was in college, and that’s what mattered.
    That’s why, when I answered, you have to know I wasn’t lying to you. I know it was still a deception in every way that matters, but I liked the way you were talking to me. Like we were equals, just a boy and a girl on a hike.
    They say we weren’t just a boy and a girl but a man and a girl, and so they should know that when I responded, I led you to believe I’d graduated. It was the first of so many half-truths. Just remember, Bennett, that at this point I still never dreamed you’d come to care about me, that we’d really become something. I just wanted someone to talk to me like you did. Someone who didn’t see me as the same old bookworm, too studious, the wet-blanket sort of girl, but instead could build a whole new picture of me based on what I told him.
    That’s what I wanted. To paint my own picture for once, instead of taking over the one my parents had so carefully outlined.
    â€œIt was kind of unfortunate,” I said, laughing like it was no big deal. “I’m just glad that part of my life is over.”
    â€œI bet,” you said.
    â€œWhat’s your dog’s name?” I asked, desperate to change the subject as I watched him walk right into the trickling creek