Lost In Lies (5 page)

              The crowd chants it, cheers, and the DJ begins to spin again. While laughing with Nick, I glance into the crowd, enjoying the feeling of what it would be like to be that famous amongst my peers, to be an overlord of a sort, worshiped like Athena, when I notice a set of eyes focused on me that I didn’t see before.

              Nick declares, “I have to show you something.”

              He leads me off the stage via a side set of stairs and around some of what I would call his fans as opposed to friends. Within a matter of moments, our path is blocked by my newfound family with my boyfriend, er, guy friend ... love interest, whatever name you want to give to it, Justin.

              “Well, hello there,” Peter grins from ear to ear, a familiar red cup of confidence in his hand.

              “Hi,” my voice coos back.

              “Friends?” Nick sounds excited to meet them.

              I let go of his hand to fold my arms across my chest. “Nick, meet Peter—”

              “So excited to meet you,” Peter tries to hold back his snickers. “Thrilled. Really.”

              Gritting my teeth at him, I do my best to continue, “Aiden, Eiden, Belle—”

              “Who is remarkably beautiful,” Nick compliments her, which makes her grin appear. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the glow of a modern-day Marilyn?” The smile stretches even more, “If I were a Kennedy, I would definitely make sure to stay clear of you ...”

              “Stop it,” she blushes.             

              Glad she likes him, I try to finish, “And this is—”

              “Justin,” he extends his hand for Nick to shake while staring him dead in the eye.

              I move to Belle, who is on the outside of the line. She leans over to whisper, “Of all the guys you could’ve found, you not only picked up the most charming one in the party but the one whose party we crashed?”

              I scrunch my face, “I’m not good at this.”

              “Nope.”

              “Nice to meet you,” Nick acknowledges him. “A friend of Peyton’s is a friend of mine.”

              Justin stifles his chuckle, “You’re Peyton’s friend?”

              “For now. More, I hope, later,” his eyes wander to me, “but for now, I’m privileged to be friend.”

              “A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.” Justin eyes me.

              “I couldn’t agree more. You know, Tennessee Williams said, ‘Life is partly what we make it and partly what is made by the friends we choose.’” Nick’s quote seems to one-up Justin’s.

Tension shoots through Justin’s body in a very obvious way, at least to me.

“Every choice we make moves us closer to or further apart from something in life,” he retorts.

              “‘We make the choices that enable us to fulfill the deepest capacities of our real selves.’ Thomas Merton,” Nick slips a hand into his shorts pocket.

              I tilt my head to whisper in Belle’s ear once again, “Are they really having a quote off?”

              “Dear God, I think they are,” she mumbles back.

              “Ever seen this happen before?”

              “Occasionally,” she says slowly. “But I’ve never seen Justin lose.” Her eyes meet mine and then get an unfamiliar glow, “Winner gets the girl.”

              Justin fires back, “It was once said, ‘Self is the only prison that could ever bind the soul.’”

              “‘Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.’ Aristotle. However, I believe the same can be said about love.” Nick’s eyes roll back around to me. “If you’ll excuse us, I promised Peyton I’d show her something.”

              Defeated, Justin’s jaw clenches as Nick grabs my hand to escort me away. Peter excitedly waves moments before I see a very painful look in Justin’s eyes, a look I haven’t seen since he came clean about where he came from and why he was with me, at least at first. Looking at him, I mouth, “I’m sorry.”

              Nick leads me into his beach-front mansion, the outside flushing into a lush living room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The living area has white marble floors, white leather couches, and white walls with touches of warm browns to spruce the place up. I admire the woodwork furniture that has seashell imprints carved in them, the framed artwork from some of my favorite artists, aside from my father of course, and the hints of soft yellow, like the fan blades above and pillows on the couches. As we head toward the stairs, a few feet away from the seating area, I glance over to admire the kitchen, where I imagine many tasty treats must be waiting. I can’t wait to get in there.

What am I doing? I mean, I know it’s my job to entertain Nick to an extent, but I could just as easily find a way to excuse myself right now and relocate to Justin. After all, he must be missing me. Well, he does miss me, right? You know, now that I think about it, I’d been sitting with my ill-gotten snacks for a while. He didn’t seem to want to rush right over to find me. What if he really was interested in that girl?

              “This way,” Nick’s hand folds into mine as we take the set of stairs on the right. My attention settles on the parallel set of stairs leading to the same common balcony area upstairs. I’ve given up everything for Justin, but what has he given up for me? What if he’s still conning me just to make sure I deliver on my part of the Lost Boy deal? Justin and Peter go way back—they could be toying with me. Well, maybe it is time to look out for number one—just a little bit.

              My hand slides off the smooth railing. I’m doing my best not to appear starstruck by the amount of expensive architecture I’m surrounded by, but I’m having a bit of a hard time. We veer off to the right, passing several closed doors and stopping in front of the fifth one. Nick opens the door and reveals an oversized room with flat screens on both sides of the walls, playing live feed of his entire house.

              “Is this your security room?” I look at the various groups of people moving in front of the camera lenses.

              Nick strolls pass the two sets of desks that linger under each set of flat screens, where remotes and phones rest, past two black leather chairs that contrast the white room, and over to the bay windows that overlook the entire party.

              I walk over to him, taking a very queenlike stance, and fold my arms across my chest. His tongue grazes his lips, and he says quietly, seriously, “All the people, all the smiles, the fake hellos, the fake congrats, they all mean nothing to me.” I watch as a group of girls plays a game of volleyball against a group of guys on the other end of the party. “You see, it doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. They don’t really care. All they’re looking for are a few moments to forget about the misery they’ve come to live in—a few minutes away from the pressures of college applications, their parents’ drinking and coke addictions. It’s just a few moments to forget who they are, but the funny thing is ... how can you forget who you are if you have no idea who that is in the first place?” This profound thought is followed with, “You can’t. You just continue to spiral into an abyss until you decide to get off the hamster wheel and do something different.”

              That, I can relate to. I may not have had parties to run away to, but being lonely with no friends sure did feel like an abyss, and now that I have them, it feels great to be doing something different.

              “And that’s why I merely say a brief hello at these things and then return here to watch, to observe, to make sure I don’t fall into the abyss everyone else has.” His face turns to me, his eyes with a sepia color painted in them, “A beautiful monster.”

              “A beautiful monster,” I repeat the words, which touch me at heart, knowing that’s what my own life is going to become—fun, whimsical, enjoyable, but a monster that has to be fed with theft and who knows what else. Ugh, what was I thinking when I jumped ship—literally—to join the Lost Boys? Now that I think about it, I could be Justin’s beautiful monster. Am I just a distraction from Justin’s own desperate abyss? Nick is not a Lost Boy, but he’s the kind of lost boy that, right now, seems life a relief. “Am I the only one who knows about this place?”

              “And my best friend,” he shrugs, walking away from the window. “Drink?”

              “No, thank you,” I pass, “but I’ll take a tour.”

              Extending his hand, he smirks, “It’d be my pleasure.”

              After a breathtaking tour of his mansion, we end up back in the kitchen, posted up close to the mixers, joking about different foreign dining he’s experienced (how I would never eat things like shark fin) and laughing at the sight of the girl he was dodging pacing outside the glass wall like a puppy who just can’t get picked at the pound. Before I realize it, time has slipped away from me as well as Justin from my mind. Clearly, I’m not on his. After all, he hasn’t tried to steal me away since our first meet up. Maybe hanging with Nick isn’t a bad choice. So what if it is—I’ve made worse.

              Leaning against the countertop, with my elbow resting on it, I nibble on a hot, fresh-baked pretzel while watching Nick as he plays with a coaster. He’s going on and on about how ice cream will never possess the same flavor it did as when he was a kid when abruptly he stops, leans in closer to me, and asks, “So, Peyton, if you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

              “Oh, that’s a tough one,” I put the last part of the pretzel in my mouth, licking the salt remains off my fingertips in a less-than-classy way.

              “Let’s narrow it down, then. The fruit you would want to eat for the rest of your life?”

              Without hesitation, I sigh and turn my body so we’re facing the same direction, “Strawberries.”

              “Do you like them dipped in chocolate?”

              Feeling my heart melt, I place both of my elbows back on the countertop and rock on my toes, filled with nervousness. “Love them that way.”

              “Ever had it with champagne?” Seeing the shake of my head, he scoots over and leans in closer, “By candlelight, with soft music playing, staring into the eyes of someone you just want to press your lips against?”

              My lips quiver for a response. Then someone clears his throat, breaking up the tension between us. We turn to see Justin, Aiden, and Belle coming into the house. Immediately, I scoot over and stand up straight.

              “Interrupting?” Belle purrs curiously.

              “More or less,” Nick smirks, licking his lips.

              “Bathroom?” Justin asks, the color in his face draining.

              “To your right,” Nick points to a small hallway past the wall of windows.

              “Thanks,” he says, slowly backing in that direction.

              Nick turns and places his back against the counter as Belle and Aiden join us. “So, which one of you brought Peyton?”

              “That’d be me,” Belle raises a finger and attempts to smirk.

              “Then, I have you to thank,” he takes her hand and plants a kiss on the back of it. “For I shall treat her like an angel and hope she’ll show me heaven.”

              Belle awes as Justin rounds the corner in time to hear the quote, which informs me that he didn’t really have to use the restroom. He rolls his eyes, and stealthily strolls around in the living room.

              The conversation fades as my attention focuses on Justin, who has a very devious look on his face, like he is indeed up to no good. Occasionally, I turn my face to appear as if I’m part of the conversation, but I watch as he taps various spots on the couches and love seats, lifts up corners of the rug, and feels the insides of the lamps on the side tables. Confused, I continue to watch, giggling when Belle does, like a cue to pay attention for that moment, before returning to babysit Justin from afar. Nick places his hand on top of mine, which instills a bit of anxiety inside of Justin, who glares before opening a drawer at the side table. Pulling out a black leather Bible, he taps it gently several times before opening it past the first few pages and to a hollowed-out opening. Proudly, Justin pulls out an envelope marked “For Emergencies Only—This Means You, Dubs.” He quietly slides out a wad of cash, flashes it at me, along with his smile, folds it, and slides it into his pocket. Quietly, he places the Bible back as if had never been removed. My eyes widen as I shake my head back and forth, which attracts Nick’s attention.

              He glances over his shoulder to see Justin heading our way. “Nice restroom. A city theme in a beach home? Clever.”

              “Thanks,” Nick nods and turns back around.

              Justin makes a head motion that they’re ready to leave, so Belle speaks up, “Hate to say this, but I have to steal her away.”

              “Oh,” Nick strokes the back of my hand. Staring into my eyes for a moment, he asks, “Do you mind if I have a minute alone first?”

              “One minute,” Justin speaks up, following Belle and Aiden down a small hall out the front door.

              He tilts his head, putting Justin’s attitude out of his mind, “So Peyton, thank you again for saving me from Barbie—”