Killer Lies

Finley’s first recorded kill is in kindergarten. The first domino falls when she takes two pieces of candy instead of one from the Sweet Bowl Ms. Anderson has set up in the back corner of the class.

The small classroom is ginormous in young Finley’s opinion; the ceiling as reachable as space. The walls are an ugly beige, which Ms. Anderson strategically covered with colorful posters on math and science and reading. The poster hanging up just behind the Sweet Bowl in the back of the room is blue with a cartoon superhero on the front. The superhero is a young boy with black hair wearing a blue mask and a cape. He stands majestically in front of violet buildings in the center of the poster. At the top in large yellow font is the word ‘Honesty,’ written with a star in the ‘O.’ And along the bottom reads ‘Always be truthful, someone others can trust.’ The Sweet Bow itself perches on a wooden pedestal between two tall bookshelves crammed with ratty picture books.

It’s a rough day. During Circle Time, when the students are gathered in a circle in the center of the room and asked to share something, Cornelia Barnock interrupts Finley’s talk about her dog to make fun of her hair. Finley fingers the messy black braid in her dark fingers and frowns. A couple of the other kids giggle. Tears sting her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks. Ms. Anderson shushes the laughing children, but the damage has been done. Finley sits back down and clutches her knees to her face. She senses the other kids leaving the circle, sent to stations by the teacher. 

A large hand rests on her back, heavy and soothing. Finley whines dramatically.

“Don’t cry, honey. Your hair is just fine. Why don’t you go get a piece from the Sweet Bowl?” Ms. Anderson’s voice is gentle, worn by years of teaching and endless amounts of patience. Finley finally picks her face up and wipes away the tears.

“Really?” Finley asks, her sadness forgotten, thrown off like an old coat. She doesn’t stay to hear the confirmation before shooting to her feet and going to the back of the class.

Finley takes a green apple Jolly Rancher, her favorite candy, but she hesitates. She could use a little extra comfort, so ignoring the judgmental stare of the cartoon hero, she palms a second piece of candy. Nothing big. Not one of the lollipops or any of the other popular candy. She sneaks one of the candies that never seem to get taken. Nothing anyone would miss. She unwraps and pops the Jolly Rancher in her mouth and hides the second in her jacket pocket.

A loud gasp erupts behind her, and Finley freezes, blood turning to ice in her veins.

Cornelia, who doubles as the class tattle, runs to the teacher, pointing an accusing finger at Finley.  Ms. Anderson pats Cornelia’s well-kept bed of blonde hair before turning towards the back of the room. Her sharp brown eyes zero in on Finley’s trembling figure. Quickly swallowing the hard candy on her tongue, Finley clutches the second in her sweaty hands. Ms. Anderson glides through the crowd of desks and wide-eyed kids to the back of the room. Finley tries to stop shaking. Ms. Anderson towers over her, hands resting on her hips.

           “Finley, did you take two pieces of candy?” The other students begin ooooing, their eyes ping ponging between teacher and guilty student. Cornelia smirks behind the teacher’s skirts, proud with the knowledge that she caught a thief. Finley swallows thickly and twists the candy in her hand. Tell the truth? She can’t. If she admits to taking two, she will have to sit on The Wall at recess, and she won’t be able to swing. Her heart hammers in her chest.

           “No, ma’am. I only took one, see?” Finley says as innocently as she can. She lifts her open palm to show the sticky candy in her hand. Ms. Anderson raises an eyebrow.

           “You’re sure-” Ms. Anderson chokes off, her imposing face assuming a look of shock as redness infuses her cheeks. She clutches at her neck, and pained gasps escape her open mouth. Finley and the other kids stare in horror as Ms. Anderson collapses on the floor, hands tearing at her throat. Finley kneels down and grabs her teacher’s hands with her dark ones. Ms. Anderson’s eyes bug out of her head, red with strain. The other kids begin screaming and crying.

           One of the students, a boy named Marcus, runs out of the room. The absent worry that Marcus is going to be in trouble for leaving without permission filters through Finley’s shocked mind. Ms. Anderson twists and grunts, tears streaming down her face. Her heavy mascara bleeds down her cheeks. 

           “You…” Ms. Anderson chokes out before her eyes roll back in her head. Her body twitches and her mouth foams despite her unconscious state.

           By that time, swarms of other teachers are rushing into the room. Someone called 911, and the students are being herded into other rooms.  

           Ms. Anderson died that day, October 27^th sixteen years ago. Her last words were the accusing “You…” that she choked out to a frightened Finley. To this day, Finley does not know what Ms. Anderson was trying to say. If it was an accusation or an attempt to comfort. She tries not to focus on the cryptic message and instead focus on not hurting others.

           Finley, as she has grown older, has tested the boundaries of her personal magic lie detector. Most of her testing is accidental, her youthful forgetfulness and impulsivity to blame. She found that she can’t even tell a half-truth without hurting someone. The extent of the lie determines the extent of the damage done. A full-blown lie kills, and a half-truth injures. 

           Jake chokes on his meatball sub, brown eyes bugging out of his head as he fights to keep the food from spraying out. Finley laughs and reaches over to thump him on the back. Jake swallows his bite, body rolling with the effort. He brushes a lock of black hair from his face.

           “Dude,” Jake coughs into his elbow, “You can’t make me laugh like that when I’m eating. I almost died,” Jake says, dark brows lifted in mock disappointment. Finley snorts, forcing a chuckle from the boy across from her. The redness in his pale face vanishes.

           “You did not almost die.” Jake gasps in over-exaggerated offense. 

They are sitting in a corner booth in the sub shop located only a block from their apartment complex. White and black tiles checker the floor, and the tabletops are white with red running on the edges. The plush booths are scarlet, and large rips in the seating expose the white stuffing inside. Most of the patrons, college students, sip at steaming mugs of coffee at the counter. Despite being early February, the weather is rather warm, and everyone is dressed in shorts and tee shirts. A twangy bop plays in the background, almost inaudible over the excited chattering. 

           “Oh! I gotta go. Sorry, Fin, I can’t be late to Chem again. Dr. Radbury would kill me,” Jake says. He scarfs down the last bite of sandwich and shoves his phone into his pocket. Finley laughs, her cheeks aching with smiling so much. Only Jake can make her laugh this much. 

           Jake hurries out of the booth. Despite his rush, he spins around to shoot finger guns at her and make pew pew noises. Finley giggles, throwing her arms up and pretending to block his imaginary bullets. Jake backs into Melody. His face flashes red. Melody rolls her eyes as he apologizes and flaps her small hands dismissively. Jake sends Finley a sheepish wave before disappearing out the door. Finley smiles as Melody takes Jake’s spot in the booth and tosses her laptop bag on the cushions. 

           “Jesus, Fin. I swear, you and that boy,” Melody clucks her tongue. 

           “What? He was just saying good bye.” Finley says. Her cheeks warm again, vindicating her best friend. Melody rolls her eyes and pushes up her glasses. She reaches over and steals a fry from Finley’s plate, rubbing it into the smear of ketchup before popping it into her mouth. She wrinkles her nose.

           “Fries are cold,” Finley says. 

           “Thanks for the warning,” Melody deadpans. “How long have you been here?”

           Finley checks her phone. “Umm… about three hours. Jake and I had the thermo midterm today.” She pushes her plate to the side and rests her head on her arms. 

           “That bad?” Melody clucks her tongue. In reality? No. Jake and Finley had studied hard in the weeks leading up to the exam. They spent hours in the library, in the sub shop, and in their respective apartments drilling each other on practice problems and terminology. Finley would love to whine and complain about the exam just for the sake of doing so, but she doesn’t dare.

           “Nah, I think I did a good job.” Finley presses her face into her arms. 

           “Awesome. Are you done for the day?” Melody asks. Finley nods against her crossed arms. Melody pokes her. “Then could you help me study for my Anatomy exam?” Melody pleads. 

A hard corner presses against her arm. Finley sits straight and grabs the open notebook.

           “What do you need to know?” She glances over the rather detailed picture of a heart drawn in blue with pink ink naming the different sections.

           “The parts of the heart.” Finley nods and scans the vocabulary at the bottom of the page. “Before we start, I wanted to ask you something.” Finley looks up when Melody hesitates.

           “What’s wrong?” Finley asks, brows furrowed.

           “I wanted to ask you about Jake.” Finley’s heart thunders in her ears, and her face get warm. The chattering and other background noises dim as she focuses on her friend’s next words. There is an awkward moment when the server drops off Melody’s chocolate milkshake, and she thanks him warmly. She takes a couple sips and moans.

           “God, I love their milkshakes.”

           “Mel. What did you want to ask me?” Finley’s throat feels rough, as if she had been coughing all day. Her friend snaps her fingers and takes one more sip of milkshake.

“Mmm. I think you should ask Jake out. I just don’t want you to be single for another Valentine’s Day when you have a crush on a single dude. Remember last year, when that girl Mariah asked him out on Valentine’s?” Finley nods somberly. “You moped for weeks. Plus, it would be awesome if you two and Jane and I could double date.” Melody’s attempt at lightening the mood succeeds in pulling out a grudging laugh.

           “I don’t know, Mel. I just…. I don’t really know how I feel, ok?” Mel nods.

           “Fin, we are best friends. I see the way you look at him. I’m not going to force you to ask him out, but you should consider it. I would definitely wing-woman you,” Mel says, reaching over the table to grab Finley’s hand. “You like him.” Finley shakes her head. Her eyes burn. She rips her hand back.

           “I don't know, Mel! I don't know if I like him that way!” Finley yells, earning a few concerned stares from the other customers in the store.  Melody grabs her flailing hand, holding it gently.

           “Baby, you talk about him all the time, and you can’t stop smiling. The two of you are constantly doing things together; you might as well be already dating.” Finley gapes. Melody releases her hand and sips her milkshake. Finley collapses against the cushions, ignoring the huffing sound escaping the booth. 

           “I… I think I’m gonna go back to the apartment. I’ll see you later,” Finley says numbly, careful not to tell any inadvertent lies. Melody raises an eyebrow. “Sorry I can’t help you study.” 

           “Ok, girl. Be careful.” Finley nods absentmindedly and leaves the sub shop. The warm spring weather caresses her face, but she can’t feel it. She stumbles back to the apartment she shares with Melody and two other girls. She flops onto her green bedspread and buries her face in her pillow.

           Why did Melody say she likes Jake? Does she? 

           She thinks of her friendship with Jake over the years. They met in Physics their freshman year of college and began studying together. They spent late nights in the library cramming before exams, and when the semester was over, they kept hanging out. Jake sometimes plucks a flower from a bush as they walk by and sticks it behind her ear. When she had the flu, he brought soup and grilled cheeses for her until she got better. After they every exam period, they buy a private room at the karaoke bar and sing loud and off-key until the early morning when the manager kicks them out. The last time Finley went on a date that ended up crashing and burning when the guy ‘forgot’ his wallet, Jake had hugged her and promised that she would find someone. So many things, so many tiny moments have made their friendship something special. 

           Is it friendship? Or is it something else? She loves spending time with Jake, but at what point does friendship bleed into romance? Does she like him that way? Finley sits up in her bed, unable to breathe with her pillow drenched in tears. She wipes at her cheeks. 

           Her attention is drawn to the bouquet of flowers on her desk. The sight of the cheery yellow daffodils glowing in the meager sunlight streaming through the curtains helps ease the burning pressure behind her eyes. They’re her favorites. Jake bought them a couple days ago. Finley had teased him about it until he got red in the face and admitted that he saw them and bought them for no other reason than they made him think of her. 

           Tears build up behind her lids again, and Finley presses her hands to her eyes. Stupid flowers making her cry. She glares at the daffodils.

           “Ugly,” she growls. A sick satisfaction winds its way inside of her when the flowers shrivel up, and the petals turn brown. When the bouquet is reduced to nothing more than a crinkling husk, Finley comes to a decision. The daffodils are a reminder of Jake’s ever-present friendship and kindness. She will not ruin their amiable relationship with feelings. She refuses lose Jake by having a crush on him.

           Her phone buzzes somewhere in the twisted green blanket on her bed. It’s Jake texting her. Idiot is in class. Finley smiles despite herself.

           Jake: Wanna go to the movies later?

           Finley sends him an affirmative and throws her phone back to the bed. She goes to her attached bathroom and inspects her face in the mirror. Her brown eyes are puffy, and tear stains streak her dark cheeks. Her braid seems intact, which is a relief. By the time she sees Jake, he won’t be able to tell she’s been crying.

           She refreshes her makeup then begins searching her closet for something cute to wear. Nothing too fancy, but she flips through her collection of summer dresses. Jake’s favorite is the white one with the pineapples wearing sunglasses, so she chooses the blue one with the cute anchor and sailor hat pattern. 

           Patting her dress and rechecking her makeup, she stares at her reflection. Finley pulls her lips into a wide smile and gauges how it looks from different angles. She has a love-hate relationship with her smile. Some days she looks like an angel, and others her smile is monstrous and unpleasant to look at. Today is one of the latter.

           She sighs. Her phone buzzes again with a message.

           Jake: omw

           Doubt worms in her stomach. Now that she knows her feelings, how will she act around him? Will it be the same, or will she act distant and awkward? 

           Staring deep into her reflected brown eyes, Finley whispers to herself, full of conviction and fierce determination, “You are not in love with him.” Immediately, her throat closes up. She gasps, hands tearing at her neck. She collapses to the cold bathroom floor, but barely registers the impact. Is she having a panic attack? Her heart hammers frantically in her chest as if it’s trying to escape. She tries screaming to get the attention of her roommates, but she can’t breathe let alone call for help.

           Her nails dig into the skin of her neck, seeking to alleviate the pressure. It burns inside and out. Tears stream down her face in torrents, blurring her vision. She wriggles along the carpet. She only makes it a few feet to the door before her body betrays her and goes limp.

           Her last thought before the world turns black is I lied to myself.