Lying Out Loud Read Online Free PDF Page B

dad’s. His hair was a little longer then, but not too much. What I couldn’t help noticing, though, was his smile. It was huge and genuine and … so happy. I’d never seen the boy from my class smile like that before. I didn’t know he could.
    ME: I could help you Parent Trap them if you like?
    RYDER: What?
    ME: The Parent Trap ?
    RYDER: Sorry. Still lost.
    ME: Oh. My. God.
    ME: You’re kidding, right?
    ME: THE PARENT TRAP? Twin girls meet for the first time at summer camp and scheme to reunite their parents? The remake starred pre-train-wreck Lindsay Lohan?
    ME: YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN THE FREAKING PARENT TRAP????
    RYDER: I have not, but does this really warrant cyber-shouting?
    ME: YES!!!!!!
    RYDER: Okay.
    ME: I weep for your childhood.
    I spent the next twenty minutes explaining the plot of The Parent Trap to him, complete with YouTube clips from both the original film and the remake. When I was done, Ryder informed me that it didn’t sound like that great of a movie, and I told him to, with all due respect, shove it.
    But we kept IMing after that. About other movies (he was totally into indie art-house flicks, the more subtitles the better, which is, frankly, disgusting) and books (we both struggled with Shakespeare and hated Nathaniel Hawthorne with equal passion) and just … random stuff.
    ME: Okay, deep dark secret time. I am a wannabe grunge rocker.
    RYDER: Seriously?
    ME: Seriously. I don’t play any instruments. I can’t sing to save my life. But I guess that didn’t stop Courtney Love. And I have a lot of secret angst.
    ME: If I could pull off flannel, I’d wear it every day.
    RYDER: I think you’d look cute in flannel.
    I blushed, then realized I was blushing and immediately felt disgusted with myself.
    RYDER: So what are you secretly angsty about?
    RYDER: If I can ask.
    ME: Mostly my mom.
    RYDER: This seems to be a running theme this evening.
    ME: She is … flaky. To say the least. Unreliable. Truthfully, sometimes I think she wishes she never had me. Sometimes I think she pretends she didn’t.
    The second I sent that message, I regretted it. It was way more than I’d planned to share. It was too honest. Too much. Too close.
    I didn’t talk about my mom. Not in detail. Not even with Amy. I was the queen of glossing over things. Of turning small truths into big lies.
    But now Ryder Cross, of all people, knew one of my darkest secrets. Or, at least, a tiny piece of it. I felt uncomfortable, suddenly, and I was eternally grateful that he couldn’t see me. That even though I’d shared too much, I could at least hide behind this computer screen.
    RYDER: Wow. That does sound like inspiration for a grunge album.
    RYDER: I won’t push you to talk about it, but obviously I understand complicated family situations, so if you ever want to share, I’m here to listen.
    ME: Thank you.
    We chatted for a little while longer, mostly about his favorite band — Goats Vote for Melons, which I’d never heard of, despite his fears that they were becoming too “mainstream.”
    ME: God, you are such a hipster.
    RYDER: Ugh. I’m NOT a hipster.
    ME: Exactly what a hipster would say.
    He sent me the smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Very mature and all. Then he wrote:
    RYDER: I should probably go. It’s late.
    RYDER: Whoa — look out your window.
    ME: Both creepy and cryptic, but all right.
    I glanced up and gasped, startled. Outside the window, the sun was just beginning to peek over the trees. I looked at the clock and was stunned to see that it was nearly six in the morning.
    I’d been IMing with Ryder all night.
    ME: Wow.
    RYDER: I know.
    ME: I had no idea we were on here this long.
    RYDER: Me either.
    ME: I should get to bed.
    RYDER: Me, too. But I really liked “talking” to you.
    ME: I liked “talking” to you, too.
    And, weirdly, I had.
    ME: Let’s do this again sometime.
    RYDER: I’d like that.
    ME: Okay, well … good night. Or, good morning?
    RYDER: LOL. Good morning, Amy.
    I frowned,