One Little Lie Read online

  One Little Lie

  Whitney Barbetti

  One Little Lie by Whitney Barbetti

  Copyright © 2019 by Whitney Barbetti

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  Cover design by Najla Qamber

  Editing by KP Curtiss

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  To Talon, for believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself

  &

  To Whitney B the First for going above and beyond, always

  “But he who dares not grasp the thorn

  Should never crave the rose.”

  Anne Brontë

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  The Weight of Life Synopsis

  Read Chapter One of The Weight of Life

  More Books by Whitney Barbetti

  About the Author

  1

  THREE YEARS AGO

  Hollis

  It started with a note.

  “Adam. I loved your speech.”

  No name. No identifying markers besides those five words. Well, unless you counted the hastily drawn rose, and the petals that I had doodled under them. I wasn’t an artist, that was for sure. I held that sticky note in my pocket for a long time, eventually transferring it to reside behind the mirror in my locker. I didn’t actually have the courage to slip it into his locker until our shared class on Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, and Their Adaptations had long been over.

  We were firmly in the second semester of our senior year, schedules packed with last-minute credits and classes that would look good on our final transcripts. I wanted to wait so that he wouldn’t remember who was in that class with him. Not that I was particularly memorable, one way or another.

  And the note itself was unremarkable, without context. But I knew what it’d taken for him to stand in front of a class full of jocks who were failing a class on fairy tales, to lay out his speech on the symbolism of the rose in Beauty and the Beast—the Disney version. “Roses ordinarily bloom slowly, taking their time to reveal their beauty.”

  If I was a fanciful person—and let’s just say I was—I ached to be compared to a rose. Not because they were beautiful, but because they made you wait to witness that beauty. His entire speech had captivated me, but if I was being honest, Adam Oliver had fascinated me long before he stood in front of our class and spoke eloquently and beautifully about my favorite Disney movie.

  We were eighteen, so my girlish crush and fascination with fairy tales were probably pathetic to some. Like the entire group of jocks, who laughed at him when the rest of us—the handful who had actually paid attention—clapped. The same guys who hadn’t prepared their speeches and would ultimately fail the class laughed at Adam Oliver.

  Though he’d held his head high as he returned to his seat, there had been a certain kind of defeat in Adam’s eyes, a defeat that made my heart pinch. I had angled my chair away from the jocks who’d laughed and the circle of people I normally aligned myself with, most of whom had all but ignored Adam’s speech. I wasn’t sure which was worse: being ignored or being laughed at.

  Which brought us to the day I decided to finally suck it up and slip the note into his locker. I had a free period that morning, which meant I would be able to slip it into his locker undetected after the bell rang. As casually as possible, I slid my hand under my locker mirror and pulled the note out, staring at it for a moment. There was a big party that weekend, at Seth McCauley’s house, to celebrate the start of Spring Break. I didn’t know if Adam would go, but I suspected he might. As the end of senior year approached, I felt compelled to stop being such a wuss. So I flipped the note over and wrote, “See you at Seth’s this weekend.” It kind of killed the brief part of the front of the sticky note, but I hoped that in putting it out there, I would actually suck it up and say hi to the guy I had crushed on for a pathetically long time.

  “What’s up, toots?” Tori asked, practically slamming into my locker door from the other side. I shoved the note under a textbook and turned to her. I confided in Tori a lot, but when it came to this—I just didn’t feel like sharing.

  “Nothing. Getting ready for my free period.”

  Tori opened my locker door, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, another thrilling hour in the library.”

  “There are a lot of good books in there,” I said defensively.

  Tori slid a tube of something shiny out of her purse and held it to me. When I shook my head, she shrugged and began applying it to her lips. “I bet there are. But I don’t have a free period. I would get too bored. Probably wind up in trouble.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Though academically gifted, Tori had never really outgrown her boy crazy phase. “Who is it this week?” I asked.

  “Keane is looking hotttt,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Haven’t you—”

  “Yes,” she said, reading my mind. “Been there, hit that.” She made a pucker with her lips and turned to me. “But there are only so many guys to choose from. Besides, it will be nice to see him this weekend.”

  “At Seth’s?” I asked. I swallowed and tried not to sound too eager when I asked, “Is he going?” Keane was Adam’s best friend. If Keane was going, that meant Adam would too.

  “I’ll make sure he goes.” She tapped out a few words on her phone before putting it away. “What about you? Gonna go?”

  I thought of the note, and stared at the textbook it rested under. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Wanna pick me up?” She pulled out her phone and I heard it buzz in her hand.

  I started to reply, but she waved her phone at me with a grin. “Keane will pick us up at my house.”

  I glanced sideways down the hall, where Adam’s locker was. People milled about, but he wasn’t there yet. “Okay,” I told her, already feeling a nip of anxiety at the thought of riding with Keane—and potentially Adam
too.

  “I gotta head to class,” Tori said, tugging one of my braids gently. “See you at lunch. Subway?”

  I nodded, smiling at her, and waited until she was out of sight before pulling the note out again. The hallway was clearing as people rushed to their next classes, but I could take my time. My parents hadn’t originally gone for having a break in my schedule until they realized that I would have more time to dedicate specifically to my studies. Plus, since it was a period in the middle of the morning, it wasn’t like I could sleep in or leave school early.

  I fingered the corners of the sticky note, debating if I wanted to do this. There was nothing about the note that said, WRITTEN BY HOLLIS VINKE, but I felt the nerves all the same. It wasn’t like he even knew I existed, much less my specific handwriting.

  The hallway was empty, save for a few stragglers whose backpacks were being filled and emptied. I thought of Adam’s face, the shine that had gone out in his eyes upon being ridiculed. There’d been no question that he’d put his heart into that speech, that he’d spoken about something he’d actually believed. He was a musician—just another one of the band geeks in the eyes of every ‘popular’ clique in school, but that speech had shown passion. I had been too cowardly to say anything in class, and though the note was anonymous, I hoped it’d mean something to him.

  So I slipped down the hallway, keeping my eyes on the textbook in my hands, and paused just outside his locker. After a look in both directions, I pushed it in the crack of his locker and hurried to the library.

  * * *

  “You’re not wearing that,” Tori said when I showed up to her house on Saturday. “Are you?”

  I looked down at my black jeans and blue tank. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Well, since you’re such a smarty pants, I’ll just say that if I were to grade your outfit, it’d get a solid B.”

  “B for blue?”

  “B for boring. Come on, Hols. I’ll give you something out of my closet.”

  To some, Tori was no pushover. I liked to think of her as an indomitable force. She was confident, poised when need be, and she faced fear like it didn’t exist. Basically, she was the opposite of me.

  “Here,” she said, shoving a slip of olive-colored lace at me.

  “This looks like lingerie,” I said, holding it up in two fingers. It was a tank top, made of some kind of satiny fabric, with matching lace around the low neckline. The straps were two strips of barely-there fabric.

  “Put it on, tuck the front into your jeans. It’ll look great with your tan.”

  I looked at her doubtfully and she crossed her arms over her chest, giving me an impatient look.

  “I mean, if you want to wear your boring old tank top, that’s cool.”

  I eyed the tank top I was wearing, noting that while it was clean and wrinkle-free, it lacked anything to make it even a little bit exciting. The lace-trimmed tank top, on the other hand, was far outside of my comfort zone. And wasn’t that what I was going for, anyway? I had slipped a note all but inviting Adam to look for me at the party that night—which was so far out of my comfort zone that it was practically in another dimension. Probably the same dimension where I wore clothes like Tori’s.

  “Can you help me with my hair?” I asked her as I swapped tanks. My everyday ponytail, while sleek, made me look more like a mom than a senior in high school.

  “That was my next suggestion.” Tori’s eyes gleamed as she led me into her bathroom.

  Thirty minutes later, Keane texted Tori that he had arrived. I felt sweat break out immediately along my hairline, and when Tori snagged my hand to tug me along with her, I nearly slipped from her grasp from the sweat that prickled my palms.

  I mean, maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Adam wouldn’t even be riding with Keane. Maybe I had more time to acquire a bit more courage.

  But that hope was shot down as soon as we stepped outside, seeing Adam in the passenger seat of the ride. And, judging by the flat look in his eyes as he observed us, he wasn’t exactly thrilled we were joining him.

  When the passenger door opened and Adam stepped out, I could only stare as he came to standing. He was a solid six inches taller than me, wearing all black and a scowl that was more than a little intimidating. “Hey, Tori!” Keane called enthusiastically as he leaned over and patted the now-empty front passenger seat. “Hey, Hollis. You okay to sit in the back with Adam?”

  I eyed Adam, who was eyeing me.

  “Su-sure.” I sounded anything but sure. Adam was standing in front of the backseat door eyeing me for a minute, as Tori climbed up front where Keane was. I heard them giggle, but my focus was on Adam. He didn’t look me up and down, but the look he gave me directly in the eyes told me he didn’t like me. Which meant bringing up that note was probably ill-advised.

  He was tall and lanky. Maybe a little on the thin side, but he had a presence that was commanding regardless. His tanned arms had little blips of tattoo ink, but his arms crossed over his chest like he was hiding them from my perusal. He had a broad, sharp jawline and a mouth that belonged to someone in a magazine spread. His dark eyes and dark, straight eyebrows only added to that effect. His entire look could be defined as: musician, dark and brooding.

  And those eyes. They looked at me like he knew me. Which unsettled me, because we’d barely spoken a handful of words in the last ten years of going to schools in the same town. But as he held my gaze, I realized it was the first time we’d ever made meaningful eye contact. And this was how he was looking at me.

  I tried not to let my uneasiness with him show, but the way he looked at me was making my neck heat, and pretty soon that heat would climb into my face and I would resemble a tomato.

  “Adam, stop being a dick,” Keane said and Adam stepped aside, gesturing for me to get into the backseat. But why was he being a dick? Why did he so clearly not like me?

  A voice in my head told me he’d figured out I was the author of the note and took it as me mocking him. I had to tamp down on that runaway anxiety train before I blurted out that it had been a sincere and genuine gesture. Adam slid into the car beside me so I was sitting directly behind Keane.

  “Have you been to Seth’s parents’ house?” Keane asked, looking in the rear-view mirror at me.

  “Uh, no,” I said. I didn’t get out much.

  “It’s cool, right on the lake. We’re going to take the boat out.”

  “Oh?” I asked, fanning my face. It wasn’t hot outside. But being in such close proximity with Adam was making it feel like a sauna. “Can you turn on the air conditioning?” I asked, and felt three pairs of eyes look at me. Which, naturally, did nothing to lessen the anxiety I was experiencing.

  Be cool, I told myself repeatedly. This is fine. “It’s warm in here,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” Adam said flatly. He was wearing scuffed black boots, black jeans, and a tight black tee. On his lap was a light jacket, black like the rest of his ensemble. And he was still staring at me. I summoned whatever dregs of courage I had and faced him.

  “You don’t have hair.” I nodded to his buzzed head and then felt the cool blast of A/C toss my hair in front of my face. He couldn’t argue with that.

  He turned away first, eyes firmly focused outside the window as Keane took off toward Amber Lake. Keane and Tori were talking quietly—well, too quiet for me to hear over the roar of the stereo—which left me alone to stare outside the window on my side of the car. Not for the first time, I wondered why I thought I could go to the party and be someone other than who I was.

  “Is that true?” Tori asked, turning in her seat so she faced us, not realizing we couldn’t hear what she and Keane had been saying.

  “Is what true?” Adam asked.

  “The note?” Tori asked.

  So, Adam knew it was from me.

  My stomach sank and no level of air conditioning could fix the sweat that was surely dampening my hairline. He told Keane?

  “Yeah,” Adam said, and turned to Ke
ane. “Why do you have to tell everyone everything, man?”

  “I hardly think I am everyone, Adam,” Tori said. She turned to me, her eyes lit up. “Adam has a secret admirer.”

  I let go of a breath as discreetly as possible. He didn’t know. I was safe. Thank God, because whatever illusion I had that tonight would be the night I would reveal my secret crush on him was most certainly squashed the moment he first glared at me. “Oh?” was all I managed.

  “It’s nothing,” Adam said, waving it off. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, and I wondered if I did the wrong thing by giving it to him. I rubbed my sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans as Tori plowed on.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  Adam turned so slowly to face her and the contempt on his face would be obvious even if she wasn’t wearing her contact lenses. “If I knew, it wouldn’t be secret, would it?”

  But Tori wasn’t intimidated. “Well, what did it say? We can do a process of elimination.”

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. While Tori didn’t know I was the author of the note, she knew I was in that class with him. If Adam gave the context of the note, if he told her it had to be someone from that class, she would know. She knew I had a crush on him. Her eyes swung to me, questioning. I shook my head as casually as possible. I couldn’t tell her it was me. No way.