The Bones of You by Debbie Howells

her own joke.
    “You’re so right!” I laugh with her, a hollow pretend laugh. “I’ll ask them again!”
    And I’m frightened then, feeling that worried look like my mother’s that makes my head hurt, that if I don’t go, Emma won’t want me as a friend. Then I’m angry that my parents won’t let me decide, when it’s my life and Emma’s friendship is important to me.
    Now I see a dilemma that’s my parents’ doing. But I don’t know that at the time. As I work out how to keep Emma’s friendship, how to keep my parents happy, I have no choice. And so it starts.
    The lie begins with two lies. To my mother, that I’m going to Emma’s to watch a movie; to Emma, that it’ll be great! I’m sleeping over!
    I wear jeans and a T-shirt so my mother doesn’t question me, just drives me over there and doesn’t come in. Emma isn’t a perfect friend, but because her father’s in a famous orchestra, she’s good enough. Already there’s music. Food on foil-covered plates prepared by Emma’s mum, generously and happily, and with love.
    I get ready with Emma, curling our hair, putting on makeup—sweeping eyeliner and long layers of mascara, then soft pink lipstick—laughing with her, pretending I do this all the time.
    I lie that I’ve forgotten my clothes—that was the third lie. How could she believe I’d forget my clothes? The thrill I feel when Emma says I look gorgeous in the short dress and pretty shoes she lends me. I look at myself, eyes sparkling. Alight, like Emma. I remember the reason for it, too.
    His name is Adam, Emma’s youngest brother, not quite two years older than us, kind of shy and sweet, the first boy who holds my hand, dances with me as the sun goes down, then later, much later, when it’s dark, under the oak tree at the end of the garden, when no one’s watching us, the first boy whose soft, gentle lips touch mine.
    I remember him being just the right amount taller than me, so that when he leaned down and I turned my face up toward his, our lips met. The denim shirt he was wearing with the sleeves rolled up, his hair kind of messy and needing cutting. How when he kissed me, everyone else faded into the background, and how I floated, so high I nearly forgot the lie. How I remembered just in time, clasping a hand to my head, closing my eyes. Crashing down to earth.
    “I’m sorry, Adam. I really don’t feel well.”
    And I so don’t want to do this, so want to stay here, with him and everyone else. It’s the lie that kills me inside.
    His look of concern. “Come and sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
    But I don’t want him to leave me, even for the minutes it will take for him to walk to the kitchen and back. “It’s okay. Really, I’ll be fine. It’s a migraine. I get them sometimes. It’s probably best I go home.”
    Telling Emma, watching the disappointment spread over her face, followed by sympathy I don’t deserve. I don’t see the tear she sheds as she goes to get me a glass of water, how sad she is because I’m her friend and I’ve let her down. Or how she stands up to Leah Williams, who says I’m a weirdo and she doesn’t understand why Emma even asked me here.
    Adam’s eyes, following me down the drive as I get into my father’s car, which arrives dead on ten o’clock and waits, just as we agreed.
    I don’t see that when we drive away, the party mood goes quiet, then dies. I just sit as my father drives, hands clenched on the steering wheel, waiting.
    And he knows I’m waiting.
    After ten minutes like ten hours, when we’re nearly home, as we turn into our drive, when he’s spun it out as long as he possibly can, at the very last minute, when I’m holding my breath, he spits it out with contempt.
    “Who was the boy?”
    The boy.
    “Emma’s brother.”
    It isn’t a lie, but if it was, I wouldn’t care. One lie, fifty lies. What’s the difference?
    He hesitates, while I get out of the car and calmly walk inside, because whatever else he