The Cake is a Lie Read online

  [6] Oakley probably faked all of the late night telephone theatrics.

  [7] When Tiff wasn’t talking about sex she was talking about how she hated her mom’s guts and wanted to kill herself. Tiff went on to become a stripper and then a drug addict dependent on old, married sugar daddies. Even knowing all this, the last time I saw her I hit on her. Vampire yo.

  Oakley and Elle were headed up Benny’s walkway when I got back. Ellie was one of Oakley’s best friends and as far behind developmentally as an 8th grade girl could possibly be. Short, tiny, flat chested like a boy, braces, with a blond little mustache and hairy arms.

  The pair hesitated when they reach the open door, unsure of how to proceed. Benny went to greet them.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Hey,” They replied. Brandon and I nonchalantly ignored them, grinning wildly at each other as we stood posed in front of the fireplace. The girls entered and Oakley remarked on how cute Benny’s house was. It’d been almost a year since I’d seen Oakley in person. She looked really good. She’d grown her dark hair out and was wearing makeup, it made her look older and more mature. I immediately updated her to crush status. She definitely wasn’t my true love though, she was still flat chested and her arms were still hidden under little, dark bushy hairs.

  I broke away from my “too cool” act and acknowledge them.

  “Well, well.. if it isn’t Oakley Carter.” I exalted her name in a mockingly playful tone. I’d learned “well, well..” from my brother, he was always saying, “Well, well… look who finally showed up.”

  “Oh hi Marco..” I loved the way her signature, flirty raspy voice ran over my name, “…and Brandon.” In response to our “too cool” charade, she theatrically greeted us as if she was just now realizing we were there.

  As they felt their way into the room, I stared at Oakley’s butt. I concluded she definitely didn’t have a “bubble butt” and whoever told her that was obviously lying. Her friends probably felt bad she was flat chested so they told her she had a bubble butt to make her feel better.

  Eventually they sat down on Benny’s couch, I hopped into one of the recliners. Small groups were my thing, this was my zone.

  “Soooo..” I started off loudly in my best awkward person impression. They laughed. “How’s private school, your majesties? It’s so nice of you to grace us lowly public school kids with your presence.”

  Brandon laughed the hardest at that one, as if it was an inside joke that Oakley and Elle didn’t fully understand. Whoa, hold the reins Brandon, I thought.

  “Private school girls are the worst.” Oakley responded. She then turned to Elle, “Can you believe Christie isn’t even talking to me anymore because she says I talked to James?”

  Elle’s eyes flew wide open and she acted really shocked and interested at this news. I had no idea who they were talking about, but I had a great joke for these situations.

  “I can’t stand Christie either! What a bitch.” Everyone laughed. Brandon must have already heard that joke a dozen times, but he laughed the loudest.

  Benny asked them if they wanted a drink. Oakley turned to look at Elle. Elle’s stone face said it all. Oakley turned back around “No, we have to go back to Elle’s in a bit.” I despised squares like Elle. She probably did every little thing her parents told her. She didn’t experience anything for herself and now she was going to ruin our fun too.

  Oakley said, “So, what do you guys want to do?”

  “Let’s play truth or dare.”

  Oakley smiled and again turned to Elle.

  “Comee onn,” I said in my most playfully begging voice. “It’s so fun, Elle, you have no idea.”

  “I’ve played truth or dare before,” Elle snapped back. Brandon, Benny, and I all laughed.

  “Alright, Elle, well since you’re such a veteran then you’ll have no problem playing.”

  “We’ll play,” Oakley said, as she gave Elle a reassured glance. “But you guys have to go first.” On the inside I squirmed uncontrollably, like an ecstatic eight-year-old describing his favorite movie. The last thing we cared about was who went first.

  “Ok, deal,” Benny said, as if we just made a huge compromise. Oakley turned to me.

  “Marco, I dare you to make out with Brandon.”

  I was taken aback, but we all started giggling. Very clever, Oakley, I thought. I’d never been dared to kiss another guy before. Brandon and I looked at each other to gage the other’s reaction and buy time. I’d do it, I didn’t give a crap if anyone thought I was gay.

  “Damn, that’s a tough one.”

  “No way,” Brandon said before gulping down the last bit of his drink.

  “If you do it,” Oakley said with a deadly serious face, “Elle and I will do it.”

  I gave Brandon a specific look, a slight stare, to signal there was something I was thinking that he should be too. I was thinking about one of our favorite American Pie scenes, where Stifler had to touch Jim’s dick in order to see two girls touch each other’s breasts. Brandon got the message, he knew what I was thinking.

  “I’m down, game on.”

  “Ohhh shit, ohhh shit.” I got up and began pacing the room, as if I was in deep conflicted thought. Everyone was laughing and giggling.

  “Alright, it’s just like a Band Aid,” I announced, before pulling a chair over to face Brandon.

  Brandon stared into my eyes, “You look so good today,” He said, we all cracked up.

  “Is this a good time to tell you how pretty I always thought your eyes are, Brandon?”

  We inched our faces closer and closer a few times, our hands on our shoulders, slightly pulling each other in. Each time we got close we broke away laughing. Every time I was sure I was going to do it, but I just couldn’t.

  It was much harder than I thought it would be. I could smell his odor, his unique Brandon smell. On one of the attempts our lips finally made contact. I could taste his oily skin around his lips. His lips were are dry and chapped at first but I could feel them start to get wet. We paused, stuck in our entry position. We didn’t move our heads or put any effort into it besides the bare necessity. Brandon opened his mouth wider and I slowly felt my tongue into his mouth until I ran into a wiggling sand papery sensation brush against the tip of my tongue. On reflex I pulled out, running away across the room and out onto the deck. Everyone was laughing.

  “Alright your turn.” I shouted as I jogged back triumphantly into the living room.

  When Oakley and Elle made out they did it much more passionately. I was the anchor of chillness amongst all the full blown giddiness. Jonsen had been getting domed up for years.

  Afterward, the game ended. There was nowhere to go after that. Real life isn’t like the movies. We continued to talk and Brian showed up eventually.

  I watched as Benny slowly moved from his chair to the couch with the girls. With every burst of laughter he kept scooting closer and closer to Oakley. Eventually, he just reached out and took her hand. They didn’t even look at each other, she just let him take her hand. Brandon and I glanced at each other confused. Oakley temporarily resumed the game for one turn and dared Brian to make out with Elle. God Elle was hideous. Her bobbed blond hair was her only distinguishable girl feature. It was hard to look at her, no way in a million years would I kiss her. I wasn’t going to lead her on, my parents raised me better than that.

  Elle and Brian stood up and walked to meet each other. I had no idea Brian was that desperate, I mused, he must be even shyer than I thought. She raised her head and sweetly and gently they stuck their tongues into each other’s mouths. Elle must feel so lucky right now, I thought, Oakley just made Elle’s life.

  Then, shockingly, Benny stood up and gently pulled Oakley up off the couch by her hand. Pulling her hand behind him he led her down the hallway. Brandon and I were stupefied. They weren’t even kissing first, what the shit? I waited patiently until I heard a door close, then I bolted down the hallway to investigate. Brandon followed. We c
ould see the bathroom light beneath the door. We tip toed over and put our ears against the wood.

  “Benny, please don’t,” We heard Oakley plead from inside.

  And then the crime of the century took place. Benny fucking Reed touched Oakley Carter as close as you can touch her. Today, if Benny focuses hard enough, he can still probably remember something about that moment. Some reminiscence of a memory, something is there. Like how I can remember the cold wood of that bathroom door on my cheek, the timber smell. For all we know, we only have one life, all of us, one shot, and in this life Benny Reed felt inside Oakley Carter. Benny’s living proof of the riches that reaching over and grabbing a girl’s hand can bring. You can talk and joke, but telling a thousand jokes isn’t worth the slightest brush of a hand. Plus, it’s so easy Benny Reed can do it. To the victor goes the spoils. Might is right. Etcetera, whatever. [8]

  Brandon and I listened to Oakley’s familiar moans through the door, she only let him do it for a few moments before stopping him. That was our cue to get out of there. When we got back to the living room we found Elle sitting across Brian’s lap, staring into his dark brown eyes, just straight enamored hard. Brandon and I look at each other grinning. The quiet shy people found love, how fitting.

  “Well no one saw that coming, go Brian,” Brandon blurted out.

  “I def didn’t.” We stood there commenting and joking loudly towards the love birds until Brian and Elle started laughing and were forced to look at us.

  “I can’t believe we made out,” Brandon reminded everyone.

  “It just felt so right,” I confessed with a grin.

  A minute later Benny and Oakley came out of the bathroom and the girls left shortly after that. The next day Elle told her parents everything that happened and Oakley got in a lot of trouble. I didn’t see her for the rest of the summer. [9]

  [8] Benny actually grew up to be a genuinely great, hardworking, smart, successful guy. I’d be friends with him.

  [9] A year later, right before sophomore year, I was getting my haircut when a goddess walked into Shoreline’s most popular hair salon. It was Elle. Stunned, I denied that it was her again and again. Her hair was long and highlighted, her braces were gone revealing flawless white teeth and she’d grown huge boobs. I didn’t think a transformation like that was possible. That year she went on to become one of the cutest and most popular girls in our grade. And she always kept her amazing, sweet, down to earth personality. Because of where she’d come from.

  19. High School (Fall, 2003)

  Two weeks before our freshmen year at Shorewood high, Brandon casually mentioned to me he was being sent off to his dad’s for high school. He was leaving in a few days. Brandon’s mom, Kerry, was cool too, a buddy mom–you had to really mess up for her to send her precious beautiful boy off to live with her abusive, alcoholic ex-husband. But the more leeway she gave Brandon the more he pushed it. He barely hid the fact he was smoking weed. Kerry would come home and take one look at our glazed over faces and know what was up. But for the longest time she’d just roll her eyes and keep the peace. But the laisse fare attitude ended when Brandon finished 8th grade with a 1.2 GPA.

  Losing Brandon wasn’t as bad as when I lost Jonsen. I partied now. It was far from ideal, but it was gonna be ok.

  Before high school, Loren had told me very seriously that the most important thing you had to do on the first day was pick your drug dealer. He compellingly illustrated this whole social hierarchy at Shorewood that revolved around which senior drug dealer you chose. There was the class president, he was really a drug dealing king pin. Then there was the beautiful head of the Christian club, also a drug dealer. I believed him so whole heartedly that during our freshmen orientation tour I asked our senior guide if he was a drug dealer.

  He laughed and said “No.” A likely answer, but I knew what was really going on.

  “So, who’re the best drug dealers?” He laughed again.

  “Look, I’m not a drug dealer, but if you’re looking for weed I can get you some.” He gave me his number.

  No, Shorewood wasn’t like Loren said, it was just like 7th grade again. Staring at Loren, Janae and the sophomore’s out of the corner of my eye for a split second while I walked by them. Their group hung out on this obscurely placed handicap walkway railing in the center square of school. Every morning I would want nothing more than to sit on that railing with them and listen to what they were talking about.

  Jonsen was a true sight to behold freshmen year. He was the only freshman on the varsity soccer team. Everyone showed him respect, he could have hung out with any group in the entire school. He dated senior cheerleaders. There were still stories, our hottest freshmen girl, Tiana Rola, was one of those girls who was either talking enthusiastically about Jesus and her virginity, or pot and masturbating. She swallowed Jonsen’s goo in the boys bathroom stall before being sent away a few weeks later.

  I had a much different freshmen year from Jonsen. I mean most of the freshmen class knew me as a budding socialite, so that was something. But Loren and the sophomores still didn’t know I existed. Loren, Janae, Mia, Jonsen. They were the goal.

  20. Ian Kinney (Winter, 2003)

  Like King Arthurs court we were all standing in a circle in Ian’s brother’s room. At the feet of the group was two brand new half gallons, still bagged up. One of the co-leaders of the skater clique was there, Jon, he was always wearing a different black shirt and a black baseball hat that his shag poured out of. Girls thought Jon was a looker. His homie Jeff was in the skater clique too, but he was also in the “I don’t give a fuck about anything clique,” party of one. He had a black beanie pulled down to his eyes and his black baggy sweatshirt had holes cut in the sleeves for his thumbs. Justyn used to be a skater but he was wearing whatever he wanted because was half black and had sic cornrows. The fact that he had muscles was just icing on the cake. Justyn had tough eyes, a fidgety mouth, and a disposition for honest expression. The rest of the skaters in the room were all wearing flannels or whatever.

  I was definitely the swan of the group, my bright white, partially zipped down jacket had “ITALIA” written across the front in huge, bright colorful letters. I’d got it from my uncle for Christmas and decided it definitely stood out, but in a good way. Now, standing in everyone’s presence, I felt really self-conscious about it. I wanted to take it off but the T-shirt I was wearing under it made me look fat, I just liked wearing it under jackets because it had a great collar.

  The stout blond kid standing at the head of the circle is my in with this whole crew. Ian Kinney has a tough stocky face but with a narrow, snooty nose holding up his glasses. I originally knew him from the neighborhood, Jonsen and Ian’s dads had been friends and firefighters together before Ian’s dad died. But Ian had gone to a private middle school, and when he transferred to Shorewood he’d started hanging with the one testosterone gushing freshmen group I was still intimated by, the skater clique.

  To my surprise, befriending Ian turned out to be easy. I caught him by himself walking in the hallway a week or two in the year. “Hey Ian, Jonsen’s quitting weed for soccer. I need a new connect, you know anybody?”

  “My brother sells now man, only to certain people, but I’m sure you’re fine. Come over and he’ll hook you up.”

  “Hey Caldirolis,” Justyn brought me back to the moment. He was the only person that called me by my last name, he liked purposefully mispronouncing it Caldirolis. It annoyed me at first but it’d grown on me. It was pretty funny.

  “You close to taking over the world yet?” This was the other thing Justyn always said to me when we hung out. It all started in our 8th grade social studies class. I was always sassy to a history teacher but one day our teacher said some grey statements about the Cuban revolution like they were stone cold facts and I just went off. “Ya, Fidel’s a dictator. But at least he’s a benevolent dictator. Batista was a tyrant and a gangster. He was literally selling the whole country to gangsters.” The teacher told
me to step outside and take a break.

  Ever since Justyn had been making jokes to me like, “So Caldirolis, when you’re president can I be your vice president?” Justyn wasn’t the first, I’d been getting the same jokes since grade school. “When are you going to take over the world Marco?” It had peaked when “Pinky and the Brain” was on TV, “What do you want to do tonight, Marco?” I always shied away from responding, not wanting to come off as arrogant. But in my head I’d always think “Ya, I’m gonna take over the world, just you wait.”

  “Soo are you chatty Cathie’s just gonna talk about your periods all day or are we gonna go time traveling?” I addressed the group in Ian’s brother’s room. I’d overheard my brother and his friends, in hysterics, call getting wasted time traveling.

  “Time traveling?” Jon repeated as if I was retarded. Introducing new phrases was never easy.

  “You know getting wasted – speeding up time – time traveling.”

  No one laughed.

  I’d waited six agonizingly painful hours for these half gallons and now we weren’t drinking them. The problem was that Jon and Justyn couldn’t drink together so the alcohol had to be divided up so their groups could go their separate ways. Jon and Justyn were once best friends who had somehow become mortal enemies. It’d started in 8th grade over a girl they were both best friends with, Amber. She was muy bonita. Justyn started talking a bunch of shit, telling Jon to back off, and Jon responded by calling Justyn “emo,” the ultimate skater diss. It all added up to the most anticipated fight of the year. Ex-best-friends-for-life fighting over a girl. They met in the middle of Richmond Beach Park, Justyn won the fight by a submission move he learned on the wrestling team, but it was close. More importantly, neither one got Amber. And they never got over it, no matter how much I expected, and wanted them to be best friends again. The skater clique had been the strongest when they were together. The days when they wouldn’t even talk to you unless you were wearing Emericas.