Lies I Tell Myself

Beth Vrabel

• Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781665900898
• eBook ISBN: 9781665900904

In this "heartfelt, emotionally insightful" ( Kirkus Reviews ), and funny companion to the acclaimed To Tell You the Truth, Raymond has a life-changing summer when he's sent to Maine to stay with the grandparents he's never met. Raymond has always preferred to keep life simple and leave adventuring to other people. But then he's sent across the country, against his will, to spend the summer before fifth grade with grandparents who think he's "troubled" and needs to have playdates set up for him. Determined to show everyone how brave, confident, and un troubled he can be, Raymond hatches a three-step plan: 1) Learn to ride a bike. His mom never got around to teaching him before she left.
2) Learn how to swim.
3) Make friends. On his own.But can Raymond really change, or is this whole plan just a bunch of lies he's telling himself? With the help of his great-grandfather's old journal, a feral chicken, and a possibly imaginary new friend, Raymond might just overcome his fears and figure out who he really wants to be.

TWENTY-SEVENTH LIE: WHAT’S IN FRONT OF ME IS ALL I WANT.

I read the last journal entry on the way home from the hospital. I don’t know why I had put it off so long, rereading old entries again and again instead of flipping to that page. I took a deep breath and opened the book.

WRITE ABOUT A MOMENT WHEN YOU KNEW CHILDHOOD WAS BEHIND YOU.

This prompt is angling for me to share a big-deal moment. Like the first time I saw myself in uniform. When I first held Jack in my arms. How I felt holding his hand at his mother’s funeral.

But those moments? Not for a single second did I feel like a grown-up. No, those were times when I knew down to my bones that I had no idea how to handle what was in front of me. Maybe that’s when you become an adult, when you realize it’s a big old game of Pretend, all of us acting as if we know what we’re doing.

But I can tell you the moment I missed being a kid. That’s a memory I carry, though it hurts to think of it.

I came back from the war wearing a uniform that made other people treat me like a hero. And maybe I even soaked that up. Maybe I even held my chin high and acted as if I deserved it. Oh, how I couldn’t wait to get home! I knew Mom would have a feast waiting for me, down to the cracker pudding just like Grandma used to make. My sisters and brother would run from the house to hug me.

Pop had met me at the train station and was driving me home, and from the way he kept nodding toward me with his eyes shining, I knew for sure he was proud.

When he turned down the dirt drive toward our house, my heart thumped with fear.

It wasn’t as I remembered it.

Draw a circle on a map covering our home, the neighbor’s farm, church, and school, and you would have contained every step I took before the war. But as I gazed out over this space on the way home, what had been my whole existence was now simply a small spot on a huge map.

Once a person’s world stretches, it never settles for small again.

That’s when I most missed being a child. I missed not knowing just how big the world could be. I missed the time when what I had in front of me was all I wanted.

---

Gigi pulled her sedan into park in front of her house but didn’t open the door. “Raymond,” she whispered. But my eyes were fixed on the red Fiat idling beside us. The trunk was open. Mom’s suitcase was inside. A woman behind the wheel pressed on the horn, and that’s when I saw my mom. She was on the porch with Jack, whose head was hung low. I watched as Mom took a slip of paper from him before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

Mom skipped toward the car, pausing when she saw Gigi and me. It was as though she had hit a brick wall. Her hands fell to her sides and her face paled. I hadn’t even realized I had gotten out of the car. Hadn’t noticed that I was running toward her. But now I hit the same wall.

The paper in her hand was a check.

“You’re leaving,” I said.

Abigail swallowed, and then shoved the check into her back pocket. “I left you a note,” she said, gesturing toward the house.

“That’s a nice change,” Gigi snapped. Her breath came in short puffs from running after me.

Mom stepped toward us. I moved away. “Raymond,” she said, “I’m not cut out for this. If anything proved it, last night did. You missing like that? You in danger? I shut down. I was so scared! I’m just not—”

“I was scared,” I yelled. Mom winced. She held up her hand to the person in the car, who turned off the engine.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Finally Gigi sighed. “Goodbye, Abigail.” She squeezed my shoulder and then walked into the house, closing the door on Jack when he turned to follow her in. He sat down on a lawn chair instead.

Mom blinked, her cheeks flushing red. “Raymond, I have to go. I never intended to stay. I’m not meant to—”

“This isn’t only about you,” I said, surprised at how steady my voice was. The words seemed to be coming from someplace hollow. “What about Sara? She’s going to be here in a couple of hours. What am I supposed to tell Sara?”

Mom closed her eyes. “It’ll be easier this way.”

“Easier for you!” Oh, how I wanted to feel empty in that moment. My bones jittered in my skin and my heart flatfooted in my chest. How was I supposed to simply stand here, watching her wrench herself out of my life again?

Now Mom crossed her arms, glaring at me as though I were the one being rude. “My friends are waiting for me, see? I wasn’t expecting you to be here when I stopped by. I wasn’t ready. I think it’s best for everyone if we just say goodbye. For now. I’d be… I’d be lying to myself if I pretended I was capable of being this person you need me to be.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I didn’t like the sound of my voice, squeaking and weak.

Mom’s head hinged back and she stared at the sky. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to try to be someone they aren’t. To lie to yourself like that, it’s toxic.”

“I’ve lied to myself at least twenty-seven times since I got to Winter’s Peak. Everyone lies.” I stepped toward her. “That doesn’t mean you get to leave. It means you learn to do better.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be, Raymond. You’re wrong—this isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

My ears filled with the staticky sound of the rescuer’s radio the night before. I even saw flashes of light when I closed my eyes. I didn’t know if Mom was still talking; I couldn’t even hear my thoughts. I felt like I was falling, falling, falling, harder and faster than when I tumbled down Cobbler’s Hill. “It’s not about you!”

The words were rocks, pelting us both.

Now she took a step backward.

“I’m sorry, Raymond. I really am,” she whispered. Tears pooled in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. I realized I wasn’t crying either, even as my heart twisted and turned and stomped so hard. Again, I flashed to the image of a table with all the versions of me. In that moment, every single one of them stood, their chairs slamming back against my ribs as they pushed to their feet.

“It hurts,” I whispered.

Mom winced. “This isn’t easy for me, either….”

“I don’t understand. I don’t even like you,” I blurted without thinking. She winced, and I realized she thought I was trying to wound her. But I wasn’t. I truly wasn’t. I was trying to figure out how this could possibly hurt so much. Would it always hurt this much? I shook my head, making a decision. Pulling in a deep breath, I felt something settle.

“If you leave now, don’t come back,” I told her, forcing my eyes to go from my shoes to her face. I needed to remember this moment, the way she looked right now. “I don’t ever want you to come back.” My voice was steady and strong, even though I knew I was lying to her and to myself. A part of me would always want her to be there. Maybe if there was a map of my life, she would forever be at the center of it. But my world was bigger now—stretching from Oklahoma all the way to Maine. And unlike Grand Pap, recognizing that expansion didn’t make me sad. It made me stronger.

At that moment, Mom stood in front of me, her shadow blocking everything else out, making her seem twice as big. But she would never be enough for me. “For six years, I tried to believe Dad and Sara when they said that you leaving didn’t have anything to do with me—”

Mom lunged forward, her long hair swinging as she reached toward me. “It didn’t, Raymond! It doesn’t! I left for me.”

“No!” I barked, putting up my hands like stop signs. When she moved, the sun hit my eyes, making them sting. She stood upright and swallowed. In that moment, I was a force. She’d hear me. “It was about me. You left me. I missed you, even when I didn’t want to. All that missing you, it took up too much of me.” I lifted my chin. My knuckles had been rubbing against my ribs without me even noticing. I forced my hands down to my sides. “My world is bigger than you now. I’m not going to let you take so much space inside it.”

“Raymond.” Mom’s voice hitched. I didn’t want to keep looking at her, but I did. I saw all of her—the mom who tucked me in at night with karate chops, the mom who danced in the kitchen, the mom who let go of Sara’s bicycle, the mom who left. And in front of me? The mom whose face couldn’t hide her relief at being asked not to come back. “I’m sorry.”

The engine turned back on in the little car. Mom walked by me, her hair brushing my shoulder as she passed.

And then she was gone.

---

When Dad and Sara finally pulled into the driveway in their rental car, I sprinted from the porch to launch myself at them.

Gigi and Jack had told me they thought it was important to fill them in on everything that had happened—the cave, the mudslide, my mom.

I agreed on two out of the three.

“What’s the point of telling them about Abigail?” I argued. Again, I caught myself rubbing at my ribs. Dad and Sara didn’t need to feel this ache.

While Gigi had already told Dad about the mudslide, she relented and agreed to wait to tell them about Abigail until we could do it in person. I figured maybe she and Jack might forget all about Mom once Dad and Sara were in front of them.

But when my family got out of the car, I was the one rushing forward. First I grabbed Sara and then I dragged her over to Dad, and amid my hiccupping, I let it all slip out.

“Hey, now,” Dad said, cupping the back of my head with his calloused hand. “What’s this all about?”

“Abigail was here?” Sara asked, and I nodded. “Is she still?”

When I shook my head, Dad sighed, and Sara squeezed me harder.

The more I spilled, even though I knew I probably should’ve waited for them to at least put down their bags or have a drink of water, the lighter I felt. Abigail was gone. She wasn’t coming back. I was here. They were here. We’d all be okay.

Gigi and Jack let us carry on a bit, and then ushered us all into the house. Gigi fussed over us all, showing Sara her room upstairs and apologizing to Dad that he’d have to share Grand Pap’s room with me. When I told Dad that the mattress was actually two twin beds that could move separately, he was pretty impressed, I could tell.

Jack showed Sara pieces from what was left of Grand Pap’s penny collection. “You probably don’t want a penny, do you? But you can have one, if you want.”

Sara held a coin close to her face, one with engravings of wheat stalks curling up the sides, and smiled. “I love it,” she said, and Jack flushed.

I was so excited to see Dad and Sara that I don’t think I stopped talking once, telling them all about the tortoises, learning to ride a bike, hearing Dad’s song playing downtown, teaching Clementine how to dance, and working with Elena. During dinner, Sara cut in on my ramblings when I paused to take a bite of Gigi’s fried chicken, which we were all polite about eating despite the lack of biscuits.

“I saw Trixy last night,” Sara said. “I let it slip that you survived a mudslide and saved someone from a cave.”

“Did you tell her that I still have a rock in my head?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t mention that part,” Sara said with a laugh.

“What?” I asked when Dad smiled at me, catching my eye.

“You’re different,” he said. “This summer has changed you, hasn’t it?”

I shrugged and tucked into the mashed potatoes, also lacking gravy, while Sara told us about her camp in Omaha and Dad shared funny stories about his tour.

After supper, Jack and Dad sat on the porch to watch the sun set. Gigi, biting her lip and hiding something behind her back, came up behind me and Sara as we washed the dishes. “I was wondering,” Gigi said, her cheeks bright red. She held out a box of lavender hair dye. “Would you two help me?”

Sara grinned. “I’d love to.” She pointed to the white countertops and sink. “It can be a little messy, though. And I might not be the best hairstylist.” She pointed to her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve always wanted purple hair!” Gigi bounced like a little girl. “I’ll grab some old towels.” She paused to glance around the kitchen. “And maybe we move into Grand Pap’s bathroom?”

I wander...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• First Lie: I’m Fine.
• Second Lie: I’m Not Afraid of Aliens Anymore.
• Third Lie: This Will Be the Summer That Changes Me.
• Fourth Lie: I’m Not Angry.
• Fifth Lie: I Don’t Need Training Wheels.
• Sixth Lie: I Don’t Care.
• Seventh Lie: Turtles Don’t Scare Me.
• Eighth Lie: Who Cares What Gigi Thinks? Not Me!
• Ninth Lie: I’m Never Speaking to Miss Elena Again.
• Tenth Lie: We Don’t Miss Her.
• Eleventh Lie: My Plan is on Track.
• Twelfth Lie: It’s Easier Not to Have Friends.
• Thirteenth Lie: I Don’t Care What People Think.
• Fourteenth Lie: I’m Not Afraid of Clementine.
• Fifteenth Lie: Clementine Can’t Make Me Dance.
• Sixteenth Lie: I Want Everyone to Leave Me Alone.
• Seventeenth Lie: I’m Done Being Sad.
• Eighteenth Lie: I Don’t Have Any Secrets.
• Nineteenth Lie: Berto Ruiz Isn’t Worth the Trouble.
• Twentieth Lie: Things Eventually Go Back to Normal.
• Twenty-First Lie: Storms Don’t Scare Me.
• Twenty-Second Lie: She’s Here for Me.
• Twenty-Third Lie: Mom is Different Now.
• Twenty-Fourth Lie: She’s Sorry.
• Twenty-Fifth Lie: I Know What I’m Doing.
• Twenty-Sixth Lie: At Least It Can’t Get Any Worse.
• Twenty-Seventh Lie: What’s in Front of Me is All I Want.
• Twenty-Eighth Lie: Chickens are Simple Creatures. So are People.
• Acknowledgments
• About the Author
• Copyright