Read Deadly Little Lies for Free Online Page B

cooking,” I say, referring to her latest obsession with raw cuisine. The stove has become more of a storage space than a place to prepare food.
    “She’s making raw pizza.”
    “Sounds delish,” I lie.
    “That’s what I told her. Please”—he shudders, flashing me a container of Tums—“don’t make me do it alone.”
    “Okay.” I cave. “I’ll be there in a few.”
    But no sooner do I say it than my cell phone rings. It’s Kimmie, announcing that her parents are driving her crazy and she’s coming over— stat .
    I hang up and break the news to Dad—that I won’t be joining them for dinner after all. He’s a little ticked at first, but softens up when I promise him a trip to Taco Bell later, my treat.
    When Kimmie arrives, we camp out in my room and talk over bags of barbecue chips and Reese’s peanut butter cups—essentials she’s brought along. She tells me that her parents are fighting hard core, yelling at each other at all hours of the night.
    “And then the other day,” she continues, “I was working on some of my designs, something from my Bad Girl & Breakfast line.” She gestures to her outfit, which appears to be a silk black pillowcase with cutouts for the neck and arms. A chain-link belt is strapped around her waist. “And my dad told me I was wasting my time.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch her arm.
    She shrugs, wiping a mascara-stained tear from her cheek. “It’s like he’s not happy about anything anymore, especially when it comes to me and Nate. It’s even worse for Nate. The kid’s only eight years old. He looks up to my dad like he’s a freakin’ superhero or something.”
    “Well, I hate to get all Oprah on you,” I say, giving her arm a good squeeze, “but it’s not your fault. Whatever your parents are going through has nothing to do with you and your brother.”
    “Tell my dad that. He’s constantly complaining that money’s tight because he’s stuck spending it all on us. Meanwhile, my mom’s so busy trying to make him happy. Trying to look ten years younger and fit into clothing two sizes too small. Now she’s reading all this weird couples stuff. Books about the ‘sensual years’ and satisfying your man. It’s all so gross.”
    “I’m sorry,” I repeat, not really knowing what else to say.
    “Whatever,” she says, blotting her black tears with a tissue. “I mean, at least it gets them off my back, right?”
    “Is there anything I can do?”
    “You’re already doing it,” she says, gesturing around my room with a chip. “Just don’t kick me out, okay?”
    “You can stay here as long as you want.”
    “What were you up to, by the way?” She glances toward my computer.
    “We don’t have to talk about me.”
    “Are you kidding? I’m so done talking about my parents. Let’s move on to something normal. Or at least as normal as your life can possibly be.”
    “Exactly,” I sigh.
    “Do I smell something scandalous?”
    I take a deep breath and tell her about the note I got in the bathroom today, about my conversation with Ben in the storage room, and then I segue into what happened at Knead with the bottle and the new boy.
    “Was he hot?”
    “You’re missing the point.”
    “Right.” She nods. “The point is that I can’t believe you played ten minutes in the closet with Ben and you didn’t even touch him.”
    “More like he didn’t touch me . But you’re still missing the point.”
    “And you don’t think there’s any possibility that all this sculpture stuff could be a coincidence? I mean, weirder things have happened—like with me, for example. I was once having these dreams about some random girl from grammar school, someone I hadn’t seen in years. And then, a week later, I bumped into her.”
    “Sounds like a premonition.”
    “More like selective memory. A couple weeks before the dreams started, my mom had shown me a newspaper article about the girl. I’d completely forgotten about it,