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    “Everyone always keeps secrets from me,” Jocelyn said. “It’s because I’m still young. If I was older, would you let me read what you’ve written in your diary?”
    “No. And it isn’t a diary. Do you want any candy? I’m getting something chocolate.”
    “I don’t eat chocolate,” Jocelyn said.
    I chose two candy bars and a postcard and stood in line at the checkout counter.
    Jocelyn tugged on my shirt. “But if Celia and Ellen
do
have a secret, and if you find out what it is, will you promise to tell me?”

    Truth #14: I used to think secrets were kind of fun. But that was before I started lying to my parents, back in February.

    “Will you, Thea?” Jocelyn scratched her arm. “Please? Thea?”
    Because I thought she’d never drop the subject otherwise, I made her a promise. If I found out what the secret was, I would let her know.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    M ost people think there are only two kinds of lies: “little white lies” and all the others. But that isn’t true. Lies come in a lot of different colors.
    White lies are the kind that protect other people’s feelings. Yellow lies are the ones that tell only part of a story; they leave things out.
    Then there are pink lies; the pink ones exaggerate.
    Green ones invent. Little kids like to use them. (“I saw a dinosaur yesterday. It made a nest in my yard.”)
    Blue lies are the ones that people use when they’re desperately trying to get out of trouble: “I didn’t rob that bank. Really. I don’t know where those bags of money came from.”
    And there are red and purple and orange lies. Gwen and I made the colors up. We sat down one day and wrote up a chart.
    That was before I turned into a liar myself. And of course the first few lies I told were all about Gwen.

    It became pretty clear during the next few days that I was stuck with my little busybody cousin. It didn’t matter whether I was on vacation or whether I said I didn’t babysit. Liam and Austin were always at work (so were Celia and Ellen); Phoebe was busy with the baby (and had volunteered to entertain Edmund every morning, wearing him out so that he would take a nap every afternoon); and Nenna was usually cooking or doing some kind of housework. Besides, she had to help Granda. He needed help getting dressed and even getting in and out of his favorite chair.
    Because Jocelyn was usually hovering somewhere nearby even when I wasn’t officially spending time with her, the only moments I had to myself were at night in the attic. Sometimes I read under the covers with a flashlight. Or I took my notebook from the zippered compartment of my suitcase, chewed the cap of my pen, and waited to find out what I would write.

    Truth #15: I have a lot of nightmares.

    I glanced over at Jocelyn, a tiny lump on the opposite mattress.

    Truth #16: I don’t always remember them. When I sit up in bed, the details disappear. It’s like shaking an Etch A Sketch: most of the picture gets rubbed away, so all you can see is an outline of what used to be there.

    I sat in the dark and twirled my pen. Sometimes the truths came to me in bunches. Sometimes I thought of them during the day and had to carry them around with me for hours, until I had time to open my notebook.

    Truth #17: I used to spend a lot of time at Three Mile Creek.

    I paused; the pages of the notebook were smooth and thick.

    Truth #18: I will never go to Three Mile Creek again.

    “Thea?”
    The notebook leapt out of my hands. “Jocelyn! You scared me to death. Why are you awake?” My heart was pounding.
    “I heard you writing something.” I could see the tangled fluff of her hair against the pillow. “You woke me up.” She turned on the light. The only lamp in the attic was an old-fashioned one on Jocelyn’s dresser. The bottom of the lamp was shaped like a lady wearing a giant hoopskirt.
    “I couldn’t have woken you up,” I said. “I barely made any noise.”
    “I’m a very light sleeper.” She rubbed her eyes