I lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.
My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.
“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.
“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”
At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is in her room, probably eavesdropping on our amusing discussion. For a tiny human who isn’t even close to teenage years, she sure loves gossip and drama. She would make a great addition to the Plastics. Of course, she would hit it off almost instantly with Regina George. I, on the other hand, am not the type of person who wants to know all about you. I prefer to not ask questions. What you don’t know, doesn’t kill you. And if I do question someone, it’s for a good reason.
Speaking of good reasons. “Why have you kept this a secret from me?” I ask, wanting to bawl my eyes out.
My mom’s wailing stops, and the sound of sniffles breaks out. I roll my eyes because she cries way to easily. She’ll be watching her favorite telenovela and start crying because the theme song is playing. She says, and I quote, 'the words are so touching.'
Mom manages to get up off of the ground and sit down on our dilapidated burgundy couch by the smeared window.
“Because, Jade, sweetie,” she says, “we were afraid you’d get upset.”
“Well, it’s too late now.”
Dad tilts his head ever so gently. “We truly are sorry,” he says, watery-eyed.
"No,” I laugh, shaking my head, “you’re not sorry. You say that you are, but you know deep down that you would adopt me all over again in a heartbeat. That’s how every single parent thinks and that’s what makes this even harder.”
My dad holds up his head. I shouldn’t even be calling him ‘Dad’! He’s not even my father. He’s just some stranger who bought me from an adoption center.
“We are your parents,” he declares.
“Liar,” I accuse.
I look at him in his eyes. In them, I see pain. I see regret. I see sorrow. But what I see is not enough to fill this hole that they created right here in my stomach. It’s hollow, and I’m slowly forgetting what it was like before all this happened. Do you know what it’s like to be told that the people you love and adore whom you call “Mom” and “Dad” are not your real ones? That your real ones are somewhere out there in the world?
I stare and shake my head at both of them. Then I storm into my room. I grab my Jansport bag and start packing it with two things I need in order to survive for today: my earphones, and the charger for my phone. I open my door to find Olive staring at me.
“Where are you going? Why do you have your bag?” she interrogates. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Not now, Oli." I don't even look at her. My legs just keep on going. I want to forget about this situation and go somewhere, anywhere else but here. I try to ignore my p… Dave and Maya, but I can see their faces at the corner of my eye. Dave Wesley is sitting in his brown secondhand recliner that he found at a garage sale way back when, while Maya Wesley is getting herself together to say something to me.
“Jade, where are you going?"
“To get some fresh air,” I respond right before slamming the front door behind me. I lean on it and take a deep breath to compose myself. Then I let the tears fall.
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