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“What are we doing?” Sasha asks.
“Playing a game. It’s called Two Truths and a Lie. You say three things about yourself. Two of them must be true. One is false. The rest of us have to guess the lie.”
We played it a lot during my brief time in Dogwood, including the night of my arrival. The four of us were laying on our bunks in the darkness of the cabin, listening to nature’s chorus of crickets and bullfrogs outside the window, when Vivian suddenly said,Two Truths and a Lie, ladies. I’ll start.
She began to utter three statements, either assuming we already knew how the game was played or just not caring if we didn’t.
One: I once met the president. His palm was sweaty. Two: My parents were going to get a divorce but then decided not to when my dad got elected. Three: Once, on vacation in Australia, I got pooped on by a koala.
Three,Natalie said.You used it last year.
No, I didn’t.
You totally did,Allison said.You told us the koala peed on you.
That’s how it went every night. The four of us in the dark, sharing things we’d never reveal in the light of day. Constructing our lies so they’d sound real. It’s how I learned that Natalie once kissed a field hockey teammate and that Allison tried to sabotage a matinee ofLes Misérablesby spilling grape juice on her mother’s costume five minutes before curtain.
The game was Vivian’s favorite. She said you could learn moreabout a person from their lies than their truths. At the time, I didn’t believe her. I do now.
“I’ll start,” Miranda says. “Number one: I once made out with an altar boy in the confessional during Christmas mass. Number two: I read a hundred books a year, mostly mysteries. Number three: I once threw up after riding the Cyclone at Coney Island.”
“The second one,” Krystal says.
“Definitely,” Sasha adds.
Miranda pretends to be annoyed, even though I can tell she’s secretly pleased with herself. “Just because I’m smoking hot doesn’t make me illiterate. Hot girls read.”
“Then what’s the lie?” Sasha says.
“I’m not telling.” Miranda gives us an impish grin. “Let’s just say I’ve never been to Coney Island, but I go to mass all the time.”
Krystal goes next, telling us that her favorite superhero is Spider-Man; that her middle name is also Crystal, although spelled with aC; and that she, too, threw up after riding the Cyclone.
“Second one,” we all say in unison.
“Was it that obvious?”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda says, “but Krystal Crystal? No parent would be that cruel.”
When it’s time for her turn, Sasha nervously pushes her glasses higher onto her nose and wrinkles her brow in concentration. Clearly, she’s not used to lying.
“Um, my favorite food is pizza,” she says. “That’s number one. Number two: My favorite animal is the pygmy hippopotamus. Three: I don’t think I can do this. Lying’s wrong, you guys.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Your honesty is noble.”
“She’s lying,” Miranda says. “Right, Sasha? The third one is the lie?”
Sasha shrugs broadly, feigning innocence. “I don’t know. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Your turn, Emma,” Krystal says. “Two truths and one lie.”
I take a deep breath, stalling. Even though I knew this wascoming, I can’t think of suitable things to say. There’s so much I could reveal about myself. So little I actually want to have exposed.
“One: My favorite color is periwinkle blue,” I announce. “Two: I have been to the Louvre. Twice.”
“You still need to give us a third one,” Miranda says.
I stall some more, mulling the possibilities in my head, ultimately settling on something perched between fiction and fact.