The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney (3 page)

Possible Solution:
Get Jared Bentley to go out with me.

Why This Solution Won’t Work:
Jared Bentley is tall, blond, and quite amazing. Every single girl in our junior high has a crush on him (even some of the eighth graders), so it’s unlikely he would want to go out with me.

Possible Solution:
Tell Lexi that Jared and I broke up.

Why This Solution Won’t Work:
The thing is, even though this is the first time I’ve
seen
Lexi, we still IM sometimes. And the last time we talked was last night, when Lexi told me she had this huge surprise for me. (“Who does that?” Mel asks at this point. “Just shows up at someone’s school and doesn’t tell them? And you have a secret IM friend?” She looks shocked, like she can’t believe I’m having some sort of weird, behind-her-back IM conversations.) Anyway, I can’t tell Lexi
that Jared and I broke up, because last night, I was acting like Jared and I were still together. And what if she’s all, “That’s funny, last night you two were still going out, you PROBABLY MADE THE WHOLE THING UP AND ARE NOW STAGING A BREAKUP SO THAT NO ONE THINKS YOU’RE PSYCHO.”

Lie Number Three:
I’m always dressed like a fashionista. Although if you want to get technical, this one isn’t really a lie. It’s more of a misconception, since I never actually
told
Lexi that I always dressed the way I did this summer. She just sort of assumed I was perpetually dressed in cute outfits. In reality, I’m more of a jeans-and-hoodies kind of girl. I’m not a slob or anything, I’m just not dressed up all the time.

Possible Solution:
Start dressing like a fashionista again.

Why This Solution Won’t Work:
The only reason I was able to dress like a fashionista in the first place was because my parents were feeling uber-guilty about sending me off to my grandma’s for the summer, so they were, um, quite liberal with their cash. My dad even gave me his credit card number so I could shop online. Now that they’re back together, I’m lucky if I see my allowance. And all the cute clothes I bought
over the summer were
summer
clothes. And now it’s October. I mean, how can I show up at school wearing tank tops and sandals? I’d look like a freak. A cute freak. But a freak.

Possible Solution:
Tell Lexi I’ve developed some sort of rare skin disease that causes me to be allergic to designer clothes. Also let her know that this disorder may be catching, so she might want to stay away from me unless she is prepared to give up her Prada and BCBG.

Why This Solution Won’t Work:
Lexi Cortland is not stupid.

BOTTOM LINE: I AM IN DEEP TROUBLE.

When I get home from school, my mom’s at the kitchen table, on her laptop. She’s a freelance Web designer now, which is one of the things she and my dad agreed on this summer. Apparently my mom was feeling suffocated by her job at the design firm where she worked and she wanted to start her own business, but my dad was worried that if she did, we’d all be out on the street, homeless and with no food. Which even
I
thought was kind of ridiculous, because my dad is a pharmaceutical rep, and so is Darcy Marino’s, this girl in my math class. Darcy’s parents have four kids, and
her mom stays at home and takes care of them. Their house is bigger than ours, and I don’t think Darcy or her brothers ever went hungry or anything.

Anyway, my mom thought that since my dad worried we were all going to end up homeless, that meant he didn’t believe in her abilities and wasn’t encouraging her to pursue her dreams. So she got really mad, which led to the “rifts and tension” in their marriage. But ever since Katie and I got back from my grandma’s, my dad has seemed super supportive. I think it’s because they’re going to a marriage counselor, and it seems to be helping. (FYI: My mom and dad make up excuses when they go to their counseling appointments, but I totally found the brochure in my mom’s desk once while I was looking for a red Sharpie to use for my social studies poster on Communist Russia. It’s kind of ridiculous to keep it a secret, if you ask me, because I’m thirteen and I wouldn’t freak out about it or anything. But I do my best not to let on that I know, and also to keep it a secret from Katie, because I don’t want anyone getting upset.)

“Hey, honey,” my mom says, standing up and stretching. “How was school?”

“Good,” I lie, figuring it’s best not to say anything about the whole my-life-possibly-being-ruined thing. I
open the cupboard and pull down a box of peanut butter and chocolate chip granola bars.

“Hello,” Katie says, walking into the room. She’s wearing a bathing suit and a pair of ice skates.

“Oh, honey,” my mom says, “you shouldn’t wear your skates in the house.”

“Why not?” Katie asks. “I’m in training.”

“Well,” my mom says slowly, “that’s great, but you need to wear your blade guards if you’re going to be walking around like that.”

Katie is five, and thinks she’s an Olympian. Or, going to be an Olympian. The problem is, she wants to get to the Olympics, but can’t decide what she wants to go to the Olympics
for.
So one week she’s an ice-skater, the next she’s a gymnast, etc. One time she came to the dinner table wearing a tutu she had left over from ballet lessons she took when she was three. (It was way too small for her, and also confusing to everyone, because ballet isn’t an Olympic sport. When we told her this, she burst into tears, because ballet was her “one true shot at the gold.”)

Katie can be quite dramatic.

“Mom, wearing my blade guards does not help when I am out on the ice, trying to stay balanced.”

“You need to wear your blade guards,” my mom
repeats firmly. “Otherwise you’re going to ruin the floor, and we’ll have to spend the money we’re currently using for your skating lessons to pay for a new one.”

Katie crosses her arms and puts a pained expression on her face. Katie is having what my grandmother calls “a difficult transition.” Basically, since my parents pretty much gave her whatever she wanted over the summer (a new bike, new skates, a balance beam so she could practice being an Olympic gymnast, and a trampoline), and my grandmother never made her do anything around the house, she’s not used to people saying no to her. Which is why she pitches a lot of fits.

“I want some juice,” she says now.

“Fine,” my mom says, pushing her hair away from her face and standing up from the table. She’s wearing blue yoga pants and a pink long-sleeved fleece shirt. Now that my mom works from home, she wears this kind of stuff a lot. She stops for a minute, considering my sister’s request. “Katie, honey, you can get the juice yourself. Mommy’s working.” She sits back down at her computer, looking satisfied.

Katie rolls her eyes and makes a big production of sliding her ice-skate blades across the kitchen floor. I’m pretty sure that one of the things my mom is working on in therapy has to do with not letting her guilt get
the best of her, which might cause her to let me and Katie get spoiled. Which means this is probably not the best time to ask her if I can go away to boarding school, since my life is a huge mess.

“Devon,” my mom says. “Listen, your father and I are going out tonight, so you’re going to have to watch Katie.”

“No, thanks,” Katie says, pulling a container of orange juice out of the refrigerator. She totters on her skates over to the counter. “I don’t want Devon to watch me.”

I reach up into the cupboard and pull down a pink plastic cup and set it on the counter for her. “It’ll be fun, Katie,” I say.

“How come?” she asks.

“It just will,” I say, hoping she’ll accept that. Katie gets a little weird when she has to stay home alone with me. It has to do with what happened this summer. She thinks that when my parents leave, they’re going to be gone for a really long time.

Katie sighs and starts pouring the juice carefully into her cup.

“How long do I have to babysit for?” I ask my mom, not really caring. Babysitting for Katie isn’t hard. Especially since my mom just bought her
Miracle,
the true
story of the U.S. Olympic hockey team on DVD. Katie has been watching it over and over and over.

“Just a few hours,” my mom says. “We’re going out to dinner.”

The phone rings, and I lunge for the cordless.

“Hello?” I say, without checking the caller ID.

“Devi? It’s Lexi.”

“Oh, um, hi,” I say, wandering into my room. I throw myself down on the bed, wondering why Lexi is calling me. I gave her my phone number at the end of the summer, but until this point, our contact has been contained to instant message conversations.

“You weren’t online,” Lexi says. She sounds accusatory, like I’ve done something horrible.

“Sorry,” I say, “I just got home.” I look down at my bed and pull at a stray thread that’s popped out of the lining of my comforter.

“So check it,” Lexi says. “I was thinking we could go together tonight.”

“Get together?” I ask.

“No,
go
together,” Lexi says, sounding slightly exasperated. “To the mall? With Jared and Kim and everyone?”

It takes me half a second to realize that she’s talking about some A-list get-together that’s planned for
tonight, and since she thinks I’m dating Jared, she just assumes I’m invited. Which I’m not.

“Listen, Lexi—”

“My mom can drive if your mom can pick us up,” Lexi says matter-of-factly.

“I can’t,” I say. “I have to babysit for Katie.” Which isn’t a lie. I do have to babysit for Katie. Besides, even if I didn’t have to babysit for Katie, I couldn’t just show up at the mall to some A-list meet-up. Especially with Lexi. Especially when she thinks I’m dating Jared Bentley. “Hey, wait,” I say, confused. “How did you get invited?”

“After I finished with Mr. Boone, I went back to the cafeteria,” Lexi says. “Kim invited me.” Kim is Kim Cavalli, who’s one of the most popular girls in the seventh grade. Unreal. Girls spend their lives trying to be friends with Kim. Lexi’s here for a day and she’s already hanging out with her.

“Listen,” I say, deciding now is the time to tell Lexi the truth. But what do I say, exactly?

Choice A: Lexi, I’m not popular, I’m a total liar, Jared Bentley doesn’t even know I’m alive.

Choice B: Gotta go, Lexi, talk to you, erhm, never. (Then avoid Lexi at school forever.)

Choice C: Lexi, I have to confess something. You
see, I’m really not going out with Jared, and I’m really not that popular. I don’t know why I told you all that stuff this summer, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you.

Choice B seems like the most logical solution, but the problem (besides, of course, the fact that I could end up a social outcast), is that I really
do
want to be friends with Lexi. We had a lot of fun together over the summer, and we talked a lot about the stuff that was going on with my parents. Which was nice, because nobody else knows my parents were thinking about getting divorced. Not even Mel. It would be horrible if Lexi hated me.

Suddenly, something takes over my body. It’s like I’m not myself, but someone else. Some other Devon. One who has no idea what she’s doing. I say, “Listen, Lexi, it’s really important that you don’t say anything to anyone about me and Jared dating.”

“How come?” Lexi says, and I think if she had sounded suspicious at all, I probably wouldn’t have been able to lie. But she sounds genuinely interested, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Because Mel has a crush on him, so our relationship is totally secret.” Mel. Has. A. Crush. On. Him. And. So. Our. Relationship. Is. Totally. Secret. Oh my God. I have lost my
mind. I’ve seriously gone crazy. It’s even worse than the summer, because over the summer, it was crazy to pretend to be popular and everything, but at least that was kind of normal because what thirteen-year-old girl doesn’t want to be popular? It was kind of like I was playing a role and—oh my God. I’m obviously a pathological liar. What is a pathological liar, exactly? Is it someone who lies, and then believes her lies? No, because if the person didn’t
realize
she was lying, she wouldn’t be a liar, she’d just be insane. And I definitely know I’m lying. Of course, I could also be insane.

“Mel?” Lexi says, sounding excited. “Your best friend, Mel?”

“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes. I lie down on my bed. I wonder if I’m too young to get an ulcer from stress. My great-uncle Tony has a stress ulcer. But that’s because his son, my mom’s cousin Darren, moved his five children and wife into my great-uncle Tony’s spare bedroom and won’t leave. “Mel has a crush on Jared and, uh, she would kill me if she found out we were dating. So, ah, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Who knows?” Lexi asks.

“Um, just me and you,” I say. “So you have to keep it a secret.” I am a horrible person. Mel doesn’t like Jared at all. In fact, she thinks he’s totally ridiculous.
(This is mostly because one time when she was coming out of the girls’ locker room after gym, someone opened the door to the boys’ locker room at the same time, and she got to peek in. And what Mel saw was Jared Bentley, standing at the sink after gym, putting gel in his hair. And Mel thought that was really weird and very conceited, because they have gym seventh period, and there are only eight periods in the day, which means that Jared Bentley couldn’t even go forty minutes without his hair looking perfect.)

“Oh, Devi, I won’t!” she says. “I wish you would have told me about this earlier, though. I mean, I could have slipped at school today!”

“You didn’t, though, right?” I say, my heart speeding up. “You didn’t tell anyone about Jared and me?”

“I don’t think so,” Lexi says, considering.

“Well, that’s good,” I say, trying to sound breezy. “Listen, I’m probably going to break up with him soon, anyway. The guilt is killing me.”

“Oh, Devi, you’re such a good friend!” Lexi exclaims. “I mean, I’m sure Melissa is nice and everything, but…” She trails off, not wanting to say what she’s thinking. Which is that while Mel is nice and cute enough, she’s not in Jared Bentley’s league. But then again, neither am I. Although … I sit up on my
bed, starting to think. Why aren’t I good enough for Jared? I mean, I had Lexi fooled this whole summer. I wore cute clothes and acted fun and confident, and she totally believed it. Lexi was way popular at her old school (unlike me, I’m sure she didn’t make up all the stories she told me, including the one where she had three guys asking her to the sixth-grade Valentine’s Day dance), and she was apparently getting in with the popular crowd here.