Liars (fiction). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bryan Shawn Wang

LIARS

the bathers by Carol King Hood © 2013

There was nothing Tempo hated more than lying to a grown up, but she didn ’t want to disappoint Joy, who ’d done her a huge favor by even telling her about the babysitting in the first place. Although they ’d been friends for forever, Tempo hadn ’t been

Joy ’ s best friend forever in years. In fact, 12 it had come as a complete shock when

Joy pulled her out of the lunch line earlier that day and told Tempo she ’d found her a job babysitting for the Peraltas.

Tempo couldn ’t help asking why Joy didn ’t want the job herself. Joy ’ s eyes did a loop-the-loop. Her goody-goody sister Denise, who ’d sat for the Peraltas before she graduated, had let it slip that Joy had only just finished eighth grade. Not to mention the fact that Joy was, face it, horrible with little kids.

“Mrs. P. and I didn ’t really jell, ” Joy said.

“But she ’ s bound to like you. You ’ re such a goody-goody, too. ”

Maybe compared to Joy, but Tempo wasn ’t anywhere in the same universe as Denise—who ’d made National Honor Society and led Chesterton ’ s tennis team to the state finals. Who ’d just started college at Princeton. Tempo knew that when it came time to apply for colleges, she ’d be dying to get into somewhere like Princeton.

“Anyhow, ” Joy said, “ can ’t you use the money?”

Although Joy didn ’t mean it in a mean way, Tempo shut right up after that. Joy went on, saying the Peraltas paid, like, ten bucks an hour, and the kids were easy peasy. The only thing was, Mrs. Peralta was anally retentive, and she wanted babysitters with “ a certain level of maturity. ” Translation: fourteen-yearolds need not apply.

Joy, however, had it all figured out, and she ’d invited Tempo over to her house after

school. Now, in her bedroom, which was about a hundred times messier than Tempo remembered it, Joy was making Tempo rehearse everything she was going to say. When they finally called up Mrs. Peralta and right off the bat the lady wanted to know her age, Tempo just replied, “Sixteen, Mrs. Peralta. ”

The woman asked whether Tempo had her license yet.

“Almost sixteen, ” Tempo said. Already, the whole thing wasn ’t sitting well with her.

Mrs. Peralta was quiet, and Tempo would have hung up right then and there, except Joy was sitting up on the bed and making frantic come-on-comeon motions with her hands.

Tell her about the class, Joy whispered. Sell yourself.

Tempo told Mrs. Peralta that over the summer she ’d taken the Red Cross babysitting course, which covered safety-related topics and stuff like how to role model and positively influence younger children. She talked about her cousins, who were the exact same ages as Elizabeth and Edwin. She watched her cousins almost every weekend because her aunt and her mom both worked at the mall on Saturdays. Which was adlibbed, but totally true. Joy smiled and began twirling her way around the clumps of dirty laundry on the floor.

“I see, ” Mrs. Peralta said, in a tone Tempo couldn ’t quite work out. Sometimes people got judgy about single mothers who had to work on weekends, and so that Mrs. Peralta wouldn ’t think she was a charity case (and so Joy wouldn ’t think so, either), Tempo said she just wanted to earn some pocket change.

Joy stopped twirling. Pocket money, she said, but Tempo didn ’t correct herself.

“I understand, ” Mrs. Peralta said, and to Tempo ’ s relief, she began to ask about grades and favorite subjects. (English, and math was a close second.)

Mrs. Peralta asked whether she had a boyfriend.

“No, ma ’ am. ” Tempo thought about her mother ’ s boyfriend, Allan. He wore tons of cologne, but he always smelled like he ’d just climbed out of a deep fryer. Just thinking about how her mother ’ s clothes reeked every time she went out made Tempo sick to her stomach.

She went into the final part of her speech, saying how adorable and funny and smart Elizabeth and Edwin must be. She was dying to meet them. Joy flopped back onto the bed, snickering, while Tempo said she loved spending time with kids that age—what with their energy, their innocence.

“Very well, ” Mrs. Peralta said. Tempo could almost make out the smile in her voice. “Next Thursday. Quarter to six. ”

Tempo thanked her, got off the phone, and grinned at Joy, who bounced off the bed, punched a fist in the air, and shouted, “Score!” Just like the boys she was always

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hanging around with these days.

Tempo hadn ’t been exaggerating when she told Mrs. Peralta she loved spending time with kids. She had a knack for figuring out children, like factoring and the quadratic formula. Whereas sometimes she couldn ’t buy a clue about what the girls in her grade were so fascinated with. She ’d almost rather babysit than hang out with her so-called peers.

Still, Thursday afternoon, she wasn ’t exactly feeling like the babysitter of the year. It was about a thousand degrees out, and she had to walk all the way down past the high school and up Grandview Ave. where the houses went from big to huge to monstrous. By the time she reached the Peraltas ’ , she ’d gone from semi-sweaty to completely gross. After she rang the doorbell, she wiped her forehead with her wrist and peered at her reflection (yuck) in the little privacy window beside the door.

Mrs. Peralta, dressed in a simple black sheath that probably cost a hundred bucks at Bloomingdale ’ s, smiled at Tempo, and Tempo shook hands and glanced into the entryway—the foyer— with its marble tile, flowers bursting from vases set in recesses in the wall, a wide staircase that swept up and around and up and around.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Peralta. ” She tried to make it sound natural.

Mrs. Peralta said, “You look a bit flushed. Ungodly hot for September, isn ’t it?” She felt Tempo ’ s forehead in a motherly kind of way. Her hand was cool and steady.

She let Tempo into the house (the AC was cranked) and called for her children. Two seconds later, the girl appeared. Elizabeth was seven years old, with her hair up in a French braid and a dress that might have matched her mother ’ s except hers had a bow in the front.

The girl squinted at Tempo and said, “I don ’t need a babysitter. ”

Tempo ’ s cousin often used that same line, and so Tempo said she was just there to babysit a little boy. “I think his name ’ s Edward?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Edwin. His name is Ed-win. ”

Tempo went on, saying she ’d feed Edwin lots of junk food and candy and soda—which caused Elizabeth to gasp out loud and her mother to frown. Tempo told them she ’d let him play outside, but only up on the roof, and afterward she ’d make sure he didn ’t take a bath or brush his teeth before she put him to bed, which would probably be sometime after midnight.

The girl was giggling now and telling Tempo that was all wrong wrong wrong. Tempo said shoot, maybe she ’d need somebody to keep it all straight for her, and Mrs. Peralta smiled as Elizabeth offered her gracious assistance.

Upstairs, somebody screamed.

They found Edwin in his room, throwing a first-class tantrum, flailing on his little pirate ship bed and howling.

Elizabeth kept asking, “What’ s the matter, Eddie? Do you miss Denise?”

Which only made him shriek more, because apparently, ever since Mommy

Summer Moment by Merle Spandorfer © 2013

had told him they were having a babysitter tonight, he had indeed been expecting Miss Denise.

Tempo peeked around Mrs. Peralta. “Know something?” she said to Edwin. “Denise was my favorite babysitter, too. ”

The boy took his crying down a notch, and Mrs. Peralta turned to Tempo. “Denise Foster was yourbabysitter?”

Tempo kept talking to Edwin as though they were having a private session. “Did Denise ever play Confectionery with you?”

Edwin shook his head and Tempo, without mentioning Joy, told the Peraltas about the time she ’d gone over to the Fosters ’ house—she ’d been eight then, although now she embellished and told Mrs. Peralta she ’d been almost ten. Denise and Tempo had baked cookies and little cakes in Denise ’ s Easy Bake Oven. They ’d decorated the treats with icing and sprinkles and those tiny colored marshmallows that come in Lucky Charms and then arranged everything on doilies and cut-glass plates.

“Denise is an absolute goddess, ” she said. Edwin nodded solemnly.