“It’s like two truths and a lie, except instead of guessing which one is the lie, you guess how many are lies.” She sat next to me on the dock, her feet tracing shapes in the water. I nodded.
“One: I’ve been to seven different schools in six years.” I believe that one. She’s been here two weeks and doesn’t bother to unpack, she says she never knows when they’ll move again.
“Two: My parents are still together.” That’s a lie. I’ve never seen her dad, and her mom sleeps on the couch next to a capless bottle of whiskey.
“Three: I’ll be here tomorrow.” I was taken aback to this one. True, her mom’s drunk in the house, there’s no way they’re moving tomorrow.
“Is it two truths and a lie?” I ask, I’m almost certain I’m right.
“You know the answers to the first two. You’ll have to wait and see tomorrow for the third.” She pushed herself up from her seat, shook the water from her feet and walked into the house, locking the door behind her.
The next morning, her car was gone and her mother remained passed out on the couch. No, they didn’t move.