wide.” She smiles. Mom has OCD, which we only learned about four or so years ago.
There are four main types of OCD and, through counseling, she found out that she has what they call Just Right OCD. She counts a lot, gets hung up on the number five, arranges things so they are in order and symmetrical. We learned that, when she was younger, she thought if the pictures weren’t arranged just right, something horrible would happen to someone she loved. We never noticed because Dad was so on the ball and overly protective that he thought of things, even before she did, that might trigger it and fixed the problem before it would even arise.
Dad told us, when she lost her parents in an accident, she needed to feel in control of something, so she chose “things.” Everything had to have its place, and although she never wigged out about a mess, she would be the first to clean it up and put things back where it belonged. Moving would have been the worst thing for her, or so Dad thought.
During one of the conversations before they decided we were moving, Mom told him that, since having us kids, she hadn’t needed it as much and that we deserved to experience life, even if it took her outside her comfort zone.
I’m not saying everything changed. Everything still has its place—books are alphabetized, and even if she and Justice don’t finish their nightly chess game in front of the windows overlooking the ocean, she needs to put the pieces back to starting position, if not in the case.
“I love it here, Truth, truly. I guess I never realized it until we got the house, but it’s like our family as a whole has moved on together, forward together, and by choice, not circumstance. But there are moments you seem to want to be anywhere else, and today was one of them. If maybe you’d be honest with me, I think you lost that excitement when you started this new school.”
“Or maybe it’s because I get questioned for every move I make, because I’m not Justice.”
She blinks a few times and looks down. Her hands knot together, and she begins wringing them.
“I’m just being honest, Mom.”
She nods and looks up. “I know, and I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you it’s going to get better, but you’re his baby girl, and it is who he is. But it’s not just him. I worry about you.”
“There’s no need to.”
She glances quickly at my ankle then back up at me, nods again, and stands up. Then she bends down and kisses my head. “I’m in your corner, Truth, so is your father, but I can’t help thinking you’re hiding something.” She turns to leave me to my thoughts, deep in her own.
If I let them marinate in my lie, it’s bound to get worse.
“I landed on it wrong at the party when we were making TikToks,” I blurt out my second lie. “I knew you guys would be all over the top about it and, at seventeen, I should be able to go to parties without my brother, so I didn’t tell you. Brisa and Patrick didn’t know it hurt until after I fell in the bathroom, because it didn’t hurt that bad last night, so tell Dad not to get mad at them.”
She turns around, relief flooding her face. “I think it needs an x-ray. I’ll take you in tomorrow, so you’ll be late for school.”
“I can wait until after.”
She shakes her head. “I think you’ve waited long enough.”
“Okay. Can I sleep in since I’m going to be late, anyway?” I ask, crossing my finger in hopes of missing third period study hall that three of the four horsemen are also in.
“Sure.” She smiles genuinely then turns to leave.
“I love you, Mom.”
She looks over her shoulder. “I love you, too.”
I grab my phone and send a Snap to Kiki and Brisa, telling them my new “lie” and that I won’t be at school until I get an x-ray, and then I send one to Patrick.
After I set my phone on the charger, I get three texts, all from numbers not saved in my phone. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the first.
- Heard you had your phone out last night. Bad idea. Very bad indeed.
The next text reads:
- You were given an opportunity as a test, and you failed. Watch your back.
Again, no signature, but I know exactly