Lies I Told by Michelle Zink Page A

Selena’s favorite stores. For the first hour I observed, paying careful attention to how the mannequins were merchandized in the popular shops, making note of the brands and styles Selena gravitated toward. She might not be in Rachel’s crowd, but she was Playa Hermosa born and bred.
    When I felt like I had a handle on the nuances of Southern California style, I bought a pair of killer jeans, a floral dress, multiple sleeveless tops, a shrunken cardigan, and two pairs of strappy sandals. Then I loaded up on cheap earrings, bracelets, and other accessories at one of Selena’s hot spots.
    I felt a twinge of guilt handing over the credit card my dad had given me; I would never even see the bill. But all the kids in Playa Hermosa had cards paid for by their parents, even Selena, although she had a limit and was questioned by her father about the charges when the statement came in the mail. Mooching off my parents was part of the cover, like the ocean and the house on the peninsula and the Saab I shared with Parker. I might as well enjoy it. I would have to leave itall behind anyway.
    I treated Selena to lunch at a sushi place in the mall, our shopping bags stacked in the seats next to us. We talked about Ashley (habit friendship left over from middle school) and Nina (a neighbor Selena walked with to and from school), our classes, and the difference between fashion and label conformity. We were on our second plate of tuna rolls before I dared to bring up the subject of Selena’s mother.
    I’d been thinking about it ever since that first conversation in the cafeteria. It had nothing to do with the con. Selena was just so unguarded. Her secretiveness about her mother was a noticeable departure from her usual openness. How could I say we were friends if I didn’t know the story behind her mother’s absence?
    â€œYour dad seems nice,” I started, picking up a tuna roll with my chopsticks.
    She smiled. “He is. I mean, he’s strict and everything, but I understand it. He came here from Mexico when he was a kid. He’s had a hard life. He just wants me to take my future seriously.”
    â€œI can see that.” I hesitated, suddenly unsure. I was so used to digging for information that it felt dishonest to ask questions even when they had nothing to do with the con.
    Selena set down her chopsticks. “You want to know about my mom, don’t you?” she asked softly.
    â€œNo! Well . . . I mean . . .” I sighed. “I guess I am a little curious. But you don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to.”
    â€œWhat have you heard?” Selena asked.
    I looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
    â€œCome on, Grace. I know people talk about it. It’s okay. I get it. It’s weird.”
    â€œNobody’s said anything to me. Then again, you’re pretty much the only person I talk to.”
    â€œWhat about Rachel Mercer?”
    â€œI hardly know Rachel. She’s just someone I sit next to in AP Euro. Besides, why would Rachel say anything to me about your mom?”
    Selena took a drink of iced tea. “My mom sort of . . . walked out on us a couple years back.”
    I inhaled sharply. It wasn’t what I’d expected. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Selena. That must have been really tough.”
    She nodded.
    â€œDoes she still live in Playa Hermosa? Do you see her often?”
    â€œWe haven’t heard from her since she left.” She gave a sad little laugh. “I actually have no idea where she is.”
    â€œWait . . .” I shook my head, trying to get my head around what she was saying. “You mean she just . . . took off without even telling you she was leaving? Without telling you where she was going?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œWell, that’s shitty,” I said. And then, in case I’d offended her, “Sorry.”
    She gave me a sad smile. “No,