Liar by Justine Larbalestier Page A

accidentally kicks the toaster under the table. There is a loud clang that echoes around the tiny kitchen.
    â€œAnd also your boyfriend,” Detective Stein says, as if he hasn’t just hurt his toes. “Or was every student who told me that lying?”
    He leans across the table. I can smell his breath. He’s a smoker. He’s tried to cover it up with something peppermint flavored, but the nicotine is stronger. Three of his fingers are stained yellow. “I hear that it’s you who tells lies. Is that true?”
    The unanswerable question. So I don’t. I stare at my fingers interlaced with Mom’s. My nails need trimming. Mom squeezes my hand a little tighter.
    â€œYou’re a liar, aren’t you, Micah?” Stein hisses at me.
    â€œIs your rudeness necessary, officer?” my father asks in his calm tone of voice, which means he’s really angry.
    â€œDetective,” Stein and Rodriguez say at the same time.
    â€œDetectives, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t yell at my daughter. We agreed to this interview because we want to assist with your investigation. I don’t want to call my lawyer, but I will.”
    As far as I know Dad doesn’t have a lawyer.
    â€œSorry, Mr. Wilkins,” Stein says, not sounding even slightly apologetic. “We’re trying to get to the truth.”
    â€œWe’re very sorry, ma’am, sir,” Detective Rodriguez says, looking first at my mom and then my dad, and sounding more sincere. “But we have to ask these questions. We can also conduct this interview at the station. We don’t want to insist on that, but this is a criminal investigation.”
    Dad opens his mouth to object and Stein talks across him. “Was he your boyfriend, Micah?”
    â€œNo,” I say. We never used that word. Well, okay, sometimes I did, but in my thoughts, not out loud. Zach never called me anything but Micah. I glance at Dad, who gives me half a smile, but he is not happy. Mom’s squeezing my hand again. I’m glad for the comfort of it, but I don’t think it will continue after this interview.
    â€œHe wasn’t your boyfriend?”
    â€œNo.” I think about telling them that it’s a lie Brandon has been telling. He says he saw us kissing in Central Park. We never kissed, I could tell them. He’s such a liar. It is dawning on me that I am a suspect. Not just at school but with the police.
    â€œDid you see him outside school?” Stein’s cheeks are red. He looks like he wants to shake me. I glance at Rodriguez. He’s harder to read, but he doesn’t seem kind.
    They really believe I could have killed Zach. I move my head—something that’s half nod and half shake. They take it as a yes.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell us last time that you knew him outside of school?” Stein asks.
    â€œIt was a secret. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
    â€œI’m sure,” Detective Rodriguez says, “that Zach wouldn’t have meant the police.”
    Well, he’s dead, isn’t he? None of his wishes mean anything now. My promises are as dead as he is. I still don’t want to talk about him. Not with them.
    Detective Stein is leaning across the kitchen table, staring at me. It’s creepy. I wish the table was wider. I wish the kitchen was bigger, too. Or that there was a living room. Instead of it being Mom and Dad’s bedroom and where we watch TV.
    â€œWhat did you do together outside of school?” Stein asks, in a tone of voice that implies we must have been doing something he didn’t approve of.
    I look at my mom. She squeezes my hand tighter. Dad nods and smiles.
    â€œWe ran,” I say. “Training. I like to run.”
    â€œShe’s very fast,” my dad says, sounding proud.
    â€œWhere did you run?” Rodriguez asks.
    â€œCentral Park mostly.”
    â€œWhen did you last see him?”
    â€œFriday