The Secret to Lying by Todd Mitchell Page A

of teachers resorted to bragging about their advanced degrees and hiding behind their grade books, Mr. Funt treated us as equals. When we discussed stories, he could always point out a few things no one else had noticed, yet he never acted like he knew everything. If you said something interesting, he’d wrinkle his forehead and say, “That’s interesting,” and sound like he meant it. Overall, I liked Mr. Funt, but he had an annoying habit of reading too much into things.
    He stopped me and read my forehead when I came into class. “Hmm . . .” he said. “I don’t find that funny.”
    “Oh, well,” I replied. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
    A few students snickered. By this time, my various EAT ME explanations had spread throughout the school.
    Mr. Funt frowned and started class. I thought that was it, but later on, while everyone was working on the creative writing assignment he’d given us, he asked me to step outside. The room grew quiet as I stuffed my things into my backpack.
    “James,” he said, after closing the classroom door, “I think you should see the counselor.”
    “Why?”
    “That”— he gestured to my forehead —“is very distracting. I can’t help but wonder what your true intentions were.”
    “It’s nothing,” I said.
    “No. It is definitely not ‘nothing.’ I take this sort of thing very seriously. I’d like you to talk with the counselor.”
    “Is this optional?” I asked.
    “Everything’s optional. But I plan on stopping by Chuck’s office later to make sure you showed up. Understand?”
    “Yeah, I understand. I’m in trouble, even though I haven’t broken any rules.” I scowled. “Why don’t you just give me a detention?”
    “You’re not in trouble, James.” Mr. Funt brushed his hand over the strands of side hair that formed his scraggly ponytail. The ends of his fingers were tinted yellow from smoking. “I’m asking you to go because I’m concerned about you.”
    “Right,” I replied. “You got me. This is clearly a cry for help. I woke up this morning and wrote EAT ME on my forehead because I’m thinking of killing myself. Thank God you noticed.”
    “I don’t know why you did it, but you shouldn’t expect me to pretend that it’s nothing,” Mr. Funt said. “Besides, that isn’t the only reason I want you to go.”
    “This is stupid.”
    “Humor me.”
    “Fine.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked away. I guess I should have been happy to have gotten out of class, but it bothered me that Mr. Funt thought I needed to see a shrink. Just because I’d done a few strange things lately didn’t mean I was crazy. It was the people who tried to seem normal all the time who were really messed up.
    I got so worked up thinking about how Mr. Funt had singled me out that by the time I reached the hall where Chuck’s office was located, I was sweating. The administration had recently turned on the heat for the winter, and they kept it several degrees too high.
    I walked past the door to Chuck’s office, trying to gather my thoughts before going in. My only experience with Chuck had been at the beginning of the semester, when he’d come to our wing and done the trust fall, but I’d seen him around campus since then. He’d learned every student’s name in the first few weeks of school, and whenever he saw someone, he’d say, “How are you doing,__________?” pronouncing the person’s name real loud as if to prove that he knew it. Then he’d stop and stare at the person, like he really wanted to hear how they were doing. That was the freaky part, because of his one eye. The thought of him asking me questions and staring at me with his empty socket made me want to hork.
    I considered ditching and heading back to my dorm to take a nap, but then Mr. Funt might have Chuck do an emergency intervention or something. Nope. The only way out of this was to stay calm.
    After waiting for the hall to clear of other students, I walked