Believe Me, I'm Lying

Chapter Seven

     The last fifteen minutes of my life included the most bizarre experience I could never forget. It was like watching my body go through all the motions without me making any conscious decisions. The drive to Toby's house felt quick, though I can't tell if we were actually close to the school or not. I only arrived minutes ago, but my recollection of his house was hazy. Toby had parked his car on the curb in front of his house, right before the battered basketball hoop. The front lawn was well-kept with colorful flowers adorning the walkway, leading up to the porch and door which was decorated with a summery wreath. I let myself in, catching a quick glimpse of the living room. There was a light glitter of glasses and coasters on the coffee table, a stack of mail sitting on the edge, pillows strewn across the couches in no particular fashion. It felt lived in. Toby's room was in the very back of the one-story house, greeting me as a simple white door. It did not prepare me for what was inside.

     Toby was already seated in a rolling office chair at his desk, his backpack at his feet. I took in everything about the room, stuck in the doorway, my feet refusing to move. All the walls were plastered with posters of bands and movies, only half of each I recognized. Most posters were tattered around the corners, and the some that peeled back from the wall revealed another layer of colorful posters. Through the tiny slivers of wall that weren't covered up, a deep maroon peeked through. An unmade bed was facing the door, surrounded by a small bookshelf and a nightstand, both of which had various knick-knack looking things atop them. Toby's desk was nearest to the door and the messiest. Stained, torn, and inked pieces of paper lay all across the desk amongst the office supplies and broken drum sticks. Toby had already pulled out his laptop, typing away  to sign in.

     "Did you forget how your feet work?"

      "I'm sorry," I huffed, making my way to sit at his bed. "I didn't realize there was a standing rule."

    "What're you doing?" Toby spun to face me as I dropped my bag on his bed.

     "I'm going to sit down."

     "Not there."

     "Oh, okay," I scoffed, slowly picking up my bag. "Where do you suggest I sit instead?" I questioned Toby, motioning to the lack of seating in his room. "The floor?"

     "Sure," Toby agreed, jerking his thumb to a clear spot by his desk.

    "Why are you like this?" I sighed, throwing my hands up exasperatedly. "This is ridiculous."

     "Sorry, I don't like people  on my bed," Toby explained halfheartedly.

     "Yeah, that's why a girl's never been there," I snorted, moving to the spot he picked out.

     "Maybe I should specify. I don't like people like you," Toby added, returning his attention to his work. "Anyways, I think we should read this academic journal I found. I can send it to you."

     I was taken aback by his remark. Toby was so  comfortable with insulting me, which bothered me more than the remarks themselves. I set my laptop on my lap, letting my legs stretch out across the carpet. "Okay, sure," I agreed reluctantly, "my email is scarletthughes53@gmail.com." I waited a few moments, listening to the clacking of the keys. "What do you mean 'people like me'?"

     "Snobby, self-righteous people," Toby answered matter of factly, "who are so self absorbed that they'd fail to realize if the world was falling apart around them. Oh, and I just sent it to you."

     With notification sound pinging on my laptop, I opened the email and ignored the growing heat on my face. Skimming through the lengthy pdf., the author of brings up common pollutants that affect water, air, our food sources—all the necessities. "This is interesting," I murmur, still intrigued by the article. However, my anger couldn't fade away that quickly. "Do you want to know what kind of people I don't like?"