Chapter Thirty-Two
Aveline
RACING INTO CLASS from work, I entered the classroom and saw Ricky in our usual row, the seat next to him empty, his arm draped over it in a silent claim.
I grinned, waving up at him before jogging up the stairs as Dr. Redmond walked onto the stage.
“Good afternoon, class,” Dr. Redmond greeted.
I sat down. Ricky helped me pull off my jacket, kissing me on the cheek as the lights dimmed with the start of the PowerPoint presentation.
“Thank you to everyone who turned in their Class Warfare projects on time. I’m currently about halfway through grading them. As usual, I find them compelling and informative. Today we transition to a topic that has fascinated humankind for as long as language has existed. Why do people lie?”
From the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw Ricky stiffen. Man, Dr. Redmond’s class was popular on campus for a reason. If there was a hot topic like sex, or an uncomfortable one like social class structure or lying, she tackled it head on.
I powered on my laptop to start taking notes.
“A lie, at its core, misleads or conveys a false impression. Bella De Paulo, a social psychologist who has studied lying, finds that an average person will lie once or twice a day—what we call “altruistic lies” or lies said for the benefit of others. If you’ve ever told someone their dress looks nice on them, when it really doesn’t, but said individual had no time to change clothes, you’ve told an altruistic lie.”
My fingers flew over the keyboard as I transcribed notes. Next to me, Ricky’s pencil moved much more slowly. Turning, I saw he was fixated on Dr. Redmond.
Dr. Redmond forwarded her presentation to the next slide, pacing the stage. “What I’m more interested in today are the lies that are tied to our personality. Who we are at the core. And while there isn’t strong research to connect habitual liars with mental illness, we do know sociopaths and narcissists tend to be experienced liars.”
Dr. Redmond faced the class. “But how do you”—she used her finger to point, sweeping the width of the classroom—“decide when and if to lie?”
I squirmed in my seat. My lie was of omission, not sharing with Ricky the disability my parents lived with. My mom had alluded today to a lie that Ricky told. Would that be an altruistic lie? One told for my benefit? Or was she paranoid, overprotective?
I stole another look at Ricky. His jaw was tense, popping as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. His grip on his pencil was deathly and his eyes narrowed. Something was going on. I knew that for sure.
“And that research shows that we question ourselves,” Dr. Redmond continued. I’d missed some of what she’d said, sorting through my runaway thoughts. “If I lie, what can I gain? What can I lose? As humans, we decipher if it’s worthwhile to lie. If the cost is too big, we won’t risk it with the lie, but if the gain is bigger, many will go for it.”
She switched the whiteboard to a chart filled with research studies. “Let’s break down these studies to see what we can learn about the individuals who chose to lie.”
Ricky huffed out air, his nostrils flaring. He looked like he was in physical pain.
“Are you okay?” I leaned over, whispering in his ear.
He gave me a sharp nod, not one that brought me much confidence.
From my purse, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. Ignoring it, I continued taking notes. Next, it vibrated with a text alert.
This time I huffed out air in exasperation, bending down to retrieve my cell.
“911. Come home now.” The text came from Dad.
My stomach fell to my feet. I scrambled to throw my laptop in my bag. Leaning over, I took Ricky’s pencil from his hand and wrote a note in the margin of his paper—I have to go. Emergency at home. I’ll call soon. XoXo.
He read my words, nodding. His forehead was creased, and his lips turned down in a frown. “I’ll go with you,” he wrote back on the paper.
“I’ll call you. Stay and take notes for us,” I scribbled. Gathering my jacket and bag, I crept down the stairs, and eased out the door of the classroom.
Within minutes, I pulled into the garage, racing into the house. I skidded to a halt when I saw my parents sitting calmly at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of them.
“What’s wrong?” I signed, gasping for breath. “What’s the emergency?”
“Sit down.” my father responded, his face grim.
His expression left no room for argument. I dropped my bag and sat across from him.
“You need to stop seeing Ricky. Your mother and I talked. There is no discussion here.” His mouth was a flat line, eyes hard.
“What?” My eyes bulged, mouth open in shock. “Why? You pulled me out of class to talk about my boyfriend?” My cheeks burned hot. I was worried sick, and they wanted to chat about the guy I was dating?
“He isn’t right for you. Keep your job if you must, but you are not to date him or see him anymore.” Mom’s hands flew with her words. She looked sadder and sicker than she did this morning. “We emailed Dr. Redmond this morning before your class and explained the situation. She will allow you to finish the course from home.”
I stood up, smacking the table with my palms. “No! Stop! Stop controlling me. Stop protecting me from your ridiculous fears. There is nothing to be scared of anymore. I’m tired of being afraid. Leave me alone! Let me live my life.” My fingers cramped, the force of signing with anger coursing through me, making my hands rigid.
My mom stood, her chair falling behind her, the loud clatter making me jump. “We have our reasons! We have protected you and sheltered you because we had to. And now, after all this time, you meet…” She stopped signing to look at Dad before slowly turning back to me. “Him.”
“Who?”
“Your mother and a friend researched Ricky and his family this weekend after you told her about him. We realized he has been the person soliciting us for money,” Dad responded.
I sat down, my back slamming against the chair. “What? Soliciting you for money?”
“More like blackmailing us. We’ve given him nothing, but we’ve been terrified.” Mom signed, her breathing rapid. “About two months ago, someone began texting me. They claimed to have knowledge about an accident involving my daughter and promised to go to the press if I didn’t send money to a PO Box. I didn’t send the money. The texts have continued. This person had direct knowledge of our bank account numbers, address, home security company and such. It included the dog’s name and how to de-escalate him. There was so much personal information that we’ve been beside ourselves, trying to figure out who this was and how he or she could get such knowledge.”
My throat was so dry, I gagged when I tried to swallow. I knew exactly who had access to their home, and that information. I looked back and forth between my parents, their anguished expressions causing tears to fill my eyes.
“Why would Ricky blackmail you? Why would he try to get money from you? And why would he use me to do it?” I’d never signed so slowly. Each digit on my hand felt like it was filled with lead, heavy and clumsy. I struggled to ask my parents the questions I desperately needed answered.
“At first, we couldn’t figure it out either, but we confirmed our findings last night. A friend of your mother is a city police detective. We asked her for help off the record, researching information we couldn’t access as a civilian. Ricardo Martinez’s father is Pedro Martinez,” Dad responded, looking me right in the eyes. “The man who saved your life.”