I'm not proud of what I do. I'll admit it. Many people have things they're not proud of. Mine just happens to be . . . my entire life.
Because it's a lie.
My name is Kayla. Kayla Johnson. I promise you I'm nothing too spectacular. I'm a blue-eyed brunette, a little on the short side, and have a nasally voice. I guess we all have something we hate about ourselves, and mine is most definitely my voice. But, I'm getting off topic.
My tale is long, and twisted, and confusing, and very, very, stressful. I don't know where exactly it happened, but I know where everything began. It's where most children's lives are forever ruined: Puberty.
When I first turned thirteen, my parents had constantly been asking me about me liking boys. Okay, so maybe my mom more than my dad, but they still both asked enough for me to become so annoyed with it that I did what I did. I guess that's what all teens do after they hit puberty: begin to get annoyed very easily with their parents. In hindsight, maybe if I had just told them what they wanted to hear, this whole mess wouldn't have started. But, there would probably be just as many lies for that than I already have now.
Anyway, the day it all began was when I came home from school when I was about fourteen. I came through the door and threw my bags on the couch and collapsed on the adjacent chair, sighing in relief. School had always been boring for me. It just never really tickled my fancy like it did some other kids. Nerds, weaklings, intellectually advanced, whatever you wanted to call them.
After I lifted myself off the green couch and slowly shuffled into the kitchen, I pulled out my phone and began texting my then bestfriend, Meghan Tray. Me and Meghan had been friends ever since pre-school. Another thing that would have been less messy had I thought my actions through.
"Kayla, is that you?" I heard my mom call down to me.
I was almost reluctant to answer. I knew the tone of voice she used. It was the dreaded 'Boy Talk' voice. Then again, I'd get it even worse if she found out I was here and didn't answer her. Then I'd get the talk and grounded for a week. "Yeah, mom," I called up, not looking up from my phone. "It's me."
I think she almost fell down the stairs she ran so fast. But of course, when she came into view in the brightly lit kitchen, not a hair was out of place or a piece of cloth wrinkled. She was wearing her favorite outfit: a blue and orange billowy shirt and beige pants. I always thought back then she was perfect, but I was wrong about a lot of things back then.
"So, Meghan tells me there's a boy at school you like," She said right off the bat. Another thing about my mother that stands true: she's very blunt and doesn't like to beat about the bush. "What's his name? Does he play any sports? Where does he live? What's-,"
Questions came a mile a minute and I didn't have time to answer any of them before another one was put in front of me. I was trying to keep my eyes away from her, adverting her from the hatred that practically seethed from them. I slammed my phone shut and looked up at her. For an added measure, I put on my best fake pout.
"There's no boy mom," I said. My first lie in a twisted web of millions. "I promise."
"I think you're lying. I can see right through your fake pout." Damn, she was good.
"I'm not lying, mom, there's really no boy," I said.
"Come on, Kayla," She said, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "You keep telling us there are no boys in your school that you like. Is there someone outside of school, because that's perfectly fine."
"I promise, mom, no boys. I want to focus on my school work."
"You already don't do your homework anyway. I have to beg you to get it done." She drawled. "Just tell me who he is."
"There is no 'he,'" I insisted.
"Tell me."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Tell me."
"Mom! There's no freaking boy!"
"Tell-,"
"MOM." I cut her off. "There is no boy. I don't know why that's so hard to understand."
"Kayla, all girls your age like boys. Just tell me who you like!" She huffed.
Now, you all would've done it at this point. You would've lied and gushed about this fake boy in your grade that you have a major crush on and how perfect he was. Then, whenever your parents asked about him again, he moved away or died or something concrete like that. But no, I had to make it completely difficult. Of course I panicked and I didn't even know what came out of my mouth until my mother repeated it to me.
"Mom, I don't have a boy I like because I'm gay." I said, eyes wide.
I didn't think eye could fly out of a person's head that fast. We were silent for a moment. I was fiddling with the phone in my hand and she was looking at like I'd grown a seventh head. She took a deep breathe and found a towel to occupy her hands with.
"You don't like boys." She repeated. "Okay . . . okay. That's . . . okay."
"Is it?" I asked. I decided to run with it. Hell, I didn't think there was a way out of it at that point.
"It's okay." She said again. "It's better than okay, it's wonderful! I'm so glad you decided to finally come out." She smiled at me.
"I'm happy you're happy." I said through grit teeth. "I'm just gonna go upstairs and do some homework."
"Of course you are." My mom said as she turned to the stove and began to prepare dinner.
As soon as she turned around I scurried to my room quiet and panic-stricken. I closed my door quietly and began to pace across the floor as I mumbled incoherently to myself.
"What am I going to do?" I repeated under my breathe to myself. I'll admit, I thought it was the end of the world. But then, it struck me. I stopped pacing and stood completely still, which allowed my thoughts unfold in front of me.
If my parents thought I was gay, then they'd never ask me anymore annoying questions about boys. No more talks, no more Q&A sessions, no more death threats towards any boy that comes within twenty yards of me. No more! Not to mention, I think it'd be far too awkward for them to ask if I liked any girls. I'm sure they'd rather burn to death.
I rubbed my hands together as I sat on the edge of my bed. I rested my elbows on my knees, smiling behind my fingers. It was then I realized it was the perfect cover up. If I pretended to be gay, I could date any boy I wanted.
At the thought, images of Luke Grayson flooded my head. Just thinking of him made me giggle as I fell back onto my bedspread. Luke was without a doubt the most beautiful boy I'd ever laid eyes on. I had a major crush on him back then, and I did all throughout high school, until I pretended to have a crush on him. But, I'm getting a head of myself again.
Luke was . . . perfect. At least I used to think so. He had dark blonde hair and blue eyes that bordered stormy-gray in various amounts of light. His hair was almost always spiked in the front, and only high lighted his soft, yet angular features. He had perfect teethe and was tall.
God, I used to think I loved him. Good thing I was wrong about that one.