Dear Diary
Hi. My name is Suri Moss and I'm a Lie-a-holic. That's right, I'm a chronic liar. I never used to be so dishonest, but lately it seems like nothing that comes out of my mouth is true. All right, I admit this is lame. I sound like I'm giving a speech at an AA meeting, but it's the truth. I suppose you're wondering how you can trust me. Too bad. This is my story, and you can believe whatever you'd like. Frankly, I couldn't care less. I'm just here to tell you how it happened from my point of view. Everything from beginning to end. Take it or leave it. After all, the truth is subjective.
I guess it all started when my dad got a job writing for a small magazine and moved us from Victoria to Vancouver. Frankly, I wasn't sad about moving. I wasn't exactly Miss Popular in elementary school. I was the girl that everyone hated because I got straight A grades and still managed to look pretty. I don't mean to sound cocky. I'm no supermodel, and I haven't got the greatest figure, but my dark hair and grey eyes attracted more than a few glances, back in the day.
Anyway, when I started at Northlake High in ninth grade, I knew that things had to change. My father and I weren't what you would call well off, but I was going to be in school with some of Vancouver's wealthiest snobs, and I wasn't about to let them ruin the next four years of my life. That was when the lies started.
My dad was no longer a quirky freelance writer. To the kids at school, he was the CEO of a lucrative software company. I was officially an heiress. I got myself a job at the local coffee shop to pay for my endless array of fashionable clothing. Believe me, being popular is not cheap. Thankfully, I'd spent years studying the rich and the slutty at my old school, and I knew how to act and what to say. Soon enough, I was one of them. One of the popular girls. I spent four years going to parties, dating jocks, and masking my intelligence beneath a thick layer of Chanel clothing and Covergirl foundation. But I was happy. Everything I'd ever wanted was mine. It was senior year and I was a high school celebrity. Everyone knew who I was. At least, they knew the Suri Moss who I had invented.
No one knew the real me. Not even myself. I lied so much that, sometimes, I couldn't even tell what was real anymore. I lied to my dad, my friends, my teachers, even my old school mates from Victoria. I wasn't hurting anyone. It just seemed so easy. I didn't realize that I was hurting myself. I guess that I first noticed it on the night of Candice Johnson's poker party.....
"Are you gonna deal, or what?" Melanie exclaimed as she took a sip of her diet Pepsi before reapplying her lipstick. She, Karla, Candace and I were arranged around Candace's coffee table. Presently, I was feeling quite bored. These girls didn't exactly make for stimulating conversation. I could actually feel my IQ dropping just from sitting in their vicinity.
There was a veritable rainbow of sticky candy and discarded chocolate wrappers littering the floor of the living room, but no one seemed concerned that it might stain Candace's imported carpet. The maid would take care of that. Frankly, I felt sorry for the poor woman. Our poker nights were a weekly occurrence, and they seemed to be getting sweeter as they progressed to make up for the increasing number of calories that Candace had cut during the week. She had recently converted to the South Beach diet after finding that, though being vegan was quite fashionable, it didn't allow for the consumption of milk chocolate.
"Wait, how many times does four go into fifty-two?" Karla asked as she handed each of us a card.
"Eight," Melanie offered impatiently.
"Thirteen, you idiot," Candace replied, twirling a lock or platinum hair around her finger as she waited impatiently. "Am I the only one here with an ounce of intelligency?"
I fought to keep myself from exploding with laughter. Sadly, Candace actually was the smartest in the Platinum Club. That was my name for them. Candace, Melanie, Karla, and the rest of Northlake High's social elite. Every single one had blonde hair. Granted, only half of it was natural, but that didn't seem to stop them from exhibiting all the stereotypical dumb blonde behavior.
Karla finally finished dealing the cards. "Relax, she replied, it's late."
"Suri, have you got an eight?" the latter asked. Candace always went first.
"Sorry, Candy, I replied, glancing at the eight in my hand, you know what to do."
"Whatever." Candace drew a card from the pile in the center of the table. Alright so it wasn't exactly Texas Hold Em, but I was fairly certain that the Platinum Club couldn't handle anything more stimulating than Go Fish anyway.
A few rounds later, I won as usual. No one seemed to notice when I put down a pair of eights. Cheating was so easy. It was hard not to lie. Unfortunately, this was our eigth game of the night and Candace was getting fed up with failure. Melanie and Karla were plain disinterested. Their eyes were glued to the plasma television in the corner where some random flavor-of-the-week celebrity was parading herself around in a music video that bordered on soft-core pornography.
"You know, Susu," Candace began as she dealt out the cards, "I heard that James was at a college party tonight."
I tried not to react. Typical Candace, using my boyfriend to psyche me out.
"His parents are at a conference so he's staying with his uncle in Surrey tonight," I replied. It was the truth.
"Well you'd better hope that his uncle isn't a UBC student, cause I've got it on good authority that he's out with Jenny Hoffman's sister tonight."
"Forget about it, Candy," I sighed, "I've told you, James isn't like that." Who was I kidding? James was exactly like that.
"I'm just saying, Su," Candace continued casually. She was the Queen of passive aggressive. "You barely see him outside of school. How would you know if he was, you know, involved with some--"
"I've told you, my agent wants me at the studio everyday this month for photo shoots and counseling," I lied. It was my latest excuse for my time spent working at Starbucks.
"She's just trying to protect you, Suri," Melanie chimed in, "don't get all defensive."
"Right, Candace smiled. "We care about you, Su, and we don't want you to get hurt like with Alex. I've been hanging out with jocks long enough to read the signs. James is definitely cheating on you. Got an ace?"
"Y-yeah," I mumbled, handing her the aforementioned card. Sure, Candace was a manipulative shebot, but that didn't make her wrong. It was common knowledge that James had a wandering eye. What made me any different from those other girls?
"Im out." Candace laid down her pair of aces triumphantly.
"Nice one, Candy," Karla remarked. "Oh God it's late, and I have to hit the mall tomorrow morning. Anyone want to come with?"
"Sure."
"Why not."
"Er..." I began.
"Oh right, you have the modeling thing," Karla replied. "Too bad. We never see you anymore, Suri."
"Yeah," Candace flipped off the TV, "We should really hand out more often. Why dont we have the next poker night at your house?"
I almost said yes, but I stopped myself just in time. There was no way that I cld bring the Platinum Club to my house.
"Sorry, guys, but I'm in the middle of a totally nasty renovation. My father's having a third wing built and we're expanding our pool.
"Don't even worry about it," Melanie replied. "I know what that's like. It took months to build the garage for my brothers car collection. The expansion was huge."
"How'd you manage that, anyway," Candace asked as she ushered us to the door. "I thought your lot was already full, after you got that tennis court last summer."
"It was. We bought our neighbor's property."
"Oh my God," Candace exclaimed, "you, like, eviscerated them?"
"Evicted," I interjected.
"Right, that's what I said. Evicted."
"Of course not," Melanie replied brightly, slipping on her boots. "They just live in our back yard now."
"Isn't that a little...creepy?" I asked.
"Not really," Mel laughed. "It's like having a pet family. I've always loved doll houses."
***
Ewart avenue was just an ordinary suburban street, filled with hundreds of tiny houses, each exactly the same as the next. If it weren't for the address numbers, I swear that I wouldn't be able to tell which one was mine. In fact, in the few weeks after we moved, I actually got lost and spent an hour roaming the street, testing my key in each door until I found the right one. I'm sure the neighbors thought I was some kind of burglar.
As I slipped inside, my dad greeted me from his desk in the living room, which also happened to be the dining room and the office.
"How was the basketball game?" he asked.
"Great," I replied, "we won." My dad didn't seem to have realized that most high school sporting events didn't last until 1 AM, and I certainly wasn't about to inform him. "I'm pretty beat, though. I think I'll go to bed."
"Right. You've got to be up bright and early for your shift at the library tomorrow morning," he replied, bending over his notebook once more.
I retreated into my bedroom and went straight to my computer. It wasn't very new--Windows 95, actually--but it got the job done. I signed into MSN messenger and smiled when I saw the screen name that I had been looking for. My relief faded when I read the second half. This is how the conversation went.
James<3-Great party Chase: Hey babe. How was your night?
~Suri: Fine. Listen, you told me that you were at your uncle's in Surrey tonight.
James<3-Great party Chase: Change of plans. I thought you wouldn't mind. Weren't you at C's tonight, anyway?
~Suri: Nope. It was cancelled tonight.
James<3-Great party Chase: Why?
~Suri: Renovations.
James<3-Great party Chase: Oh. Sorry, babe. I totally wouldn't have gone if I'd known that you were alone tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow.
~Suri: No problem. Sorry, I have to go. ttyl
I signed out and flopped down onto my four poster, staring at the ceiling. My room was small, but it was mine. The walls were covered with my artwork, photographs, and pictures I'd printed off of the internet. They were things that meant something to me. The real me. My room was the only place where I could be myself.
I couldn't deny that I was angry with James for lying to me, but I felt like such a hypocrite. Hadn't I just lied in exchange to make him feel bad? My eyes fell onto a black and white photograph at the center of my wall.
It was small, unremarkable, yet to me it meant the world. The woman in the picture had long, flowing hair, a piercing gaze and a silky complexion covered with freckles. Her eyes were turned down shyly and the corners of her mouth twisted up in a modest smile. My mother. Blythe Moss. This was one of her few photographs. My parents couldn't afford to buy a new camera every few years. They were artists. Bohemians, I suppose. He was the writer and she was the singer. Was being the operative word.
I could still remember her deep, velvety voice, even though I hadn't heard it for years. After my mom died, my dad went into some kind of artistic shock. He had lost his muse and he couldn't bear to write anymore. That was when we moved to Vancouver. That was when I reinvented myself and started a new life.
People used to say that I was just like my mom. Those people wouldn't recognize me anymore. Every trace of that girl was gone now, hidden beneath thousands of colorful masks. Whenever someone came close to removing the masks, I pushed them away. That was my system, and it worked just fine.
There was my mom, smiling down on me from the wall. But I didn't see love in her eyes anymore. I saw disappointment. Disappointment deeper and more intense than I could ever imagine. I had betrayed her. I had destroyed myself, her legacy. I couldn't take it anymore. I leaped to my feet and ripped the photo off of my wall, careful not to tear it.
Tears brimmed in my eyes, burning with shame. A few drops fell on my mothers photograph and I quickly wiped them away.
"I wish I didn't have to lie anymore," I whispered. "I wish I could just be myself..."
Suddenly, my mother's face began to glow, and I dropped the photograph in shock.
What the hell?
A moment later, a tiny man materialized on top of the picture, bowing with a flourish. He was about the height of a pencil and he wore a black, three-piece suit and a funny tweed bowler hat.
"Oh my God," I exclaimed, flattening myself against the wall "who are you?"
"Fletcher," the man replied, offering a hand, "Patch Fletcher." He spoke with a British accent that I would have found quite adorable under different circumstances. As he stood there, gazing at me expectantly, he began to grow, rising up to the height of a toddler, then a child...
I stared at his outstretched arm as if it might electrocute me.
"All right then," he dropped his hand, looking slightly offended. "You Americans," he muttered, "didn't your parents ever teach you how to greet a man politely?"
"I'm Canadian," I retorted indignantly, "and my parents taught me never to let strange men grab my hand."
"Fair enough," Fletcher replied. "I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Patch Fletcher and I happen to be one of the world's most renowned Sprites."
"You're a soft drink?" I chocked. I was beyond making sense. As far as I was concerned, I had finally cracked and developed schizophrenia.
"I'm a Sprite," Fletcher replied pointedly, flapping his arms, "you know, a little man with sparkling wings and a leaf for a hat. Minus the wings and the leaf and the sparkling..."
By then he had reached regular human height and I could survey him properly. He had dark blue hair and an abnormally pale complexion.
"What were you doing in my mom's photograph?" I demanded.
"I wasn't in there, persay, I simply came through there," the Sprite explained, dusting off his clothing. I waited expectantly for him to continue, but he seemed to think that an adequate response.
"May I ask...why?" I stuttered at last.
"Because you called for me of course," Fletcher replied as if it was the plainest fact in the world. "Your mother wanted me to help you."
I froze.
"Did you say...you know my mother?"
"Well of course, love. Wonderful woman. She would have come herself except, well, only Sprites can slip into the mortal world. She asked me to give something to you." Fletcher rummaged through his pocket and retrieved a tiny, shimmering amulet, featuring a tear-drop shaped sapphire crowned with three gleaming diamonds. It hung on a delicate chain fashioned from thousands of silver links. "Go ahead, put it on," Fletcher said.
I surveyed the amulet incredulously. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry that I had ever seen. It was exactly the sort of thing that my mom would have loved. I knew that what the Sprite had said was impossible. There was no way that this amulet had come from my mother.
Yet I found myself bewitched, unable to take my eyes off of the gleaming gem. I took the amulet with trembling hands and placed it around my neck.
"Lovely," Fletcher exclaimed, "now may I ask what you think of my accent?"
I blinked. What kind of a question was that? "Excuse me?"
"What do you think of my accent?" he repeated. "It took me a year to perfect. I could have gone for French or Australian, but I decided on British. I thought it had a certain ring to it. A certain intellectual quality. What do you think?"
I gave him a look that said you really are insane, aren't you. I was about to deliver a stinging retort. The sentence was right on the tip of my tongue, as ready as always. But somehow I found myself unable to form the words that were in my mind.
"I-I-think it's adorable," I stammered at last, quite annoyed with myself. Where had that come from?
"Excellent," Fletcher replied wryly, "that's exactly what your mother said."
I gaped at him. "What did you do to me?" I demanded, gazing at the amulet incredulously.
"I didn't do anything," the Sprite replied. "You did it to yourself. You wished that you would stop lying, so I brought you a truth charm. As long as you wear it, you won't be able to tell a lie unless, of course, it's for a very good reason. You only get one exception per day, so I suggest that you think carefully before telling a mistruth."
"I don't think so," I cried, reaching for the amulet. I pulled it about halfway over my head, but found that my arms wouldn't go any further. As hard as I tried, I simply could not remove it.
"No luck," Fletcher sat down at my desk, crossing his legs casually. "You aren't getting out of this until you've learned how to be yourself. How to say what you truly feel." At that point the Sprite began to shrink once more, hopping off of my desk and back onto my mother's photograph.
"Wait, where are you going?" I exclaimed as Fletcher disappeared somewhere around Blythe's nose.
"Don't worry, love," his voice echoed back into my ears. "If you need me, just ask. I'll be right here."
When all signs of Patch Fletcher had disappeared I flopped down onto my bed, rubbing my temples.
"That's it, I muttered, I've finally gone mad."
Go to the results for a preview of Part 2.....
Thanks! Please rate and message. Next week, I'll provide pictures of some of the characters. As promised, here is a preview from part two which should be out next week or sooner:
"Hey Suri," Candace laughed, "how do I look in this dress?"
I winced inwardly, slapping my brain. This could not be happening.
"Y-you," I stammered. It was too late, I couldn't stop myself. The floodgates were open.
"It makes you look even more slutty than usual." My hand flew to my mouth.
Oh shit
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