You decide not to do anything about it. You’ve ignored hundreds if not thousands of lies in your life, from Mom liking your art in kindergarten all the way through a professor missing class because he was ‘sick’. You’ve passed over so many lies that you could sense like pins and needles in your arms that your best friend lying to you once shouldn’t rattle you the way it does.
If there’s anything weird about Alice, you’ve successfully ignored it for ten years, you can ignore it for another… forever.
She smiles and laughs and likes sushi and boba and she braids her hair before bed every night and you’ve been friends for ten years but you’ve been roommates for five of them so… to you Alice is normal.
She sleeps in a pile of blankets, and she drives a stupidly sensible but boring car, she loves all the same things as you and she has never lied to you even once.
Except she has now.
You watch Alice bustle around the kitchen getting Rice-A-Roni ready because if you’re not cooking you guys are eating out of boxes. You think back on her phrasing.
Maybe there’s a different way to interpret “I’m definitely human” being a lie.
Maybe life isn’t ever definite and she’s being existential. Maybe she’s human but…
When you think back on Alice, you kind of already knew she wasn’t normal. She braids her hair at night but wakes up with a perfect braid in the morning too. She has all night classes, but she goes clubbing with you even on class nights. She wakes up early to go running with you but she hates running.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t human, right?” You ask, and Alice pauses, then looks at you with a spatula full of almost-burnt Rice-A-Roni halfway to her mouth.
“I’m a ten foot tall purple lizard,” she lies, and you laugh.
You can work with this.
You start small.
“So are you a shapeshifter?” You hand her her boba- green tea flavor. You steal a sip before letting her have it.
“I am not,” she tells you confidently, truthfully. She doesn’t want a sip of your Taro boba. “I’m just very good at remaining inconspicuous in a crowd.”
That’s true.
Alice is great at not standing out, which is kind of a pain in the ass. You had to learn to see her, learned to kick her foot under the desk for attention. Learned to be in the right place at the right time to catch her between classes. You cross referenced class schedules to maximize time together. You like the same restaurants and cuisines almost purposefully.
“Are you using a deflector field like the TARDIS?” You walk down the street of your college town together and in the distance you see Girl Scout Cookies being sold.
“Nah, nothing like that.” She has also seen the Girl Scouts. You share a look. You set course for cookies.
“Are you-”
Alice grabs your arm, stops you just far enough away from the Girl Scouts that it’s impolite for them to try to tempt you with Thin Mints just yet.
“Are you worried?” She frowns. “Am I doing something weird?”
You contemplate saying she lied to you.
“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, ” you smile as you speak the lie. She doesn’t let your arm go.
“You’re acting weird.” She doesn’t seem to want to keep walking.
“I got a weird feeling a couple days ago, that’s all. You know how my ‘feelings’ are.” You try to pull away from her grip, but she holds on like she’s got her claws in you.
“Your ‘feelings’ are never wrong,” she says softly.
You suddenly realize you’re scared.
She says your name but all you can feel is her fingers locked around your forearm. Your heart is pounding. You might be having-
“-a panic attack.” Alice sounds grim, brows furrowed, mouth turned down. She lets go of you and you step back. She lets you.
You stand there on the sidewalk in the hot sun clinging to your boba. And then a box of thin mints appears between you.
“Five dollars?” The girlscout can’t be older than eight. She looks determined like a seasoned warrior.
You buy Thin Mints. Alice buys Thin Mints.
“Thin Mints are the best right?” She smiles at the girlscout.
“Yes,” the girlscout lies.
“Thin Mints are your favorite,” your mouth tells Alice while your brain catches up.
“Yes?” Alice grins at you the same way she did when she offered to buy you fifty chicken nuggets if you’d teach her how to conjugate verbs in Spanish last quarter, unsure but hopeful.
You smile back at her. She loves thin mints a stupid amount. You part with the girlscout, but she keeps half your wallet, waving enthusiastically as you and Alice haul your cookie stash to your car.
“You think my driving is crazy?” You make it a question as you slip into the driver’s seat.
“You drive like you’re doing formula one,” she rolls her eyes and makes a grand show of buckling in. “You drive like everyone else should be ashamed of being on the road with you.”
You drive home and climb three flights of stairs with four bags of cookies.
“You like my cooking.” That one isn’t a question. You put the cookies in the cookie cabinet under Alice’s watchful stare.
“It’s sure better than mine!”
You both sit on the couch, a sleeve of Thin Mints unopened between you.
“You’re my best friend.” You open the Thin Mints without looking at Alice. You’re thinking of all the lies you’ve ever heard. All the truths you wish you didn’t have to know.
“Of course I am.” Alice hasn’t asked for a cookie yet, so she must be nervous.
She’s also being completely truthful.
“Do you love me?” You feel stupid asking, like it’s a test. Like you’re challenging it. Like you’re second guessing everything. You feel badly for doubting her but-
“Oh is that what this is about?” Alice sighs and leans back against the couch. “Yes I love you but I promise it’s like, a normal amount of love.”
She’s lying again. You feel it prick the back of your neck. You look sharply at her and she winces.
“Okay maybe a little more than the normal amount,” she offers a helpless smile, and her truth is like a wash of warm water on your face, a breeze in summer, a cup of hot tea in winter.
Like a fresh mint after a sour taste in your mouth.
You offer her a Thin Mint.
“Same.” You smile at her and she smiles back in relief, letting it go. Some truths are more important than lies and this one- the most important one- puts it all in perspective.
“You’re a weirdo,” she correctly tells you.
“You too.” You tap your Thin Mints together in a toast.
“Ain’t that the truth!” Alice laughs and you smile.