Chapter Four

You know how a liar is not supposed to be able to look you in the eye when telling you a lie? Or how they'll seem uncomfortable or they'll grow a Pinocchio nose? Well those aren't the only signs to look for. There are some features of a face that you can't control when telling a lie. Those features will give you away, especially when telling lie that is particularly fateful. However they're difficult for the common person to discern.

At least that's what this article I'm reading says. Sometime after lunch, sixth period, I'm in my AP Psychology class. I can't really focus in class because I'm still thinking about the fight at lunch. That and my stomach won't stop grumbling. I feel like collapsing. I really should have eaten breakfast. I should have known out of all people. All those statistics and readings should have given me some incentive.

Unfortunately not. I turn around to look at Melissa Carten. Her long, wavy, red hair is spread out across her desk. It's odd. Her parents are both brunnettes. Random genetic mutation? Natural-looking hair dye? The only thing I can infer is that she's as tired as me. I hesitate to ask her what we're supposed to be doing other than reading the article. I can't tell if she's asleep or not.

"Ms. Romanov?" That was my last name. Romanov. Milana Anastasia Romanov. I'm half Russian, you see. The other half? Some kind of African-American. I'm not sure which African country, but my mom (the African-American herself) says I'm a mix and somewhere I have a tribal princess as an ancestor. My dad thought it would be fitting to name me after a Russian princess. Somehow we happened to have the same last name as well.

I turn back around to face Mrs. Stone. I smile awkwardly. I don't think she liked me very much. Some people whispered that she was a racist. It was somewhat logical. She once gave detention to Devon Lee, another black kid, accusing him of covering her whiteboard in graffiti even though it was really Anthony Domini, the Italian immigrant.

She looks at me, her stern face unchanging. Her last name is very fitting if you ask me. This is uncomfortable.

"Is there a problem?" She crosses her arms impatiently.

"Uh, I-I just forgot what we were supposed to do...after we read the uh...thing...article."

"Did you listen to the directions?" Directions?

"Yeah...um, I just, uh, forgot."

"They're on the board. Read them." And with that she turned around and walked back to the front of the classroom and faced us once again. "I really hate to repeat myself everyday. The next time someone asks me for the directions, after I already told the whole class, will not receive an answer."

The whole class is silent.

Twenty-seven agonizing minutes later the bell rings and we're on to the seventh and final period. My class: Biology. I hurry. I like Biology itself. However it's the only other class I share with Kevin. I wonder if he will show up.

I arrive earlier than most kids and I sit down at my usual lab bench, next to Mike Bentham. From the expression on his face, I can tell he's thinking the same thing as me.

"Think he'll show up?"

"Maybe," I shrug. I have more important issues on my mind by now. "Did we have homwork."

"Milana!" He stares at me, with his mouth open. "Don't you care what's going on?"

"Yeah, but I spent all of Psychology class thinking about it and ended up getting yelled at by Mrs. Stone."

"She's a racist anyway."

"I'm only half-black."

"She probably thinks your Russian blood is now disgraced."

"Very funny. Did we have homework?"

He rolled his eyes. "No but the lab is due Friday."

"I bet we can trick her into making it due Monday."

"I dare you."

I smirk. "Just watch."

The bell rings and Mr. Valero closes the door to begin class. I look around. Kevin still hasn't shown up. Mr. Valero clears his throat. The noise begins to die down. I immediately raise my hand.

"Alright, alright, let's hurry up, we have a lot to cover today-- yes Milana?"

"Mr. Valero, the lab is due Monday, right?"

"Monday? I thought I said it was due Friday." He walks over to his desk as if to check his weekly planner or something like that.

Mike snickered. Bastard...

"No, it is due Monday. You said so." I turn around to see Lisa Evans. Suddenly a chorus of student's voice chime in agreeing with me.

"Yeah, I wrote it down for Monday."

"Me too."

"It's deffinately Monday."

Mr. Valero looks at all of us in confusion. "Well if that's what I said, then Monday it is."

I stick my tongue out at Mike, who just shakes his head.

At the end of class, Mike rushes to the back of the classroom and sneaks a peak at a random kid's agenda book. He then jogs back, smirking.

"What did you do?"

"That kid's book says the lab is due on Friday." He laughed. "I can't believe you did that."

"I'm good at what I do."

"Yeah, OKAY. We all just know that Mr. Valero is just oblivious."

"What was that, Mr. Bentham?"

Mike turns sharply in shock to see Mr. Valero staring inquisitevly at him. "Uhh..."

"See ya, Mike." I leave him to think up his own lie.

Information gathered: Some teachers are easier to deal with than others.
Information inferred: Don't get yourself in sticky situations unless you can get out.