I thought hard as I recalled everything that had happened, every detail. She had asked me a simple question, and I wanted to give a good, believable answer.

Why had I lied? I thought of the events and what I could have said differently. I could paint another lie to cover up the first one, but how long would this lie stay up? Would it crack and be scraped away with the truth? Should I lie and take the easy way out, or should I tell the truth and take my punishment now? What should I do? It was only one lie.

It had been another late night. I was in my sister’s car, waiting for her to drive me home. I was nervous as I talked to my mom on the phone. I could have told her, “Mom, she’s in with her boyfriend right now. I told her not to stop and see him, but she went anyway.” But I didn’t want my sister to be angry with me. And I didn’t want to hear the fight that would come after we got home. What could I do to make everyone happy?

After assuring my mother we were on our way, I called my sister, who was still in the house. I said she had better hurry up or we would both be in trouble. “Fine!” she said, and hung up. I knew that it would be a while before she came out, ruining my story. Why did this always have to happen?

I called my mom back. “Mom,” I said, “we have to go get gas; we might be a few minutes late.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just drive safe and don’t speed.” She sounded mad. If my mom and dad didn’t believe me then I would be in trouble and so would my sister.

I called my sister again and yelled into the phone, “You had better hurry up!” Couldn’t there be an easier way?

Twenty minutes passed before she came out. She smelled of smoke and was in a foul mood. “We’re going to be late, and Mom and Dad are going to be really mad,” I said. She gave me an angry look and stomped on the accelerator. God, I know Mom said not to speed, but please keep us safe.

“I don’t like lying for you,” I said in a tone that I knew she hated. “Then don’t do it!” she replied hotly.

We made it home much later than I promised. As we walked in the door my mother said, “What took you so long?” I could see the look in her eye. She didn’t believe my story.

What should I say? Should I lie or should I tell the truth? I felt a desperate need to escape. If I wouldn’t have lied, I wouldn’t feel this way. I felt as if I might cry. I didn’t know what to do. I looked from my mom to my sister and then I thought, “What would Jesus want me to do?”