[ WP ] Tell a story in which the narrator tells the reader a single lie . Readers are to deduce what the lie is using hints from the story .

Everyone called me Dirt on account of the fact that I do n't get to shower much - momma always tells me that I have to wait until the water's hot again, but it feels like it never is. 
 
 No one likes to play with the smelly kid so I sit on the sidelines watching the others run back and forth, throwing baseballs, and playing box ball - screaming their heads off with grins on their faces. I dreamed of the day I could play like that, but when it happened, I was awkward and shy. 
 
 He was a rough and tough boy with dark curly hair and a smile as bright as the sun. Much better than mine - I thought, mine was as dim as our kitchen light and he came tumbling towards me. `` What are you doing?'' He asked. 
 
 `` Sitting here.'' I scowled. I worried about him making fun of me - of him smelling me and doing what all the other kids did. Fake throw up. `` Why do you wan na know?'' 
 
 ``'Cause it's recess and you have a frown on your face! It's the most magical 30 minutes of our lives!'' 
 `` Says you.'' I shrugged. `` You're popular!'' 
 
 `` You do n't have fun here?'' He asked sitting on the curb next to me, his smile wiped clean off his face. 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 `` Oh... well... my name's Oliver.'' He seemed to perk right back up. 
 
 `` Elliot, not Dirt. Please do n't call me that.'' I begged. I knew Elliot was n't what anyone called me except my own mother... and sometimes my brothers when they had nothing creative to say. 
 
 `` Of course not!'' He grinned over at me. `` What do you like to do for fun?'' 
 
 I looked down at the ground, counting the ants crawling up my shoes. Fun was... something my brothers claimed I sucked at. I colored sometimes, I watched TV when we had it, I played with my superhero action figures and pretended they were real... but I'd never had any friends to do what kids like Oliver did 
 
 `` I dunno. I like superheroes,'' I mumbled. 
 
 `` I love superheroes! Also Legos. My dad has like a BILLION in our basement - we build them together, no one else allowed! No bratty little sister or mom, just me and him together!'' 
 
 `` I never really get to play with Legos... my mom hates them. Says they get lost too easily,'' 
 
 “ Emergency! ” Oliver yelled, drawing the eyes of adults, which made him giggle before spitting out “ You ’ ll never grow up right if you don ’ t play with Legos! You have to come to my house like tomorrow! ” 
 
 Tumbling down the basement stairs and sitting on the floor building with the little blocks until our lips turned blue quickly became a weekly tradition -- an escape from our little worlds where we built utopias featuring skyscrapers and flying cars and distant planets with aliens and everything. It didn ’ t matter that the heat had broken long ago or that our feet would fall asleep after sitting on the concrete floor so long. No one could take it away, no one could make us stop. 
 
 Except Oliver's dad. He would find us in the basement after work, his hands rough and calloused, and he seemed so angry. Like there was fire in his eyes for just a moment as he demanded us to march upstairs, Oliver immediately obeying - but he seemed so different upstairs. He would kiss Oliver's mom and hug all three of us kids and it'd be like a perfect little family with me included. 
 
 His mother would make us all bologna's sandwiches cut into four and I'd shove it down my throat as fast as possible. 
 
 `` My dad would never let me do that,'' He said the first time he saw, his eyes averting to the living room where his father was doing work. He was an important business man with a suit and everything. 
 
 `` When you have three brothers you've got to eat as fast as you can! Otherwise you wo n't get nothing!'' 
 
 `` They do n't share?'' 
 
 `` Only if they're being really nice.'' 
 
 `` My dad always makes me share with my sister. He even made me share ice cream! Ice cream!'' 
 
 `` I do n't get that a lot.'' Elliot shrugged. “ Mom says it ’ s bad for our teeth and apparently food stamps don ’ t buy that or…something. ” 
 
 `` I think you must live in Hell,'' He muttered the last word hoping his parents never heard him. He could n't say a cuss word and especially not that one if he was n't in Church. 
 
 But I think that maybe his mother must have heard because she began packing extra lunches for Oliver to take to school for me and she started giving me extra pickles and more meat in my sandwiches and took us out for ice cream more than usual and even handed bags of clothes over to me before I left because `` Ollie outgrew them,'' even if he never did. 
 
 I loved their house and the family. For him, the next week could never come fast enough. I would eagerly plan out what we were going to do, blurting everything to my mother with dark circles under her eyes and messy hair. She ’ d always smile and nod before drifting off to sleep -- never in a bed like Oliver ’ s parents, but on the couch. 
 
 I would slink away to hide in my bed, listening to my brothers argue in the next room over and I would wish I could stay at Oliver ’ s house forever, where there was a big basement and parents who were always wide awake and a sister with a cheesy grin who shared everything and no one ever fought. 
 
 As far as he could tell, it was always Heaven in Oliver ’ s home.
