I was the mother of three teenaged boys and sad to say, believed 90 per cent of what they told me. I remember when the eldest was 12 and came home with no report card, saying the school had run out of computer paper...I believed him. Well, he was a straight A student, I couldn't fathom his being afraid to show me a report card, but his father, upon hearing this twaddle, gave me a withering stare and said anyone who believed what a 12 year-old told them was crazy. Turns out he'd been given a B in math for not paying attention in class. The teacher thought that would motivate him to participate. I don't think I was stupid, really. Naive, you bet.
Hah! What a whopper! I told a few myself in my boyhood days, but my mother was like Greta--incessant questioning until I broke down.
Why not believe him? That delays the bad news for what? One day? The weekend? Surely he didn't try to peddle that he was never going to get one?