The Secret Girl

by Stunich, C. M.

  The whole school would know.

  I'd be the second girl ever at that school, and the only one still living.

  No thank you.

  Sliding off the stool, I cover my face briefly with one hand and glance to the right.

  “Bathroom?” I mouth, and Jeff's face crinkles up as he points me in the right direction. Slinking off, I duck through an archway and into a room full of used books. The smell is even better in here, and helps relieve some of my anxiety as I duck into the bathroom, and then lock the door behind me.

  I'll just wait in here until Church gets his coffee and leaves, right?

  But crap, that was close. So close. Disturbingly close.

  Pushing off from the wall, I look at myself in the mirror, and I try to decide if the jerk would even recognize me. Do I look different enough?

  “No point in testing that theory,” I mumble, hiking up my dress to pee, and then washing my hands. I figure that's plenty of time to order a simple drink and leave.

  Except when I creep up to the arch and peek through it, I find Church sitting at the counter, sipping his drink and … looking through my stack of books. Now I'm just irritated. How dare he put his bullying fingers on my damn book?! I'm just fuming now, but even the assault on my poor, beautiful hardcover won't get me to face him.

  “Do you want me to ring up those books for you?” Jeff asks, appearing beside me and making me jump. I glance over at him, putting a hand to my chest. “I'm guessing you don't want to sit next to Church Montague? That's okay. Most people don't.”

  “Really? You know him?” I ask, and Jeff nods, his face darkening as a frown creases his full lips. He glances toward the row of books on his left, like he can see straight through them.

  “Everyone knows Church Montague. His family owns this entire town, save a few holdouts on Main Street—including this one.” Jeff turns his gaze back to me. “His father's threatened us with all sorts of legal action if we don't sell, but this store is my parents' dream. They've lived in Nutmeg their whole life.”

  Nutmeg. Right. I'd forgotten that was the name of this little town. It's sort of … hilarious. From Santa Cruz, California to … Nutmeg, Connecticut. Bleh.

  “What a dick move,” I whisper, ducking behind Jeff when Church turns his head in our direction. I've left my damn purse and keys on the counter, too. Good thing we are in Nutmeg, Middle-of-Nowhere because they haven't been stolen yet. “But yes, if you wouldn’t mind ringing me up and bringing the books in here …” I glance around for an escape route, but there isn’t one.

  Jeff takes pity on me and offers up a small smile.

  “Follow me, and I’ll take you out the employee exit.” He weaves his way through towering stacks of books and leads me out to the back patio. Then he disappears back inside and returns with my purse, and a paper bag full of my treasures. “I just added it to your tab. We’ll worry about it next time you come in,” he tells me, and the way he says next time makes me smile.

  “Thank you,” I tell him earnestly, offering up a bright smile as I hook the strap of my purse on one shoulder, and then head around the side of the building.

  As soon as I round the corner … I bump right into the twins.

  Literally.

  “Excuse me,” I start, and then I realize that they’re linking their arms with mine and glaring down at me with bright green eyes. “Ehhhhh?!” The sound escapes me as my jaw drops open and the two assholes smile at me.

  “Hello, Charlotte,” they say, and then they drag me into the building next door and slam the door behind us.

  “What the hell do you want with me?” I whisper as the boys push my back up against the door. I can barely see them in the dusty yellow light leaking through the shutters. Pretty sure we're in a diner of some sort, but maybe I'm only thinking that because of the black and white checkered floor?

  “Sneaky, sneaky, Charlotte,” they purr in unison, exchanging a glance, and then leaning in so close to me that I'm sure they can smell my lemon meringue body splash.

  “You're a liar, aren't you, Chuck?” Micah asks, and his brother cocks a brow at me.

  “I told you,” his twin drawls, and the two of them end up glaring at one another with glittering emerald eyes. “And I was right: admit it.”

  Micah scowls and looks back at me, releasing my arm and taking a step back, so he can look me over from head to toe. There's no appreciative gleam in his eye, and I can't decide if that makes me happy … or if it annoys me to no end. I dressed up for today. Back home, I'd be garnering all sorts of compliments.

  “Told him what?” I ask, looking at Tobias. He has a certain expression on his face that's impossible to read, slightly softened but definitely interested. My cheeks flush, and I curl my hand around the strap of my purse.

  “That you were a girl,” Tobias continues, glancing over at his brother. He looks back at me, and the flush in my cheeks goes from happy pink to irritated red. Or at least, that's how it feels.

  “How did you know?” I whisper, wondering if it wouldn't be possible to lie and say I'm dressed in drag. Pretty sure they'd call bullshit on that. Besides, how do they know my real name?

  “When we tickled you.” Tobias glances up at his brother, and then down at me again. “Oh, and when Spencer said you had a hot make-out session in the pantry, and that he was questioning his sexuality. He's definitely not gay.”

  “He's not even bi,” Micah spits, crossing his arms over his chest. The boys are dressed in white wife beaters with subtle blue stripes, and long khaki pants over brown boots. They're even wearing matching winter jackets, slung loose over their arms and hanging halfway down their backs, so that I can see their bare shoulders. They've got matching rose tattoos. How nice.

  “Definitely not bi,” Tobias replies with a sigh and a shake of his head, reaching up to run his fingers through his sandy orange hair. “But seriously, why are you pretending to be a boy? Not that I care, but—”

  “He cares. He thinks you're a liar,” Micah replies, and Tobias shoots him a nasty look.

  “I do not.”

  “You do so.” Micah leans in toward his brother and the two of them scowl ferociously at one another while I blink and my eyes become adjusted to the shadowed darkness. We definitely are in a café, standing near a side door in the kitchen area. Beyond that, there are booths upholstered in hot pink vinyl, tables with shiny chrome detailing, and a jukebox that looks like it's straight out of the 1950s.

  “How did you know my name?” I ask, and both twins turn back to me. Tobias' scowl disappears, but Micah keeps his firmly in place.

  “You told Jeff,” they both say in unison. And then Tobias is scowling again, too. “Jeff is not our favorite person in the world.” They drawl this last part and then exchange another glance before turning back to me. “You shouldn't hang out with Jeff.”

  “Yeah, well,” I sputter, because I really hate being told what to do. And on top of that, I feel exposed and nervous and frustrated. “Forget about Jeff for a minute … who are you going to tell?” The words come out of me in a whisper, and the boys exchange another long look.

  They turn back to me and lean in, their forearms just above my head.

  “Nobody.”

  My lips part in shock, and Tobias smiles.

  “If they're too stupid to figure it out, that's their problem,” he says, grinning. It only lasts for a second though because Micah scoffs.

  “That, and the last girl that went to Adamson ended up dead.” Chills flash through me, and I find myself shivering. I should've worn a damn coat. “Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe not.” He exchanges a look with his brother before turning back to me. “But we're not about to have that worry resting on our shoulders.”

  “You think she died because she was a girl?” I ask, and the boys exchange another look.

  “Maybe.” Another word said perfectly in sync. They glance down at me, their long, lean bodies stretched over mine, the faintest scent of their shared cologne drifting to me. T
hey smell like cherries, these scented waves of sweet and tart mixed with an unexpected hint of cedar and vetiver. God. The McCarthy twins smell just like they look: fun, playful, a tad mischievous. Unattainable. Yep, I can freaking smell it.

  Not that it matters since I have a boyfriend.

  “Why?” I ask, and Micah rolls his eyes, pushing off the door and moving away from me. He doesn't hesitate to open the back of the glass display with all the pies in it, selecting a beautiful fruit pie with a woven crust and tossing it onto the counter. “Should you be touching that? Where are we, anyway?”

  “The Jaw Flapper,” Tobias responds, slowly lowering his arm. He trails his fingers down the length of mine, and I shiver again. A slight smile works its way over his lips, and he shrugs out of his jacket, slinging it over my shoulders along with that cherry-tart smell of his. My cheeks flush neon, and I find myself wide-eyed and tongue-tied. “The woman who runs it is from the Deep South. Some city called Pluto, all the way down in the Delta in Mississippi. She runs it for Church's family, and they love the food so much, they let her keep all the profits, just so long as they're allowed to eat for free whenever they want.”

  “That's … an interesting arrangement,” I hedge, pulling the jacket tighter around me. I'm still not one hundred percent sure I believe the twins are going to keep my secret, but what choice do I have? They already know, and unless I'm willing to Taser them both and tie them up in some abandoned cellar somewhere, I'm just going to have to deal with that. “So you're included in that little deal then? You must be close with the Montagues.”

  “Nah, we stole the keys,” they reply together, and then they lift up their pinkie fingers, connected by a silver ring strung with keys. How they managed that coordinated feat is beyond me. Maybe they share a brain?

  “Do you like cherry pie?” Tobias asks as I settle myself on one of the stools. My heart is still racing, and I feel like I need a moment to process. My secret is out. To the asshole twins, no less. This isn't going to turn out well, is it? I managed to keep it hidden for about two months. Out of the school year's nine. That's … not a good ratio.

  “Um, sure,” I say, raising an eyebrow as Micah cuts the pie into thirds and slaps each piece on a speckled brown plate, pushing it over to me and then deftly licking each of his fingers clean. “The owner will be reimbursed for this though, right?”

  “She better be,” a cheerful voice calls just before the front door swings open and fills the room with light. Turning, I find Church limned in bright sunshine, and my eyes go wide. I don't think he can quite see me through the dusky gloom inside the diner, but it's only a matter of seconds …

  Tobias launches himself over the counter, and shoves Church back, yanking the door closed so that there's just a thin sliver of light on one side.

  “We're in here with a girl,” he growls, the muscles in his shoulders and back taut. Since he gave me his coat, I can see exactly how lean and tight his body is. My dry throat is suddenly not so dry anymore, and I end up swallowing a lump. So he's attractive, so what?! “So fuck off and leave us alone. You know we don't like to share with anyone but each other.” Tobias slams the door and locks it.

  “You better leave Merinda money for that pie. And clean up in there, won't you? If you don't, I'll be forced to kick both your asses.” Church sounds so cheerful, it's practically disturbing.

  “He could try,” the twins drawl with dual rolls of their eyes. Tobias saunters back over and sits on the stool next to me, getting ready to dig into his treat. Shockingly, Micah seems to have already finished his, leaving just a ring of crust on his plate. As I watch, he lifts it up and puts the whole thing in his mouth, smirking at me all the while.

  “You think Church is just going to walk away now?” I ask, and Tobias shrugs, cutting off a good third of his pie and putting it in his big, stupid mouth. His big, stupid mouth with its full, luscious lips and that glistening bit of cherry filling he just licked off the bottom … Ugh. No. Gross. I'm not crushing on a guy who's treated me like total crap for months. No way.

  “I don't think: I know.” Tobias says as Micah gets three glasses from under the counter and fills them with cola, a splash of grenadine syrup, and a cluster of maraschino cherries. He stabs a metal straw into the drink and passes it over to me. “I wasn't lying: we only share with each other.”

  “Eww,” I blurt without meaning to. The twins both turn to look at me. “What? I'm just … you shouldn't talk about girls that way.” I take a sip of my drink, and my cheeks flush. Yum.

  “Well, it's true,” Micah says, sliding his metal straw into his mouth in a way that could only be described as seductive. He meets my eyes dead-on, swirling his tongue around the end of it. “Does that bother you?”

  “You two can do whatever you want,” I mumble, focusing on the massive slice of pie that'd take me a week just to finish. “But don't talk about women like they're objects right in front of them. It's off-putting.”

  “Oh, but you're not a woman,” Tobias says, flashing a sharp grin. He glances over at his brother, and Micah matches the expression. They both turn to me, and I get this little chill down my spine, like something bad is about to happen.

  “No, don't you dare!” I blurt, scrambling up from the stool, even though I have no idea what they're planning.

  “Chuck’s just one of the guys, right, Micah?”

  “Oh, definitely, Tobias. We wouldn't want to treat him any different just for having a vagina.” My cheeks explode with embarrassed heat at hearing that word come out of his mouth. “You're still the same old, asshole Chuck to us.”

  Micah jumps the counter, and the two of them grab me by the back of the jacket as I make a run for it, yanking me into their arms as I struggle and kick at them. Somehow a black marker makes its way into Tobias' hand, and by the time they let me go, I have a giant penis drawn on the side of my face.

  “Ack, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I groan as I shove into the bathroom, its walls plastered with old posters from faraway places. Wetting a bit of paper towel, I scrub at my face as hard as I can, but my skin is bright pink before I've made any noticeable progress.

  “Body paint pen,” Tobias remarks, holding open the door with his back while Micah pops his head in and grins. “Takes rubbing alcohol and effort to get it off. Have fun with that.”

  “You both can just go suck each other's dicks!” I shout, and the twins laugh as I shove past them and back into the diner.

  “We just wanted you to know we weren't going to neglect you, that's all,” Micah calls out as I grab my purse and storm over to the side door we came through, peeking out to make sure the coast is clear before I leave and slam it behind me.

  Their laughter follows me all the way back to the car.

  The Monday after we get back from break, I keep my head down and go about my day as usual, doing my best to blend into the shadows. The twins don't pay me any special attention other than to ask what happened to the dick on my face.

  After that, I'm left well-enough alone. Even Tuesday at Culinary Club isn't very eventful. Spencer stares at me with narrowed turquoise eyes, and Ranger scowls a lot, but Church just sits in the corner sipping his coffee and ignoring everyone in favor of his phone. The twins dump a bag of flour on my head, but that's nothing in comparison to the spiders, or the weeks of detention and janitorial work. I'll take it.

  “How long did you wait before you came back to let me out of that trunk?” I ask Church on Thursday, now a bit more comfortable with the idea that the twins really are going to keep my secret. Apparently, as long as they can keep fucking with me, they're totally okay keeping things to themselves.

  “Me?” he asks, blinking pretty honeyed eyes at me and smiling. Again, the expression doesn't reach his gaze. Not even close. “Oh, I didn't let you out. I sort of hoped you'd be stuck in there all night.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, and your father's very insistent on the idea of me tutoring you. Meet me in the library tomorrow after class. Don't be late; I abhor ta
rdiness.”

  He starts to walk off, and I reach out to grab the edge of his blazer. The look he throws me over his shoulder is cold fucking hell. My eyes widen, but I don't let go.

  “You didn't let me out of the trunk?” I ask, and he raises a blond brow at me.

  “No. I didn't exactly have the keys, now did I?” Church politely picks the bit of fabric from between my fingers, freeing himself before he turns and starts off down the hall. I'm left standing there with a pit of ice in my stomach that I can't make sense of.

  If Church didn't let me out of the trunk … then who did?

  The library at Adamson All-Boys Academy is this monstrous tomb, like a massive mausoleum, made all the worse because of the undertaker … I mean librarian, Mr. Dave. As soon as he sees me walk in on Friday, he's glaring at me from behind his desk.

  I ignore him and weave through the massive wood tables towards the back where Church Montague is sitting, hands steepled on his crossed legs, eyes focused directly on me. He watches me as I take the seat next to him—the tables are far too wide for me to sit across and still have his help while studying—and pull out my iPad and my laptop.

  Neither of us speaks for several minutes, and I look up to find Church watching me. He's smiling, and his face is pleasant, but those cold shadows are still there, that darkness that he hides so well brewing just beneath the surface.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask finally, and Church slides his amber gaze over to mine.

  “Because I'm the Student Council President, and that's my job: to help others.”

  “I think you're a sociopath,” I blurt, and his smile gets a bit wider.

  “I think you mean psychopath. Sociopaths have trouble controlling their emotions, and are prone to emotional outbursts. Psychopaths don't feel human emotion per se, but are extremely skilled in imitating it.” He grins at me, and I frown. “But I assure you: I'm not either.”

  “Oh, wow, that's so convincing,” I grumble, shoving my glasses up my face and pushing up the sleeves of the baggy blue Adamson sweater I'm wearing. We're required to wear our blazers every day of the week, except on Friday when we can go without, or don a school hoodie. I'm quite literally swimming in mine which is good; it helps hide the boobs I didn't bother to bind this morning.