The Secret Girl

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I'm incognito. I don't want to be the token girl at an all-boys school. Sounds like a hell of its own making.” I don't even mention the fact that someone might possibly be trying to, you know, murder me or whatever.

  “Put those on, we'll throw on some makeup, and a wig, and nobody will even notice. They'll be drunk and stoned by the time we get back to the party anyway.” She raises her brows at me, but I'm skeptical. For good reason, too. If I walk into that room and more than one guy recognizes me, word could get around school … “Oh, come on!” Selena yanks me forward, dragging me over to the one of the mirrored dressers that line the wall, and making me sit in the chair.

  “Where are we supposed to get a wig from?” I ask, but she’s already reaching into a box on the floor and pulling out a pair of Styrofoam heads with wigs on them. One has long, flowing red curls, and the other’s a short, dark look with straight cut bangs.

  “The drama department has dozens of them,” Selena says, holding them out to me like I’m supposed to pick between the two. “We always bring a couple with us, in case of a serious hair emergency.” She rolls her eyes, and I smile. I've missed having a girlfriend around to talk to. My heart clenches when I think about Monica, but I shake it off. It wasn't just that she cheated with Cody (although that is sort of a big deal), but it was the way she treated me, too.

  She forgot my birthday, she was never willing to take a minute out of her day to talk to me, and then when I did question them about their affair, she acted like it was my fault. I wish she'd call and apologize, and I’d just forgive her, and we could move on.

  But that's never going to happen, is it? Life never works out nice and pretty like that, does it?

  “One time,” Selena continues as I grab the red wig, and she leans down to put the other away, “my friend Bethany caught her hair on fire during a fourth of July thing, and well, there was a singed bald spot on one side …” She trails off, grabbing a clean towel from a stack on the bottom bunk of the nearest bed. Selena towel-dries my hair, and then puts a net on to hold the tangled strands back from my face.

  I'm fully expecting the wig to look like, well, a wig. But this is no cheap Halloween store find; I think it might be made of human hair. Sort of creepy if you think about it, but … when she puts it on, carefully adjusting the little wispy pieces in the front, it looks so good that I gasp.

  “Told you,” Selena purrs with a little grin. “You look like Jessica freaking Rabbit.” She curls the long red strands over my shoulders, and then reaches down for some foundation. It's a lot paler of a color than I'm used to, but I guess I don't exactly have much of a tan anymore. “So, which one of those beautiful Student Council boys are you crushing on?”

  My cheeks flush red as she covers up a few small, stupid pimples, and then goes in with sparkling silver shadow, black liner, and mascara.

  “None of them,” I say, which is totally a big, fat lie. “All of them,” I finally add with a sigh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I don't know. Most of them still think I'm a guy …” I trail off, and glance over at her as she picks through a series of lip liners, choosing a much darker color for me than I'd normally go for. “Um, about my being a girl and all …”

  “I won't tell on you,” Selena says, smiling at me with her red, red lips in the mirror. “We all have our secrets.”

  She finishes up my makeup, and then ushers me into the bathroom to change. The dress she's given me is freaking gorgeous, like something I'd have found in Monica's closet. It's got this low-cut V in the front, showing off the breasts I've been trying so damn hard to hide. It hits me about mid-thigh, making my short legs look long and lean.

  The dress is made of this matte black material that pairs perfectly with a sparkling black belt that Selena wraps around my waist.

  “How are you in heels?” she asks, offering up these delicious stilettos with a little zipper detail on the front, and a silver heart charm that reminds me of Ranger's key.

  “I'd consider myself a bit of a … well, not Miss J level,” I admit, referencing the fabulous runway consultant on America's Next Top Model, this gorgeous guy who walks in heels better than any woman I've ever seen, “but I'm like an advanced level student. I can totally handle those.”

  “Perfect.” Selena passes me over the shoes, and then gives me some jewelry to put on. After she's finished, she cocks her head to one side, grins, and nods. “Oh yes, Miss Charlotte, I think you're ready.”

  “Not quite,” I say, reaching into the front pocket of my hoodie and pulling out my spare glasses. The lenses are a bit scratched, but the thin silver frames with the little rose details on the corners will help keep me disguised. I always carry around an extra pair, just in case. Not being able to see is the worst.

  Selena holds out her arm, and I take it, letting her lead me back to the dance.

  I can only pray that I don't run into the Student Council … or if I do, that they don't recognize me.

  Sounds like a long-shot, but … I'm tired of dressing in ugly hoodies and sneakers. For the first time in a long time, I feel pretty, and it has nothing to do with the makeup or the clothes. Maybe I'm actually starting to get my confidence back?

  One can only hope.

  When we walk in the door, the lights are low, the music soft, and the administrators are biting their nails trying to keep couples from dancing too close, or making out in dark corners. Pretty sure there are couples outside doing worse things, but it is what it is. Watching adults try to stem the flow of teenage hormones is hilarious.

  Folks, it's a losing battle. Be honest, educate, and provide a safe place to talk. That's all you can do. Stop shaming us: if you give us the tools and the unconditional love, we can figure out the rest.

  Dad doesn't notice me when I walk by. Like, maybe he would if we were to have a full-on conversation, but it does boost my confidence a bit, knowing that nobody will be able to immediately pick me out of the crowd.

  I make my way over to the refreshments table, picking up a lavender cupcake with one of the fondant flowers on it. My brows go up when I realize it's the one with the broken petal. It's literally the last one of these cupcakes left on the tray. What sort of coincidence is that?

  “Homemade,” a snarky voice says from behind me, and I spin around to find Ross staring at me, one hand on his hip, his eyes narrowed on me. I know right away that he's recognized me from across the room. What in the actual fuck? “Hello Chuck.”

  “Are you like a wizard or something?” I murmur, leaning in close to him and praying he's not about to run off to bark a warning to his masters. I've already got one crazy psycho stalking me. A whole school full of potential weirdos on my ass? No thank you. “How did you know it was me?”

  Ross sighs, and pushes his hair back with a special, little flourish.

  “I sort of figured it out from moment one. Honestly, it's only because nobody expects it that they haven't noticed yet. I'm a gay man, Charlotte. I like boys. And you,” he waggles a pointed finger up and down in my direction, “are no boy.”

  “Are you going to tell everyone?” I ask, because I know he hates me. He has since moment one.

  Ross sighs and shakes his head, reaching out and plucking the cupcake from my fingers.

  “I wasn't ready to be outed when my brother did it for me. I wouldn't do that to you. But if you want to keep your secret, stay away from Ranger. He's not stupid.”

  “Pretty sure he's already starting to suspect,” I murmur, noticing his dark head working through the crowd toward us. “Gotta go.” I move away, pushing between slow-dancing couples toward the front door where the crowd's a bit thinner.

  Unfortunately, Spencer is there, leaning against the wall and slowly swaying to the music with his eyes closed. Just as I'm about to make a run for it, he snaps them open and locks those turquoise irises on me.

  “Do I know you?” he asks, his voice dreamy and far away. “They'll be drunk and stoned by the time we get b
ack to the party anyway.” Selena's words ring in my mind, and I pause, putting on a sultry smile. Pretty sure I've never given this smile out at Adamson; it'll help disguise me.

  “No, but my cousin does,” I say, moving a step toward him. He has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his muscular body slouched against the wall. He squints at me, but I stand there like I have nothing to hide, chest out, chin up. “You might know him? Chuck Carson?”

  Spencer's eyes get even wider, and he pushes off the wall to move toward me.

  He really is beautiful, his charcoal colored hair shimmering silver under the low lights, turquoise eyes glittering a blue-green brilliance that makes my breath catch in my chest.

  “Do you know where Chuck is? I was going to ask him to dance.” Spencer throws his arm out to indicate the room, and I smile as he refocuses back on me, blinking furiously. Pretty sure he's a bit stoned right now. That's okay by me. Maybe that explains why he's too stupid to recognize me? I mean, I'm pulling a serious Clark Kent/Superman thing here, and it's working.

  “No, but … we could dance instead?” I blurt before I can stop myself. You idiot, take that shit back! I chastise myself, but it's too late. He's already smiling at me, and the expression takes over his entire face. God, this boy is gorgeous, I think, trying not to sigh when he reaches out for my hand.

  “I'd like that,” he tells me, and then his fingers curl around mine and heat shoots from my fingertips, traveling straight to my heart. It begins to race, tumbling over itself in a wild sprint that has my lips parting, my throat closing, my head spinning. Chemical attraction, that must be what this is. I mean … I don't even like that guy. And yet … I do.

  Spencer leads me out into the center of the dance floor, right underneath the chandelier where I danced with Aster. I can see her from here, trying to hit on Ross as he flashes one of his rainbow bracelets, and tries to explain his sexual preferences. She grabs his hands anyway and yanks him into the fray.

  One of my hands comes to rest on Spencer's shoulder while the other is clasped firmly in his. When he puts his other hand on the small of my waist, I sigh and he chuckles, this sultry but playful little sound that somehow seems to invite me to lean into him.

  “I didn't catch your name?” he asks, smirking in a way that promises that once I tell him, and he says it, it'll sound like pure sin rolling off his lips.

  “Charlotte,” I admit, wondering if that's going too far, if that'll give too much away. Spencer doesn't seem to make the connection, but just in case … “Our grandfather's name was Charlie, so … Chuck, Charlotte … both names are in honor of him.” At least none of that's a lie.

  “Charlotte,” Spencer breathes, and I shiver as he pulls me in closer. Never Say Never by The Fray is playing, and it's the most perfect song for a romantic dance. Ugh. I feel like I'm drowning in emotions right now. “I'm Spencer.”

  “I know,” I say, and he crinkles his brow, but the expression only lasts a minute as I find myself drawn even closer to him. My head ends up on his chest, my eyes closing as I listen to his heart beating frantically beneath me. It picks up the pace as I press into him, and I smile with satisfaction, knowing I'm getting to him just as much as he's getting to me.

  The song picks up at the end, this crescendo of repeated words that make me shiver. Don't let me go is repeated over and over again, and I realize that I'm dreading the end of it because I don't want to separate from Spencer. Then don't, I tell myself, clinging to his shirt as he curls his arms around me.

  But then I see Ranger making his way toward us, and I panic. The song comes to an end, and I push off Spencer's chest, putting space between us that feels suddenly cold. A shiver takes over me as I start to move away.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, looking all dopey and cute and lovestruck. “We've got all night.”

  Technically, yes, that's true, but …

  “I just need to pop to the bathroom real quick. I'll be back. Wait for me by the fireplace.” And then I duck into the surrounding couples, making my way toward the back door, and out into the cool air.

  There are bathrooms inside, too, but I just need a breath of fresh air.

  Outside, the trees rustle in a cool breeze, and the lake laps at the edges of the shore.

  “Damn it,” I murmur, wondering why I'm being so resistant about my attraction to Spencer. Maybe because he's a total dick who sells pot to rich assholes just for fun? I mean, the guy's family is worth billions. I looked them up online. His dad’s family owns a massive pharmaceutical company, so it's clearly not for the money.

  A bright lump on the ground attracts my attention, and I push off the wall, moving away from the lights and the music for a moment to see what it is.

  It's a girl, passed out on the ground, breathing heavily. I kneel down to check on her, figuring she probably drank too much or something, and debating whether or not I should get an administrator. I don't want her to get in trouble, but … it could be alcohol poisoning or something, right?

  “Hey,” I whisper, shaking her slightly. She groans as I reach up to pull some of that electric blue hair from her face. This is one of the girls that was hanging out on the dock with us earlier. What was her name again? I can't even remember if she ever told me.

  When I pull my fingers back, I feel something hot and sticky, and look down to see the bright red of blood.

  “What the fuck?” I look up at the sound of a creaking door, and see a figure coming out of the boathouse. My eyes widen as I take in the man, cloaked in a black hoodie that, paired with the dark shadows of night, completely and utterly obscures his face. I don't want to leave the girl, but my first instinct is to run. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, rising to my feet and trying to be brave. My skin prickles with goose bumps as I stare the dickhead down and try to tell myself that I'm only a hundred feet at most from the back door of the dance hall.

  It would only take me a second to get in there and escape to safety.

  The sound of bushes rustling brings my attention around, and I see a second figure in a black hoodie approaching.

  What … the …

  The second figure takes off toward me, and my instincts just kick in. My feet are moving before I can even give them a conscious command. The damn heels I'm wearing sink into the moist earth, and I kick them off as I go, scrambling up the small hill toward the lights of the cabin.

  One of my pursuers grabs me from behind, wrapping their arm around my waist and yanking me back as a hand clamps over my mouth. I'm kicking now, nailing the asshole in the shins as I dig my fingernails into the thick fabric sleeves of the hoodie looking for purchase.

  I'm dragged away from the safety of the dance hall and toward the woods to the left of the back door, the other hoodie wearing asshole moving forward to help contain me.

  My heart is racing, and I'm cold with fear, thinking suddenly of Jenica Woodruff and wondering if she was this scared, if she fought this hard … because if she did, then I guess it doesn’t matter because I'm still going to die here tonight.

  We end up in the true darkness of the forest, the thick foliage keeping the moonlight from penetrating the earthy blackness.

  I'm still struggling, but it's an effort. The two people holding me are strong, and I'm not exactly an experienced martial artist. They drag me forcibly through the undergrowth, until I see it there in a small sliver of silver moonlight.

  A rope.

  It's hanging from a thick branch above our heads, swaying slightly in the breeze.

  No. No, no, no! The boys were right: Jenica didn't commit suicide. No, she was murdered.

  My struggling amps up a notch, fueled by adrenaline, and I end up slamming the attacker behind me so hard in the ribs that they grunt and briefly loosen their grip. That grunt did not sound like a man, I think, but then I'm fighting for my life here, so I don't exactly have time to analyze that right now.

  There's another rustling sound from the bushes, and my heart drops. I can't fend off a third freaki
ng attacker! But then Ranger pushes out of the bushes, and hope flares bright inside me.

  He doesn't even hesitate, just throws himself at the guy in the front of me, tackling the bastard to the ground. With my renewed burst of energy, I manage to get free of the person holding me, spinning around so I have an easier time defending myself.

  We grapple and end up on the forest floor, rolling around in the leaves as I struggle to keep whoever this is from getting a strong hold on me again. Grunts and cursing echo from the opposite side of the clearing, the rope swaying menacingly in the center of it all.

  Finally, I manage to get my foot in the stomach of the asshole on top of me, pushing as hard as I can and sending them flying backward. They hit the ground hard, their accomplice grabbing their arm as blood drips from his face. He lifts the other person—who I'm pretty sure is a woman—up off the ground, and the two of them take off into the woods.

  Ranger stands up, cursing and bleeding from a deep gash across the chest. For the briefest moment, I forget all about my secret identity and race over to him, leaving the wig on the ground behind me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, panting hard and shaking so furiously that I feel like I might just come apart at the seams and collapse. My hands touch the bloody wound in Ranger's chest, but he seems less concerned with that, and more concerned with me.

  His hand comes up, and he grips my chin hard, lifting my gaze from his chest to his face. His eyes widen, and he starts cursing again.

  “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” He releases me, and my face flushes red. “Holy shit, Carson, what the hell is wrong with you?” Ranger turns away from me, pausing when he sees the rope swinging there. I'm not sure he even noticed it before. The hot, high color in his cheeks drains away, leaving him as white as a ghost. “Jesus, what the hell is all this?”

  “I don't know,” I whisper, heart racing. It hasn't escaped me that Ranger Woodruff might've just saved my life. “I came outside to get some air, saw a girl bleeding on the ground … Shit!” Grabbing Ranger's hand, I yank him back through the woods and find the blue-haired chick still lying where I left her. “Get a teacher,” I bark out, and Ranger pauses, just staring down at me like he can't believe what he's seeing.