The Secret Girl

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Then fix it,” I snap, but I'm trembling now, and I swear, if he doesn't kiss me, I'll die.

  “Anything else you'd like me to do while I'm here?” he whispers, his full lips enticing me. Before I can think better of it, I lean in and brush our mouths together.

  Spencer makes this low, dirty animal growl and then presses forward, sliding his tongue between my lips, his right hand caressing my thigh. It's not immediately obvious what he's doing until he cups my fake junk through the blankets, and I accidentally laugh.

  “What?” he asks, leaning back slightly. I guess I passed the grab test because he doesn't seem to notice that my, um, bits aren't real. “You don't like it? Or maybe you're not into me?”

  “Oh, I'm into you,” I whisper, but then I reach up and push him back a step. “It's just … complicated.” Tell him now! the logical part of me murmurs, but my cheeks flush, and well … with the way he's staring at me, and the hard bulge in his slacks, I just can't. If I do, we might end up … Ugh. “So … you broke into my room to protect me?”

  “If I can do it, so can those freaks in the hoodies,” he says, moving over to the door and picking up a discarded bag that he must've dropped. I guess I was so busy worrying about my ass in the air that I didn't notice. “Let me shore this up.” He picks up the bag, curses, and then gets to work … with a giant boner in his pants.

  “Does that hurt? Or like does it feel good when it rubs against your pants?” I ask, and he pauses, glancing over at me with those beautiful bright eyes of his, strands of silver hair falling across his forehead.

  “Huh?” he asks, cocking his head slightly to one side. He's seriously looking at me like I'm an alien. Then I remember that I'm supposed to be a guy, and that's a pretty stupid question. That'd be like asking a girl if her period cramps hurt. Hah. Hahaha. Yeah. We all know they do.

  “I mean, for me it feels good, so …” I hedge, knowing I'm totally fucking this up. I feel like Steve Carell in The 40-Year-Old Virgin when he tells the other guys that boobs feel like bags of sand.

  “You like having a giant, useless boner?” Spencer chokes out. He pulls out a screwdriver, and starts undoing the current lock, glancing over his shoulder like he's trying to figure me out. “You really are a weirdo, aren't you, Chuck Carson?”

  “Maybe,” I start, but at least he's 'seen' proof of my, erm, dick, so he won't be as apt to question things. Ranger's right though: I'll have to tell him eventually. Just not now. Not yet. “Could you maybe turn around, so I could put my pants back on?”

  Spencer narrows his eyes, but does as I ask, waiting until I give him the all-clear before he turns around. He tucks his hands into his pockets and looks down at me with an expression that's half want, half frustration.

  “I'm not sure I'll ever be able to clear that sight of you from my mind, ass up, tie in your mouth …” He sighs and reaches up to scrub a hand down his face. Leaving his palm over his lips and staring at me over the top of it. “Pretty sure that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. I just … like, maybe I'll freak over the dick, but I won't know until I've tried, I guess.”

  My lips quirk into a little smile.

  “You're too cute,” I murmur, grinning and tucking some hair behind my ear. My glasses drift down my nose and Spencer reaches up to fix them for me.

  “How so?” he asks, sounding a tad suspicious.

  “You're willing to go outside your comfort zone. A lot of guys would probably lash out at me because they were uncomfortable with their own feelings. Not you though.” Spencer listens to me talk, and then his mouth curves up in a sly half-smile.

  “I guess. Does that mean you're willing to go on a date with me?”

  I bite my lower lip, and slide my eyes to the side, looking everywhere but at him.

  “I … ask me next week,” I say, turning back to him and exhaling. Fuck it. I'll just pick a day at random and tell him. But somewhere public. Spencer gives me a raised brow, but he turns back and finishes his work on the door as I sit on the bed and watch.

  “I'm going to hold you to that, Carson,” he murmurs, and I grin. Good. I hope he does.

  I steer the conversation to safer waters—like spring break plans—until Spencer's declared his work done. He's installed a metal kick plate, dead bolt, chain, and brand-new locks, as well as a door stopper.

  “Even the best thief will have to cut a hole in this door to get in,” he tells me, checking the window next, and adding a few locks to that, too. It's not as important as we're on the seventh floor, but it makes me feel better anyway. “If you need to go to the bathroom, text one of us. We'll take it in shifts.”

  “Thank you,” I say as Spencer picks up his bag and gives me a look.

  “For what?” he asks, pausing on his way out the door.

  “For protecting me,” I tell him, pushing him out and closing the door most of the way. “And for … waiting to ask me out.” We exchange a long, lingering look before I close and lock the door, listening as Spencer fiddles with it from the outside.

  I almost call him back.

  But if I did … I'm not sure what would happen between us, only that it'd be racy and wild, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it. Not yet.

  The next few weeks are pretty uneventful, to the point where it all sort of becomes this big game. Sometimes we trudge around campus, exploring hidden areas that only Spencer seems to know about, and trying the gold key on any lock we can find.

  There are no more notes, no more chases, just Culinary Club meetings and hang-outs with the Student Council. They're actually … not so bad. I think I might like them.

  A few weeks into March, I actually get a response back from one of Jenica's classmates.

  “Guys,” I whisper, standing up suddenly from the chair in the corner of the culinary classroom. “We've got a hit!” Ranger's across the room in a white apron with a vintage strawberry print, snatching the phone from my hand and scanning the message. It's pretty simple: yeah, I knew Jenica. And sure, I have the yearbook. What do you need?

  Ranger looks up, licking his lips.

  “Text them back?” he asks, and I nod. It's not long before the pictures start coming in, all these photos of the old yearbook pages. Jenica's in a lot of them. A lot.

  “Your sister was pretty popular, huh?” I ask as I look at her smiling face, her eyes and hair so similar to Ranger's it'd be impossible to miss the family resemblance. This one's a group shot of the Culinary Club, with Jenica as their president. Around her neck … there's a key.

  “This is the silver key, right?” I ask Ranger, tapping at the screen of my phone. The other boys are gathered around behind us. “The one you already had?” He nods, and I keep skipping through the photos. There's her class picture, the only female face among all those dudes.

  About halfway through, we find a picture of her with her arm around Mr. Murphy. Only … Mr. Murphy's wearing a uniform.

  “Mr. Murphy used to go here?” I ask, and Church replies, still holding a cup of coffee in his hands.

  “Most the staff are alumni. I'd say a good seventy-five percent of them.” He takes another sip as we all stare at the picture.

  “Were they dating?” I ask, but Ranger gives me a really weird look, like I've lost my mind.

  “No, definitely not. She was dating her childhood friend, Rick.”

  “As far as you know,” I tell him, giving him a look that says I'm a girl, trust me, I know these things. “The way they're holding each other, that goes way beyond the casual. You don't hold someone like that if you don't like them.”

  “So … you're saying we need to kick Mr. Murphy's ass?” the twins ask in unison, but I give them a look.

  “No, we need to talk to him,” I explain, and they both make a moue of disappointment. “In fact, let me do it. There's that fitness test thing tomorrow that I'm excused from. It'll give me a minute to speak with him privately.”

  “What are you planning on saying?” Spencer asks as I keep thumbing through the picture
s. The guy who's been texting us lets us know that's all he has, but says if we have any questions to let him know. I plan to grill him later. For now, I just focus on Mr. Murphy.

  “I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out; I have all night.”

  “Good, back to cooking then?” Tobias asks, and I nod, turning just in time to get a cupcake in the face from Micah.

  “You … fucking ass pig!” I shout, and even though the kitchen's a mess by the time I'm done with my revenge, I do manage to peg him right in the face with a custard tart.

  All's fair in love and war.

  The physical fitness test is being held from eight in the morning until around noon. Of course, I'm the only student in the entire school that's excused from it.

  That doesn't make me stand out at all.

  “Hey Carson,” Eugene calls out, flicking a jock strap at my face as I head down the hall. “Nice to see being the headmaster's son comes with so many benefits.” Fucking prick. I flip him off, but that's pretty much the extent of what I can do right now. He's got six of his huge football friends behind him. They could kick my ass in their sleep.

  Currently, I'm on my way to the library. That's where I'm supposed to be for the whole day, but first, I'm going to snag Mr. Murphy and pull him aside to talk.

  Since the entire third year class is present outside the gym, most of the administrators are on-hand for supervision, but don't have much to do but mill around while the health and fitness teachers handle the actual testing.

  I slip in the side door and look around for Lionel Murphy (I know, the name is hilarious, I thought so, too) and his head of sandy blond hair. He's not hard to spot, sitting on the edge of the bleachers and working on some papers as a couple of the PE teachers open the main doors and start herding students into the locker room.

  It's a bit medieval, this whole fitness test nonsense. Then again, just think about where we are right now: Adamson All-Boys Academy. Of course there's going to be some, uh, outdated practices going on.

  “Mr. Murphy?” I start, pausing next to him. He glances up and puts this ridiculously handsome smile on his face.

  “Mr. Carson. How are you?”

  “I'm fine,” I say, sitting down next to him and wondering how best to go about this. There's a reason I offered to be the one to do this. Ranger's too aggressive, Spencer's too much of a wildcard, and the twins ... well, they can be a bit much. Church might've been okay, but he really only has two switches. He's extremely protective of Ranger, so if Mr. Murphy were to say the wrong thing ... “Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?”

  “Absolutely,” he says, putting his paperwork aside, and turning to give me his full attention. “Is this something private? Would you like to go to my office to discuss it?”

  I consider that for a moment, but then ... what if Mr. Murphy was the guy with the knife? I mean, he seems nice and all, but I try to remember what Church said. “Psychopaths don't feel human emotion per se, but are extremely skilled in imitating it.” It's probably safer if I don't go back to his office.

  “No, this is fine,” I start, glancing over to find the Student Council watching me as they make their way into the locker room. I only look at them for a second before I turn back to Mr. Murphy.

  “Whatever it is, I'm an open book,” he tells me, settling in to wait. I meet his blue eyes for a moment, and then exhale, pulling my phone from my bag and selecting the picture of him with his arm around Jenica Woodruff.

  When I show it to him ... it's like he's seen a ghost. The color drains from his face, and he snaps his attention from my phone screen to my face.

  “What is this?” he asks, like he hasn't the slightest clue.

  “Ranger Woodruff's sister, Jenica, and you. You guys made a cute couple,” I add, throwing that in there to see if he catches it. Based on the way he grimaces, I think he does.

  “I'm sorry, but I can't discuss anything regarding the Jenica Woodruff case, not without losing my job. If you'll excuse me.” Mr. Murphy stands up, and I follow after, trailing behind him as he heads in the direction of the locker room.

  “But you were dating, right?” I ask, but he says nothing, continuing forward at a brisk pace. I almost have to jog to keep up. “That's all we want to know. Nobody will talk about her. Doesn't that seem strange for a suicide victim? This isn't exactly a murder investigation.”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, I have to go.” Mr. Murphy steps into the office in the corner, basically closing the door in my face. He then immediately closes the blinds and shuts himself off from me.

  Wow.

  Just ... wow.

  Cursing under my breath, I turn and head for the main doors, striding across the gym at a brisk pace.

  “Alright, let's go,” one of the gym teachers says, grabbing onto my arm and yanking me toward the locker room. “We don't have all day. Trust me, none of us is looking forward to this, so let's get it over with promptly, shall we?”

  “I'm excused from the test,” I blurt in a panic as he shoulders his way through the double doors. “Chuck Carson, headmaster's son.”

  “Nobody's excused from the physical fitness test,” the man—I don't even know his name because I don't take PE—says as he releases me into a sea of … dicks.

  So. Many. Dicks.

  Dicks in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

  “Oh my god,” I choke as the teacher excuses himself, leaving me trapped in a nightmare of penis proportions. I mean epic proportions. Epically terrifying.

  I'm interested in dudes as much as the next straight girl, but ... um. There are definitely too many foreign cocks in here to be anything but freaky.

  My eyes land on a particularly large member just before they slide up to a familiar face.

  “Hey Chuck,” Spencer says, pushing his pants down, and then switching into shorts. He yawns and stretches as he looks me over. “I thought you were excused from this shit?”

  I turn and try to flee, but the doors are locked.

  “You have to leave through the exit on the other side. They lock these doors during the test to maintain privacy while other students are in the gym.” He cocks his head to one side. “You know, they have those screen things up, but we all have to go out there and get our height and weight taken, our balls groped. Physicals sucks.”

  “Spencer, get me out of here,” I grind out, turning around and seeing him staring at me in confusion. Seriously, so much wiener in that room. So, so, so, so much. “Please. I feel lightheaded.”

  He raises an eyebrow, but nods and gestures for me to follow after him.

  “Did you like what you saw?” he purrs, but I ignore him, working my way through the crowd toward a side door. “Or was it … clinical. I bet you felt like it was clinical, huh?”

  “Just shut up and move. I don't feel good.” Not a total lie. I woke up with cramps, a headache, and bloody sheets. I hate being on my period. Using both hands, I push the door handle down and slip out.

  “Chuck!” Spencer yells, pushing out after me. “You're bleeding.” His eyes are wide as he points to my pants.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  I look down and there it is: every girl's worst nightmare.

  “What the fuck?” Spencer chokes out. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. I just … I'll be fine. Go take your stupid fitness test.” I try to move away, but Spencer grabs my arm. He looks dead serious now, and also like he's starting to get a little pissed off.

  “Dude, you're bleeding profusely. Like, that's an alarming amount of blood. Let me take you to the nurse's office.” I grit my teeth and try to appreciate that he's concerned about me. That's cute, it really is. It just … I don't need some guy telling me how much blood there is. I'm fully aware.

  “Please let me go. I promise I'll take care of it.”

  Spencer's eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth. Fuck. I can see he's digging his heels in now. This is leading toward a conversation I was
n't ready to have yet.

  “Spencer,” I repeat, sighing and closing my eyes. I adjust myself, and a bit of blood runs down my leg and drips on the floor. I mean, I've had heavy periods like this before, and I'm not concerned, but why does it have to be happening right here in front of a cute boy I like?! He's now staring at that tiny spot of bright red like he's afraid I'm going to keel over and die. I pull a wet wipe from my bag and clean it up. “Please go back in the gym, and let me deal with this.”

  “You looked like you were going to pass out in there. Fuck, you still do.”

  “I looked like I was going to pass out because I've never seen so much naked cock in all my life,” I grind out, and he looks at me funny. Like, really funny. Like maybe for the first time, something's starting to sink in.

  “But you're gay?” he hedges, narrowing his turquoise eyes, and I sigh.

  “Not all gays guys see tons of cock, Spencer. Now, please. Let me go.”

  “Not when you're bleeding like that.” He scoops me up in his arms before I can protest and starts off in the direction of the nurse's office. I'm seriously caught halfway between wanting to punch him … and waiting to maybe kiss him.

  “Spencer …” I start as he keeps walking, seemingly determined to ignore me. “I need to tell you something.” My heart is racing, and I feel sick to my stomach. Also, I really need a tampon. Or a menstrual cup. Or like, seriously, a shower. “Please me put me down, so I can talk to you.”

  “You can talk to me after we get that bleeding stopped. Did you cut yourself or something?”

  “Spencer, all I need is a tampon to stop the bleeding.” His face scrunches up.

  “Why would you need a—”

  He stops walking. Just stops. Freezes. His arms get tight around me. His turquoise eyes slide over to mine, and this look of horror crosses his face.

  “I was going to tell you this week. I mean, that's why I asked you to ask me out at the end of it, so I had time to—”

  “What are you inferring here?” he whispers, setting me down carefully and stepping back. His cream-colored gym t-shirt sticks to his sweaty skin, highlighting every single beautiful muscle underneath. I can see his pulse fluttering violently in his throat.