The Secrets We Keep

by Kimberly Blackadar

I drive out of Chloe’s subdivision, down Riverside Drive, and cross over the river, which divides the city into the haves and the have-nots. I consider The Outsiders and the line, things were rough all over. Even though I understand what S.E. Hinton meant, it’s a lot rougher if you have lived on both sides. And it’s a lot easier to move up—than down. I park my car next to a rusted-out wreck and climb up the metal stairs. I unlock the door to the apartment and find my mom on the couch, an open box on the floor and a stack of photo albums next to her. “You ready to pack some boxes?”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait,” I mutter sardonically.

  “I know this hasn’t been easy on you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Her shoulders slump. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

  “I know, Mom, but…I’m still upset.” I say what I really feel. “Staying here with the Prestons is better than moving to Tennessee, but you’ll miss my senior year. Homecoming. Prom. Basketball. All of it.”

  She nods. “I can drive down for the state tourney.”

  “Assuming we make it to State.”

  “Well…” She smiles warmly. “If I know my daughter…”

  “Yeah, we do have a good chance this year.” I smile in return.

  She eyes my duffle bag. “I was just going to start some laundry if you want clean clothes.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” I head toward the laundry closet in the hall and sort the dirty clothes into the labeled baskets. Then I head into my room, which seems smaller and darker than I remembered, and I realize I have not slept here for a couple of weeks.

  I head into the shower, taking my time to shave my legs and condition my hair. I reenter my room and find the Ryan-scented T-shirt from the zipped pocket in my duffle bag. I take a whiff of him, and I am under a canopy of wide-armed oaks, lost again in his tender kisses. I slip it on over my head, pick up the phone, and plop down on the bed. I decide to look over my three-second photo shoot of the boy who ignited my hormone levels to an all-time high an hour earlier. The pictures show little change until the final frame where the corner of his lip curls into a seductive smile. I save his smiling face to my phone, knowing this perfect picture will flash whenever he calls. I hold the phone, willing it to ring. Sure, I could call him. After all, he told me to call him, but I still live by those stupid rules. I put the phone down and stare at the ceiling. Then I pick up the phone and decide if I need to live by the rules, maybe I should set some parameters. I decide to set an alarm for 7 p.m. tomorrow night. When it goes off, I will call him. Wait, is it uncool to call a guy at 7 p.m. on a Saturday night? And shouldn’t I be doing something better than sitting in my apartment calling him? Wait, I have a new plan, if he doesn’t call by—

  The phone rings, and I smile as Ryan’s ridiculously sexy photo fills the screen.

  “Hey girl, I just wanted to let you know that I just got home.” My eyes close at the sound of his deep voice, the words he chooses, and the sincerity of his call.

  “That’s good,” I answer as I prop another pillow under my head. “Was Ian late for work?”

  “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

  “For you maybe.”

  He chuckles softly. “Well, next time he can just drive himself.”

  “So—there will be a next time?”

  “Actually, no.” Ryan pauses, and I wonder how much more of this I can handle. It’s like an emotional war between hope and disappointment. Every time “hope” gains some ground, “disappointment” retaliates with greater force. I am stuck on a battlefield of divergent emotions.

  “W-w-what do you mean—there won’t be a next time?”

  “Because Ian broke it off with Courtney.”

  “Oh, okay…” I trail off, not really surprised Ian called it quits with my flirtatious friend. “I thought you were talking about us.”

  “You want to talk about us?”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I close my eyes, choosing each word carefully. “Or do we not talk about it and just see where it goes?”

  “I know that’s pretty standard, but I don’t agree with that approach.”

  Yep, of course not, and I wonder if he would be kind enough to create “A Guide to Dating Me” manual. He does not play by the same rules as every other warm-blooded American teenage boy, and I have no idea what to expect from him. His words, his actions, especially that amazing kiss in the woods, surprise me at every turn. It’s like riding a roller coaster with a blindfold on—every thrill is totally unexpected.

  “Cal, on the ride home, while Ian was ranting about Courtney, I was thinking back to what you said about you and Mike—and about not having a future with him. And I realized that you were right about relationships.” He pauses, “So, uh, you know why I’m bringing this up, right?”

  “No, and do you really want me to draw my own conclusions—after what happened when I saw you buying flowers at Publix?”

  “Uh, probably not.” He chuckles softly. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I think we’d be good together.” Hope swells in my chest, and I kick my legs in the air, doing the happy dance in my bed. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” I release with a breath of relief.

  “But—” he hesitates long enough for fear to grip my heart. I sit up and lean against the wall, squeezing a throw pillow against my chest. “We’re not ready to be in a relationship, Callie. We both need time.”

  “Then what does that make us? Friends?” I consider the kiss that still lingers on my lips.

  “Well, maybe a little more than friends,” his voice deepens, suggesting that his thoughts also traveled to our earlier kissing session.

  “You need to heal, so you can trust another guy and not assume he’ll cheat on you. And I need time to get over Missy because when I’m with you, I sometimes look for her in you. That’s not fair to you either.”

  I remember the photo of the two of them at the Homecoming dance. “I don’t look anything like her.”

  “Yeah, but you act like her—and you definitely play ball like her. I can’t lie. It’s what first attracted me to you,” Ryan admits.

  I remain silent, hoping that I don’t have to offer my shallow side of the what-attracted-me-to-you-first conversation. “Well,” I begin, “it sure wasn’t your conceited personality that won me over,” I pause, “Suh-woosh!” My stomach flips over the sound of his deep chuckle. “Thank you for being honest with me, Ryan, and telling me how you feel.”

  “It’s not how I feel as much as knowing we should do the right thing.”

  “Well, speaking of the right thing,” I push out a breath. “I should let you go and help my mom pack. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  We exchange a few more quick pleasantries, and then I hang up the phone. I am an emotional paradox, feeling the simultaneous tug of “hope” and “disappointment.”

  *****