The Secrets We Keep

by Kimberly Blackadar

1. What’s up, PK?

  “Are you ready?”

  I turn sideways in the mirror which hangs on the back of my bedroom door, wishing my reflection offered a different image—like a skinnier, taller, prettier version of my ordinary self. Yet all I see is a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl in a boring jean skirt and pale green T-shirt. I open the door and skulk out of my room.

  “You look very pretty this morning.” I get that obligatory response from the paternal unit every year on the first day of school. The maternal half departed hours ago to begin her day as the superintendent of schools.

  Like the “cool” kids, I have never ridden the bus to high school. But I get to carpool with the principal. Not cool at all. For the entire ride, my dad relies on Vivaldi’s strings to lull him into a good mood as we zip along the lightly trafficked, dark streets.

  We enter a silent Central High and slip into the front office. A few eager beavers have arrived early, and my father gives them a that-a-boy smile as he traipses through the front office. He retreats to his den in the back.

  I sit down on one of those dreaded arm chairs in the principal’s office, unzip my backpack, and pretend to be organizing something. I do this to avoid my father’s attempts to turn me into his free secretary. “Could you get me a cup of coffee?” It never works, though.

  I get up, slide down the hall, and head into the staff lounge. I lean against the counter, unnoticed.

  One guidance counselor says to another, “What do you think about our Richside transfer?” Central Highers never call Riverside, our greatest rival, by its actual name. They view the entire school as a bunch of rich kids who drive around in luxury cars. Central has always been the product of more rezoning, but Riverside only has a few undesirable neighborhoods on the other side of the river and remains at the top of the state’s rankings.

  “Interesting. I read her file,” the other answers. “I was just surprised that her parents didn’t opt for private school.”

  The first guidance counselor pours coffee into her cup. “At least she will bring up our test scores.”

  The other one guffaws. “Yeah, maybe she can bring one hundred of her closest friends, so we can get out of the hot seat.”

  I bite down on my lip, knowing all about the Riverside transfer. Her name is Chloe Preston, and we were close friends in middle school—along with Courtney, Caitlyn, Christina, Callie, and Carly. Our crazed gym teacher sat us alphabetically by our first names and referred to us as the 7Cs. It was the only way those girls would have ever included me in any of their reindeer games. Yep, I am Rudolph. Maybe I’ll prove useful someday.

  I place the cup on my father’s desk. “Thanks.” He never even looks up. “Why don’t you wait for Chloe in the reception area?”

  I gather my backpack and slink down the hall. I have been awake for two hours, spent the majority of the morning with my father, but have never uttered a word. I can talk, but I have always noticed how much adults prefer “children to be seen but not heard.” This is especially true for parents who devote their lives to the future of America. They have little time left for their own progeny.

  The front office staff acknowledges me with warm good mornings as I drop into a chair. I eye the front door as parents and students parade toward the front desk. I wait for Chloe, eager for a close friend to join me at Central.

  Right before my freshmen year, my mother reassigned my father to be the principal of Central High. Leaving behind our mediocre home in Riverside, we moved into Central High’s most prestigious neighborhood, barbecuing with booster parents on the weekends. While my parents’ social life continues in a positive direction, I still miss the friendship of the Seven Cs.

  With her father at her side, Chloe enters, clothed in an adorable sundress and sandals, her hair bouncing with blonde curls, and I almost expect a gust of wind to accompany her entrance. She notices me and waves at me like a mom spotting her kindergartner after the first day of school. I get up and greet her with a hug. “Welcome to Central,” I say. Yes, I actually speak. Chloe has never hindered my communicative capabilities.

  “Thank you.” She pulls from the hug. “I’m a little nervous,” she admits with a slight frown, “so I’m grateful that I have at least one friend here.”

  While her father finishes up with the secretary, I give her some quick pointers about Central High. “And,” I begin, “my dad made sure we would have the same lunch, so I’ll meet you after third.”

  She expels a breath of relief. “Good. I didn’t want to be that new girl sitting all alone at the lunch table.”

  “And don’t worry,” I begin, “I’ll show you around and introduce you to people.” I say this, wondering where I will find “people.” I am not exactly popular.

  Her dad leans in with a kiss on the cheek, and we descend down the crowded corridor of Central High. I introduce her to her locker and proceed with a tour of the building, following her schedule. We land outside of choir. “This is where choir kids hang in the morning if you want to go in.”

  She shakes her head.

  I glance at my watch. Yes, I still wear a watch. “Well, we have fifteen more minutes until the first bell. Anything you want to see?”

  “Nope.” Her shoulders drop. “I just want to fast forward through the next eight hours and the following 179 miserable school days, so I can be at Georgetown with Rob.”

  “Yeah.” I smile knowingly. “I just want high school to be over, so I can get away from my parents.”

  “It must suck to have two parents in administration.”

  I nod. “If you ever think you have it bad…”

  “I do, but,” she starts, putting a hand on my shoulder, “you win the grand prize.”

  I laugh lightly as we turn toward the main corridor. Sophomore choir chicks pass us on the left, and I wave at them.

  “Get out!” I turn, seeing Chloe on her phone. “Ryan showed at school this morning.”

  “Who’s Ryan?”

  “Callie’s boyfriend,” she updates. “He lives in Ponce. And you know Cal lives with me now, right?” I shake my head. “Yeah, her mom moved to North Carolina, so she’s my new roomie. And Ryan is her freakishly hot boyfriend. He showed up at school with a slice of pizza and a bag of Twizzlers.”

  “Must be an inside joke?”

  “Must be,” Chloe echoes.

  “Do you have a picture of him?” I wonder.

  “I’ll have her send one.”

  A few minutes later, a shirtless guy fills Chloe’s screen.

  “She seriously dates him?”

  “Yeah, and he drives a black Porsche.”

  My hands hit my chest as I expel a breath. “Hey, sign me up for one of those.”

  We giggle as we reach the Commons. Soon a finger taps my shoulder, and I turn to find Lucas, sporting a vintage metal shirt. He grins menacingly. “What’s up PK?” PK stands for preacher’s kid or principal’s kid; both labels cause kids to be watched heavily. Some rebel, but I’ve never been cool enough to question authority with any sense of style. He turns and eyes Chloe, up and down, like a complete prick. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Her friend can talk,” Chloe begins. “And the answer is ‘I have a boyfriend.’ He’s gorgeous. He’s smart. And he knows how to treat a girl.’”

  “You got attitude. I like that.”

  “Make sure that’s all you like.”

  Lucas shakes his head. “I don’t give up easily.” He smiles over at me. “Just ask PK.”

  The first bell rings, and Lucas slips back to his circle of his friends.

  Chloe cups a hand around my ear. “Pleeease, tell me you don’t like him.”

  I sigh. “Kind of.”

  “Kind of a big mistake, Cynthia.” She pauses. “I know guys like that.”

  “He’s not like Austin.” I try to explain. “He’s a loser, okay? He’s just some nobody.”

  “Yeah, and that makes him so much more desirable, Cyn.”

  “You would
n’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Listen, the first guy you ever kissed was Landon Williams. He was in eighth when we were in seventh, and everyone was crushing on him. You always get the guy, Chlo. You are the total package, and those guys only date girls like you. You’re at the top of the food chain.” I pause. “And some of us are just bottom feeders.”

  “Cyn, you’re selling yourself short.”

  “Well, I am only 5’ 2’’.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

  “Well, I’m speaking realistically, and guys like Lucas are what girls like me get to have.”

  “Hey.” She strikes a finger in the air. “I will help you find a better guy.” She eyes me coolly. “As long as you stay clear from that one.” She points at Lucas who is now guffawing it up with his circle of stoners.

  “Get to class,” booms down the hall. “Let’s go, people! Let’s go!” I look over and spot one of my father’s administrative lackeys doing his morning duty of “corralling the sheep.”

  “Well, we better go.” I say with a smile. “We don’t want the new girl to be late on her first day.” We stroll toward the science wing.

  School goes like this: Bell. First period. Bell. Second period. Bell. Third period. Bell.

  I scurry down the hall toward the math wing to find Chloe and escort her to lunch. As I near her class, I find her among the school’s academic elite, the ones who will graduate at the top of the class and go on to the best colleges. They have high grades, student council positions, community service hours, and athletics on their applications, making me look like a colossal slug.

  I near her and tap her shoulder.

  “Hey.” She turns with a smile. “How was your day, Cyn?”

  “Fine.” I shrug. “You ready for lunch?”

  “She’s eating with us,” Alaina Evans, our school’s student body secretary, informs.

  “Oh, okay,” I manage. Nobody likes hanging out with a PK, not even the students who receive glowing praise from the administration. Thanks to my dad, I am a social leper.

  “Wait,” Chloe begins, “we can all eat together.” As we stroll toward the lunchroom, Chloe informs them how we have been friends since sixth grade, elevating our friendship to a higher status than it has held in years.

  Lunch at the academic elite table focuses on college applications. It reminds me of dining with my parents. Don’t these kids talk about anything else?

  Chloe nudges me. “I miss my old lunch table.” She calls the girls and puts them on speaker. Soon a cacophonous revelry of Riverside friends displaces the boring prattle at our table.

  “Hi, two Cs,” comes from Callie, followed by Courtney and Caitlyn’s unified, “Miss you so much, Chloe!”

  “Miss you. Love you.” Chloe pauses. “Hey, keep Courtney out of trouble. That’s usually my job, you know?”

  They all laugh.

  “Guess who assigned me a seat in the front of class, Chlo?” Courtney offers.

  “Really?” Chloe responds. “How was the view?”

  “Incredible,” she replies. “He has such a tight tush. I just wanted to go up and grab it.”

  “You should,” Chloe teases, “and when you get called to the principal’s office, just tell him you needed a better grasp of the subject.”

  Laughter erupts from the phone.

  “What on earth?” I whisper.

  Chloe mutes her cell for a moment. “Courtney has the hots for her science teacher.” She returns to speaker. “Sorry, lost you there for a moment.”

  “I was just saying,” Caitlyn begins, “that we should all get together this weekend. You too, Cynthia.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Sounds fun.” I envision the five us strolling through the mall, but that is total middle school. I wonder what they do now.

  “Suggestions?” says Courtney.

  “Preston’s pool,” Callie offers.

  “Mani pedi, for sure,” comes from Caitlyn.

  “Eat a tub of Rocky Road ice cream while listening to maudlin music,” Chloe adds with frown.

  “Ooh, that’s right,” Courtney saddens, “we’ll have to crash your pity party after Rob leaves for D.C.”

  “Yeah, yeah, join me for all the fun,” Chloe grumbles. “But it will be B.Y.O.I.C. I’m not sharing my tub of chocolate heaven with anyone.”

  They end with another round of love you, miss you, and air kisses.

  School continues: Bell. Fourth period. Bell. Fifth period. Bell.

  I enter sixth period, always looking forward to show choir because it provides a morsel of fun in a long day of academic monotony. I convinced Chloe to take this class with me since she has five AP classes and could use a break. I slide into the room where the rows of chairs sit on risers like an auditorium. I sit in the middle row, the front is for the teacher pleasers and the back row is for the cool choir kids. No, that is not some oxymoron. Markus Benson elevates choir to cool because his dad is in the music industry. I place some books on the seat next to me, and wait for Chloe to enter, hoping she will be okay with sitting in social Switzerland.

  Chloe enters and surveys the class.

  “Whoa, who’s that?” Markus’s baritone belts from behind me. His voice alone makes me melt like a popsicle in mid-July.

  “The new girl,” Chase answers.

  I wave overzealously at her, and Chloe returns a knowing smile and starts up the stairs.

  “Ooh, I call dibs,” Markus claims.

  “She’s taken,” Chase informs.

  “Really?” Markus begins. “What’s the story?”

  Chase provides the details: “Transfer from Riverside. Boyfriend heads to Georgetown in a week.”

  As she nears, I point to the seat next to me. She slides down the row, and as she comes closer, Markus gestures. “We saved you a seat, babe.”

  “Don’t call me ‘babe.’” She stands with her hands on her hips. “FYI, the last person to call me ‘babe’ was my ex-boyfriend whom I brought to court on sexual assault charges.”

  “Ah.” Markus snaps his finger. “You’re Chloe Preston, right?” She nods. “My dad said you were brave to go through all of that.”

  “If I were really brave, then I would be at Riverside right now.”

  “No one should blame you for wanting a fresh start.” I watch her face soften as he tells her this. Then Markus extends a hand. “I apologize for giving you the wrong impression of me.” She accepts his hand. “I’m Markus Benson. My dad’s an old rocker from the eighties and calls everyone ‘babe.’ I inherited his lingo, I guess.”

  “Well, if you’re lucky, Markus, I might forgive you…” she says, taking her seat. She turns slightly, glancing back over her shoulder. “By the end of the year,” she finishes with a smirk and feathered giggle.

  Mr. Hutchinson, our choir director, clears his throat to hush the conversations. “Today will be initiation for our new class members. Each new student will come up front and sing a solo. If you newbies refuse, then you can head to the guidance office and drop this class.”

  Chloe’s hand pierces the air, and the teacher points at her. “Wouldn’t it be better if we had a day or two to practice?”

  “If you can’t sing a song from your personal repertoire, then you don’t belong in here.” He gives her a malicious smirk. “And you may go first, young lady.”

  She slides down the aisle, descends the steps slowly, and lands front and center.

  “Name?” Hutchinson asks.

  She pushes out a breath. “Chloe Preston.”

  “God, she’s beautiful,” Markus whispers to his back row comrades. Chase, his informant, sits on his left and has the best dance moves of anyone in class. Jeremy, who occupies the seat on the other side of Markus, remains silent, probably gaming on his phone.

  “Richside transfer?” Hutchinson asks.

  “Riverside,” she corrects, “and yes.”

  Markus chuckles soft
ly. “And she doesn’t take crap from anyone?”

  “Yeah, not even from you, bro,” Jeremy reminds.

  Markus produces a guttural growl.

  Chloe expels a breath and closes her eyes, and before she begins to sing, Markus leans forward, resting his folded hands on the back of Chloe’s unoccupied seat. Her first words, delicately sung, produce chills down my bare arms:

  Amazing grace

  How sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost, but now I’m found

  Was blind, but now I see

  “No!” Mr. Hutchinson roars. “Not that song. Something else please.”

  Chloe, slightly stunned, regains her composure, and with another deep cleansing breath, begins again:

  I'm forgiven because You were forsaken

  I'm accepted, You were condemned

  And I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me

  Because You died and rose again

  “No, no, no!” Our choir director steps toward her. “Don’t you know any other songs—besides churchy ones?”

  “But I only sing in church and for the glory of God.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you are in a public school. This is not your church, Miss Preston. I mean, you do know about the separation of church and state. They taught you about that over at Richside, right?”

  The teacher receives some snickers at Chloe’s expense. I slide down in my chair, wishing she would just bolt out some inane pop song. She has serious talent, but she has to play by the teacher’s unwritten rules.

  “You have one more try…and no more church songs.”

  “Okay,” she smirks. “I won’t sing any more church songs.” She steps forward and places a hand over her heart.

  God Bless America.

  Land that I love

  Stand beside her, and guide her

  Through the night with a light from above.

  From the mountains, to the prairies,

  To the oceans, white with foam

  God bless America

  My home sweet home.

  Mr. Hutchinson slides forward, anger overtaking him. “Get out of my class!”

  “Under what grounds?” She pauses. “In case the guidance counselor asks.”

  “For lack of talent.”

  “Well,” Chloe returns evenly, “I can’t argue with you there, can I?”

  “But I can.” Markus stands up. “Hutch, she has more talent than any of us.” Markus sweeps his arm across the three rows of students as he slides down the back aisle.

  “Talent is very subjective, Markus,” Mr. Hutchinson fires back. “You should know that better than anyone. After all, your father is in the music industry.”

  “Then let’s not be subjective.” Markus descends the steps. “If you kick her out, then I will go with her—and so will all those anonymous,” he gestures some air quotes, “contributions to your budget.” He passes Chloe and stands a few feet from our teacher now. “Is that a little less subjective for you?”

  Mr. Hutchinson offers a smile like a wolf about to eat poor Grandma. “Oh, calm down, Markus.” He sneers at him. “And would you have been so forthcoming if she had she not been attractive?”

  “Beauty, sir, is also quite subjective,” Markus turns and glances at Chloe, “except in her case. It’s quite universal.”

  Even from my seat, I can see the red rise in Chloe’s cheeks as she presses her lips together and her eyes drop to her sandals.

  Markus strolls over to Chloe and places a hand on her lower back, ushering her to our row. She slides down the aisle and melts into her chair.

  I turn and whisper, “Are you okay?”

  She bites down on her lip and nods.

  Another victim gets called to the front of the class for a solo. This student chooses a classic Adele song and provides a decent rendition, and before she reaches the final chorus, Chloe turns in her seat. “Thank you for sticking up for me, Markus.”

  “Well, in actuality…” He pulls out a silver chain, dangling with a cross, and shows it to her. “I was sticking up for Him.”

  A couple more solos, and the teacher closes class. “Due to our new class initiates, we will have to shuffle our pairings for show choir.” He surveys the room with mock solemnity. “And girls, I do not need to know who you would like as your new partner. We will hold mini auditions this week and sort it out.”

  Chloe turns and faces Markus again. “So—are you the choir stud who represents the “who” of the teacher’s last statement?”

  He laughs. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  She surveys the room and turns back at him. “I will take the evil glares from the female populace as confirmation.”

  “I was hoping,” he starts smoothly, “that you would judge with your eyes—not theirs.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” Chloe launches that out-of-place conversational bomb.

  “I heard.” Markus grins. “Bad news travels fast.”

  The bell gongs, signaling the glorious end of school.

  “If you knew,” Chloe begins as she stands up, “then why were you flirting with me?”

  “Because he’s leaving for college.”

  She offers an indignant “So?”

  “So,” he belts back at her. “You two will break up soon.”

  While she expels a long, loud exhale and glares at Markus, I rest a hand on her arm. “We should get going, Chlo.” We start down the aisle, descend the steps, and enter the crowded halls.

  Chloe pulls out her phone and returns a quick text. “He’s already out front.”

  “Who is?” Markus invades, moving deftly from behind us to Chloe’s side.

  “My boyfriend.” She smirks. “Care to meet him?”

  “Absolutely,” Markus replies. “I want to size up the competition.”

  “Listen,” Chloe says, stopping and stepping in front of Markus. She jabs a finger into his chest. “I am really grateful to you—for standing up for me and for Jesus. But I want you to stop this, Markus: I don’t want you hitting on me. Do you know how hard this summer has been for Rob and me—after everything that happened?”

  He pushes out a breath. “I don’t know how difficult it has been for you, but I know how much you will continue to need him as you heal from everything.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Then why’s he leaving you—especially when you need him the most?”

  “Because I don’t expect him to change his plans for me.”

  “Did you ask him to stay?”

  Her lip quivers slightly. “That’s personal. Plus,” she covers, “I have lots of friends to help me through it.”

  He softens his voice. “Then let me be a friend…too.”

  “As long as you promise to stop hitting on me.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t promise you that.”

  “Then…no.”

  He steps forward, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “At least I’m being honest with you. At least you know where I stand.” He waits. “Seriously, Chloe, how many guys play the friend role just to get close to a girl? I’m not hiding anything from you. That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “Not really.” She brushes his hand off her shoulder. “They are over a thousand girls at this school.” She gestures toward the passing crowds. “Why not pick one of them?

  “Because none of them sing like an angel, descended from heaven.” He diminishes the distance. “Your voice could carry lost souls to Christ.”

  “You think so?”

  He nods. “You have a true gift.”

  She shakes her head. “But I have a plan. One that does not include singing.” She continues, “I want to focus on my school work and how to get through the next 179 days without any distractions.”

  “So you can be at Georgetown next year?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you ever considered that God has a plan for you and that he gav
e you that voice to further the Kingdom?”

  “Absolutely, that is why I sing in the youth choir.”

  “And you reach those who are found,” he stops, grasping her shoulders, “you have the propensity to reach the lost.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She smiles and then brushes Markus’s hands off her shoulders. “Just keep your distance—especially in front of Rob.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She glares at him with piercing eyes.

  “And if at first I don’t succeed, I’ll try again.”

  “If at first you don’t succeed, Rob’s fist will meet your face.”

  Markus nods an acknowledgement as we begin the stroll down the main corridor. Fellow classmates greet Markus incessantly. Even Chloe gets her fair shares of “hey” and “hi.” I prove to be almost invisible, strolling down the halls with these two social butterflies.

  “Do you have to go by your locker?” Markus asks Chloe.

  “No, all my teachers were kind enough to give me homework on the first day.”

  “What classes do you take?”

  She names them.

  “So, let me get this straight: You’re in all AP classes except for choir?” Chloe nods for clarification. “Smart, talented, and beautiful. That, babe,” he says, glancing in her direction, “is what they, in the music industry, call a triple threat.”

  “And you,” Chloe quips, “are what we, in the female population, call a flirt.”

  Markus laughs as we drift into the wide front hallway. I should stop by my locker, but I am not parting from this. I am walking through the Commons with Markus and Chloe. I will be popular by association if I can keep up with their quick gait.

  We exit the school, and Chloe rushes toward Rob, who happens to be leaning against the front pillar in the folded-arms-right-leg-crossed-over-the-left model pose. I get that warm squeeze in my chest just by looking at him, and I cannot imagine how Chloe must feel to not only look at him but to hold him close to her.

  Rob holds tightly to Chloe and speaks around their embrace. “Hi, Cynthia.” He pauses, eyeing Markus. “And hello, I’m Rob.” He extends a hand to Markus.

  Markus steps forward and accepts the offer. “Markus Benson. My dad’s in the music biz.” Chloe rolls from her boyfriend’s chest, and Markus glances in her direction. “So I know real talent when I see it.” Rob’s quizzical look begs for further explanation. “Chloe sang in class today. She has an amazing voice. We should get her in a studio and have her record a demo.”

  “Yes, she’s a great singer,” Rob confirms, “but she doesn’t need to prove anything by recording in some studio.”

  “Shouldn’t it be her choice?” Markus examines Chloe as he speaks.

  “Her choice? My choice? It’s our choice.” Rob pauses. “We vowed to put our relationship above everything else.”

  “Vowed?” Markus chastises. “I don’t see a ring on her finger.”

  Rob lifts her right hand, pointing to the band of gold.

  “Hmm, isn’t it on the wrong hand?”

  Rob steps forward. “But it still means the same thing,” he pauses, “to us.”

  The boys exchange looks like two alpha males about to spar during mating season. Rob glances at Chloe. “Let’s go, Chlo.” He grabs her hand, and they drift into the crowded parking lot.

  “Man, this is going to be easier than I thought,” Markus begins, leaning toward me, “because he suffocates her…into silence.”

  I chew on his words as Markus strolls into the parking lot, but I come to understand them better as I turn and find my father looming behind me. “How was your first day of school, dear?” I shrug. “Why don’t you go to the library and get your homework done? I’m going to be a while.” He frowns. “It wasn’t exactly the best day.”