Hide and Don't Seek

by Anica Mrose Rissi

  Giuliana raised her eyebrows over the rim of her teacup. “Of course not,” she said. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Ava smiled at her old friend. “Won’t you please tell me now? I’m dying to know!”

  Giuliana set down her cup. It rattled in its saucer. “Don’t die to know! It’s not worth it! That’s what I keep telling you,” she said sternly.

  Ava giggled. But her friend looked deadly serious.

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’re not kids anymore. You can’t seriously believe the secret could kill one of us.”

  Giuliana shrugged and looked away. “It’s a very powerful secret,” she said. “I can’t say what it will do. And besides, curiosity killed the cat.”

  The orange tabby on the ottoman purred.

  “Maybe if you tell me, the secret’s power will be weakened,” Ava said.

  Giuliana looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think the secret would like that,” she said.

  Ava sipped her tea, hoping it would calm the unease in her stomach. “Where does the secret get its power from?” she asked.

  But Giuliana would say nothing more about it.

  Neither friend brought it up the whole rest of the week. But when Ava was leaving, Giuliana hugged her and said, “It’s a terrible secret. You’d hate to know it. You should be glad I’m not telling you. You’d regret it. It’s truly awful.”

  Ava resolved to never ask again.

  Forty more years passed. Ava summoned Giuliana to her bedside.

  “Old friend,” Ava said, “I’ve had a long and good life. We’ve had a long and good friendship. Now you’re visiting me here on my deathbed. Will you please finally tell me the secret?”

  Giuliana shook her head. “That would be the end of it,” she said. “I don’t dare.”

  Ava laughed. “Giuliana, I’m dying anyway. You can tell me now. There is nothing to be lost.”

  Giuliana stared at her best friend for a very long time. Ava stared back.

  Giuliana let out a heavy sigh. “Very well,” she said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s terrible.”

  They sent everyone else from the room.

  Giuliana leaned close and whispered in Ava’s ear. “Here’s the secret,” she said slowly. “The secret is, now that I’ve told you this, the secret is no longer a secret.”

  Ava held still. She waited for more. But Giuliana had finished talking.

  “Wait,” Ava said. “That’s it? That’s the secret you’ve been keeping all these years? The one you refused to share for our entire friendship?” Her heart pounded with anger. “You were right, that is awful. I wish you hadn’t told me. You know, it’s not even a clever joke. Or would you call that a riddle?”

  Giuliana didn’t answer.

  Ava shook her head, still not believing what she’d heard. “Ha. Right. We can’t both know it and live because then it’s not a real secret anymore. Very funny.” She turned to Giuliana. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t be mad when I heard that? Giuliana?”

  But her best friend still didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  She’d told Ava the secret, and now Giuliana was dead.

  Wade didn’t think it was weird to eat worms. He didn’t love the idea of squishing one in his teeth, or feeling it slither down his throat to squirm around in his belly—but if you thought about it that way, eating fish or cows or birds or pigs was weird too. Maybe even weirder.

  But that’s not why he ate the worm.

  Back in preschool, Wade’s class had sung a song about an old lady who swallows a fly, which somehow kills her—Wade wasn’t clear on exactly how. He’d accidentally swallowed a tiny bug or two that flew into his mouth while he was playing outside, and he was fine. If his sister was to be believed, the average human swallows several spiders over the course of a lifetime, because spiders crawl into our mouths while we’re sleeping. (Wade’s mother said that wasn’t true, but sometimes parents fudge the truth to shield their kids from it, he’d learned.)

  Anyway, lots of people ate bugs on purpose. Wade’s best friend, Sienna, had an aunt who ran a health-food store, and grasshopper flour was one of their bestselling products. According to Sienna, grasshoppers and crickets were nutritious and full of protein, and eating them was good for the planet too. Wade believed her.

  But that’s not why he swallowed the worm.

  The kids who saw it happen figured Wade ate the worm to shut up the bully who’d dared him. It was true that while Marissa was dangling the worm in Wade’s face, cooing “Open wide!” Wade wished she would stop and go away. And eating the worm seemed like the quickest way to achieve that.

  But it wasn’t Wade’s idea—or Marissa’s—for him to swallow the worm, really.

  It was the worm’s.

  The worm didn’t say it wanted Wade to gulp it, but as it writhed in Marissa’s fingers, Wade felt what it needed so clearly, it was almost as though it had spoken. As soon as the thought of it entered Wade’s head, he realized he wished for that too.

  So he opened his mouth and the worm dropped in.

  Marissa shrieked and ran away. Wade swallowed.

  The worm slid down Wade’s throat like pudding. It tasted earthy and wormy and noodly and right. He was instantly glad.

  Wade imagined the worm curled up in his belly, warm and content, making itself at home. His bad day was suddenly better. He was keeping the worm safe.

  It belonged with him.

  Wade couldn’t explain it. He didn’t try. Not even to Sienna, and Wade told Sienna everything. At least, he had before the worm.

  After Wade swallowed the worm, the teasing got worse. Anyone who hadn’t seen it quickly heard about what happened. Wherever he went, kids shouted his new nicknames: Worm Eater. Worm Boy. Worm Breath. Squirmy Wormy.

  Sienna walked around with her hands curled in fists, ready to defend him. But Wade shrugged. He didn’t mind.

  He didn’t care anymore about nicknames. He only cared about dirt.

  “You are what you eat,” he told Sienna, and dropped down on her lawn and wiggled toward some mud. Sienna looked a little horrified, so Wade stood back up and brushed himself off. “Just kidding,” he said. “I wouldn’t let worms take over my brain. Ha! Haha!”

  She gave him more distance after that.

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping the worm happy.

  He kept a baggy of soil and grass in his pocket, for times when it wanted a snack. He drank water only in small sips, well spaced out, so it wouldn’t ever worry about puddles.

  Alone in his bedroom, he practiced moving across the carpet, tightening and extending his muscles until his wiggles were more of a glide.

  It felt good.

  He felt chosen.

  Like he and the worm were one.

  “Freak,” Marissa said whenever she saw him. Wade just smiled. She didn’t know what she was missing. She didn’t realize how empty she was.

  Wade, though—Wade wasn’t empty. Wade was fulfilled.

  His worm had given him purpose.

  He lay down on the ground near the fence at the edge of the playground. The cool, damp earth felt nice beneath his limbs. He dug in a little farther.

  He turned his head to one side and burped. Several worms, tiny things, slid out of his mouth and into the dirt. Wade watched his worm babies fondly. They wriggled and searched for new places to grow.

  He hoped, when it was time, they would find good companions.

  Companions to host them. Companions to feed them. Companions to offer them love.

  Those companions didn’t know it yet, but each of them was lucky. Very lucky.

  “Wade!” Sienna called from their usual spot by the swings. Wade ignored her. He had other things to do.

  Wade burrowed his shoulders into the dirt. Mud filled his ears, but he still heard the sounds of his classmates at recess. “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!” their voices chorused.

  Yes, he thought gladly. Yes.

  Before Sydney and
her dad moved in with Syd’s grandma, Gram registered Syd to enter fifth grade at Pleasant Hill Oak Elementary School.

  The move happened in late August—and happened quickly, it seemed to Syd. Time had stretched and lolled like it always did in summer. Then suddenly it jumped and was gone. There were only goodbyes, and lots of boxes, and pulling up the driveway to Gram’s house, which was Sydney’s house now too.

  Gram was waiting for them, of course. So was Syd’s favorite dinner, and a WELCOME HOME sign on the door. And a letter from the school saying Sydney was assigned to Ms. Eternity’s class, and school would begin next week.

  “Ms. Eternity!” Syd’s dad said, reading over Syd’s shoulder. “I had her for fifth grade too.”

  “As did I,” said Gram.

  Syd looked up. “No way. Shouldn’t your teachers be retired by now?”

  Gram laughed. “Oh, I don’t think Ms. Eternity will ever retire. Teaching gives her life!” she said.

  Syd slid down in her seat. An ancient teacher who’d been around forever didn’t sound promising. Syd wished she hadn’t had to change schools.

  Dad squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll see. Ms. Eternity’s the best thing about Pleasant Hill Oak Elementary.”

  “You’re lucky to be in her class. She teaches history like she was there,” Gram said.

  “Probably because she was,” Syd grumbled.

  “Perhaps!” Gram shrugged cheerfully. “Anyone care for dessert?”

  Syd folded up the letter and focused on pie.

  On the first day of school, there were several surprises. First, she was one of two Sydneys in her class. She’d never met a kid with her same name before. The other Sydney was a boy, but that wasn’t going to make things less confusing. He had the desk right behind hers, which meant when the teacher called on one Syd, she looked in both Syds’ direction. It was funny the first time, but quickly became annoying.

  Second, Ms. Eternity’s classroom wasn’t on the same floor as the others. It was down on “Level B,” the school called it, as if that would stop everyone from noticing the classroom was in the basement. As in, belowground. As in, no windows and no sunlight and no staring outside when distracted. Ms. Eternity called it a “cave of learning.” She said it like that was a good thing.

  The third and biggest surprise was Ms. Eternity herself. She wasn’t at all ancient like Sydney had expected. In fact, she seemed young. Well, young for a teacher. Certainly young for a teacher who’d been teaching since Gram was a kid. That part had to be a misunderstanding.

  “Ms. Eternity seems great,” Syd admitted when Gram and Dad asked how the first day had gone. “But she’s definitely not the same teacher you both had in school. Maybe this Ms. Eternity is that Ms. Eternity’s daughter or something.” She crunched on a cream cheese and celery stick Dad had prepared for her snack.

  Gram shook her head, and took a celery stick too. “Ms. Eternity doesn’t have children. She just looks young. She really drinks up the energy of her students, so to speak.”

  Ms. Eternity had been energetic, but Gram’s explanation didn’t cover it. “It can’t be the same person,” Syd insisted. She tugged the high neck of her shirt. She didn’t mind school uniforms, but it was odd how the fifth graders all had to wear turtlenecks.

  “Does your Ms. Eternity have dark, straight hair pulled back in a bun?” Dad asked.

  “Yes,” Sydney said. “But that doesn’t prove anything.”

  “And very pale skin? And red-brown eyes? And long, pointed teeth?” Dad pressed.

  Syd narrowed her eyes. Now that he mentioned it, the teacher’s teeth were rather pointy. She’d seen them at lunchtime, when Ms. Eternity smiled before sipping from her thermos.

  But still. “I’m telling you,” Syd said, “it’s impossible.”

  Gram and Dad exchanged a knowing look. “Impossible, eh?” Gram said. “Well, I have a feeling you’ll be learning a lot this school year.”

  Gram was right. Sydney was learning a lot in fifth grade. By the end of each day, she felt drained of energy but full of knowledge. Ms. Eternity had a way of bringing every subject to life—not just history, like Gram had mentioned, but math, science, writing, and geography too. She was the best teacher Syd ever had, even though she was also the strangest.

  When Sydney was in pre-K, she kind of thought all teachers lived at school. It wasn’t an active thought, just a thing she’d assumed in the back of her mind, without really thinking it through. She only became aware she’d thought it when she ran into her pre-K teacher, Mr. ibnAle, at the grocery store. Syd was so surprised to see Mr. ibnAle outside the classroom, she’d yelped.

  Before that moment, she hadn’t realized teachers were normal people with normal lives, who lived in normal houses and shopped using normal shopping carts. She’d thought they were just . . . teachers. It had seemed almost wrong to see Mr. ibnAle in the produce aisle, holding three cucumbers like a person would.

  It was funny to her now, the idea of teachers living at school. She pictured them filing into the supply closet at night and powering down until the custodian let them out in the morning. To her little-kid brain, that had made more sense than the alternative.

  She knew better now, of course. But the longer Sydney spent in Ms. Eternity’s classroom, the harder it was to picture the teacher outside it. Ms. Eternity never left the cave of learning during the school day. She didn’t even join the class outside for recess. It was tough to imagine her in any aisle of the grocery store—she would look completely out of place. Besides, the only food Sydney had seen the teacher eat was whatever she drank from that thermos. She seemed to be on a special diet. More than anyone Syd had ever met, Ms. Eternity didn’t belong in the normal-person world.

  “Where does Ms. Eternity live?” she asked the other Syd one day when they were paired for a group project.

  Other Syd shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never seen her around town.”

  “Do you think she has pets?” Sydney asked. She pictured the teacher with a dog, a parakeet, a rabbit. None of those seemed right.

  “Probably not,” Other Syd said. “There’s never any pet hair on her cape.”

  “What do you think she keeps in that big cabinet behind her desk?” Syd asked. She motioned at it with her chin. The sign above the lock said PRIVATE: KEEP OUT.

  “Supplies?” Other Syd guessed. He scratched his head. Sydney hoped he didn’t have lice. “I dunno. Could be something weirder,” he said. “Ms. Eternity’s pretty unusual.”

  “She is,” Syd whispered. “I’ve noticed that too.” But Other Syd said no more about it.

  For Teacher Appreciation Week, Syd wanted to give Ms. Eternity something special. She spent a long time making her a card, depicting some of the things the teacher seemed most passionate about: Books. Bats. Fractions. The moon.

  Syd picked up her red marker and thought about adding blood—they’d just done a science unit on the circulatory system, and how blood transports oxygen and nutrients through the body—but she worried it might look too gory. She put the marker down, and used a pen to write “Best Teacher Ever” inside.

  Usually for Teacher Appreciation Week, Dad baked cookies or bought a gift certificate, but this time he handed Syd a jar of dark, thick liquid.

  “What’s this?” Sydney asked. “A smoothie?”

  “It’s Ms. Eternity’s present,” Dad answered. “Hold on, I’ll get a bow.”

  “Gross! It looks like blood.” Syd held the jar at arm’s length.

  Dad lifted both eyebrows. “Does it? Well, just give it to her. I have a feeling she’ll like it.”

  Syd wrinkled her nose. Dad fastened a bow to the top.

  “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum,” Gram said. She handed Sydney her lunch bag.

  Syd felt embarrassed bringing the jar to school, but Ms. Eternity seemed to like it almost as much as she liked the card. She unscrewed the lid, poured the liquid into her thermos, and took a giant swig. “Delicious! Please tell your father I said
thank you,” she said. She smiled and her teeth glistened.

  In spring, when the weather warmed up, Sydney joined the track team. Gram had suggested it as a way of keeping her energy up—by the end of each school day, Syd always felt sapped and sluggish. “Fifth grade is like that,” Gram said. “Running will help.” And it did.

  The last week of school, the students cleaned out their desks and helped Ms. Eternity pack up the classroom. Syd raised her hand. “What are you doing over the summer?” she asked.

  “Oh,” Ms. Eternity said. “Getting lots of rest.”

  “Will you go anywhere?” Other Syd asked.

  “Nope! I’ll be right here,” the teacher said. “Without you kids around to keep me full of life, summers are pretty low-key.” She picked up a stack of papers. “Let’s talk about summer reading.”

  On the last day of school, Ms. Eternity gave each student a book they could take home to keep. Sydney’s book had three friends on the cover. Other Sydney’s book had a girl captaining a pirate ship.

  Other Syd peeked over Syd’s shoulder. “Maybe when we’ve finished, we can trade and read both,” he said.

  Syd smiled. “Great idea.”

  After school, Syd ran the last track meet and hugged Gram and Dad at the finish line. “All done with fifth grade,” Dad said. His eyes looked misty. “Ready to go home, champ?”

  “Yup,” Sydney said. “Wait, no! I forgot my book. Hold on, I’ve got to go get it.” She ran into the building and down to Level B. Ms. Eternity’s classroom was empty, but luckily the door was unlocked. Syd stepped inside.

  Huh, she thought. So Ms. Eternity does leave the classroom. She smiled to herself. How silly she’d been to imagine otherwise.

  It was sad and strange, seeing the room where she’d had her best year yet all packed up and put away, so it could be cleaned and made fresh for next year’s fifth grade. Syd felt jealous of those new students. She almost wished she could stay in Ms. Eternity’s class forever.

  Syd looked in her desk, hoping to find the book, but the desk was empty too. She looked on all the shelves, and in the other desks, but the book was nowhere to be found. She eyed the big cabinet behind the teacher’s desk. Maybe it had gotten put away there?