All Your Twisted Secrets

by Diana Urban

  Time was running out. I scowled at the clock over the classroom door. I had only twenty minutes to get this stupid history assignment done before the first-period bell rang. But no matter how loudly I blared Hamilton in my ears, I wasn’t any quicker at finding the right Revolutionary War battle dates in my textbook. And nobody else had shown up yet, so I couldn’t beg the answers off anyone.

  My grades had been slipping since I’d been spending so much time rewatching Romeo and Juliet rehearsals. Sasha always roped some freshman into recording rehearsals, thank God—I’d need to split myself in half to go to those and orchestra practice. But every time they tweaked the script, I had to adjust the score to time the music to their cues. And there were only so many hours in the day.

  As I scribbled answers in my worksheet packet, someone plopped next to me and, without a word, plucked out one of my earbuds with an audible pop. I jumped and glanced up as Diego stuck it in his ear. Recognizing the song, he closed his eyes and smiled.

  I hadn’t spoken to him since the college fair, and was mortified by how I’d blown up at him. He took out my earbud and tapped my worksheet packet. “Didn’t you get Mr. Baskin’s email? He’s out sick today. You have an extra day.”

  “Oh!” I whipped out my cell and restarted my email app. Lo and behold, an email from our history teacher popped up. “Nice.” I cringed. “I mean, it’s not nice that he’s sick. Obviously.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He handed back my earbud. “So, listen. I . . . I wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?” He must have been living in some alternate universe, because I definitely was the one who should have been apologizing.

  He blew air between his lips. “For not texting you back. For all of it. For making my dad quit your dad’s company.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You did?”

  Diego’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Well . . . sort of. After SpongeClown sales started taking off, I wanted to turn it into a real business. Dad was too busy with work to put in more time, but I needed help—an adult’s help—and I needed cash for more inventory. So I applied to Bid or Bust without telling him.

  “When they invited us to audition, Dad couldn’t say no. It was an insane opportunity. And he’s always gone over the top to make me happy. I think it’s because I’m adopted . . . it’s like he wants to prove he loves me extra or something. And then when we got on the show, the investors put us on the spot, asking how I’d manage a business while still in school. I’d assumed one of the investors would assign their team to run it or something. But Dad offered to run the company full-time, on air.”

  “Yeah. I remember that,” I said, my voice flat.

  “That’s why I didn’t text you back. My dad told me he was about to quit your dad’s company, and he knew your dad wouldn’t take it well. And I just felt so damn guilty.”

  My heart seized up. I was stunned.

  “But I had no idea the impact it’d have on your family,” he went on. “I felt so bad when I found out the business went under. I didn’t think things all the way through. Then the guilt just kept on piling up, so I just . . . I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. And I didn’t realize things were still bad. I definitely didn’t do it to hurt you.” He rested a hand on my arm. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” His eyes were so earnest, I knew he was telling the truth. I’d spent all those years resenting him for thinking I was worthless, but he’d spent those years resenting himself.

  I let out a sigh. “But that wasn’t your fault. You were a kid with an amazing opportunity in front of you, and you took it. How were you supposed to know what the fallout would be?”

  His posture relaxed, and he let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.”

  I bit my lip. “Actually . . . there might be.”

  “Yeah?” Such a hopeful look crossed his face that I almost laughed.

  “Yeah. You’re into filming stuff, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “So . . . we’re putting on Romeo and Juliet in a few weeks, you know, for the school play. And, well”—I threw him a sly grin—“I still want to apply to those music programs. Maybe one of them will give me a scholarship after all. I’ll never know if I don’t try.”

  Diego grinned. “Nice.”

  “So I need to film the play to send the recording with my applications. I have all the equipment to film it and record the audio, but I can’t record it myself since I’m playing in the orchestra, and the other week you filmed the baseball game, so maybe—”

  “I’ll do it. Whatever you need.”

  “Really?” I beamed.

  “Of course. But listen . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to make sure you know . . . I’m not just sorry because of your dad, and the business, and all that. You need to know that I’d never, ever think I was better than you. Not in a million years. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. You’re . . . you’re so wonderful, Amber.”

  I basically stopped breathing. All these years, I’d always felt like whatever I did was never enough. I wasn’t good enough to score the play without singing numbers. To get scholarships for college. To split my time between everyone wanting a piece of me. To save my sister’s life. I was never, ever enough. So hearing someone tell me I was wonderful floored me.

  “I know how hard you’ve been working to get into music school,” he went on. “And the fact that you’re going for it anyway, despite all the obstacles you’re up against? You’re a freaking rock star. You deserve this so much.”

  His words took my breath away. As he held my gaze with those intense copper eyes of his, it occurred to me how easy it would be to lean over and kiss him. So easy.

  Wait, what? What was I thinking? I broke eye contact, pulling away from him. I liked Robbie. I loved Robbie. What the hell was I doing, thinking about kissing Diego? Maybe I was just grateful he was willing to help, and relieved that we’d aired everything out. That had to be it. I was just overwhelmed with emotion. That’s all.

  “Thank you” was all I could say.

  “You’re welcome.” He put my earbud back in his ear, fished a spiral notebook from his bag, and started writing, swaying slightly to the beat of the song. But for once, my thoughts drowned out the music, racing with excuses for why the hell I just wanted to kiss a boy other than the one I loved.

  27 Minutes Left

  Diego’s eyes were wide with fear as he glanced at the bomb.

  “What if putting it in the fireplace gives us a chance?” My eyes watered, and I clasped his forearms, my face mere inches from his. “A chance to get everyone out of here alive? We can stack enough layers of stuff to block the shrapnel.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “It’s better than the alternative.” I stared into his piercing eyes, pleading with mine. “It’s better than killing someone now. Isn’t it?”

  Robbie clapped his hands. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” Diego and I sprang apart, and Robbie narrowed his eyes at Diego. Oh, shit. What was he thinking? What did he know? But he looked away to glance at Sasha, who stood in the corner, arms crossed.

  “It sure will hurt if someone drops the bomb,” said Priya.

  “Nobody’s going to drop it,” I said, my pulse quickening.

  “A few people should carry it,” Sasha suggested. “Just to be sure.”

  “Fine.” I nodded. “So . . . who should carry it?”

  Everyone was silent. Nobody wanted to touch the thing, let alone pick it up. Nobody wanted to find out what it’d feel like to have a bomb go off in their arms. Nobody wanted to find out whether they’d be torn apart so fast they wouldn’t feel anything, or whether they’d feel the intense, searing pain of burning alive.

  “I’ll help carry it,” Diego volunteered, raising his hand.

  “Me too,” Robbie piped up. He rushed toward the bomb, as if to prove he was braver than Diego.

  “Wait a minute.” I
glanced at the windows nestled near the ceiling and approached the fireplace. “Why don’t we try to raise it on a platform near the top of the fireplace. That way it might blow out the section of the wall aboveground, and maybe the smoke can escape.”

  “It goes up that high?” asked Priya. She approached the fireplace and knelt to peer up inside it. “Oh yeah, it does . . .” She lost her balance and wobbled on her feet.

  I grabbed her shoulders to hold her steady. “Are you okay?” A worried look crossed Diego’s face as he stood next to me to get a closer look at her.

  “I’m fine.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her trembling hand. Her eyes were hazy.

  “Priya, maybe you should eat something.” To Diego I said, “She has blood sugar problems.”

  “I’m fine.” Priya waved us off. “I think we should do the platform thing. Try to blow out the top of the wall.”

  Robbie scanned the room, looking for anything we could use to raise the bomb. “Is there anything we can stack?” Everyone glanced around.

  “The drawers,” Scott grunted, waving his empty water glass toward one of the china cabinets. “In the china cabinet and the sideboards.”

  “Will they stack evenly, or that high without wobbling?” asked Priya, handing him another glass of water.

  “There’s one way to find out,” said Robbie. He flung out the drawers of the china cabinet closest to the door, dumping tablecloths, napkins, spoons, forks, and doilies onto the floor behind him. Sasha took care of the drawers in the second china cabinet, and Priya and I took the sideboards. Most of the drawers in the sideboard under the window were empty.

  “The sideboard drawers aren’t as wide,” said Diego. “Those should go near the top.”

  Robbie flipped over the china cabinet drawers and started stacking them. They were pretty level, but only came up to his hips. “This isn’t going to be tall enough.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” I said. Robbie handed Diego two sideboard drawers. Diego placed them on top. They weren’t as sturdy, so he shifted a few drawers to steady the top ones.

  “This is like goddamn Jenga,” said Sasha.

  Scott set his empty glass on the floor. “It’s actually nothing like Jenga.”

  “Shut up.” Sasha glared at him.

  “Nope.” At least he seemed lucid again.

  “Wait, wait.” Diego motioned for Robbie to stop. “If we stack everything out here, it’ll be too tall to push into the fireplace. We have to continue stacking them once they’re inside the fireplace.”

  “Right,” said Robbie.

  “How’ll we set the bomb on top?” Priya asked.

  “Yeah . . . we shouldn’t tilt it or anything, right?” said Robbie.

  “No.” Diego shook his head. “Here’s what we do. We stack it this high”—he pointed just below the top of the opening of the fireplace—“slide the bomb on top, and—keeping it level—lift the stack and slide the next drawer underneath.”

  “It is like Jenga,” Sasha hissed at Scott.

  He folded his arms. “Still not even slightly like Jenga.”

  “Alright,” said Robbie, “let’s do this.” He and Diego tag-teamed removing drawers from the stack and reassembling them inside the fireplace. Once the stack nearly reached the top of the brick mantel, they turned toward the bomb. “You ready?”

  Diego wiped his forehead. “Don’t have much of a choice.”

  I squeezed Robbie’s arm as he brushed past me to the table to get the bomb, and he paused to kiss the top of my head. The girls gathered under the windows next to Scott while Diego and Robbie took their positions next to the silver tray.

  I flicked Scott’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  His eyes focused on mine as he drained his glass of water. “I’ll survive.” Then he glanced at Robbie and Diego. “I hope.”

  Robbie pushed up his sleeves. “Pick it up from either side?”

  “Yep.” Diego cracked his knuckles.

  “Careful . . .” As Robbie and Diego gently lifted the tray and slid their fingers underneath, Priya uttered a small cry next to me. I put my arm around her shoulder, and she let me keep it there, nestling close despite our sticky, sweaty skin.

  Sasha grabbed my other hand with trembling fingers. “I physically cannot deal with this.”

  “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” I said. The three of us huddled together while Diego and Robbie lifted the tray.

  “Hold it off to the side, I don’t want to walk backward,” said Robbie. Diego shifted his position, and they inched toward the fireplace, one careful step at a time. Sweat ran down Diego’s temples; his jaw was set in concentration. Robbie’s eyes darted between the bomb and their destination. And the red counter ticked down. Twenty-five minutes, forty-nine seconds. Forty-eight. Forty-seven.

  The boys reached the fireplace and lifted the bomb chest-level to slide it on top of the stack. Sasha cupped her mouth with her free hand. When they edged it onto the stack, everyone let out a collective breath. “Okay, man. Now for the hard part,” said Robbie.

  “Right.” Diego puffed out his cheeks.

  “Seriously?” Priya whined. “That was the easy part?”

  “Wait,” I said, releasing Sasha’s and Priya’s hands. “Let’s make sure we have the time right.”

  “Oh, crud.” Scott clapped his forehead. “We won’t be able to see the timer.”

  “It’s okay, we don’t need to.” I strode to the fireplace and leaned close to the tray. Twenty-five twenty-two. Twenty-one.

  “I’ll set the timer on my phone.” Diego joined me and took his phone from his pocket, matching the time on the bomb to his timer app. “All set.”

  Priya whimpered and collapsed back against the wall, gripping her knees, her forehead slick with sweat.

  “Let’s finish this,” said Diego. “You lift the stack, and I’ll slide in the drawers.” Robbie nodded.

  I nudged Priya’s arm and motioned to the pile of drawers. “C’mon, let’s help.”

  Priya nodded and scooted past Sasha to pass Diego the drawers, but Sasha grabbed the back of her dress. “Stay out of their way,” she said. “You’ll make them drop it.” She yanked her back so hard Priya stumbled backward, landing on her butt.

  Priya yelped in pain. She tried scrambling to her feet, but fumbled, struggling to regain her balance. I grabbed her hands and helped her stand, and she smoothed down her white boho dress before rounding on Sasha. “What the hell is your problem? I can pick up a freaking drawer.”

  “You can’t even stand up on your own,” said Sasha.

  “Stop it—” I tried getting between them, but Priya elbowed me away. I could practically see smoke fuming from her ears.

  “Can’t you even see yourself?” said Priya. “You’re so mean . . . so cruel. If we have to kill someone, I hope you’re the one to die!”

  2 Months, 2 Weeks Ago

  NOVEMBER OF SENIOR YEAR

  “Priya, get it the fuck together.” Sasha’s voice carried from the field all the way to the top row of the bleachers, through the Star Wars score roaring in my ears. I’d promised Robbie I’d go to this game—it was a big deal since a couple of college scouts would be there. So far he’d gotten a base hit and a strikeout. Last week he struck out and slammed his bat against the ground so hard it shattered. Luckily this time he held it together. But after two more uneventful innings, I was using my lonesome bleacher time to cram for a physics exam.

  But Sasha’s shouting cut through my attempts to memorize Newton’s laws of motion. When she heard Robbie’s fall league would be playing their next home game at our school, she latched on to the chance to get her squad to practice their newest routines in front of a crowd before their upcoming competition. Now she stood in front of the cheer squad’s diamond formation, hands on her hips.

  Priya balanced Amy on her shoulders at the edge of the formation, facing the crowded bleachers. Amy swayed precariously, but kept her fists raised high, a determined smile frozen on her face
.

  “What are you trying to do, grope her?” Sasha yelled at Priya as I plucked out my earbuds. “You’re supposed to grab her ankles, not her calves.”

  Why was she yelling at Priya like this, in front of everyone? Even from my vantage point I could see that Priya visibly flushed. Zane watched as he stood at bat, waiting for the next inning to begin, while Robbie knocked dirt off his sneakers with his bat in the on-deck circle.

  Amy wobbled as Priya tried shifting her grip, her smile turning into a grimace. She was about to crumble. Before she lost her balance entirely, Amy vaulted off of Priya’s shoulders, landing on her feet with a small sidestep. She beamed and waved at the crowd, like nothing went wrong. They ate it up, cheering and hooting.

  Sasha glanced at the crowd, then grabbed Priya’s wrist and dragged her behind the bleachers, while Amy led a “boom dynamite” chant to amp up the crowd as the game resumed. Since I was in the last row, I peeked over the railing, down at Sasha and Priya.

  “We’ve been through this routine a million times,” said Sasha. “You’re the only one who still can’t do basic moves. It’s pathetic. I never should’ve let you onto varsity.”

  “I’m sorry,” Priya muttered.

  “Sorry my ass. If you can’t handle this”—she jabbed a finger at Priya—“you’re off the squad.” Priya screwed up her face like she was about to burst into tears.

  “Oh, no,” I muttered under my breath. All these months, I thought Priya was being oversensitive thinking Sasha didn’t like her. But now, seeing her tear into Priya like this—I didn’t know what to think. I abandoned my things and ran with long strides down the wide bleacher steps.

  “I said I’m sorry, alright?” Priya said as I rounded the bleachers, jogging toward them. “Can’t we just try it again?”

  “What”—Sasha folded her arms—“so you can drop Amy on her ass in front of the whole crowd?” I rushed over and dragged her away from Priya. “Hey!” she cried. Priya screwed up her face again, shaking her head, and stalked back around the bleachers.

  “Sasha, what’s the matter with you?”

  She wiped her forehead with shaking fingers. “I just can’t deal with her. I can’t freaking deal.” She clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing fast. “We’ve been through this routine a zillion times. Literally more times than I can count. And she still can’t get it right. She’s making us look ridiculous.”