Please Don't Tell

by Laura Tims

  “Nothing’s really going to happen,” I tell her. Am I lying? I can make things happen, I’ve discovered. I could make this happen. A boy has already seen me naked. Now I could try it with the right boy.

  Her breathing quiets. “I’m glad we’re talking like this again. Like we used to.”

  My heart melts. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with school.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been with Nov so much. You should hang out with her alone sometime. You need more friends beside me. So you don’t get lonely.”

  In grocery stores, in the doctor’s office, everyone used to say to us when we were kids: “Well, they’ll never be lonely!”

  But maybe being lonely just means that you get to fall in love with other lonely people.

  Joy’s watching me. I smile. “How could I be lonely when I have you?”

  “I know I’m not always a good listener. And I do things without thinking.”

  “I’m not always a good talker,” I reassure her. “And it’s because of you that Adam paid any attention to me. So don’t feel bad.”

  She grins proudly. Then it falters. “You’re sure Cassius is going to be there tonight?”

  “Pretty sure. Cassius is always there. They’re best friends.”

  “Do you know how many people are going?”

  “No. But I mean, even if it’s not that many, he said he was having a big party for his birthday after school starts. I’m going. You can come.”

  There’s such a difference between We should go and I’m going, you can come.

  “Sounds like Adam Gordon wants you at all his events.” She leaps up. Punches the air a few times. “Let’s take you to the lovebird.”

  I stand up. She opens the window. Glances at me uncertainly. I haven’t touched that tree since I fell when I was little. She climbs out first, her dress bunched high on her hips. Then she’s sitting on the branch, twigs in her hair. She’s still a kid, gangly. In my makeup. Sometimes I forget we are the same age.

  “I’ll catch you if you fall,” she says uncertainly.

  I edge out onto the tree, bark scraping my arms. My heart shivers in my throat. All the nothingness beneath me. She reaches for me, but I don’t take her hand. I don’t need her. I’m going to stop myself from falling on my own.

  Adam’s house is a shrine to his grandfather.

  Memorabilia everywhere. Vintage guitars. Empty liquor bottles, too, half hidden in cabinets. A classic rock museum turned midlife crisis hovel. Not a single photo of Adam. It’s cold, too big, empty, even with the clutter. I don’t like to think of him growing up here.

  He hugs me at the door. “Grace!” Barely acknowledges Joy. She shifts. She’s not used to disappearing. It’s my turn to have solid outlines.

  “We left our bikes on the lawn,” I say.

  “Ben’ll give you a ride home later.” The word later has a special tilt to it that I don’t understand.

  We walk down to the basement. There’s a foosball table, old Godzilla movie posters, an abused leather couch. Cassius is on the floor with his knees to his broad chest, intently watching an animal documentary that no one else is paying attention to. The shapes on the skin of his neck disappear into his sweatshirt. Kennedy-Ben-Sarah are playing Cards Against Humanity. Two random seniors bend over a coffee table, rolling weed into cigarette paper. Three others shout over a video game on a second TV.

  Joy sticks close behind me. Hoping I’ll keep her visible, maybe. She shrugs at me. I shrug back. I don’t know what I was hoping for.

  Adam mixes Coke and something else in a tall glass that says Guinness. He hands it to me. I hand it to Joy. He frowns and makes me a new one. I want to brush his hair out of his eyes.

  Joy makes silly faces at me when he’s not looking. We squish together on the carpet while the seniors ignore us. We’re overdressed. Adam plucks softly at his guitar strings, in the middle of everything. We finish our drinks.

  “I’m getting more, I don’t care. I can’t be sober right now,” Joy whispers, like she’s an expert at not being sober. She retrieves the bottle from beside the foosball table.

  Cassius finally looks away from the nature documentary with a daydreamy smile. I swallow, but he’s not looking at me in the way that boys look at you when they’re picturing you naked.

  “How long have you been here?” he says.

  I shrug as Adam’s guitar music floats between us. “A bit.”

  “I’m sorry.” He waves at the TV. “Antelopes. Totally captivating.”

  I laugh. The alcohol starts taking hold. I reach up, catch his wrist. I have no idea why I do it. “This spot on the back of your hand, it looks like a flower.”

  “You think?” He examines the lighter skin.

  “And this one here, it’s a comet.”

  “I have another one like that on my leg, too,” he murmurs. “I was born under a comet.”

  Kennedy-Ben-Sarah laugh hysterically, and Ben throws his cards at them. A couple hit my foot. I flick them across the floor. All our preparation for this seems so silly.

  “Maybe that’s why you look so special.” I say.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” he asks simply. No accusation. He’s just curious.

  Because I know how much it sucks to hate the way you look. Maybe that’s how people become kind, by not wanting others to feel the things they felt.

  “What’s up, Cassius?” Joy’s back, blasting through everything, handing me a big glass. It tastes like nail polish, maybe two drops of Coke.

  “Not much.” He shies back. She has no idea how to talk to people who need quiet voices.

  “Mmm.” She gulps, grimaces.

  This is terrible.

  The two seniors with the weed disappear and never come back. The video game guys argue loudly over a controller. Ben rolls under the foosball table and falls asleep. Kennedy and Sarah are in a corner, tangled up in each other. Poking each other’s stomachs. Laughing with their foreheads together. Cassius goes mute, the glow of the TV on his forehead. Taking himself someplace else. Adam plays his guitar and sings to himself, but every so often he glances at us to see if we’re listening.

  “When can we leeeave,” Joy whines in my ear. “This is really boring.”

  We’ve only been here an hour and a half. “Ten minutes,” I say. I want to listen to Adam sing. I drink all the nail polish. It’s bad enough to distract me from how awkward this is.

  And then.

  Suddenly.

  I am very.

  Very.

  Drunk.

  “Joy?”

  “Mmmyessss?” She drapes her arm around me. She drank hers, too.

  “This is a shitty party,” I whisper.

  And suddenly both of us are laughing so hard we’re not making a sound. Mouths open. Tears. Nothing has ever been this hilarious.

  “I shaved my knees for this,” she gasps.

  Kennedy-Sarah have vanished. Ben is still passed out. Everyone else? When did they leave? Time’s choppy, minutes disconnected from each other instead of moving along in a chain like normal. The ceiling spins. Cassius says something I don’t catch. He sounds worried.

  Suddenly: a man! In the basement. Wobbling. Wearing sweatpants. Shirtless. Do all middle-aged men look like that?

  “Adam?” he says.

  Joy and I are frozen. Shoulders pressed together. Will he call the cops? Do we run? I’m still giggling.

  Adam throws down his guitar. Snarls, “What do you want?”

  “You got my rum?” he slurs.

  Adam shoves a mostly empty bottle toward him. “Jesus, Dad, get the fuck out.”

  His father sways. Looks at us. “Nice,” he hiccups before stumbling upstairs.

  Joy keels over with a noise like air escaping a tire. We’re bent double. Dying.

  Adam, glaring at us. Especially me. I stop laughing, which sucks because I notice how nauseous I am.

  Then, Adam and Cassius: in the corner. Talking. Adam gestures at Joy. Cassius shakes his head. Then, th
en, then, both of them: taking shot after shot from a new bottle. Weird that they’re best friends. They’re so different. Do they tell each other their secrets? What are boy friendships like? Do I even know what girl friendships are like?

  Joy’s standing up. Swaying. “I have a speshul announcement to make. Speshul Joy announcement, everyone. Listen up. You!” She’s pointing at Cassius, who puts his empty shot glass on the foosball table. He looks at the carpet. Joy doesn’t lower her finger. “You. Are fucking. Attractive.”

  “There it is!” Adam hoots. “Yes! Cassius, my man.” Cassius forces a smile, steals a glance at me. Holds it a little too long. Adam moves next to me. Tucking me under his arm, just like the night on the middle school field. My face hurts. I’m grinning too hard.

  “You,” he says in a low voice only I can hear, “are fucking attractive.”

  “You,” I whisper, terrified, “are fucking attractive.”

  “Is that a suggestion?” he says, confusingly. Then: two more glasses in his hands. Full. One for me.

  Cassius hunches on the carpet near us. I want to break him open. Like I broke open. Show him it’s possible to be more. It’s so much better this way. Everyone’s playing the game except him.

  “Drink!” Joy shouts.

  “My sister really likes you,” I tell Cassius, the stupid words spilling out of me. “Give her a chance. She’s really, really great. She’s really, really, really great.”

  Things fade out. Back in.

  I’m tired of being this drunk.

  “Really, really, really, really great,” Adam mimics.

  The walls blur and Joy is whispering in Cassius’s ear and his brows are knitting together, he’s determinedly talking back, determinedly smiling back. Her hair’s loose, a huge shape. Adam turns the TV off.

  Joy’s crawling over Cassius hungrily. He’s taking off her shirt. Kissing her neck. She runs her hands all over his back. He’s looking at me over her shoulder, his eyes a mixture of confusion, desire, and resentment. I don’t know if those things are for her or me. For a second, I think he’s going to call out to me, but then Joy swings in front of him, her hair a pendulum, and says something that dissolves into laughter. She’s so happy. I want Cassius to make her happy. But not so happy she leaves me behind.

  Adam’s warm breath in my ear: “Let’s give them some privacy.”

  I start to say “Joy—” but Adam guides me to the stairs. I can’t do stairs, so he carries me up them.

  His bedroom’s full of musician stuff. Posters: Bob Dylan. Jim Morrison. Guitars, sound equipment. One window, facing away from the trees, away from the quarry.

  He puts on some music.

  Time rolls in and out, like the tide. I’m on his bed. His face is close. No one has ever been this close to me. His chin’s stubbly. He didn’t shave for tonight.

  “Are you okay?” I say it so badly. I ruin it.

  “Of course I’m okay.” He’s kissing me. It’s wet, slimy, I can’t catch up with what’s happening. This is supposed to feel different. Anxiety crawls all over my body.

  I push him away. “I just mean . . . you seem sad, sometimes.”

  “I think about a lot of things.” He trails his fingers down the side of my neck.

  “You can talk to me about the things.” My voice shivers in the dark. “I think about things, too.”

  “You see, Grace? You understand me.” He slides his hands under the hem of my shirt. No. He’ll feel how fat I am. “That’s why I like you. Because you’re smart. Not like other girls. Not like your sister.”

  My shirt’s off. I hold it to my body.

  “Why not? You’re so pretty.”

  “No.” I can’t arrange myself the way I did for Cassius. He’s not giving me the chance.

  “Yes. You are.” He peels my shirt away. Peels my hands away. “You’re way hotter than your sister. You’re so beautiful.”

  He says it like the end of a story. I want him to feel like he makes me feel beautiful.

  “You inspire me. I’m going to write a song about you,” he says. “Just relax. Your sister’s relaxed.”

  I just have to enjoy it.

  A normal girl would enjoy it.

  “You said I was ‘fucking attractive,’ remember?”

  I don’t feel right. This is a mistake.

  “I really need this, Grace. Come on. Just do what your sister’s doing downstairs.”

  I’m not her. I’m me. I’m trapped in being me.

  “You’re not gonna get this chance again.”

  Come upstairs, Joy. Look at me, please, look over here. See me for once. You never see me. You never look past what’s in front of you.

  He turns up the music.

  I don’t want to be in this skin anymore, I don’t want to be anywhere anymore. I am disappearing. Everything is slapping together in waves. I can’t breathe. Where’s my sister?

  Him: holding me down.

  He keeps talking, saying it: “This isn’t so bad, is it? I knew you’d like it. I knew you needed this, too.”

  THIRTEEN

  October 20

  Joy

  ALL I CAN DO IS SIT ON THE EDGE OF PRESTON’S bed while he puts the DVD in his computer. My muscles feel atrophied, like I’ll never be able to lift anything heavier than a paper clip.

  “Did you watch it last night after we got off the phone?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “My laptop doesn’t have a DVD drive.”

  A grainy black-and-white video starts, text in the corner dating it years ago. It looks like it’s from a security camera. At first, the street it shows is empty. Then a police car pulls a Toyota over to the curb. A man gets out.

  “That’s Officer Roseby,” says Preston, startled.

  A woman gets out of the Toyota. They argue briefly. I can’t hear what they’re saying.

  Then Roseby slaps her to the ground, pulls her back to his car by her hair. He shoves her in the back and the video ends. My mouth goes dry.

  “Jesus Christ.” Pres leans away from the computer, as far back as he can. “How does he still have a job?”

  I bend my pinkie the wrong direction until the pain clears my head. It’s funny, all the little ways you can hurt yourself without anybody noticing.

  “Maybe they just gave him a citation. I don’t recognize the street. Maybe it was before he moved here.” Preston’s muttering to himself. “Or maybe nobody ever saw this. In which case, how’d the blackmailer get ahold of it?”

  I move my numb tongue. “We don’t know how he got the photos of Principal Eastman, either.”

  He flinches the way he always does when the photos come up. I overheard him in the hall today, asking if anyone knew how Savannah Somerset was doing. I think he does it for the same reason I bend my pinkie back and dig my thumbnail into my wrist.

  “Let me see the note again,” he says.

  I pass it to him. I don’t look at it. I read it last night over and over again. At this point I don’t even understand it—it’s all gibberish.

  Joy Morris—

  We’ve shown everyone the truth about one man at your school already. It’s time to do it again.

  This week, Officer Roseby will be giving a lecture in the auditorium at your school. Enclosed please find a DVD. Your job is to replace the DVD that he will be using in his presentation with this one.

  If you don’t do this, or if you tell anyone, I will go to the police and tell them that you killed Adam Gordon.

  “It’s definitely someone who goes to our school.” Preston says. “Otherwise why would they know or care about the people who work there?”

  “Maybe it’s a staff member.” I say it so he thinks I’m trying.

  “That doesn’t fit with everything else. It’s got to be somebody who went to the party, somebody who doesn’t like you and knew you hated Adam—remember how we figured all this out?”

  I raise my shoulders and lower them.

  “Joy?”

  “I just keep thinking . . . Wh
at’s the point? It’s never going to be over.” I wrap the tail of my backpack strap around my forefinger until it turns purple. “I keep thinking—everybody has secrets. And the blackmailer apparently knows all of them, and he’s not going to stop until I make sure everybody else knows them, too.”

  “Maybe this is the last time,” he says unconvincingly.

  “How did this happen to me, Pres?”

  “You’re going through a lot of stress. But I’m here for you,” he says like a therapist. He pops the DVD out. The video player window closes, and in the second before he shuts the screen, I notice the title of the article he had up. “How to Help a Friend Going Through a Difficult Time.”

  Oh, Preston.

  I am going to pull myself together.

  “This one won’t be too hard,” he says. “Remember when my mom gave that mental health presentation in the auditorium? She showed a video, too. They have the tech person set up the DVD player and the projector, then they store it in the downstairs supply closet near the auditorium. The presentations are always right after lunch, so they’ll set up the stuff beforehand. We can swap the DVDs during lunch.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Pulling. Myself. Together.

  “I understand why you didn’t want to put the photos up,” he says. “But don’t you think people deserve to know about this? He shouldn’t be hanging around a school.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” I ball the note in my fist. “It’s November’s dad.”

  “Doesn’t she hate him?”

  “I don’t want her to have to watch this.”

  He looks at me for a long minute. “You should tell her, Joy.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want her to think—to know—” I bite my lip. “I can’t.”

  “You told me about it.”

  “Because you always like me, no matter what I do. I need Nov to think I’m . . .”

  “If you don’t do it, you’re in danger,” he says. “They could find you, hurt you. Or they could frame you. November would agree with me. Until we figure out who it is, we need to go along with this. If you won’t tell her, we’ll just find a way to keep her out of the auditorium.”

  “You’re really good at handling all this, Pres.”