I stood frozen, stunned. Her words echoed in my ears: Us? What did she mean by us? She was fleeing down the hall.
I gaped at her locker. How could they? Anger burbled up from my core. How could they?
I found out soon enough she wasn’t the only one targeted. Brandi’s locker had the same massage, and three guys got the more obscene FAGS FUCK OFF.
It spurred a hurried assembly. Mr. Reynardi threatened the entire student body with legal action for what he called “this deliberate act of vandalism, this marring of school property, this criminal mischief.”
Criminal mischief? He made it sound like a stupid prank. What about destruction of people’s lives? What about destroying their trust in others?
Reynardi ranted on and on about prosecuting to the fullest extent of the law, blah, blah, blah. He wanted names and he wanted them now.
Get real. Like someone’s going to stand up and confess? Rat out their friends?
After the assembly I was so irate, I stormed to my locker. Cece was there. The others who’d been tagged were hanging out at her locker, too. One of the guys had a videocam and was shooting a tape of Cece, as if she were starring in a silent movie – making the discovery of the hateful message, tearing her hair out. She was funny. Made me want to laugh. I couldn’t laugh. I felt too angry, too numb. I heard her ask for a copy of the tape because it’d make great PA.
What’s PA? I wondered.
I was so intent on watching her – them – that I didn’t notice the crowd forming. A dozen or so people had circled around and were closing in on Cece and the others. The guy with the videocam lowered it slowly. There was this prolonged moment of silence, tension so thick you could taste it. Oh, my God, I thought. It’s a lynch mob. They’ve come to finish the job. Say something, my brain commanded. Speak up.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry this happened to you,” a voice carried in from the rear. I recognized it. “I hope you don’t think we’re all this way,” Leah said.
There was a general murmur of agreement. Cece and the others didn’t respond. Most of them cowered against the lockers, looking freaked. They looked to Cece for direction. She clapped once and said, “Okay, let’s get this on film. You guys can be extras. I want to see moral outrage here, and fury. Like this.” She shook a fist at the crowd to demonstrate. “Anyone got a beer? We could do foaming at the mouth.”
Laughter filtered through the crowd.
Cece cued the camera, and the extras really got into it, hamming it up and acting out. Across the hall, Cece’s eyes found mine. They spoke the truth; she wasn’t enjoying this. She was humiliated. Hurt. Afraid. Her fear was so palpable it made my blood curdle. I wanted to find whoever had done this to her and kill them.
Chapter 10
“Did you finish your essays on those two applications?” Mom asked at dinner. “They have to go out next week.”
“Yes,” I said.
Mom eyed me. Cece was right, I was a terrible liar. “I’ll do them tomorrow.”
“You keep saying that.” Mom passed the bowl of creamed corn to Neal. “You’re running out of tomorrows.”
Running out of tomorrows, I repeated to myself in my room, sprawling across my bed to begin another midnight marathon of homework. Sometimes I felt as if there were no tomorrows, that everything, my whole life, was crammed into one long day. A continuous stretch of meaningless time. Sometimes I even wished there was no tomorrow, if this was all I had to look forward to.
I opened my econ text, then shut it. I scrounged in my pack for my sketchbook instead. So far it included a full-page, cross-hatched drawing of Cece’s head, a side shot of her ear, a drawing of her right hand on the art table with the assortment of rings she always wore. I wasn’t close enough to get details of the patterns in the rings.
On the next page was a picture of the light switch – wow, that was exciting. I flipped to a blank page. With a half-moon shadow from my study lamp, the basement rafters would make a stunning still-life. Ugh. I needed inspiration. What was it Mackel said? “Let it come. Don’t force it. Just free-draw.” Which, to me, meant free fall. It was at time like this I wished I did drugs.
Okay. I got up and searched through my CDs. Didn’t get too far. I cranked up the volume on Dixie Chicks and lay back, closing my eyes, to “let it come.”
What came was her. The way one side of her mouth cricked up a little higher than the other when she smiled. That freckle, or mole, right above her lip. The sparkle in her eyes, the warmth. The fire, too, when she was pissed. Her skin, how it seemed to glow. I positioned my pencil and began to transfer the image of her from my mind to paper.
The CD ended and I focused on what I’d drawn. Her head, sporting a baseball cap, not a bad likeness. Her face was wrong, though. Out of symmetry. I could see her so clearly in my mind’s eye, hear her laughing. That sound, the music in her voice.
The sensation was stirring. It aroused me in a was… almost as if…
As if I was falling for her.
Okay, that didn’t shock me. I’d had crushes on girls before. I mean, who hadn’t? I’d see a girl in the mall or at swim meets and think, Wow, would I ever like to meet her. I wouldn’t act on the impulse or anything. I’d stop myself.
That’s what it was with Cece. An innocent crush. I admired her. She was strong, self-confident. So damn cool. Attractive in a way only another girl would see.
What did I see? I didn’t know exactly. Couldn’t capture it on paper. It – she – wouldn’t stay still.
I lay the sketchbook aside and scrambled to my feet, ejecting the CD and tossing it in my bag. At the top of the stairs, I ran into Mom and Neal in the kitchen, necking. “Ooh, caught ya,” I said, waggling an accusatory finger.
Mom actually blushed. Removing my parka from the coat rack, I informed them, “I’m going out for a while.”
“In this weather?” Mom looked aghast.
“I’m wearing clean underwear. Just in case.”
***
Washington Central was farther than it seemed. I’d printed out an Internet map at the computer lab during study hall today. The legend was misleading; it had to be more than twenty-five miles away, and the streets were sheer ice. A stoplight changed unexpectedly and I slammed on the brakes, skidding through the intersection. Horns blared and an SUV narrowly missed me.
Shit. My heart hammered against my ribs. What was I doing?
Had to see her. Talk to her. Apologize about the locker incident. About the assholes in our school. Try to make it right. Even though the janitors had painted over the lockers by the end of the day – covered up the crime so we could all pretend it never happened – she had to be freaked. I wanted to quell her fears.
Depressing the gas pedal slightly and swerving away from the curb, I inched along toward town. After circling the block a couple of times, I spotted it: Hott ’N Tott Donuts.
Ten minutes later I was still huddled in the parking lot, shivering from cold. Not only from the cold. “This is stupid,” I muttered. “Get out already.” What was I afraid of?
Her, that’s what. This had nothing to do with the locker incident. I wanted her to like me. Wanted to find out if she did. Was that important enough to risk my life over? Apparently.
So cold. I started the engine again and cranked up the heater.
She wasn’t even here. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of her through the plate glass window in the year I’d been stalling, freezing my butt off. I was safe. Just came to check the place out, buy a cup of coffee. Reasonable, rational. Only one customer had braved the weather – a cab driver who was hunched over one of the tables, nursing a cup of coffee while thumbing through the newspaper.
“Just go get a donut. What’s the big deal?”
Okay. I bolstered my courage. Opened the Jeep door and got out.
“Evenin’, Help ya?” the older man behind the counter asked. He smiled kindly. Was this Cece’s uncle?
I smiled back. “I’ll, um, have one of those.” I pointed to a glazed
cinnamon twist. “And… do you have hot chocolate?”
“Sure do. What size?”
I skimmed the cup display. “Medium, I guess.”
“For here or to go?” He stoked up the cocoa machine.
My eyes searched the interior. No sign of her. “To go,” I answered.
He finished my order and rang it up. “Is Cece her?” I asked, handing him a five.
“Cecile!” he shouted through a rear door.
“What?” she shouted back.
My heart raced. Exploded.
“You got company.”
Cece appeared out of nowhere, wiping her floured hands on an apron. The top of her head was covered in a blue bandanna, tied gypsy style. When she saw me, she stopped dead in the doorway.
Well, finally, I’d managed to shock her. “Hey.” I hitched my chin. “I was in the neighbourhood.”
The hint of a smile cricked her lips. “Unc, okay if she comes back?”
He eyed me up and down. “Sure, I guess.” He opened the counter top, which was hinged on one side. “No funny business.” He pointed at Cece.
She blew out puff of air at him.
What did he mean by that? No funny business.
Cece walked across the room to a long butcher block table. I followed. “You can pull up a stool if you want,” she said over her shoulder.
I set down my cocoa and twist on the table, then dragged over a high-backed stool and climbed aboard.
Cece lifted a rolling pin and ran it over a circle of dough. “What are you doing here really?” she asked.
“Like I said –”
“In the neighbourhood.” Her eyes cut to me and she grinned. “Let me just get these in the proofer. It’ll only take a minute.” She sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on the dough, rolled it into a snake, and sliced it into identically sized wedges, as if she’d been doing this all her life.
“I’m sorry about what happened today,” I said.
“Forget it. It’s not your fault. Grab me that pan.” She pointed.
I flinched at her sudden movement. I pulled out a large, aluminium tray from the rack behind me and handed it to her. With a spatula, she flipped the wedges onto the tray, then carried it to a glassed-in case where racks of similar pans were resting. Proofing, I surmised. I’d never seen the inner workings of a donut shop. It was all shiny metal and spicy smells. Sparkling and sweet and warm. So why was I trembling?
Cece returned, exhaling a weary breath, and leaned against the cutting table, arms folded.
“What?” I said.
She smiled and shook her head at the floor. “Nothing.”
“You work here every night?” I sipped my cocoa.
“Why don’t you drop by and find out.” She lifted her eyes and held mine.
Two could play at this game. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She set down the spatula. “What do you think?” she said.
I think I couldn’t breathe.
“Cecile, when you’re done with the rolls would you mix a batch of egg batter for the morning?” her uncle called through the door.
“Slave driver,” she called back.
I liked that, the banter. I liked everything about her.
“What?” She zeroed in on me again.
I blinked away, realizing I’d been staring at her. “I don’t know.” My eyes skimmed the floor tiles. Checkerboard.
“If you don’t know, then I can’t help you.” Cece moved past me, almost grazing my arm. Almost.
“Okay, so I’ll just help myself,” I quipped, retrieving my cinnamon twist off the table and chomping off the end.
She disappeared into a back room. A few seconds later she stepped out, lugging a bag of flour. “Look,” she said, dumping the bag on the table. “I really have a lot to do, okay? And I don’t like playing games.”
Heat fried my face. “I’m sorry.” I slid off the stool; stumbled. Dropped my twist on the floor. “I’ll go.” I picked it up. As I staggered for the open doorway to flee, escape, I heard her curse and pound the table with a fist.
She hated me, I thought. What have I done? Oh, God. She hated me.
***
For the first time in my life, I didn’t get all my homework finished. I set my alarm for five A.M., but instead of hitting the books, I went swimming.
The lights were still off in the pool area when I got there and it was so quiet my bare feet echoed. I dove in.
The cold surged through my veins – a welcome relief. I concentrated on my muscles contracting, my arms slicing through the water. Soon the rhythm of my breathing and stroking and breathing and stroking drowned out my thoughts. Banished my feelings to a dark recess in my mind, where they should be banished.
Forget her. Force her out of your head, get her out of you.
I don’t know how long I swam, lap after lap after mind-numbing lap. My lungs and muscles collapsed simultaneously, and I let my final kick propel me to the edge.
Where she was sitting, elbows on knees. She looked me in the eye and said, “I was in the neighbourhood.”
Chapter 11
I wrenched off the shower faucets, but wasn’t about to go gallivanting through the locker room half naked. Although…
She likes me. I smiled to myself. I wonder what she’d do if –
My phone rang. Before I could think, Cece called, “I’ll get it.”
Towelling my head, I heard her say, “Who? No, sorry. What number did you dial?”
I gave my prickled body a once over and wrapped the towel around me. A little lower than usual. Grabbing my wet swimsuit off the floor, I padded to the benches, asking, “Who was it? My mother?”
“Wrong number.” Cece scanned me up and down, then let out a breath. She stood abruptly and said, “I need coffee. Gotta fly.”
I sank to the bench, feeling embarrassed, exposed. Stupid. I quickly dressed.
***
On the way to my Jeep at lunch to head for McDonald’s, Kirsten said, “Oh, by the was, Holland, Seth. Saturday night’s off. Trevor dumped me.”
I skidded to a stop on the icy parking lot. “Kirsten, oh no. What happened?”
“The funniest thing. His mother doesn’t approve of me. Says I’m too old for her little Trevie. I guess word got back to her that I was a slut.” Her glare sliced through me.
What? I never – “Oh, excuse me,” she added. “A player.”
“Kirsten,” I protested, then said more gently, “I’m really sorry.” I was. She looked miserable. She wasn’t even wearing makeup today, her face was all pale and blotchy.
She gazed off into the distance. “I can never keep anything good.” Her eyes pooled with tears. I reached to hug her, but she climbed into the back of the Jeep, scooting over to the far side and staring straight ahead.
Leah and I exchanged glances. I think Leah already knew. She crawled in beside Kirsten and patted her knee. Felt her pain, I suppose, more than me.
“Saturday night?” Seth said at my side. “What was Saturday night?”
Oops. Guess I forgot to tell him. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter now.” He was going to say something else, but I cut him off by handing him the keys. “You drive.” Normally Seth rode shotgun, but today he’d brought along Coop, so I figured he’d appreciate the opportunity to amp up the testosterone.
McD’s was jammed with little kids squealing and chasing each other around Playland. As the five of us claimed a booth in back, I said to Kirsten, “Do you want me to come over tonight? Talk about it?”
“No. I’m all right. He’s a momma’s boy. So what? He was getting on my nerves, anyway.” She stuck a straw through the lid of her diet Coke. “So is your lezzie friend going to reapply for a Gay Straight Alliance?” she asked.
“No,” I answered, a slow burn spreading through my gut. “Don’t call her that, okay? Her name is Cece.” I lifted my Big Mac to my mouth. “She doesn’t want a GSA. Just a gay club.” I took a bite.
“See?” Kirsten bent over to sip her soda.
“Agenda.”
I chewed and swallowed fast. “There is no gay agenda.” I tried to control my voice, my temper.
“Could I have some ketchup?” Leah interrupted.
Around in front of me, Seth passed her a handful of packets.
Kirsten said, “Did you see the shirt she was wearing yesterday? That OUT! AND PROUD!?” She curled a lip.
“What’s wrong with it?” I said.
Kirsten shook her head. “She’s just so obvious. Look at me, I’m gay. I’m special,” she mocked.
My jaw clenched. I set down my burger, deliberately.
Leah piped up, “I don’t think that’s what she’s doing. She’s just being who she is.”
I sent Leah a silent thank you.
Leah added, “I imagine it’s pretty lonely being the only out person in school. I think she’s incredibly brave. I don’t know how they find each other if they’re not out.”
Coop said, “They list their phone numbers in the john. ‘For a good time, call Bruce. 1-800-222 –’”
Kirsten snorted. Coop smirked. He said, “You know what gay means, don’t you? Got AIDS Yet?”
Seth pre-empted my explosion. “Shut up, Coop. That isn’t funny. You going to eat that?” He indicated my Big Mac.
I shoved it over to him.
Kirsten dipped a Chicken McNugget into a cup of barbecue sauce and popped it into her mouth. “She’s just trolling for meat,” she said with her mouth full. Turning to Coop, she added, “And not the Oscar Mayer weiner variety.”
He choked on a fry.
That did it. I elbowed Seth. “Let me out.”
“What? We’re not done.”
“I am.”
He just sat there.
“Move!”
Seth scooted off the end of the bench. I pushed pas his and stormed out the exit.
I hated how they talked about them. About her. Kirsten, Coop, all of them. Especially Kirsten. I understood that she hurt, she was venting, directing her pain elsewhere. Still, she should just shut up.
Keeping You a Secret Page 7
