Keeping You a Secret

by Julie Anne Peters

  “What about we do it at lunch today since Olander’s out and there’s no student council meeting this week?”

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “The leadership conference?” He knuckled my head. “Olander’s going to want to know where we are on it by next Monday.” He caught a drip of water under my ear from my sopping wet hair. Guess I’d forgotten to towel it.

  I gathered books. “Yeah, okay.”

  Seth lifted my chin and inclined his head. “I love you,” he said.

  Don’t, I thought. Stop. Just stop loving me.

  “Holland?” His eyes bore into mine.

  I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t. “Yeah. Me, too.” I forced a smile.

  I let him kiss me, which he took advantage of and began to french. I wrestled away from him. “Seth.”

  He grinned and touched the tip of my nose. “See you later?” He swaggered off.

  I shouldered my bag and shut the locked.

  “Do you love him?”

  I jumped out of my skin. She was standing right beside me. “Who?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Seth?” I peered over my shoulder at his retreating back. “Um, we’ve been going together for a long time. A year.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t risk her seeing through me, reading me.

  “Do you hear bells?” she asked.

  I had to smile at that. “Bells?”

  “You know, bells. Music, fireworks.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  I let out a short laugh. It sounded strangled, same way I felt. “Only in my dreams.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She arched an eyebrow.

  Why did I say that? God.

  Cece said softly, “Maybe you should listen to your dreams.”

  My stomach suffered a major eruption.

  She pushed off the locker she’d been balancing against with the sole of her shoe and said, “Think about it.”

  Like I haven’t been. “Do you think about it?” I asked at her back.

  She stopped and turned around. “I don’t have to. I know.”

  Stampeding hooves interrupted our conversation as the entire track team thundered down the hall between us. By the time I elbowed through the bodies, she was gone.

  ***

  I agreed with everything Seth suggested for the leadership conference. Whether we set up the tables in a U or an open square made no difference to me. It was trivial. I wanted it gone. Wanted him gone.

  “We didn’t talk about how to split the participants up into corporations.” Seth trailed me out the door of the media center. “Or who we want to invite as speakers for the panel.”

  “Whatever. You decide.” Just go, I screamed silently. Let me go.

  “How about after school? We could meet –”

  “I have to work.”

  “Then tonight.”

  “Leah and Kirsten are coming over. They’re both going through these major traumas, you know. I promised we’d get together.” I was such a liar. Thank God he couldn’t read me like Cece.

  The late bell rang. “There’s a teacher in-service on Wednesday,” Seth called at my back. “We have the day off. Want to get together then?”

  “Sure,” I tossed over my shoulder.

  “Ten o’clock. Come over to my house.”

  It barely registered. I sprinted down the arts wing. She was there, in class, talking and laughing with Brandi.

  Brandi. I wished her gone, too. Cece and I made the briefest eye contact before I stumbled to my seat. Dazed, unsteady. My heart carved a caved a cavern in my chest. All period long I tried to send Cece mental messages: Look at me, smile at me, be with me. Mackel gave us an assignment to draw the other half of a face. A child’s face, from a picture he’d blown up. It forced me to focus my energy. Good. Concentrate on the face. The child. The task at hand.

  I got so absorbed in the project, the period ended and chairs scraped back. Cece stood with Brandi. I ripped the page out of my tablet and rushed to the front of the room to hand in my assignment, to catch her, talk to her.

  Mackel snagged my drawing off the top of the stack. “Whoa, whoa. Come back her, lady.” He flagged me down. “Let’s have a look at this.”

  Damn. Cece exited with Brandi. She glanced over her shoulder at me and held my eyes.

  “Ooh, ooh,” Mackel cooed over my drawing. “Tell me how you approached this.”

  “Um,” I twisted back, “Head on. I really have to go.” I shuffled backward toward the door.

  “In. Credible.” Mackel shook his head. “I can’t even tell which of the halves you drew.”

  I raced out the door, sprinted to the stairwell, and skidded to a stop. No sign of her. Not in the halls, not on the stairs. Where could she be?

  I thought I spotted her on my way to econ, then after class at the drinking fountain, then lurking outside the door to the gym, but each time I backtracked, she’d vanished. As if she was a mirage. Or an illusion. That was it, an illusion. Like my life – a reality just out of reach.

  ***

  My phone rang on the way to work. I dug through my bag on the seat beside me, cursing. I was already late, having stalled around to catch Cece at her lockerr and missing her again. Where was she? “Yeah, hello?” I snarled.

  “Hi. Know who this is?”

  My breath caught. “Cece, hi. I tried to find you all day. I wanted to finish our conversation.”

  “What conversation?” she said.

  Didn’t she even remember? The Conversation. About dreams, and bells, and music.

  “Look, um, what I’m calling about…” She laughed a little. Nervous like. “Um, okay, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, which you are, probably, with Seth, but I was wondering… do you like PA?”

  Someone swerved in front of me and I slammed on the brakes. “Asshole,” I hissed.

  “Okay, forget it.”

  “Cece, no. Not you. God. I’m driving and some jerkoff just about ran me off the road. I love PA.”

  She laughed. “You’re even a bad liar on the phone.”

  I had to chuckle. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Performance art.”

  “Oh.” Silence, crackle on the line. “Sorry,” I said. “I still don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” she said. “Everyone has their own interpretation, which is what makes it so awesome. Mostly it’s expression. Physical and emotional expression, but it uses all the senses. It’s really sensual. You’d like it.”

  A thrill shot through me “Yeah, it sounds cool. So… tomorrow night?”

  “There’s a performance at the Rogue Theater. A bunch of PA groups from around the city. We got in at the last minute. Our group, I mean.”

  “You’re in a group? You’re a performer?”

  “Uh huh. Would you like to come? I could get you a couple of free tickets.”

  A horn honked behind me and I realized I’d been stopped at a green light, holding up traffic. I burned rubber. “Sounds great,” I told her. “I’d love to go. Not lying, am I?”

  She laughed. I loved her laugh. “Are you on your way to Children’s Cottage?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it a fun job?”

  I started to answer when someone hollered her name in the background. A man’s voice, deep. “Gotta fly,” she said quickly. “I’ll bring your tickets tomorrow.” The connection between us died.

  How did she know where I worked? And how did she get my phone number? I pressed *69 to retrieve hers, scrambling in my bag for a pen and paper, and almost wiping out a city bus in the lane next to me.

  Chapter 13

  “Miss Holland, Miss Holland, do me!” Courtney bounced up and down, flapping a page of newsprint in front of my face.

  “You’re next,” I told her. “let me finish Kevin.” I studied him chubby face across the drawing table, so angelic, but with that devilish twinkle in his eye. The mouth wasn’t quite
right; the upper lip was crooked.

  “Miss Holland. Miss Holland.”

  Judy placed a hand on my shoulder. “You have a line forming,” she said.

  I glanced over at Courtney, then behind her, where a bunch of kids were clutching pages of blank newsprint as fast as Mrs. Ruiz could tear them from a tablet.

  “This is really good, Holland,” Judy said, examining my drawing. “I never knew you were an artist.”

  “Neither did I,” I admitted.

  “Lemme see.” Kevin grabbed the sheet from under my pencil lead and held it in front of his face. Lowered it. His eyes grew wide as waffles. “Aw. sweet!” he cried.

  It made me laugh. Made Judy laugh, too. “Next victim,” I called.

  ***

  Mom was in the basement ironing when I floated down the stairs. I lifted Hannah from her baby seat and tossed her into the air. She squealed. Mom scowled at me. Uh-oh.

  “Look at this,” she growled, holding up one of Faith’s black T-shirts. DANTE was emblazoned on the front between licks of fire. On the back it read:

  There is no light save from that perfect peace

  Which never is clouded: it is else darkness,

  Shadow of the flesh, or poison of its disease.

  (Paradiso)

  Mom asked, “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “It sounds obscene.” She balled up the tee and dumped it in the trash. “I wish you’d talk to her, Holland. Tell her how ridiculous she looks. Get her off this Goth kick. It’s not normal.”

  “I can’t. We don’t inhabit the same planet.”

  Mom shook her head. “I can’t imagine what people think of her. Don’t they make fun of her at school?”

  “Not really.” Because we have that anti-bullying policy that fosters peace and love in our hearts.

  Mom went on, “She looks like a character out of a B movie, with all that makeup and those clothes.”

  I huffed a little. “No, she doesn’ t. She’s just expressing herself. It’s a free country.” Don’t ask me why I was defending Faith.

  “Neal’s embarrassed to even take her to his parents’ house anymore. He thinks his dad’ll have a stroke if Faith walks in there dressed like the grim reaper."

  It was time to change the subject. “Can I throw my suit in the dryer?" I set Hannah down in her seat and removed two clammy Speedos from my duffel, along with the damp towel they were wrapped in. Tossed everything in the machine, then lifted the baby seat and lugged it to my room.

  Mom appeared a few minutes later. She stacked a pile of clean clothes at the foot of my bed and said, “I took the liberty of RSVPing the governor's dinner invitation."

  “Mom." I bristled. “I wouldʼve done it."

  “When? A week before the dinner?"

  No, the afternoon of.

  "Hopefully by March youʼll know where youʼre going next year. I'm sure the governor will ask."

  Him, too? There was no escape.

  Mom paused in the doorway. “I thought I should warn you, Faith’s coming tonight and spending the rest of the week. Her mother has to go out of town on business." Mom lingered, surveying my room. “Neal and I were thinking about converting the basement into a home office this summer. Setting up a desk and a computer. We’ll need to enclose Faith’s area, maybe move her in here. Or lock her in.” She smiled. "What do you think?"

  I blinked at her. “I think on my way out you shouldn’t forget to slam the door on my ass."

  "Oh, Holland.” She clucked at me. "You take everything so personally."

  ***

  I didn’t want to go to Cece’s P A program alone and I wasn't about to ask Seth. I called Leah.

  “Hey, Holland.” She sounded cheery. “I'm glad you called. I missed you at lunch."

  "Yeah, Seth and I are working on this leadership conference." Which I didn’t want to think about. “How are you?"

  “Good," she said. “We never get to talk anymore. Remember when we had sleepovers every weekend? We never do that any more."

  "I know,” I said. “We should."

  “Kirstenʼs coming over later to have me trim her hair. If you came over too, you guys could spend the night, since we don’t have school tomorrow."

  “I can’t," I told her. "I’m… busy.” Crap. I couldn’t invite both of them. I wasn’t sure I would’ve invited Kirsten, anyway. She wasn’t my favorite person these days. "I just called to say hi. See how you were. Uh-oh. My battery light’s flashing. I'm fading out here. I’Il call you tomorrow.” I hung up. Damn. Now I’d have to go alone.

  I flopped on the bed, scanning my closet. What does one wear to an evening of performance art? I heard Faith drag in, her suitcase scudding across the floor. She exhaled disgust. "Hey, Faith." I bounced to my feet. "You want to go to this performance art thing with me tonight?” I rounded the partition to her space.

  She looked as if she’d been strangled by a boa, her eyes bulged out so far. “Are you joking?” Her voice dulled. “Or is your mom putting you up to this?"

  “No. She doesn't know about it. I have two tickets, so I thought you and I…"

  “Where’s Seth?" she asked.

  “Busy," I lied. “Everybody’s busy." Did that sound like she was my last resort? Yes. “Okay, I don’t want to go alone," I confessed. "I mean, I could but…” I smiled sheepishly. "I’m a coward. I hate to do stuff alone. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine." I headed back, praying, Please, please say you will.

  “All right," she said.

  I retraced my steps. "Have you ever been to one of these thing's?"

  “PA?” She gnawed on her little pinkie. “Yeah, lots of times.' Spit out a cuticle.

  “So, what do I wear?"

  Her expression didn’t change. “Goth stuff,” she said. “I'll loan you a crucifix."

  I stared at her. Then burst into laughter. She was either the funniest person on Earth or I was losing it.

  ***

  It took me over an hour to find the Rogue Theater. The building was wedged between two nondescript tenement houses in the downtown warehouse district. “Lock your door," I ordered Faith. Check your mace.

  A few people milled around outside, smoking and drinking wine from disposable glasses. They were not what you’d call the“theater crowd,” whatever that was. No furs or formal wear. More like grunge. Faith must’ve felt right at home. My stomach was jumpy, as if everyone else knew the rules of the game except me. The usher smiled a warm welcome and asked us to sign the guest book, which calmed me a little.

  There was a small concession stand right inside the door with popcorn and candy and drinks. Faith made a beeline for it, but I snagged her trenchcoat and said, “Let’s find seats first."

  The theater was old, shabby, semiretired. The velvet seat cushions had seen another century. It was comfortable, though, and people were chatting and laughing softly. I read the program cover:

  The Rogue Theater Presents:

  A Night of Sensory Pleasure.

  God, was this X-rated? The inside page listed six acts, and I scanned through them, trying to glean even a hint of the pleasures we had in store for us. “Singing with Cats" was the first act. Then “Virtual Virgins," "Synchro Nuts," "Aphrodisium," "Unity,” and “Canned Laughter.” I glanced over at Faith. She was watching me. I hated the way she stared at people, at me. “You know any of these groups?” I asked her.

  “Hunh uh,” she grunted, peering back at the concession stand.

  I dug in my bag for my billfold. “Here." I handed her a ten. She scrambled out and I called down the aisle at her back, "No alcohol." A guy with a shaved head behind me winked. I shrank in my seat.

  There was a page of advertisements, pleas for financial support, thanks to all the people instrumental in staging the show. Faith returned with a bag of popcorn and a glass of red wine.

  Shit. “Do you have a fake ID?" I asked her.

  “Yeah, but they didn’t ask. You want some?” She offered me th
e glass.

  “No." I visualized myself confined with her in a jail cell. Shudder City. On the last page were the names of the performers. My eyes skimmed down the list, stopped. Joanie Fowler. Why did that name sound familiar? She was a member of Unity. There, under Joanie was Cece’s name. “She’s in Unity, too."

  “Huh?" Faith said.

  Did I verbalize that? “My friend. Sheʼs in this group, Unity."

  “Who?” Faith hung over my arm.

  “Cece. Cece Goddard.” I pointed to the name.

  “Oh, yeah. I know her."

  “How?"

  Faith took a sip of wine. Savoured it, just to irk me. “She's in my independent living class."

  “What period?”

  Faith blinked at re. “Third. Why?"

  The lights dimmed and I shifted my attention to the stage. Independent living? That was a bullshit class. A spotlight illumineanted dead center and a woman dressed in a gauzy full-length garment floated out from the wings. There was scattered applause. She folded her hands in front of her and waited. Waited. Through hidden speakers a cat suddenly wailed. The sound as saluted my ears and I squinted them together. The screeching ebbed a bit, then the woman opened her mouth and yowled with the cat. In harmony.

  Whoa, it was… interesting. I mean, I couldn't do that.

  Faith murmured in my ear, “Do not try this at home."

  I whipped her knee.

  "Do not attempt this in a dark alley at night.’

  “Quit."

  “Especially if you’re horny."

  I couldnʼt stifle my snort. Virtual Virgins was a light-and-shadow show, which was sensual, all right. I kept trying to figure out if the three women behind the screen were really naked. Synchore Nuts was this eerie musical group that used electronic sounds and digitised voices. Aphrodisiac was totally X-rated. Faith kept murmuring, “Ooh eee," and panting. I kept elbowing her.

  The stage lights extinguished and the theater went black. Unity was next. My heart raced. A small floor light illuminated and a face appeared, followed by another beside it, and another until five faces stared out into the audience. Each face was made up to look exactly the same. But I could pick out Cece. The middle one. Together, they began to move, or rather undulate because, I realised, they were all one form. One giant octopus-like creature inside stretchy black fabric.