I took a deep breath and immediately smelled the delicious scent of fish being fried. My feet carried me over the wooden floorboards, which creaked in familiar tones, welcoming me home from a whole day out in the harsh world full of strangers.
I ended up in our kitchen, which looked almost the same as it did the day we bought the place. The counter was polished to a shine and the drawers and cabinets were empty of dust and cobwebs. Insects were nowhere to be found near our food supply, and the utensils used for both cooking and eating were spotlessly clean.
Standing in front of the stove was my hardworking mother, the inky black hair that I’d inherited from her cut in a short bob just below her chin. She looked up at me just as I was about to enter her beloved territory.
“Are your shoes dirty?” she immediately asked while flipping a fish over in a pan.
“Nice to see you too, Mom,” I said, frowning. “And no, my shoes are clean of any mud or wet substances that may stain your gloriously immaculate kitchen floor.”
“That’s my big girl. You know me so well. Now come over here and give your mommy a hug,” she said, grinning at me and extending her arm out. I walked over to her tentatively, avoiding the oil popping in the pan, and wrapped my arms around her waist. She kissed my forehead, her eyes trained on the fish as if it would all of a sudden jump up and run out of the door. “So how was your day?”
I shrugged, opening the refrigerator and bringing out some juice. “It was just the same as always.”
“Anything new or interesting happening lately?” she asked as she lifted the fish out of the pan and onto a plate. She got another fish and quickly placed it in the pan where it immediately sizzled upon contact.
“If you mean besides the cool new book I just bought on the way home, then nope, nothing.”
She sighed as she added some seasoning to the fish and turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “Seven, you should really do something more for yourself besides stuffing your nose in a book.”
Mom had no idea how accurate her statement was for my current situation. I didn’t exactly tell her that I held almost all of the secrets of almost everybody in school within the palm of my hand—albeit I forgot some of them. The truth was that I was only starting to realize how unjustified the whole thing was for me.
Whenever someone was sinking in a sticky situation, I’d grab their flailing hands and try to pull them out, even if it got me tangled up in the process. But I couldn’t say that people did the same for me.
I suppose it wasn’t their fault, because I never said anything. I never shouted for help, I never flailed my hands around, hoping somebody could see my distress and pull me out—and there was a reason for it. From what I’ve witnessed, heard, and been told of, people could stab a sibling’s back as easily as they would a potential enemy.
I certainly wasn’t going to trust them in helping me with my secrets and problems. I would just have to find a way to pull myself out.
And with that thought in mind, I didn’t share anything about myself to others; although, I was friendly and seemingly open with them. So nobody knew that, even though I had a lot of friends, I couldn’t find a place where I belonged. Nobody knew that I had a crush on a boy who would never notice me or see me as more than an ordinary looking girl that he’d passed by several times in the hallway. Nobody knew that truly, deep inside, I was insecure and alone.
As I poured orange juice into a glass, my cell vibrated again. I took it out and glanced at the screen. Seeing the number of unread messages and missed calls, I slipped it back into my pocket and said, “That is something I’m doing for myself, Mom. It entertains and distracts me from this very boring world we live in.”
My mom shook her head at me and flipped the fish again. “Sometimes I wonder if it really was a bad thing that your father and I didn’t have another child. If all our other children turned out like you, I’d be extremely frightened.”
“Haha. Funny, Mom,” I deadpanned after swallowing gulps of my juice.
She sighed. “Your father’s still at work,” she said, changing the subject. “He’s coming home late tonight.”
“Doesn’t he always?” I asked with a faint smile. My father worked as a lawyer, and with the many cases he was handling, we seldom got to see him. He loved his job, even if he had to work six days a week. We usually spent weekends together, but sometimes even then he’d be called back to the office for some emergency new case that needed to be dealt with right away.
I usually didn’t mind it and mostly appreciated the fact that my dad worked so hard that my mom didn’t even need to find a job to support the family—but I missed him terribly.
“Seven, you know that if he could he would come home earlier and eat dinner with us,” my mom told me in a placating tone.
“Yeah, I know,” I said and placed my used glass in the sink. “I’m going to my room.”
“Before you go,” Mom said, just as I was at the doorframe of the kitchen, “I want to know, what happened to you?”
“Huh?” I asked, confused. “Nothing in particular, why?”
“You look like you were run over by a truck,” she said, giggling behind her hand.
I stared at her, unamused. She probably meant the baggage I had under my eyes, the unhealthy pale color of my cheeks and the dry, chapped lips. I didn’t even want to think about what a mess my hair must be. “If that was what happened, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” I asked, not even trying to hide my sarcasm from her.
But she didn’t mind. Instead she smiled and said, “Touché. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Okay,” I mumbled weakly as I treaded up the stairs like a soldier coming back from war.
Once I saw the entrance to my room, my stiff shoulders relaxed and I could feel a wave of relief washing over my whole body. I opened the door and smiled as my eyes automatically wandered over to the tall shelf full of different books of varying genres, sizes, and colors.
Books have always been a safe haven for me, a key to another dimension where I could be someone who wasn’t Seven Warrilow and have an adventure that Seven Warrilow wouldn’t have dared to join.
I ran my fingers across the spines, their rough textures and the smell of both new and old pages greeting me like old friends.
I removed the book I’d just bought from its plastic and gazed at it with longing. I could just easily kick off my shoes, curl up into a ball at the corner of my bed, and get lost in it.
But I’d have to go off on my journeys later because I had homework to do.
After carefully putting it beside the last book in my shelf, I headed to my old wooden desk and spread out what I needed to finish. I prioritized the assignments that needed to be passed early in the morning and set aside the ones due next week. Once I was finished, I took out my diary, which was a small black notebook, and started to write about my day:
Dear Diary,
I saw him again. He was jogging in his class, as happy as ever. It always amazes me how full of energy he is. Besides that, today was just like any other day. People came to me and told me their secrets but I’m having a hard time remembering some and it nearly got me into trouble with one girl earlier. It’s a good thing it was only one girl, but anyway, I need to figure this out. I can’t keep on living like this.
I paused in my writing and then glanced at my stack of black notebooks, which were all lined up on a shelf. They were all Moleskine black notebooks that I’d fallen in love with on sight in the nearby bookstore where I usually bought my books. Seeing as there were only a few left, I’d bought all of them and kept them for future use. I was already more than halfway through the very notebook I was writing in and I had approximately six or so more.
As I stared at the way the black leather shone under my desk lamp, an idea clicked into place.
What if I just wrote down all the secrets I knew instead of squeezing them all into the capacity of my brain? That would certainly be
easier. It would be like keeping a planner or another diary, but meant for other people.
Buzzing with excitement, I pushed aside my diary and grabbed one of the black notebooks. I opened it to the front page and started writing.
Bianca is in love with Brant, who also likes her.
Minerva likes Brant and her twin brother, Marvin, approves of it.
Amanda’s sister likes her boyfriend.
Delilah has a crush on Mr. Lancaster (who is a teacher at our school, by the way) and she thinks he likes her back.
Jake and Tiffany are always making out in the janitor’s closet during their free time.
The list went on. Secret upon secret spilled out of the ink of my pen, staining the previously blank pages. I filled one page, two, three, four, and so on. I wrote feverishly, bending over the little notebook as if the wind that slipped through my open window might snatch it away.
When I was done and had encoded every secret I could remember—and there were, surprisingly, a lot more than I had expected. I stared at the black notebook. I had almost reached halfway through. I closed it and held it in my hand. It felt a little heavier than before, like the weight of the world was inside.
I leaned back in my chair and let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I was a little closer to understanding what all of those people felt after telling me their secrets, the meaning of their relaxed features and relieved sighs. I felt better…freer, as if I didn’t have to hold the burden on my shoulders alone anymore.
I placed my homework and my textbooks back into my bag and included the black notebook, securing it in a front pocket where I could have easy access to it. I ripped the zipper shut just as my mom called from downstairs, “Seven! Dinner’s ready!”
I dropped my bag on the floor beside my desk and quickly headed out of the room. “I’m coming!”
Entry 2: Colin Stillman
Date: March 8, 2013
Colin Stillman stood out among the boys of his year. It wasn’t like he was the most popular guy in school. It was just that while other boys would be lounging around, their arms around their girls, wearing their cool jackets, you could usually spot him running up and down the halls, getting chased by a friend or two for pulling a prank.
He was a senior, a year older than me, but sometimes he seemed less mature. That didn’t turn me off though. If possible, it made me even more interested in him.
He was tall, around six-foot, but not so tall that when I passed him in the halls I needed to tilt my head that far back to glance up at him. He had red hair, which was one of the many reasons why his presence inside a room practically demanded attention. He had these beautiful emerald green eyes, an arrow-straight nose, heavy eyebrows and fair, smooth skin.
He was undeniably attractive; the kind of attractive that would make a girl give him a second, more appreciative glance. Several had already confessed their feelings to him, seeing how friendly and kind he was to people, but they tended to forget that he was the boy notorious for never taking anything seriously.
Needless to say, there had been many broken hearts.
I stood in front of my locker for a long time, hugging my books with one arm and holding onto the door with my other hand, even though I already had everything I came for. I was watching Colin from a distance, as I always did, as he wrapped an arm around his friend and laughed. He said a joke I couldn’t hear and they all joined him in laughter.
I’d had a crush on Colin Stillman for as long as I could remember, and right then, my whole body longed to walk across the hall and shamelessly hop in with the joke and laugh along, just so I could stand beside him for the third time in my whole life.
The first time was my first day of high school and I’d been waiting in the office for my schedule. He came confidently strolling in with that bedazzling smile that swept me off my feet the moment I saw it. He stood beside me, not even sparing me a glance, and asked the woman by the counter something that I couldn’t understand because I was too busy staring at him in awe.
It was a good thing I hadn’t drooled right there and then.
The second time was in the cafeteria, when we were lining up for our lunches and his elbow accidently hit me on the shoulder (he was gesturing wildly and it hurt a lot). He turned to me and apologized with a dorky and absolutely adorable peace sign. I murmured a small “It’s okay,” and then he looked away, back to his own world.
I know it sounds pathetic, especially since I was the one who told those who came to me with love problems to take courage by either telling somebody they loved them or to watch them with somebody else. I was also the one who told them to just casually say hi and make conversation when the opportunity presented itself, and the one who told them that if the person they liked didn’t seem to show any hint of reciprocated feelings whatsoever to suck it up and move on.
But the cold harsh truth was that I was as good as giving advice as I was bad at following it.
“Hey, Seven,” a girl named Faye said to me as she opened her own locker, which was beside mine.
I quickly snapped out of my reverie and said, “Hi.”
“What were you staring at? You look like a zombie who just saw some brains,” she said and chuckled at her own joke.
I laughed softly and shook my head. “It’s nothing. I’m a bit tired”—which wasn’t a lie—“and I was just thinking about…stuff.”
Thankfully, Faye didn’t pry. “Okay then.” I glanced at her face briefly and noticed the dark circles under her eyes.
Furtively, I pulled the black notebook out of my bag and searched for Faye’s secret. It had turned out to be really useful. Whenever somebody with another secret would come to me, I could easily just write it down and not worry about forgetting it later.
After finally finding what I was looking for, I slipped it back in and asked, “By the way, how’s your brother?”
Faye had told me just a week ago that her brother had impregnated someone after a one-night stand he’d completely forgotten about. When the girl came to him and their parents found out, they went ballistic. Faye came from a very rich family that owned several well-known businesses. I occasionally saw her in the newspapers and once on TV with her family, and if the secret about her brother were ever leaked, their family would be ruined.
I felt honored, of course, that Faye had trusted me with this secret and hadn’t told any of her friends yet. She and I used to go to the same middle school, so I supposed she was closer to me than any other person in school I knew.
Faye smiled but I could see that it was strained. “He’s fine, although still coping with what happened. Our parents are…well, you know how they are.”
Lowering my voice, I asked, “What about the girl?”
She gave me a look that said she was thankful. “Well, her parents don’t know a thing yet since there’s no…evidence.” Her hand casually went over her stomach and I nodded to show that I understood. “We’re still trying to figure out what to do. My brother doesn’t want to have anything to do with her but my dad says that he has to take care of…you know.”
She probably meant the baby. “No offense,” I said, “but he should own up to his mistakes.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured me, “I say the same thing. It’s his fault for always sleeping around.” Her eyes flashed briefly with anger and then she shook her head, sighing. “I’m sorry, Seven. I shouldn’t burden you with this secret but…I don’t know who else to turn to.”
“It’s alright,” I said, smiling kindly at her. I gave her a one-armed hug, which she immediately responded to, her arms tightening around me. “You and your family will get through this.” I let her go but not before one more comforting squeeze.
She detached herself from me and nodded, with barely detectable tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much,” she whispered to me before she closed her locker and walked away.
I closed my own locker and was going to head to my next class when
I heard familiar laughter behind me. I collided against something and then I was down on the ground before I could understand what was happening. My books spilled out of my arms and my hand and elbow slammed into the polished floor, taking the damage that my face should’ve gotten.
I heard several gasps around and I was thankful for my long black hair, which was acting as a protective veil over my flushed face.
Bumping into someone and tripping? That was so elementary school. How embarrassing.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry!” an also familiar voice said, triggering an alarm in my brain. A hand shot out and grabbed my elbow, pulling me. When I got to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair and looked up to meet the very same emerald eyes I’d been daydreaming about just minutes ago.
For the first time since I’d ever seen him, Colin Stillman looked worried, all laughter drained from his face. “Are you okay?”
I nodded mutely as he helped me up, his touch burning my skin in a good way—if there was a good way to be burnt.
Beside him, a guy scowled at him and said, “That’s what you get for stealing people’s stuff. Now give me my bag back!”
Instantly the naughty grin he was known for was back on Colin’s face. He took hold of both of my shoulders and jumped behind me. I let out a frightened yelp just as his friend reached out to snatch his bag but Colin steered me so that I was shielding him.
“Don’t rain on my parade, my friend,” he said slyly, his breath tickling the back of my neck. “You’ll have to catch me—if you can, that is.” And with a laugh, he let go of me and took off.
I spun around to look at him and found him glancing over his shoulder at me as he ran. He grinned and waved at me. “Thanks for being my shield, girlie!”
“Come back here, Stillman!” his friend shouted, and although he obviously was tired of the chase, he was grinning too.
This, I realized, was the powerful effect of Colin Stillman. No wonder people crowded around him like he was a star that had fallen out of the sky. His very presence and easy friendliness, with just a dash of mischief, was like a lighthouse that led many ships ashore.
The Black Notebook Page 2
