Dark Secrets Box Set

by Angela M Hudson

  “I uh—”

  “Hey-you-two.” Emily popped up out of nowhere. “Ready to start our first official meeting for the benefit concert?”

  “Yup.” I stepped away quickly to stand beside Em. “Ready.”

  “Great. Did you get lunch, yet? Cafeteria lines are out the door today.” She nodded toward her tray of food. “Mr. Grant said we can eat lunch in the auditorium if we’re rehearsing.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, I know, hey. So, I’ll go reserve a table near the stage. See you in a minute?”

  “Why don’t you go ahead, Ara,” David said, passing my books and his bag. “I’ll brave the cafeteria lines.”

  My fingers tightened around his backpack, finally touching something that belonged to him. “O…kay.”

  He tried to smile, but his clearly agitated gaze kept drifting toward Emily. “Anytime.”

  As he turned away, I squatted down and reached into my bag. “David! Money.”

  “Keep it.”

  “No way.” I stood up. “Take it.”

  “Ara.” He held his palm against my outstretched hand, glaring down at me.

  “David.” I glared back.

  “Come on.” Emily grabbed my arm and dragged me gently away. “One thing you’ll learn pretty fast is not to refuse David when he wants to spend money on you.”

  I turned my head slowly to look at her. “How do you know that?”

  “David and I have been friends for a while.” She watched him walk around the corner. “We used to be closer, but…”

  “But?” I probed.

  “Nothing. We’re just not anymore. People grow apart.”

  With a heavy sigh, I grabbed our bags and books, and headed into the auditorium behind Emily. “I can’t let him buy me lunch all the time. When’s it going to stop?”

  She giggled, walking ahead of me. “You really don’t know him, do you?”

  * * *

  Sinking into my quilt, I drifted in that blissful moment between sleep and wake, where dreams mingle with reality, slowly and magically merging until everything in the now disappears. Here in this halfway world, I could be with David in any form imaginable: friend, girlfriend, lover. And the real world couldn’t judge me.

  But a cold screech of reality rang through my room so loudly and suddenly that I sat bolt upright in my bed. “Argh. Shut up,” I said to the phone, flopping back down with my pillow over my face.

  To my surprise, it actually did, and I once again drifted off to fantasyland, finding myself beside a tree with warm beams of light wrapping around me again, but no David. I could sense that something was off. I wasn’t so asleep that I didn’t know a dream when I was in one, but I never expected to hear my mother’s voice.

  “Ara-Rose?”

  I turned slightly, seeing only my reflection in the glass of the phone booth behind me, disappearing with each flicker of a fluorescent light outside the corner store. “Mom?”

  “Ara-Rose, where are you?”

  The weight of the payphone in my hand became apparent then. I squeezed it. “I had a fight with Mike.”

  “With Mike? What were you doing at Mike’s? I thought you went to Kate’s.”

  “I lied to you, Mom,” I said, but the line went dead and the night icy cold.

  “Mom.” I hung up the phone a few times, pressing all the numbers, but the receiver was empty. No static, no noise.

  Behind me, the lights in Ronnie’s store went out suddenly and the wind stopped. I pressed a hand slowly to the glass, and when another shot up to meet it, I screamed, jumping back.

  “Ara!” A deep voice snapped my mind back to the waking world like an elastic band on a wrist, and my eyes flung open.

  “Dad?”

  “Ara, your phone’s been ringing every few minutes for the last twenty. Will you please answer it?”

  I rolled over, rubbing the haze from my eyes. “The phone?”

  “Yes,” Dad said, and closed my door, leaving me in darkness.

  I jumped up, grabbed the phone, tripping over the clothes and shoes on my floor, and landed in my desk chair. “Hello?”

  “Hey baby, did I wake you?”

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah, how you doin’?” he asked, then took a quick breath. “Oh, the time thing. Sorry, Ara. I’ll go.”

  “No, wait. I…” I put the phone to my other ear. “I was dreaming about her, Mike.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Your mom?”

  “Yeah.” My voice crackled. “I keep thinking she’s gonna come pick me up and I’ll go back home again, and—”

  “Aw, Ara, please don’t cry, it… you’ll break my heart, baby.” He completely lost his voice then. “You don’t know how much it kills me that I can’t be there with you right now.”

  I smiled softly, sniffling. Even though he wouldn’t love me like I needed him to, having his friendship meant everything to me still. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls the last few months, Mike.”

  “I know. And you know me, Ar. I’m always here for ya, no matter what. Okay? You can never do anything so wrong that I’ll stop being your friend.”

  I wiped the mess of warm tears from my cheeks. “I just… it’s been so hard without you. It’s one thing coping with losing mom, but the one person who always got me through bad things isn’t even around anymore.”

  “I know. But I will be soon. I promise.” He sighed then. “Have you talked to your dad yet—about what you told me on the phone the day you left? Have you told anyone?”

  My head rocked from side to side.

  “Ara, I can’t hear you when you shake your head.” He chuckled.

  My sudden burst of laughter forced static down the phone line. “You always know how to make me laugh.”

  “Look, you need to talk to someone.” His voice took on a serious note. “It’s not healthy for you to keep all of this inside, baby girl. You said you made friends. Why don’t you have a sleepover and do one of those big deep-and-meaningful things?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know them well enough, Mike. I’m just not ready to share that part of my life with anyone.”

  “Well, what about that David dude, I bet he’d listen?”

  “He might. But I don’t want him to hate me if I tell him the truth.”

  “Why would he hate you?”

  “Because he’ll think I’m selfish, and—”

  “Ara, grow up. You need to talk to someone about this. Now, I don’t care who. Your dad, Vicki, Sam even, but—”

  “I’ve got you to talk to.”

  “I’m not there, Ara.”

  “But like you said, you will be soon. And my dad said you can stay here.”

  “Yeah? Tell him thanks. And stop changing the subject.”

  “I’m not. Look, I’ll talk to someone, okay. I do know you’re right. I just—”

  “You’re just gonna bottle it up until you’re in a straightjacket.”

  I bit my tongue.

  “I’m gonna call you the second my interview’s booked, Ara, and we’re gonna pencil in a day for me to arrive. Then, if you haven’t told David or Emily or someone what happened, I’m gonna do it for you,” he said. “Got it?”

  “Okay, Zorro.” I laughed. “When do you think they’ll do your interview?”

  “Two weeks or so.”

  “Cool. So, Mike, why did you call?” I asked, realizing that he woke me.

  “I was just thinking ’bout ya, that’s all. The ice cream man came past, playing that stupid jingle. Made me remember the time he ran over your foot when you chased him for your change.”

  My left toes twitched. That stupid truck cost me six weeks off ballet and a permanently demented pinkie toe. “Well, I’m glad it brings you happiness to remember me in pain.”

  “Aw, I really miss ya, kid.” He breathed the words out. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “Night, Ara.”

  “Ni
ght.”

  6

  “David! You waited?”

  “Of course I did.” He laughed, watching me cross the road, still pulling my shoes on. “Stayed in the shower too long, did we?”

  “No, I uh”—I placed my bag in his outstretched hand, a little puffed—“my diary was begging me to write in it. I was compelled to obey.”

  “Compelled?”

  “Yeah, you know how it goes with these things,” I joked. “If you don’t do as the voices tell you, they just get louder.”

  David stopped walking. “You hear voices?”

  “What?” I frowned. “No. It was a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “Yeah. You do know what a joke is, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Just—”

  “Just, when it comes from me, it isn’t funny.” I nodded.

  “Not about hearing voices.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you phase out all the time. If you’re hearing voices as well, it might mean there’s something wrong.”

  “Oh.” I dragged the word out, nodding my head, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?” he asked accusingly.

  “Yes, Dad,” I responded in the same tone.

  “Sorry.” David laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve just noticed that you get a little… tempestuous when you haven’t eaten enough.”

  “Tempestuous?”

  He nodded.

  Hm. “It isn’t my fault, you know. I have an ogre living in my belly. He makes me do bad things.”

  “So you phase out, hear voices, and blame your tempered outbursts on a fictional creature living in”—he looked down at my stomach—“your belly?”

  “Precisely. The boy catches on quick.”

  “Well”—he shook his head—“one thing I can say about you, Miss Ara, is never a moment passes where I am not entertained.”

  “Is that… a good thing?”

  He chuckled once. “Yes. It’s a good thing, mon amie.”

  Mon amie. I repeated the words to myself, unable to hide my grin. “Why do you speak French?”

  “Why?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. I mean, what made you want to learn French and then randomly use it?”

  He looked ahead, both of us slowing simultaneously as we neared the big brown building. “I uh… I grew up in a community that was inhabited mostly by the French.”

  “Oh. Cool. Where did you grow up?”

  “Not too far from here.”

  “And… they all spoke French?”

  “Yes.”

  I frowned. I couldn’t think of anywhere in New England that was grossly dominated by those speaking mainly French. But, Mr. I-Don’t-Elaborate had, indeed, elaborated. I wasn’t going to push for more. Not yet, anyway.

  I exhaled, looking up the stairs ahead of us, wishing it were Friday. “Do we have to go to school today?”

  “Yes,” he said kindly.

  “Well, I think we need an evasive action plan for Her Royal Dictator-ness at rehearsals today.”

  David tossed his head back, laughing. “She was pretty moody yesterday, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s just ’cause she’s trying to get things done. And I guess, if it weren’t for Em, this benefit concert really wouldn’t be happening, but…”

  “Hm, yes, but if she wanted to get things done, then casting the football team in a comedy skit was a terrible idea.”

  “Yeah, but it breaks the monotony of all the musical numbers.”

  “Yes. How many do we have now?”

  “Ten, I think.”

  He nodded, slowing his steps to match mine. “Good line-up, too.”

  “Yeah. But Emily should be letting us practice our songs at lunch; not forcing us to spend the whole period separated like kindergarten kids, painting ticket signs.”

  “Well, if we hadn’t joined the pencil-throwing fight, she wouldn’t have separated us.” He smirked.

  “She shouldn’t have anyway. We’re not children, we’re practically adults.”

  “Then we should act as such,” he said with a nod.

  “Fine.” I folded my arms. “No mucking about today then.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He tilted his head almost bashfully toward one shoulder. “I kinda liked mucking about with you yesterday.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed, remembering it. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Then, we shall endeavor to be discrete today.”

  “Discrete chasing, giggling and poking each other?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, except now that I know where your ticklish spot is, I don’t need to chase you. I can just poke you whenever I please.”

  “Not in English class, though. You know how ticklish I am.”

  His smile grew, his eyes small with thoughts I wanted him to share. “Yes, and your infectiously sweet giggle is at my disposal.”

  I tensed, noticing his eyes on my lower ribcage. “You wouldn’t.”

  He clicked his tongue and winked at me. “You can try to stop me.”

  I hugged my ribs and bit my lip, grinning. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  * * *

  Emily leaned forward on her desk, eagerly engaged in Dad’s lecture. I hoped she was getting an A for all the extra listening she was doing. Then again, her interest wasn’t companionless today, since most of the class seemed to be paying attention.

  “Now, who here believes in God?” Dad asked, holding his hand in the air. Stunned silence replied. “It’s not a trick question, people. Hands up if you believe there exists something bigger than yourself.”

  No one moved. Well, until Emily’s hand shot up into the sky.

  “Oh my God. You suck-up.” I elbowed her, but put mine up, too—to save getting in trouble from Dad later. A few other people followed, while the rest of the class just laughed and pointed at us.

  “Okay. Now, hands up who believes a man in the sky makes the thunder.”

  Everyone in the class laughed. My dad, with his own hand up, nodded then started writing on the board: “Myths and legends: Religious History.” He read the words out, tapping each one, then popped the lid on his marker with a thud from his open palm. “Who can tell me what that means?”

  Emily put her hand up again.

  “Emily?” Dad pointed the marker at her.

  “It means, like you mentioned last week, that nearly everything we know about religion is based purely on some story or, like, Chinese whisper that’s been passed down from one generation to the next. Not too many cold, hard facts.”

  “Right.” Dad wrote What is real? on the board. “Now, I’m not saying there’s no God of Thunder, but what I am saying is that, like young Emily just said, nearly every story you’ve ever been told has been written by someone else. We don’t know the facts for ourselves. But there is a fact behind every story. Since it’s my job to inspire freethinking, not encourage atheism”—he wrote something else on the whiteboard: Assignment: Facts from Myths—“For the next few weeks, you’ll be researching the origin of a myth or legend. It doesn’t have to be religious, but if you sift through any myth and go deep enough, you’ll usually find some religious connection, like most things in life. So, find a myth, research the legends around it, and make a report based on your opinion whether or not there could be some truth behind it and what it originally had to do with religious beliefs.” He looked around at all the students. “Because, let’s face it, if Jesus could walk on water, then why do we think Santa Claus is so improbable?”

  The class broke into laughter.

  “Mr. Thompson?” a girl asked. “Does that mean you’re suggesting Jesus didn’t walk on water?”

  “No.” My dad leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. “It means I don’t see why there can’t also be a Santa Claus.”

  The class roared with laughter again. But I didn’t, because I knew he was being serious.

  “Maybe he wasn’t lying when he
told me Santa is real,” I whispered to Emily.

  She started laughing. “I can so picture your dad saying that.”

  “I’ll bet you can.” I grimaced.

  “So, find the myth and decide the truth from your own perspective. That’s all everybody. Have a good day,” he called out over the bell.

  Emily and I walked out of class shoulder to shoulder, still laughing at Dad’s unusual lecture. “And if he actually caught a burglar in your house on Christmas Eve, he’d think it was just Santa.”

  “Oh my God. I could so see that happening.”

  “Yeah, then, in the morning he’d be like, Gee, Sam”—she lowered her voice to sound like my dad—“I’m terribly sorry, but when Santa came last night he filled his sack with your presents instead. And… er… and he took the china and the silverware and the jewelry.”

  I folded over in a fit of teary giggles. “Oh my God, Emily. That’s so spot on. I mean, his belief was unyield…” My sentence ended in a snort as my cheek smashed into a warm, firm chest. The boy stumbled back an inch, looping his arms around my shoulders.

  “There now,” he said. “I knew you’d fall for me eventually.”

  “David.” I looked up into his sparkling eyes, melting within the circle of his arms. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “Don’t sweat it, pretty girl. I got ya.” He flashed me the most insanely gorgeous grin, making no effort to move away.

  “Not on school grounds please, you two!” Dad called.

  I jumped back from David’s arms, avoiding eye contact with my dad. “Sorry, Mr. Thompson.”

  “Keep it PG.” He pointed at David, then took a blind shot with a scrap of paper, tossing it into the wastebasket beside his desk.

  Emily’s eyelids fluttered as he walked away again. “He’s so cool.”

  “Ew.” I winced.

  David laughed at her, dropping his lingering arm back down to his side. I wanted him to ignore my dad and just pull me close again—steal me from this place so we could lay together, my head in his lap, talking for hours about nothing. But, unfortunately, he was no mind reader, and I would never muster up the courage to say that. So, staying at school and pretending not to want him was my only option.