by Tif Marcelo
“Mom, I think I’ve been online longer than you.”
“I know.” Her gaze darts up to Dad, then back to my face. “But it doesn’t make it less impactful. I know it’s not all bad. There’s good in it for sure, but I worry that if you get lost in it, well…just be mindful of your choices about what to share and when. Privacy is still very important.”
She doesn’t have to say the rest. I don’t want her to, because what we both know, and what Dad knows better than anyone, is that, for our family, the internet has brought more bad than good.
But my blog is different. First of all, it’s anonymous, and secondly, it’s so small that no one even knows it exists. And my blog gives me a way to express my emotions, even if it’s simply my thoughts around a book.
Still, I don’t argue because there’s no point. Eventually, Mom yawns and heads upstairs to rouse the rest of the family.
Dad grabs his coat. “I’m off.” He gives me another kiss on the forehead. “Good luck with finals today. Are you working tonight?”
“No. It’s a Mission: Holly night.”
“Good. You need a break.” He takes a few steps and slaps his flat cap on his head. “By the way, thanks for your idea on a mom’s necklace. I ended up finding an alternative.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“You’re going to have to see.” He grins and takes a step toward the door, then turns back to face me. “Iha, we talk a lot about privacy but it really boils down to choosing how much you want to share. It’s hard enough to figure out what you want without the peanut gallery. We want you to have that opportunity to do it without pressure, or without consequences from strangers.” He gives me a final kiss on the forehead. “Okay?”
I nod with a sigh. Then I’m alone in the kitchen, with the sounds of my younger siblings stirring upstairs, and the thought that has occupied my head for a while now: What do I want, anyway?
* * *
“That was confusing as heck.” Carm shuffles behind me out of AP Bio. “I got all of my hand and arm muscles all mixed up. How’d you do? Let me guess. Just fine?”
“Totally fine.” I grin. We walk side by side toward our lockers, and I’m feeling light on my toes. I killed that exam.
“Curse you,” she grumbles.
I laugh. “Don’t ask me how I did in statistics, though.”
“True, true.”
We get to our lockers, with hers just a shout’s distance from mine.
“Ready for tonight?” she asks.
“Comet’s Cider, here we come!” I answer with mild sarcasm as I stuff my books into my locker, then slam the door shut and grin. To be honest, doughnuts sound like a great way to end the semester.
Ta-ta until the new year, textbooks.
I check my notifications. A new comment was posted a couple of hours ago, and instead of one or two sentences, there’s simply a link. The comment is from Santa with a View.
Anonymous commenters aren’t out of the blue, but randomly sent links are, so I click on it. It sends me to BookGalley, a book review site. They have an open call for interns.
“I think we should commit all the way by not only having cider doughnuts but also hot apple cider drinks. And what’s the point of me talking if you’re not listening.” Carm’s voice dials up as she advances toward me, punctuated with a sigh.
“Sorry.” I look up, catching the tail end of what she said.
She laughs. “What’s up?”
“I was linked to this call for an internship.” I hand Carm my phone.
“Who’s Santa with a View?”
“I have no idea.”
She scrolls. “This internship is totally up your alley. Are you going to apply?”
“Should I?”
“I mean, why not?” We make our way outside, slinging our puffy coats over our shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t know, let’s see…um, that I would reveal who I am?” I shake my head, half laughing. “My parents will find out that I’ve been lying all this time.”
She shrugs. “I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it’s going to be.”
“And I should be looking for an internship in my future career, shouldn’t I? Why would it help for me to do this, if, by pure chance, I get picked?”
She shivers as a gust of wind cuts through the air. “Because writing is what you do. And you’re so good at this.”
She says it with such ease that it stuns me. Since sophomore year I have been focused on getting As and participating in every extracurricular activity so I can get into Syracuse for bio, and then to med school. Being a doctor is all I’ve talked about becoming. “Writing is just a hobby.”
“A hobby that you’ve been committed to for forever.” We step off the curb, then cross to the high school parking lot. The slots are numbered and her car is parked in the opposite direction. “You should apply. Besides, who says you need to choose now?”
“It’s called a major. I applied under bio.”
“All right, fine, but you’re just turning in an application. Who knows, right?”
“Who knows,” I echo. Those words prove my point. Changing my path right now will only lead to a winding road, and if I was given an internship at BookGalley, my focus would stray from the straight path to success. Add the fact that my parents would be furious that I’d broken their rules of no social media for two years and counting. Yes, I’m eighteen now, but I wasn’t when I began Tinsel and Tropes. It is a breach of their trust—something I joke around about but that, on the inside, I’m serious about never wanting to lose.
Carm looks at her phone and sighs. “Cripes. My dad just texted. He made reservations for dinner.” She sticks her bottom lip out. “We have to reschedule cider doughnuts.”
I frown. “Bummer.”
“I’m sorry. But when the parentals call…”
“If anyone knows this rule, I do.”
“I’ll let KC know, and I’ll put another date on the calendar, ’kay?” She walks backward, shivering.
I nod. “All right.”
Steps away, her voice trills in the cold air. “Fill out that application!”
When I climb into my car, my phone buzzes with a text. “Okay, I heard you.” My friend, if anything, is persistent.
But when I check the screen, it’s not Carm, but from a number I don’t recognize.
It’s Teddy. Can we talk?
Lila: How are you texting me?
Teddy: I called my phone from yours the other day, remember?
What are you doing tonight?
Lila: Stuff
Teddy: I need to see you. Please.
I gape at the word need.
What follows is the vision of shirtless Teddy climbing. Heat climbs up my neck in a sudden rush, and I push the thought away and stomp it down with my imaginary boots.
I can’t think of him this way, not in the slightest bit.
First of all, while I’m all about crushes and book boyfriends, real ones have no room in my schedule. And second, this is Teddy. Teddy who I clash with. Who blackmailed me.
Lila: What do you need that you can’t text?
Teddy: This needs to be said in person. The train depot. 7pm?
Lila: Bossy much?
Teddy: 7pm then
I frown, intrigued. He’s serious. This must be about his secret, and therefore, mine.
Lila: Okay
Something is up with Teddy Rivera, and I don’t know if I can wait till seven to find out what that is.
The train depot is a highly sought after location in Holly for pictures, and today, a group of tourists jam themselves in front of the depot sign, all wearing various ugly Christmas swea
ters. I stand at the corner, far enough away not to accidentally photobomb their selfies, but close enough so their voices reach my ears.
Half of them are complaining:
“I should be the one in front since I’m the shortest.”
“It’s so cold—who thought this was a good idea?”
“Ugh, this thing is itchy.”
“I’m so tired. How long are we staying out here?”
The people smile through gritted teeth. Some with cocked hips, others with dipped shoulders. Before my eyes, I imagine this scene transforming into reality TV drama. One of them says something uncouth, a little too loudly. Another acts shocked at the other’s bad behavior. Someone takes off their scarf to defend their alliances, another removes their blinking Christmas balls earrings and—
“Lila.”
I spin; Teddy’s a foot away from me. He’s wearing a puffy coat, and a knit cap covers his head, though wisps of his dark hair peek out from underneath. He’s holding two to-go cups and hands me one.
“Oh, wow.” Surprised, I accept the cup stamped with the delicate gold-outlined logo of Blitzen Chocolates. It’s warm even through the paper sleeve and my knit gloves. Steam escapes from the tiny hole on the cover, and all at once my mouth waters. Hot chocolate—my favorite. “That’s…You didn’t have to.”
“I know. But it’s one of the things on the list of things to do in Holly.”
“That’s right, you know,” I grunt.
“I looked up the entire list. Can we sit over there? Might as well check off number nine while we’re here.” He gestures to a hidden table behind the depot, which is remarkably free, painted with the alternate black and white squares of a chessboard top, with chess pieces set upon it randomly.
I sit down and cross one leg over the other, both hands around the cup. I’m warmed by Teddy’s thoughtfulness for this entire outing, despite my best efforts to stay mad and suspicious over why we’re here in the first place. “So…what’s up?”
“I wanted to…” The last of his words is overtaken by the sound of the trolley’s bells. I look to the right; it rolls by, carrying singing carolers, some hanging from its entrance.
“Excuse me…what?”
“I said I’m sorry,” he shouts.
My mouth hangs agape. Teddy has never, ever apologized or acted remorseful, in all the days I’ve known him. (Which, okay, has only been about a week.) As the singing carolers fade in the distance, he leans slightly forward in his seat.
“The way I acted yesterday, pitting your secret with mine—I was a little overzealous. And honestly, I can’t keep working like this, with you angry at me. Yesterday was tense.”
A snowflake flickers down to the top of the chessboard. “You blackmailed me.”
He nods gravely. “That wasn’t my good side. I didn’t know what to do.”
Call me a pushover—I read once that reading teaches people empathy—but in this moment, I feel for Teddy. “I would have kept the secret for you, you know. Even if you are…” I pause, mulling over my words.
“Stubborn?”
“At least. More like infuriating.”
He throws his head back in a laugh. “Don’t hold back now.”
I grit my teeth into a smile.
“I do appreciate your honesty. You might not believe it, but you have been one of the best parts of this break.”
I cough into my cup. “You’re right, I don’t believe it. You called me your nemesis.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh my God. You read that?”
“I did.”
He winces. “I guess I did say that. I was intimidated by you at first. You’re so…on it. But that was before I realized how on it you are with everything. Straightforward. Hardworking. Honest. It makes me want to be honest with you too.” He readjusts his knit cap. “I’m starting to get tired of keeping it a secret from everyone.”
I swirl my hot chocolate in the cup to distract myself from my growing curiosity.
“There’s a bouldering competition the third of January. It’s for newbs like me.”
“You didn’t look like a newb.”
“It only looks impressive to those who don’t climb, but I’m very new. The competition is why I’m here, in Holly. Climb Holly is sponsoring the event. I asked Tita Lou to take me in for the winter. I made it seem like I needed a job and wanted to work instead of heading back to California, where I would have just ended up sitting on my butt—though I do need a job to pay for the climbing.”
As a reader, I detect a crater-size plot hole, like why does this need to be a secret at all? But the conversation feels serious. And I’m not going to push it; keeping his secret is easy enough to do.
“I guess you’re excused, then,” I say.
“For what?”
“For taking my hours this winter.” But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it immediately.
“Oh. Oh dang. I’m sorry.” Sincerity bleeds in his tone. “I had no idea.”
“Don’t say that. I hate that.”
“What?”
“Pity.” Again, I’m shocked at what I’m saying. Either the hot chocolate or Teddy has loosened my tongue.
“It’s not pity. Just…sorry. I didn’t mean…” Then he half laughs. “That’s why you’re even more upset when I don’t do what you ask. It explains the fire you’re always laying down on me.”
For some reason, the thought of me as fire sparks joy. A smile worms its way onto my lips.
“Now you’re just being smug.”
I laugh. “No, you’re right. It might explain that tirade the other day.”
He winces. “I deserved it.”
I shrug.
“See? That’s fire.” Teddy sits up. “Thanks for keeping my secret. This competition—it means a lot to me.”
His gaze is so intense that I look down at my hot chocolate. Suddenly I feel this need to share too. “When you said that you’re starting to get tired of keeping secrets—I get that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My blog. I’m at this point where…” I’m not sure where I’m going with my train of thought, with the internship application on my mind and the second anniversary coming up, so I heave a breath. “I feel like I’m in a little bit of a limbo.”
“Limbo with your blog? It’s pretty awesome in my opinion.”
“You think?”
He nods. “It’s why I asked you about premed. You know, at Scrooge’s? The vibe I get from you is that you’d be a writer. Not to say that you wouldn’t do well at anything else.”
“It’s not practical to be a writer. That’s just time-tested. My mother’s a nurse, and she has never gone without a job. She pulled us through when…” I think about how to frame my family history so that it’s not saying too much. I’m not ashamed of what happened, but I don’t want my family to be judged, ever. “…things were rough. I will always have writing. I don’t have to lose it.”
“True. But there’s only so much time during the day, and shouldn’t you be doing something that you enjoy?”
“That’s a privilege, though, isn’t it?”
In my head, there is a true delineation between premed Lila and blogger Lila. Saying this out loud to Teddy, however, I realize I actually didn’t think this all the way through. Once college begins, will I have to let go of blogger Lila? Will there be time to blog? Will I be limiting myself if I choose one or the other?
“I still don’t get why you’re keeping it a secret,” he says.
“It’s my parents. They’ve got…rules.”
“They’re strict?”
“No, I wouldn’t even say that.” I bite my lip. What happened with That’s A Wrap could easily be Googled, but the repercussions run deep, and it’s not all my story to tell. And to complain about it doesn�
�t give credence to how serious the harassment and doxing truly was.
Teddy and I are having a good moment, but it doesn’t mean I trust him a hundred percent.
“It’s complicated,” I finally say.
“All right. Well. Your secret is safe with me.” He reaches out a gloved hand, as if to shake mine. “Truce?”
I take it. “Truce.”
He leans forward, his grin wicked. “Good. Because I may end up needing you, Santos.”
I pretend-frown at his playful tone. “Oh?”
“I have to practice. A lot. And unfortunately for me, I might have to skip out on work. Fortunately for you, there might be hours for you to pick up, if you don’t mind. I’d love it if…”
“Yes.” I nod. “I’ll take those hours in a heartbeat.”
“Good.” He sips his hot chocolate, eyes on my face. They crinkle at the corners, and the heaviness I felt coming here to the train depot evaporates. “So…since you’re so good at sparring with me, want to go all the way?”
My voice hitches in my throat. “What??”
He reaches forward so his fingers hover nearby, then grabs the black chess pieces from my side of the board.
“Oh…chess.”
“Yeah. What did you think I meant?” He smiles and pushes the white pieces across the board to me. “Wait. You’re not a chess whiz on the DL, are you? I can’t have you quartering me like marshmallows and putting me in your hot chocolate.”
I raise my eyes to meet his. Oh my God.
“What?” he asks.
“Teddy Rivera, did you make a holiday metaphor?”
“No, I—” He brings the cup to his lips. “All right, all right. This place has gotten to me, okay? Yesterday, I slipped on the ice and said ‘holy night.’ Holy. Night! I mean—” He laughs into his cup.
