Secrets, Lies, and Locker 62

by Lil Chase

  Ben nudges me. ‘See,’ he whispers, twirling his finger round his ear, ‘completely mad.’

  I’m too smitten to correct him.

  Zeba yells out to the crowd. ‘It appears that his private jet has had a fault. He wishes you all the best and …’ People start booing and sighing and walking towards the door.

  Mark Nowicki walks by me, saying, ‘Told you that goth girl was a liar.’ And he walks right past Amanda Curran without looking at her.

  Our plan has completely failed.

  Ben turns to me. ‘So, Maya, if you’d got the money, would you have shared it?’ He leans forward so his brown curls are almost tickling my nose. ‘With me?’

  I feel guilty about letting Zeba handle this alone, but this is definite flirting and I can’t pass it up. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Hi, Ben.’ It’s Karmella. ‘Hi, Maya.’

  ‘Hi, ladies,’ says Ben, turning away from me. The moment’s shattered and Karmella has his full attention.

  ‘We’re getting out of here, before that nutter –’ she motions towards Zeba on the stage – ‘locks us all in and starts playing emo music.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Ben. ‘You coming, Maya?’

  I can’t just ditch Zeba. That’s not what friends do. ‘Sorry, but …’

  Ben pulls a sad face. ‘Does your mum want you home?’

  ‘I … No …’ I look at Zeba on the stage, directing everyone to the doors like a steward from Halloween Airlines. Then I turn back to Ben. ‘No. I just have to stay.’

  It’s the right thing to do.

  A text comes through on my phone. It’s from Zeba. I’m going on stage to get everyone to go home. You look like you’re getting close to BS so I thought I’d leave you to it. Good luck x x

  It was the right thing to do, to wait for Zeba. But as Ben walks out arm in arm with Karmella and Rochelle, it doesn’t feel very good. And I wonder if my chance to be cool has walked out with them.

  Chapter 11

  On Thursday I’m back in my room again with Frankie and Zeba. Despite the monumental failure with Amanda and Mark, we carry on logging in the secrets. Zeba and I are taking it in turns to read them out while Frankie types them into the spreadsheet. Then we put them into the Hitachi box, which I’ve covered in pretty wrapping paper.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘This one must be recent because it was right near the top. I’d say, less than a month or two old.’ I start to read it out.

  ‘That one’s right up your street, Maya,’ says Frankie.

  ‘I would be so proud if I won a poetry competition,’ I say. ‘I would shout it from the rooftop. And never stop. Till I drop. Or go pop.’

  They laugh and Zeba gives me a round of applause.

  ‘Words are my tool,’ I say with a bow.

  Then a brilliant idea enters my head. ‘I know! We could hold our own poetry competition. Then this girl would realize that she wasn’t the only poet in school and she would become proud of her talents.’

  ‘Great idea, Maya!’ says Zeba.

  ‘And it will be really fun to organize!’ says Frankie. She gets up and does a little dance. I get on my bed and start jumping up and down. Then Zeba joins me. Finally we’re all jumping up and down and whooping like auditionees for Banshee’s Got Talent.

  ‘Girls?!’ It’s Mum calling from the kitchen. ‘Are you all right?’

  We start laughing. ‘Fine, Mum!’ I call. And then we sit back down again.

  ‘Maya, me and you will ask Miss Draper tomorrow.’ Zeba says, ‘I’m going to do something in the style of Valentine Death Pact.’

  ‘Quelle surprise,’ says Frankie, with a roll of her eyes.

  But we can’t devote all our time and energy to that. There are other secrets to solve. ‘I can’t stop thinking about this one.’ It’s terrified me every day since we first saw it. I wave the secret in front of them, then read it aloud.

  ‘We need to stop this person bullying,’ I tell them.

  ‘Find out who wrote this and tell the teachers.’

  ‘And find this Raphael person,’ says Frankie. ‘Warn him that a bully is out to get him.’

  ‘Do you know anyone called Raphael, Zeba?’ I ask.

  Zeba closes her eyes as she thinks. ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘Hmmm, cryptic,’ says Frankie. ‘I’m no psychologist –’ Frankie thinks she is a psychologist because she reads agony-aunt columns – ‘but this bully is obviously a very secretive person. He’s not even writing down what it is he didn’t do.’

  He might be secretive, but that just makes things worse for me; as someone passed a note calling me the most tragically uncool freak on my very first day, I must be target numero uno. Me and this Raphael … whoever he is.

  Zeba squints. ‘Why would anyone say they did something that they didn’t?’

  ‘We’ll never figure out that one,’ says Frankie.

  Our conversation is interrupted by the doorbell. Who could that be? Mum doesn’t know anyone in Greenford any more.

  I hear the front door opening. Then a muffled voice. It’s deep. A man’s voice. But I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  Then there’s a pause and the flat is completely silent.

  Then, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ says Mum. ‘How did you find us?’

  I can hear the muffled voice more clearly now. It says, ‘Don’t blame your mum. I’ve been desperate.’

  It’s Dave.

  I turn to the girls and I can feel that the colour has drained from my face. ‘I think you’d better go,’ I say.

  Chapter 12

  Domestic carnage is about to unfold, and if I don’t get my friends out asap they’ll realize that Grandpa is the most sane member of my family. Frankie’s called her dad and he’s on his way to pick her up.

  ‘Maybe it would be easier if you got picked up from Zeba’s house,’ I suggest, thinking that the atom bomb could be due in T-minus any-second-now. ‘Would that be OK, Zebes?’

  Zeba goes even more flippy than usual and garbles something about wall paper and decorating and her house not being fit for human consumption.

  ‘Okaaaaaay,’ says Frankie, who’s not as used to Zeba’s weirdness as I am.

  Zeba grabs her big backpack and runs out of the room, shouting, ‘Bye!’ as she goes.

  I want to stay in my room, but when Frankie’s dad rings to say he’s five minutes away I know I’m going to have to show myself to the enemy. Frankie and I creep past the kitchen like we did when we were kids sneaking a midnight feast. From behind the closed door I can hear voices, but not what they’re saying.

  ‘I hope he’s not trying to get her back,’ I whisper to Frankie. ‘David’s such a knob.’

  ‘Knob?’ Frankie repeats with a shake of her head. ‘Such an unladylike word.’

  From the kitchen we can hear ‘try again’, and ‘for the sake of our child’.

  Frankie looks at me. She knows how seriously I take this. I hate Dave. He’s not good enough for my mum, and I don’t want them to get married. Frankie bites her lip before she says quietly, ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they got back together.’

  I shoot her a dirty look and we stop and stare at each other in the hallway.

  ‘At least then you could move back to Denham and everything could be like it was and we could be proper beffies again.’

  ‘We are proper beffies!’ I say, then curse myself for speaking too loudly.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ she says, turning the volume up even louder. ‘We’re text beffies. It’s not the same. And now you’re speaking all differently, and Zeba’s in the picture, and I’m not sure—’

  ‘Maya,’ comes a male voice from behind me, ‘I thought I heard you. It’s so good to see you again!’

  Dave. Stinking Dave. Stinking, no shoes in the house, always bumps his head, TV hogging, beef Wellington making, stinking Dave. He’s standing there with his arms open as if he thinks I’m going to run over and give him a hug.

  I don’t.

  He turns his
gesture into a yawn to try to salvage some dignity.

  ‘And Frankie,’ he says. ‘Good to see you too. How’s the horse? Toby Burp, isn’t it?’

  Frankie shuffles her feet and corrects him: ‘Belch.’

  ‘Not in front of the ladies!’ he says, and does his infuriating fake laugh.

  ‘Frankie’s just leaving,’ I say, and push her towards the door.

  Dave doesn’t move from where he is, and I can see Frankie’s dad’s car outside. ‘Bon courage,’ says Frankie. It’s her way of saying good luck. ‘Call me later,’ she says, and gives me a hug.

  Dave hasn’t changed. Oversized Adam’s apple? Check. Smelly herbal tea? Check. Desperate cheesy grin? Check. OK, he’s cut his hair since I last saw him, but apart from that …

  ‘They finally fixed the pothole outside our house,’ he says.

  ‘That must make Mr Mayhew very happy,’ says Mum.

  We’re all sitting round the kitchen table drinking tea as if everything’s normal with this picture.

  ‘It’s getting really dark out there,’ I say. ‘What time did you say you were leaving, David?’

  ‘Maya!’ snaps Mum. ‘Apologize to Dave this instant.’

  I hang my head.

  ‘It’s OK, Maya,’ Dave says. He leans forward and tries to look me in the eye. ‘I just really need to talk to your mum.’ He turns back to her. ‘I need to know how the baby is doing. I need to come to the appointments with you.’

  ‘I don’t know, Dave.’ Mum stares into her lap. ‘If we’re not going to be together, maybe it’s best for the baby if you stay away.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, backing her up. ‘I mean, I never had a dad around and look at me, I’m totally well-adjusted. Normal, some might say.’

  Dave rudely ignores me. ‘Leanne, I want you back. You have to take me seriously. You have to take our relationship seriously. For the baby’s sake. You’re clearly afraid of commitment,’ he says, ‘but I can show you that—’

  Mum’s head flicks up at the accusation. ‘I am not afraid of commitment!’ she says. ‘Excuse me for making you wait for a while before I let you move in, but I do have a daughter to think of.’ She whispers the word daughter as if I won’t be able to hear her from the next chair.

  ‘So why did you throw away the engagement ring?’ he asks, his voice deepening.

  We’ve been here before. I can tell what Mum’s about to say before she says it. Something like, ‘I did not throw the ring away. I took it off and someone pinched it.’

  ‘It was stolen, you arse!’ she shouts. A new variation on the same theme.

  ‘Leanne, come on—’

  ‘You think I’m a liar!’ Mum shouts back. ‘You think I chucked it. Or stripped it and sold it for parts.’

  She should have sold it. It was huge. Then we could have had a holiday.

  Dave stands up, clearly angry. ‘If you just told me the truth, stopped keeping secrets, then we could move past this and get on with our lives. I’d even buy you another one. But I can’t marry someone who won’t own up to what they have done.’

  ‘I am telling you the truth,’ shouts Mum, tears in her eyes.

  Dave shakes his head like he pities Mum. ‘You’ve lied so much you wouldn’t know the truth if it did a naked—’

  ‘Just get out, will you?!’ shouts Mum.

  Dave looks hurt, but he deserves it.

  ‘David, go!’ I order him. ‘You’re damaging the baby!’

  Dave’s face falls. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but he turns, picks up his silly green leather jacket and walks out. We sit in silence as we hear the front door click shut.

  I want to say something to make things all right, but I’m so mad with Dave that I don’t know what to say. How dare he say that Mum lies? Mum definitely does not lie. Well, she’s not lying about this anyway.

  Chapter 13

  Luke hasn’t said a word to me all lesson, which is totally fine by me. I still have to sit next to him for English, but that doesn’t mean I have to talk to him. He’s just chomping down power bars and Miss Draper isn’t even trying to stop him.

  ‘So,’ says Miss Draper, ‘I want everyone to pair up again. And your homework is to find three poems on the same theme.’

  My heart squeezes. My plan to never speak to Luke again has fallen apart. I look over at Zeba. She looks back at me. Zeba’s sat next to Karen Small, who’s lovely, but Zeba and I really want to be together on this, and I especially do not want to be with Luke.

  I stick up my hand. ‘Miss Draper,’ I say, ‘can we work in threes, please?’

  Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

  ‘No,’ she says.

  Hideous!

  Zeba waves at me and I can see from here that she has painted her nails with red nail varnish shaped to look like drops of blood.

  Rochelle lets out a loud sigh of relief. Rochelle and Karmella are sitting next to Billy Beckworth – a scruffy-looking boy with a big stain on his uniform.

  ‘Thank God,’ says Karmella. ‘We would have had to work with Billy the div.’

  ‘Yeah!’ shouts Rochelle, and frowns into her book.

  ‘Maya,’ Luke says, his voice low and husky, ‘I really—’

  Fortunately I am saved by the bell. Literally. I throw my things into my bag as fast as I can, so fast I miss my bag. My pencils go all over the floor.

  Luke bends down and joins me picking them up and I’m hit by the smell of clean clothes again.

  While I’m kneeling down I catch a glimpse into his open backpack. Floating by his A4 pad is a brown plastic bottle with a printed pharmacy label. It has his name at the top.

  ‘Maya,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I say, sounding all squeaky. ‘I wasn’t looking!’

  ‘Here’s my number.’ He tries to hand me a piece of paper, but I pretend to be too involved with the pencils to notice. ‘You know, for the homework.’

  ‘You don’t have to help with the homework,’ I say quickly. ‘You don’t have to help pick up these pencils either.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’ll do the work and I’ll say you did, OK?’ I stand up, close my bag and hurry over to where Zeba is waiting.

  ‘You OK?’ she asks.

  I wait until Luke leaves the room before I answer, eyeing him like a cat eyes a passing dog. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You were right about the happy pills.’

  Zeba nods. ‘Told you.’

  ‘Come on,’ I say, grabbing her. ‘Let’s talk to Miss Draper; see if she’ll help us with the poetry competition.’

  Everyone else clears out and Miss Draper doesn’t say anything until we’re all alone. That’s what’s so brilliant about Miss Draper – she’s sensitive like that.

  ‘Can I help you, girls?’ she says, and up close I notice her face is a little lined. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Zeba rushes forward. ‘Everything is awesome, Miss D., just awesome.’

  Miss Draper doesn’t know how to react to the Miss D. thing so she stays silent and waits for us to explain.

  I step forward. ‘Um, we were thinking …’ I start.

  Miss Draper dips her head and smiles at me. It gives me the courage to continue.

  ‘We were thinking,’ I say again, ‘of organizing a poetry competition.’ I say the last words really quickly so I can take them back if she thinks it’s dumb.

  ‘A poetry competition?’

  I nod.

  ‘We could call it “Searching for Shakespeare”,’ says Zeba. This is a new idea and hasn’t been approved by me or Frankie.

  ‘We haven’t decided what we would call it,’ I say. ‘But we were thinking it could be an open competition, for all years, about any subject. We could give prizes to the first, second and third places. And even print the top ten in a booklet or something!’ This is my idea and hasn’t been approved by Zeba or Frankie.

  Zeba says, ‘Ooo, groovy.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  We wait, like she’s Simon Cowell ab
out to make the big life-changing decision. A smile grows on her face. ‘An excellent thought, girls.’

  Zeba and I give each other a high five. ‘Yes!’ I shout. ‘There would be a panel of judges – like famous writers and professors and stuff – and maybe we could get the winning poem published in a newspaper!’

  Miss Draper grins at me. ‘You two seem very passionate about this.’

  ‘We’d need your help, miss,’ says Zeba.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m pretty busy. But if you two come up with a solid plan, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I say.

  ‘You’re a star, Miss D.!’ says Zeba.

  Zeba and I walk out of the classroom and do our silly handshake. ‘Maya,’ Miss Draper calls after me. ‘I think this is yours.’

  She picks up a folded piece of paper and holds it out to me. I run back to take it from her and when I unfold it I see that it’s the one Luke tried to give me earlier. He must have slipped it in my bag somehow.

  He put his number and then:

  He put a kiss. What does that mean? Maybe it’s the pills.

  ‘What’s that?’ Zeba asks, nodding at the paper in my hand. ‘Is it one of the secrets?’

  ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘It’s just some rubbish.’

  I shove the note into my bag.

  Chapter 14

  Mr Holt might as well be talking Martian, for all the sense chemistry makes to me. Still, Zeba and I have managed to find a way to make chemical equations more fun.

  ‘So,’ I say to her as we study the periodic table, ‘if Be is the symbol for Beryllium, N is the symbol for Nitrogen, and S is the symbol for Sulphur, the chemical formula for Ben S is Beryllium Nitrogen Sulphide.’

  We giggle like idiots.

  Karmella and Rochelle look at us. I stop laughing.

  ‘Zeba and Maya!’ shouts Mr Holt from the front of the class. ‘Tell me: what is so funny about chemical equations?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Holt,’ says Zeba. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ I say. ‘There is nothing funny or entertaining about chemistry. Promise.’

  Mr Holt looks hurt, like I’ve just insulted his first-born. He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, I expected more of the daughter of Leanne Andrews.’