Secrets, Lies, and Locker 62

by Lil Chase

  ‘We thought we’d stop by on our way to the supermarket. Do you want to come with?’

  I nod. We haven’t had any proper food in the house for days. ‘Is Mum coming?’ I ask.

  Gran shakes her head. ‘But your grandfather is.’ She turns to Grandpa, who’s sniffing the dead flowers in the plant pot. Gran wags her finger at him. ‘But no surfing the supermarket trolleys.’

  ‘I wasn’t even senile when I did that,’ he says, crossing his arms and seeming sulky.

  ‘I know!’ says Gran.

  I make a shopping list, call goodbye to Mum, and we head out to the shops.

  While Grandpa and I make slow laps up and down the aisles, Gran dashes off and gets the things from the list. We’re in the clothes section and Grandpa picks up a pair of bright red corduroys.

  ‘What do you think of these, Maya?’ he says.

  ‘I think they would make very nice dishcloths if you cut them up into pieces.’

  He puts his hands on his hips. ‘I would wear them,’ he says.

  ‘Exactly!’

  He laughs. ‘I remember that your mother used to have a pair of these when she was about your age. Before … you know …’

  He tails off. I know he means before she had me. We don’t really talk about that time. I guess it must have been really hard having a daughter who was thirteen and pregnant. But the most unbelievable thing is that Mum would ever wear trousers like that!

  ‘What was Mum like when she was my age?’ I ask.

  ‘Just like you,’ says Grandpa. ‘She didn’t have a lot of friends. And she always had her head in a book.’

  I laugh it off. ‘Thanks, Grandpa! Just like me: unpopular and bookish!’ I’m glad to hear that me and Mum were alike at some time, though I can’t believe she was ever uncool.

  But something Grandpa said doesn’t make any sense; if Mum was so unpopular, wearing red cords that could never have been trendy, then how did she get a boyfriend? How did she and my dad get together?

  ‘Grandpa,’ I say, my heart racing as I brace myself for asking the most serious question I have ever asked, the one that I have never asked because I’ve been too scared to hear the answer, ‘what was my dad like?’ And then the most important question of all: ‘Do you remember his name?’

  Grandpa picks up a pair of slippers with rabbits on the front and frowns at them. ‘We never met him,’ he says. ‘We never knew your mum was pregnant.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘These look tasty,’ he says, talking about the slippers.

  Grandpa’s losing it again. He’s blocked out mum’s pregnancy and now he’s trying to eat slippers. Why does my family have to be so mental?

  ‘You didn’t know Mum was pregnant?’

  ‘Not until she brought you back from the hospital,’ he says. ‘Maybe we should have rabbit stew for dinner.’

  I sigh. ‘I’ll go get apples,’ I tell him and stomp away from the clothes section, past the stationery and the books, and head over to fruit and veg. I never get a straight answer from any of my family. Mum and Gran won’t tell me the truth, and Grandpa only spouts complete madness about not knowing my mum was pregnant.

  But there was something about the way he said it: like he wasn’t lying.

  Ducking behind the mound of potatoes, I decide to hide out here.

  ‘Are you OK, love?’ asks a woman pushing a trolley packed high with power bars. She seems sweet but she looks really tired too, dark circles under her eyes.

  I am momentarily mesmerized because I have never seen so many power bars in one place. ‘I’m … I’m fine, thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Well, as long as you’re sure,’ she says.

  I turn and walk slowly down the next aisle, where I see a very familiar silhouette. He’s looking at the trays and trays of pears, counting them out with his fingers like he belongs in remedial class.

  It’s Luke.

  And he’s holding hands with someone.

  He’s holding hands with an older man.

  Is Luke gay?

  Luke looks up and sees me and instantly drops the hand of the man he was holding on to. Then the man follows Luke’s gaze, turns towards me and says, ‘What are you looking at, Lukie?’

  Suddenly the penny drops.

  ‘Are you looking at that pretty girl?’ asks the man. ‘She is very pretty.’

  The man is clearly disabled. Down’s syndrome or something. He smiles at me and his smile is just like Luke’s.

  This man is Luke’s brother.

  ‘Maya,’ says Luke, looking shocked to see me.

  I just stare at him. I don’t mean to be rude, but this is so unexpected.

  ‘Maya,’ he says again, ‘I’m so sorry about Friday.’

  The woman with the tired eyes comes over and I get a strong smell of washing powder. She looks from me to Luke. ‘Hello,’ she says, and her voice is so gentle. ‘Are you one of Luke’s friends?’

  ‘I … Hello … I’m …’ I have forgotten my own name again.

  ‘Are you Maya?’ she asks.

  How come she knows my name?

  ‘I … er … have to go,’ I say. I give her a half-smile and turn to walk away.

  But just as I’m backing down the aisle I hear her saying to Luke, ‘Did something happen with Raphael?’

  Raphael is Luke’s brother.

  I walk out from the supermarket and try to get some air. This is all too much to take in. My mum is about to have a baby and she’s gone insane. But then, according to Grandpa, she concealed the pregnancy with me – which might explain why she’s so clueless at all the appointments. Seeing Luke and Raphael is just the final straw. I need someone to talk to, now more than ever, and I know my diary won’t cut it this time.

  I need a new plan to get my friends back.

  Chapter 32

  It’s Saturday night. I’m standing in the wings of the school stage, looking out at all the people. It’s more than I expected for a Saturday night, and definitely more than I expected for a poetry competition.

  I’ve worked out a plan to fix everything. It’s pretty drastic. I really hope it works.

  Mr Holt’s done his ‘Thank you all for coming’ speech while Miss Draper is standing up there next to him, smiling. Then she talks about how important poetry can be for teenagers’ emotional development.

  I see Mum, who has used her huge belly to get seats for her, Gran and Grandpa, right at the front.

  But I can’t see Zeba anywhere. She must come; she has to come.

  A couple arrives. As soon as I see their faces I know who they are: olive-skinned, the man has a moustache and a kind face, and the woman is wearing a headscarf and her eyes are twinkling as she looks around. Even without the heavy makeup and overblown goth get-up, I can tell who they are. Zeba’s eyes are identical to his, and she has her mum’s cheeky grin. They look so anxious and proud.

  My stomach lurches as I see Karmella walking along the back of the hall. I haven’t spoken to her since the thing in the playground, and I’ve avoided all her calls. She’s walking towards the equipment closet for some reason.

  Then my stomach lurches twice as hard as I see why she’s heading there: Karmella’s found Zeba, who’s hiding in the equipment closet. Karmella walks over and her expression is so nasty as she whispers in Zeba’s ear. Zeba’s face falls, and the more Karmella says the more terrified Zeba looks. Then Zeba spots her parents by the doorway, and even through the pale make-up I can tell that the real colour has drained from her face. Karmella walks back with a smug grin.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder and I spin around. It’s Todd Swift, the poet who has come as a guest speaker to our poetry night. He’s holding a few papers in his hand, must be his speech. ‘Are you Maya?’ he whispers in a Canadian accent.

  ‘Yes, Mr Swift, it’s an honour …’ I’m a little star-struck. He’s a pretty famous poet. For a poet that’s not dead.

  ‘Please, call me Todd,’ he says. ‘And the honour is all mine! The standard of these poems is
very high. I can’t wait to announce the winner. Zeba Khan – is that how I pronounce her name?’

  ‘Yes, but—’ I try to interrupt him, but he’s not listening.

  ‘Her poem is excellent. It shows such potential.’

  I feel proud of my friend. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear that, Mr— er, Todd. But—’

  Now he interrupts me, glancing down at his papers and up again. ‘So, I give a short talk about poetry and then I tell everyone who’s won, is that right?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I take a deep breath and launch my plan into action. ‘But if it’s OK with you, I would like to announce the winner myself.’

  He shrugs. ‘Whatever you prefer.’

  Miss Draper turns to us. ‘So,’ she says, reaching her arm out to welcome Todd, ‘without further ado, here is tonight’s guest speaker: Todd Swift!’

  The hall erupts into applause as Todd walks on to the stage, giving an awkward wave. ‘Thanks. Thanks, everyone.’ He stands at the podium and shuffles his papers. ‘I’m pleased to see so many here tonight when you could have been at home watching Saturday-night TV.’ There’s a quiet chuckle from the audience. ‘This is a great time in your life to start writing poetry. Poetry purges the soul of agony, and, let’s face it, the teenage years are the most agonizing of them all!’

  Another little laugh and I laugh too, proud that I made such a great choice of speaker.

  ‘Poetry has come a long way since sonnets and iambic pentameter …’ he’s saying.

  Movement from the other side of the stage, where Miss Draper and Mr Holt are standing, catches my attention. Hidden behind the curtain, Miss Draper’s little finger is grabbing on to Mr Holt’s little finger!

  It’s taking a second to sink in. Then I screech, ‘O! M! G!’

  Todd stops speaking for a second and turns to look at me. The whole school hall goes quiet as they wonder what on earth that noise was.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say to Todd.

  Miss Draper and Mr Holt are together! It must be down to us a little bit, because of the poetry competition, and that makes me feel so happy. Turns out that adults act like teenagers all the time, and adults have secrets too.

  I take their happiness as an omen that everything is going to go perfectly tonight.

  ‘… Maya Andrews!’ says Todd.

  It’s my cue to come on and do my thing. I walk out on to the stage and my mum whoops and cheers and gets everyone all stirred up for my entrance. Grandpa shouts, ‘Come on, you Spurs!’ Obviously a little confused, but no one pays any attention because everyone is looking at me.

  I smile at them all and wave as I walk up to the podium and step forward to the mic.

  ‘Hello. Er … hi … everyone,’ I say. I feel a little nervous, seeing all these faces looking up at me. But I remember Frankie’s lipgloss pep talk – Just be yourself and they will all love you – and I push on. I don’t even need the lipgloss.

  ‘There were loads of great entries to the poetry competition,’ I say, impressed that I’m only stammering a little. ‘All of them expressed something new and surprising. Unfortunately though, there can only be one winner …’

  Karmella is bouncing up and down, pointing over at Zeba and laughing. Zeba’s peeking out from behind the closet door, holding her face in her hands.

  ‘The winner today showed such heart and raw emotion that we couldn’t not give it to her.’

  Karmella stares at Zeba, waiting for the bomb to drop.

  ‘That winner is … Karmella Loughton.’

  Chapter 33

  A few of the parents start clapping, but most of the students are too stunned to join in.

  ‘Karmella Loughton has won with her fabulous poem –’ I catch Karmella’s eye as I say – ‘L is heLL.’

  Karmella stares at me as if she might kill me. Then she quickly glances at people round the room, wondering how they are going to react, wondering when they are going to laugh at her.

  No one does.

  Zeba sticks her head out from behind the equipment closet. She smiles at me and mouths, ‘Thank you,’ and I smile back. Not wanting to draw too much attention to her in case her parents see, but wanting to let her know that I will never do anything mean ever again.

  I take a deep shaky breath. ‘If I may, I would like to read it for you now.’

  My mum’s face is lit up with pride. Or maybe it’s pregnancy glow.

  I take Karmella’s poem out and start reading.

  L.

  L is heLL.

  Neither first to be caLLed

  nor best saved tiLL Last

  always Lost in the middLe …

  I read the poem to the end, looking right into Karmella’s eyes as I say the last line.

  … they’ve never heard my words.

  I hope I’ve done Karmella’s poem justice. The hall is silent for a moment before the clapping begins. A lot of people turn to look at Karmella, all of them smiling. Karmella has gone a little red but she must be pleased at the response.

  I wait for it to quieten down before I say, ‘I know,’ (because I’ve read so many of your secrets) ‘that everyone has felt exactly like this at one time or another. I would like to thank Karmella personally for writing it because I think it helps all of us to know that we are not alone.

  ‘Karmella –’ I stretch out my hand to her – ‘would you like to say anything to the school as you come up and get your prize?’

  There is another long pause as I wait for Karmella to run with glee to the front of the hall, jump up the steps to the podium and tell everyone that it’s OK to be upset once in a while. That being a bit weird and feeling lonely does not make you uncool. But Karmella is scowling. Slowly a smile creeps on to her face and she gets up from her chair and walks towards the front. The crowd starts applauding again as she sashays over, like a model on a catwalk. She carries her bag in one hand and I wonder why she’s bringing it with her. She takes the steps one at a time.

  Everyone has got tired of clapping so Karmella crosses the stage in complete silence, apart from the occasional cough or shuffle. She pushes past me to get to the podium, covers the microphone with her hand and whispers, ‘You’re going to get it now.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Thank you, Maya,’ Karmella says loudly into the mic. ‘That was very sweet of you.’

  I nod at her and smile back, the sides of my mouth wobbling.

  ‘I want to thank Maya on behalf of everyone, in fact.’

  Mum beams up at me. Gran and Mum hold hands. They seem so happy to be here, but I wish that they weren’t. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I don’t think it will be good.

  ‘Maya Andrews has thrown this whole thing together, trying to get us in touch with our emotions,’ she says. ‘Almost as if she wants to make us expose our secrets to the whole world.’

  People have no idea where this speech is going. Some start to laugh nervously.

  ‘Don’t you think, Mr Swift –’ she turns to Todd, who looks a little shocked to be included in her performance – ‘that the best poems expose the truth, about ourselves and how we feel about others.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose—’ replies Todd, having to shout because he doesn’t have a microphone.

  But Karmella cuts him off. ‘Why would Maya want us to know each other’s secrets? Why would sweet little Maya Andrews care so much? Because she is such a nice person.’

  Why does she say ‘nice’ like it’s a bad thing? I can hardly look at my mum’s face as it falls from pride to complete confusion.

  Karmella turns to me. ‘Maya, you asked if I had something to say to these lovely people, and I do.’

  I back my way into the wings, but I can’t stop watching.

  ‘Not many of you know this, but Maya is a poet too. I’d like to read out something of hers now.’

  The sinking feeling’s just got worse. She reaches down into her bag and pulls out a pretty notepad with an embroidered flower design on the front. A diary. And it’s one I recognize ver
y well.

  ‘It’s more prose poetry, but you’ll get into it as it goes on. This poem is called “Making up a boyfriend”!’

  Big guffaws of laughter rip through the room. Miss Draper looks at me, ready to hear my secret poem. I mouth at Miss Draper, ‘Please stop her.’ But she gives me a thumbs up and an encouraging smile.

  Karmella continues in a fake posh accent that she has adopted to mimic me. ‘Me and Mum made a fake boyfriend today to fool everyone into thinking I am cool.’

  I hide my face in my hands.

  ‘We’ve spent ages on him and he’s so hot that I wish he really did exist. But if he did, what are the chances he would fall for someone ugly and stupid like me?’

  Titters rise from the audience.

  Karmella continues. ‘I will never be cool or sexy like my mum. She’s always telling me how important it is to be cool. I must be such a disappointment.’

  My mum blushes and people start to point her out. Gran frowns and Mum covers her mouth with her hand.

  ‘I know what you are all thinking, right: this is the sweetest mother-and-daughter relationship you have ever seen.’ Karmella waits for the audience to die down again before she continues. ‘But wait, this poem gets better.’

  Oh no. This is it.

  ‘I know Mum is heartbroken about breaking up with Dave. But she also hates him too. Maybe now she hates him as much as I do.’

  Mum’s head snaps up when she hears Dave’s name.

  Miss Draper sees the panic on my face and I think she’s just realized what’s going on. She walks on to the stage so Karmella starts speaking really quickly.

  ‘She dumped him because he accused her of throwing away his engagement ring, then lying about it.’

  Miss Draper gets to Karmella and puts her hand out for my diary. ‘Thank you, Karmella, that’s enough now.’

  Karmella ignores Miss Draper and carries on reading. ‘The thing is, she didn’t throw away Dave’s engagement ring …’

  Miss Draper takes the diary from Karmella and grabs her by the arm. But Karmella has enough time to lean forward and say two words into the mic:

  ‘I did.’

  Silence.

  Miss Draper leads Karmella past me. She says, ‘You are in a lot of trouble, young lady,’ but Karmella doesn’t seem to care. She grins at me with her teeth clenched.