Rules for Secret Keeping Read online

  “Oh,” Jake says. “Umm . . .” He shifts in his chair and looks uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” I say, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s so silly.”

  “It’s not silly,” Jake says. He reaches over to the box of tissues on the top of his desk and hands me one. I blow my nose. Great. Totally what I want to be doing in front of the guy that I like. Getting all sniffly and gross.

  “I mean, I know it’s just a dumb secret-passing website. It’s not a matter of national security or anything. It’s not even something that makes a difference in people’s lives. Did I tell you there was a girl at the photo shoot who was making bracelets to save the children in Darfur?”

  “Well, that’s awesome that she’s doing that,” Jake says. “But that doesn’t mean that what you’re doing is any less special. You put in just as much work as she did.”

  “Not really.” I sniff. “I haven’t even tried to research the way the digital revolution is sweeping the nation. Or work on my branding. Or come up with a name for my business. And now I’m paying the price.”

  “The digital revolution?” Jake looks confused. “Samantha, Olivia didn’t research the digital revolution, she just happens to have a dad who knows about computers and set her up with a website so that she wouldn’t have to do any real work.”

  “Maybe.” I sniff.

  “And you watch, once we prove that she’s telling people’s secrets, or once we can get into her website, she’ll lose interest in this whole project and move on.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.” And then something crazy and wonderful and horrible and exciting and terrifying happens. Jake reaches over and wipes one of my tears away with his thumb. My heart starts up again. And then, before I even have time to think about what’s happening, Jake is leaning in toward me. His lips are, like, two inches away from mine, and he’s looking right into my eyes. Jake is going to kiss me! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for! The moment where Jake will tell me that he likes me only, not Emma, that he’s been wanting to kiss me ever since that day with his skateboard.

  “Samantha,” he says softly, and I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as mine.

  But then, just as he’s about to lean in for the kiss, out of nowhere, a rap song starts playing. Which is kind of weird, seeing as how I always figured my first kiss would be set to something a little more romantic. And then I realize it’s Jake’s phone. His ringtone is a rap song.

  He picks up his cell from the desk, and I catch a glance at the caller ID before he sends the call to voicemail. But it’s too late. I saw who it was. Emma.

  “Who was that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

  “No one,” he says. Which is a complete lie, since I saw the caller ID and I know it was definitely not a no one, it was definitely a someone. But I don’t say this. I just look at him and still kind of hope that maybe he might try to kiss me.

  But there’s a knock on his open door, and it’s his mom, and she wants Jake to know that dinner is ready, and then she asks me if I’m going to stay. But I say no, because, hello, how embarrassing is it to think that I maybe almost kissed Jake and now his mom is asking me to stay for dinner?

  “So, um, I guess I’ll get going,” I say once Jake’s mom is back downstairs. “So that you can have dinner.”

  “Yeah,” Jake says.

  I grab my bag off the back of my chair. “Um, so, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

  “See you in school tomorrow,” Jake says. He grins and gives me a little wave. He’s kind of acting like nothing happened. Is it possible that maybe I imagined the whole thing? That maybe Jake wasn’t trying to kiss me, that maybe he was just reaching over me for something and his lips kind of came close to me by accident or something? How will I know? What if he thinks I didn’t want to kiss him and so now he’s never going to try again? Boys have very fragile self-esteem. That’s one thing I’ve learned from watching Taylor and all the boys who flock around her.

  If only Jake would give me a sign! Some kind of sign before I leave that would let me know! I mean a real sign. Not something ambiguous like what just happened. I decide to walk out of his room verryyy slowly, just in case Jake wants to say something to make the situation better or to clarify things. But he doesn’t say anything.

  And then, right when I’m about to slip out the door, Jake finally speaks.

  “Samantha?”

  “Yeah?” I turn around, my heart soaring. He gets up and crosses the room, and for a second, I think that maybe he might try to kiss me again.

  But instead, he holds his hand out. And when I look down, he’s holding a note.

  “Can you give this to Emma?” he says.

  I take it. “Sure.”

  It’s not a sign, it’s not a sign, it’s not a sign. That’s what I tell myself as I stomp down Jake’s stairs and out of his house. It’s not a sign, it’s not a sign, it’s not a sign. That’s what I tell myself as I walk home. It’s not a sign, it’s not a sign, it’s not a sign. That’s what I tell myself when I get up into my room and plop down on my bed, the note still in my hand.

  It can’t be a sign. Because it could say anything. They could be talking about anything! And unless I know for sure, I cannot jump to conclusions. But if I don’t know for sure, how can I not jump to conclusions? I put the note down next to me on the bed. And then I pick it back up. And I know that this moment has been coming, it’s been building, it’s all been leading up to this.

  So this time, I don’t just almost kind of sort of break through the tape. This time, I open the note. For the first time in all of my secret-passing days, I read one of the secrets. Because I really just cannot take it anymore. And this time, I finally get my answer.

  Because Jake’s note to Emma only says one word. And that word is “yes.”

  “IS THERE ANY POSSIBLE WAY THAT maybe he meant ‘yes’ about something totally random, like maybe she asked him if he’s taking advanced math next year or something?” I know it’s a stretch, but I’m desperate.

  “No,” Daphne says. It’s the next morning, and we’re hanging out outside near the side doors, waiting for the bell to ring for homeroom. Daphne has a soccer ball, and she’s kicking it against the wall of the school. I’m supposed to be playing goalie, but I don’t think I’m helping her practice all that much, because the ball just keeps going soaring by me. Pretty much every shot she takes is hitting the wall. I know I’m supposed to make it a little hard for her, but I might be the least coordinated person in the history of the world. Seriously.

  “Is there any possible way that—”

  “No,” Daphne says. Another ball goes by me, and I reach down and pick it up, then toss it back to Daphne. “She was probably asking him if he liked her, or if he would go with her to the Fall Festival.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Although I do have to give Daphne points for her honesty. At least I know she’s not just telling me what I want to hear. That’s why I haven’t told her about how Jake and I almost kissed. I’m afraid she might tell me I really did just imagine it, and I’m so not ready to hear that.

  “Look,” she says. “If you want to do something about this situation, then you have to work with the facts. There’s no use being in denial.”

  “True,” I say. “But what can I do about it? There’s no way I can compete with Emma.”

  “Yes, you can,” she says. She pushes her bangs out of her face. “You haven’t even tried. And besides, who cares about Emma anyway?” She makes a very disgusted face. “You’re much better than Emma. You’re prettier and smarter and nicer.”

  “I am not prettier than her,” I say. Although the other things might be true. “And I don’t know how to try,” I say. “I don’t want to actually have to go after Jake, I just want him to like me.” I kick the ball back to Daphne, and she picks it up.

  “Without even putting in any effort?”

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “Witho
ut even putting in any effort.” Daphne kicks the ball again. “Do you really think I’m prettier than Emma?”

  “There you are!” Speak of the devil. Emma’s voice comes trailing across the side of the school like nails on a chalkboard, and she comes waltzing into view. Today she’s wearing a white button-down shirt and a pink and gray plaid wool skirt that flares around her knees, and there’s a pink and gray beret perched on her head. Huh. I wonder where she got a matching beret-and-skirt set. Like, where does one buy such things? I hardly ever see berets when I’m out, much less berets with matching skirts. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I was at The Common for, like, at least half an hour waiting.” She gives me an admonishing look.

  “Why?” I frown. “We didn’t have plans to hang out at The Common, did we?” I rack my brain, wondering if my maybe-real, maybe-imagined kiss has started to make me forget things.

  “No, but you were there yesterday, so I figured that you would be there TODAY.” Emma gives Daphne a big smile. “Hi, Daph.”

  “Hi,” Daphne says tightly. She doesn’t look too pleased.

  “Anyway,” Emma says. “Jake said he gave you a note for me.”

  I pull it out of my bag and hand it to her. She opens it, reads the “yes” and then smiles. If she notices anything weird about it (a.k.a. the fact that I had to tape it back up after reading it), she doesn’t say anything. All she says is “Thanks. And, like, just so you know, I’m sorry we made you do all that secret-passing.”

  Made? As in past tense? “That’s okay,” I say, even though it’s so totally not.

  “I think Jake and I are at a point now where we’ll probably just talk directly.” She smiles again. “Oh! I totally forgot! Samantha, you owe me twenty dollars.” She holds out her hand. I notice her nails are painted pumpkin spice, just like Taylor’s. Must be the new fall trend.

  “Twenty dollars? For what?” Good luck getting it, I think. I’m broke as a joke.

  “For your cowboy hat,” Charlie pipes up. She’s walked up behind Emma. She’s holding a to-go cup of something that looks hot, and she takes a dainty sip.

  “Cowboy hat?” I sigh. “You guys, listen, I can’t go as a wild cowgirl.”

  “But you have to!” Emma cries. “We already got three costumes. We can’t go as two cowgirls; I told you that’s lame!”

  “We already started choreographing the dance,” Charlie says, like the fact that they’ve already started coming up with a dance makes it impossible for me to not go. I guess she doesn’t realize that a dance is going to dissuade me even more.

  “Yeah,” Emma agrees. “It goes like this.” She starts jumping around, doing what I guess is supposed to be a line dance or something. But she kind of looks like one of those crazy Irish jig people who are always on TV around St. Patrick’s Day. Emma has no idea she looks ridiculous, and she beams at me when she’s done. “Isn’t that awesome? We came up with it ourselves.”

  “You’re going as a cowgirl to the Fall Festival?” Daphne asks. “With them?” She drops her soccer ball on the ground, and it goes rolling toward the school, where it bounces off the wall and into a puddle.

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “Yes,” Charlie says. “And so you owe us twenty dollars for the hat. Now give it.”

  “I thought the hats were free,” I say. “The ones we tried on at your aunt’s.” Also, “give it”? Who says that?

  “You were trying on things at their aunt’s house?” Daphne shrieks.

  “No,” I say. “I mean, yes. I mean, no, not her house, we were at this costume shop, it was—look, it wasn’t because I was going to go with them.”

  “You can be a cowgirl too, Daphne,” Charlie says. “I’m sure we can find another costume.”

  “But I don’t want to be a cowgirl,” Daphne says.

  “Sure you do,” Charlie says. She takes another sip of her drink. “Wait until you see the costumes, they are so totally ah-mazing.”

  “So if you could bring us the money for the hat tomorrow, that would be great. And you too, Daph.” Emma waves at us. “Toodles.” And then she and Charlie disappear into school.

  Daphne looks at me, her green eyes accusing.

  “I’m not,” I say, “going as a cowgirl.”

  “Sounds kind of like you are,” she says.

  “Well . . .” I drag my toe in the dirt pile near the bench, watching the mark my ballet flat makes. “It could be kind of fun. We could bring a cowbell or something.”

  “Yeah,” Daphne says. “Maybe.” She opens her mouth, like maybe she wants to say something else. But the bell rings then, and so she just picks up her soccer ball, wipes it off, and heads into school.

  I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but it seems like maybe Jake is avoiding me.

  Not, like, avoiding me avoiding me, but maybe just kind of avoiding me.

  Case in point:

  Wednesday, a summary: Homeroom: Jake says hi, but then buries himself in a skateboarding magazine and does not talk to me. Emma tries unsuccessfully to engage him in conversation (so maybe it’s not just me?). Later, after sixth period, I say hi to him as he passes by me in the hall. He says hi back, but doesn’t sound all that thrilled about it. There are no secrets in my locker from him. Or from Emma. Or, um, from anyone else.

  Thursday, a summary: See Wednesday.

  Friday, a summary: See Wednesday and Thursday.

  The weekend, a summary: Jake doesn’t call, IM, text, or attempt contact in any way.

  Needless to say, by the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m feeling pretty cranky. How can I be anything but, when we haven’t talked about our almost-kiss? Am I crazy? Was it really all in my head? Does Jake hate me? Are we not friends anymore?

  In other scandals, Barb is coming tomorrow, and I have not gotten any secrets to pass in, like, a week. And, to top it all off, as if my life wasn’t enough of a complete disaster, this morning I had to give Charlie twenty dollars for that dumb cowgirl hat. Daphne did too. We didn’t even want to, but we somehow ended up doing it anyway. Although I guess it’s not that surprising, when you think about it. I mean, Daphne and I are really no match for those two.

  During second period, I decide I’m so not in the mood to deal with Emma and Charlie (they love to spend study hall passing notes, covertly watching videos on their iPhones, and gossiping—I can never get any work done), and so I head to the library, where I log in to one of the school computers to check my email.

  Two new messages! Both from girls who were on the list of You Girl finalists! When I hadn’t heard from anyone right away, I’d kind of given up on the idea that anyone was going to come through with an extra ticket. I cross my fingers and open the first email.

  It’s from the Darfur Girl. Greeeat.

  Dear Samantha,

  I am sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I put your email in my pending file, and as you can probably imagine, things have been sooo busy around here, and it took me a while to get to it. Orders for my FREEDOM bracelets have tripled in the past few weeks, and I’ve also started a new LIBERTY bracelet line. Feel free to check out my website, linked below, and pass it along to any of your friends you think might be interested.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have another ticket for the banquet. I am surprised you would think it was okay to put out a mass email like that, asking for one. As you know, being chosen as one of the You Girl finalists is a big honor, and it’s not fair to expect someone to give up their ticket because YOU want to invite two people. A lot of people want to invite two people. In fact, I have about ten or eleven people who are just dying to come and support me.

  Looking forward to seeing you at the dinner!

  Love,

  Candace

  www.candace4darfur.com

  Ugh, ugh, ugh. I really might hate that girl.

  The other email is from Nikki, the girl at the photo shoot who helped me with my lip liner that day.

  Hey Samantha,

  Nice to hear from yo
u. I’m sorry I took so long to write you back, I actually don’t use this email address that much. (I gave it to You Girl just in case they decided to spam me with offers for their magazine—I know, I’m sneaky.)

  If you still need an extra ticket, I have one. I’m coming to the dinner by myself, since unfortunately my mom can’t afford to take time off from work. Do you want to meet in the lobby before the dinner and I’ll give you the ticket?

  I’ll have a You Girl escort with me, since I’m traveling by myself. (Can you tell how excited I am about that? Not.)

  Hope to hear from you soon,

  Nikki XXX

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Yes, yes, yes, yes! An extra ticket! Which means both of my dads can go! Of course, I’m going to have to do some major convincing in order to get my dad to sit at the same table as Tom. But how much can he really protest? I mean, it’s my night. So he kind of has to go along with what I want, doesn’t he? Plus it’s not like he even has to talk to Tom. He can just sit there and enjoy his dinner of roast chicken or whatever ridiculous thing they’re serving and wait for the winner to be announced. Which will not be me, but that’s a whole other story that will need to be dealt with later.

  Yes, yes, yes! I wonder what I should wear. Probably something professional-looking. But not too professional, and definitely shoes with—

  “Are you Samantha Carmichael?” a voice is saying. And, like, right in my ear, too—whoever it is has never definitely heard of personal space. I turn my head slowly to see a girl standing behind me. She has long blond hair, all the way down to her waist, and she’s wearing a short white tiered skirt and earrings that are so big they brush against her shoulders.

  “What?” I ask dumbly.

  “Are you,” she repeats, “Samantha Carmichael?” She taps her foot on the floor, and puts her hands on her hips.

  “Yes,” I say, before realizing that I probably should have figured out who she was and what she wanted before I told her who I was.

  “Well, I’m Olivia Snetski,” she says, real haughty-like. “Of Olivia’s Secrets?”

  “Oh. Uh, hi.” The elusive Olivia! After that one day when I overhead her in the library, we haven’t had any more run-ins. At first I was desperate to get her pointed out to me, but after a while, I kind of forgot about it. I didn’t want to put a face to the business, I guess.