Dark Secrets (13 page)

“
Sorry, Dad. I was
reading the compulsory books for English class—I had my earphones
in.”

“
Oh.” He seemed
suspired. “Any good books?”

“
Eh.” I nodded,
rolling my shoulder forward.

“
Well, I spoke to
your teachers and—”

“
Um, about that,
Dad,” I said as we walked down the stairs. “I think I’ll be okay. I
can handle a little homework.”

He smiled widely and
pulled my chair out at the dining table for me. “Good girl. I'm
very glad to hear that.”

As I sat down, I
glanced at Sam, who, for the first time since I moved here, didn't
smile; he pushed his vegetables around his plate with his fork,
hiding under his baseball cap. Poor Sam. I wondered how he felt
suddenly inheriting a permanent sister after fourteen years being
an only child. If it bothered him, he hadn’t acted out or anything.
I was grateful for that. But something seemed to be bothering him
tonight.

“
Samuel,” Dad’s stern
voice made us both look up as he sat down. “Cap, son.”

Sam sighed to himself,
slipping his baseball cap off and dropping it to the floor, without
protest.

Weird.

“
So, Ara met a boy
today,” Vicki said, serving a pile of peas onto Dad’s
plate.

Dad winked at
me.

“
He knows,” I said,
smiling, “he already interrogated him.”

“
I did not
interrogate him. Whatever gave you that impression?”

“
I saw you talking to
him—in class.”

“
Oh.” Dad scratched his brow. “Yes, that. Well, I
might’ve
lightly
threatened his safety. A little.”

Vicki sat back down
beside Dad. “You didn’t? Greg, how’s the poor girl supposed to make
a life for herself here if you scare off all the kids that look at
her sideways?”

“
That was more than a
sideways glance, Vicki.” Dad chuckled, sprinkling salt all over his
dinner. “I used to be a boy myself, remember.”

She shook her head and
snatched the salt. He reached for it again, and without so much as
looking at him, Vicki moved it away.

“
It’s okay, Vi-er-Mom,” I said teasingly. “His grilling didn’t
work, anyway. David still walked
everywhere
with
me.”

“
David? As in…David
Knight
?” Sam almost rocketed
forward.

“
Yeah.
So?”

“
David’s a nice kid,”
Dad said.

“
He’s a bully!” Sam
added.

Dad’s lips turned down
with thought. “I don’t know about that. We teachers have never
heard sultanas about him.”

“
Sultanas?” My
forehead twitched. “Dad, is that some kind of weird
teacher-lingo?”

“
Actually. It
is.”

“
Sultanas are bad
gossip on the grapevine,” Sam informed.

“
And grapes are good
gossip,” Dad finished.

“
So, where do sour
grapes come in?” I said.

Four long lines formed
across the top of Dad’s brow. “You know what? We don’t have one for
sour grapes. I’ll bring that one up in the lunchroom tomorrow.” He
nodded, spooning casserole into his mouth.

“
So, no sultanas
about David, then? That’s good,” Vicki said, eyeing me. “Must be
rare?”

“
Oh, yeah, it is. We teachers scamper about the halls,
unnoticed, so we get some good gossip, and believe me—” Dad winked
at Sam, “—I hear it
all
.”

Sam shuffled in his
seat. Dad looked away, chuckling to himself.

“
Okay. What have you
done, Samuel?” Vicki asked, sounding kind of bored.

“
Nothing.” Sam looked
her right in the eye.

She focused intently
on him for a moment, then laid her napkin slowly beside her plate.
“You might as well tell me, Sam. I will find out—one way or the
other.”

Sam
liquefied.

“
Spill it. Now.” She
poked the table with her finger.

“
I got a lunch-time
detention today.”

“
Why?” Vicki
asked.

He stayed
quiet.

“
Sam!” Vicki reached
across and took the salt off Dad again, her eyes never leaving
Sam’s face. “Either you tell me, or I come into the school for an
appointment with the principal.”

Sam stewed in his own
nerves, looking at Dad, who laughed into his plate. “I got caught
sneaking into the girls’ locker room,” he muttered to his
chest.

Unable to hold back
any longer, Dad burst into a loud, burly laugh, covering his mouth
to keep his dinner in. I looked at Vicki, unsure if I should laugh
or not, but a smile crept across my lips.

“
Greg, I can’t
believe you weren’t going to tell me?”

“
I just—” Dad caught
his breath, still laughing; the infectious sound spread over the
whole table. “I couldn’t.”

I laughed then, and
Vicki started, too. “What on earth were you going in there
for?”

“
It wasn’t like you
think.” Sam’s cheeks went bright red.

“
Oh, sure. No. A
fourteen-year-old boy goes into the girls’ locker room to buy a
sandwich,” Dad joked.

Sam’s teeth clenched.
I felt a little sorry for him. He obviously didn’t want to talk
about it. They should be able to see that. And they were probably
just making light of the situation, but I felt a sudden urge to
protect—something I’d never felt for Sam before. “So, Dad?” I said.
“You know my friend from Australia—Mike? He said he might come over
in a few weeks. Can he stay here?”

“
Here? You want a boy
to stay here—under the same roof as you?” Vicki jumped
in.

“
He’s not a boy,” I
corrected. “He’s a man.”

“
A man? Oh, well,
that makes it okay, then,” Vicki said, poorly attempting sarcasm.
“How old is Mike now, anyway?”

“
He’s twenty,” I said, and looked at Sam, who mouthed
thank you
before
returning to his casserole art.

“
Twenty? Ara, you’re
not even eighteen yet. It’s against the law.”

“
Vicki?” I screeched. “Mike and I have
never
been like that with each
other. God, we used to take baths together.”

“
Not to mention,
Mom,” Sam said, “legal age of consent is sixteen. I
checked.”

“
Now, why on earth
would a boy your age be looking up that kind of information?” she
asked, horrified.

Sam just
smirked.

“
Look—” Vicki closed
her eyes for a second. “I’m sorry, Ara-Rose. I’m just not used to
having a daughter. I—” she exhaled, “—I just don’t want anything
bad to happen to you.”

“
Well, I appreciate
that, Mom,” I said with a mouthful of carrot. “But you don’t have
to worry about Mike. There’s, like, this invisible barrier around
him that repulses me from loving him that way.”

She nodded. “Well, all
right. But when does he want to come?”

“
As soon as he gets
his acceptance into Tactical—in a few weeks,” I beamed.

“
What, the SWAT
unit?” Dad asked.

“
Yeah—that’s not what
they call it over there, though.”

“
Is he gonna be a
sniper?” Sam asked, sitting taller.

“
Um, no.” I frowned
at him. “But, anyway, he’s got one interview left then he gets a
few weeks off before training begins.”

“
Well, that’s great,
Ara.” Dad reached across and patted my hand, as if this was my
victory. “It’s what he always wanted, isn’t it?”

I nodded, swallowing
my mouthful. “Yep, he’s doing well for himself.”

“
Shame you don’t like
him then,” Vicki added.

“
Nah, he lives in
Australia, anyway.” I shrugged. “Could be a bit tricky.”

“
At least you
couldn’t get pregnant,” Dad said with a completely straight
face.

I stopped chewing, and
Sam coughed a carrot out onto his plate, but Dad just sat there,
eating and sipping his wine as if nothing had been said.

“
Moving on then?”
Vicki suggested, raising her glass.

Chapter
Five

Bright yellow sunlight
beamed off my mirror and into my eyes, blinding me. I rolled over
and faced the wall, snuggling back into the warmth, seeking a few
more minutes in the bliss of this cloud-soft bed and the lingering
remnants of last night’s dreams. In my own mind, while I slept, I
came to know David so much better than I did yesterday. Perhaps
maybe even well enough to invite him over after school today.
Except, that would mean introducing him to Vicki—and cleaning my
room. Hm, perhaps not.

Down the hall, Sam’s
stereo suddenly blasted out into the morning. I rolled over and
checked my bedside clock. “Sam! It’s six in the morning. Turn it
down.”

His rock scream,
followed by a thud that could only be a stage dive into his pile of
laundry, suggested he didn't hear me.

“
Dad?” I tried, but
on listening closer, heard the screaming shower pipes through the
wall.

Great. I burrowed
under my covers for a second longer, trying to find that dream
again, but it was gone, as was any point of lying here trying to
retrieve it.

I threw my covers
back, leaped out of bed—of my own free will—then dug around in my
pillows and blankets for my iPod.

It was time for a
little battle of the bands.

But my iPod was gone
from the base of my bed, where it usually landed after a harrowing
night of tossing and turning.

Outside, on my
windowsill, a tiny bird with silky blue feathers appeared, chirping
and fussing about in the condensation puddle.

“
You took it, didn’t
you?” I glared accusingly at him.

He stopped chirping
and stared at me, then flew away. Guilty. I knew it. Well, I
thought he was, until I lifted my pillow and found it right where I
left it when I went to sleep. That was a first. And with eyes
narrowed into vengeful slits, I scrolled through my playlists to
find the most soulful compilation of what Sam called ‘woe is me’
songs, then slipped my iPod into its dock and held the volume
button until the tip of my finger turned white and my soft, elegant
tunes drowned out Sam’s music.

“
There.” I dusted my
hands off.

“
Ara.” Dad banged on
my door. “Too loud. Sam, you too.”

“
He started it!” I
called.

“
I'm finishing it.
Turn it down or I’ll confiscate your dock.”

I turned it down, even
though I knew he wouldn’t actually follow through on his threat.
I’d tested that so many times now I knew it was an empty one. Fact
was, he didn't have the heart to take away the one thing that
brought happiness to a grieving girl. He knew that without my music
I had nothing to live for. That’s why he bought me the dock in the
first place. The one I moved here with had the wrong pins for the
wall socket, and I was so tired and so upset from the long flight
that day, I tried to force the plug into the wall anyway,
repeatedly, with my foot. Dad came in and pulled me away before I
could get myself electrocuted, but I’d never let him see me cry
that way before. As soon as I calmed enough to fall asleep, he went
straight down to the store and got me a brand new dock. I'm not
sure I even thanked him.

I swiped my thumb over
a small layer of dust on the speaker and smiled, then turned it up
just a few more decibels, whacking the snooze button as the alarm
sounded the hour of wake. I wanted it to be nine o’clock, though,
so I could be in English class with David.

When the pipes beyond
the wall stopped squealing, I stripped off, left my clothes on my
floor and wandered through my walk-in wardrobe to the bathroom I
shared with Sam. The little bugger had left the second door open,
leaving my girl parts exposed to any who walked down the hall. I
quickly ran and locked it into place.

“
Ara!” Sam banged on
the door.

“
Go away. I got here
first.” I turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower, closing
the glass door.

“
But I need the
comb.”

“
The
what?”

“
I need the
hairbrush.”

“
Why?” I ran my
fingers through my hair, wetting it. “You never brush your
hair.”

“
Well, I am
today.”

“
Well, you can wait.
I'm already in the shower.”

He groaned, but
obviously walked away.

On the glass, some
remnant of a steam drawing Sam had done showed itself. I swiped a
hand through it, leaving my palm against the cool for a moment,
watching the condensation drip down from under it in three long
lines. I felt grounded, steady, calm, for the first time in so
long. Maybe because this was the first morning I’d woken without
crying since I got here. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
And I knew it was because of school—because I met David and Emily
and Ryan and Alana yesterday.