Dark Secrets (79 page)

“
That’s enough, son,”
Dad said sternly.

“
Why the long face,
Sam?” Mike asked, passing the peas to Vicki when she motioned for
them.

“
I got a B on my
English paper…”

Big deal. At least
you didn’t inadvertently tell your boyfriend you’re in love with
another man.

“
What’s wrong with a
B?” Mike asked.

“
Dad expects a
B-plus-A-minus average,” I said and smiled at Dad.

“
It’s not that I
expect that, Ara-Rose,” Dad said, “I just know you’re both capable
of it. If you aren’t achieving those results, it means you’re not
applying yourselves.”

“
But it isn’t my
fault!” Sam dumped his elbow on the table. “Mr Benson hates me,
he’s always in my face about stuff I—”

“
Samuel. Teachers do
not degrade papers based on their opinions of students,” Dad cut
in. “You need to start accepting responsibility for yourself.” When
he glared at the tabled elbow, Sam quietly removed it. “You got a B
because you prioritised video games over homework.”

“
Video games have
more value to me than English homework, Dad. How will knowing what
a verb is or deciphering Shakespeare get me a job out in the ‘real
world’?”

“
What do you want to
do?” Mike asked, cutting off Dad’s large mouthful of Sam-serving
air.

“
Video game design,”
Sam said into his chest.

“
Cool.” Mike
nodded.

Sam looked up.
“Really? You think that’s cool?”

Mike looked at Dad;
Dad sighed and separated himself from the conversation by pouring
gravy. “Yeah. That’s a great business to get into—especially now
with all the developments in graphics and, not to mention, you can
actually make more money in the gaming industry than the film
industry.”

“
Dad doesn’t agree.”
Sam’s eyes dropped their hopeful glimmer. “He says I need to be
serious. That designing games isn’t gonna get me a stable
income.”

Mike just laughed. “It
won’t—if you don’t have a good education. How many companies do you
think will hire a kid who can’t even commit to
homework?”

Sam looked puzzled.
“What difference will that make?”

“
Because it’s not
just about what you learn at school. It’s also about proving you
have the ability to put your head down and do the work, especially
if you care nothing for it. If you can’t do that, Sam, you don’t
have the right to a job you love doing, and I can tell you—” Mike
scoffed, “—even in a job you love, there’ll be moments you
hate.”

Sam became smaller in
his chair.

“
Point is, mate, you work hard through the crap so you can
enjoy the other eighty percent that’s good. Not to mention, if you
want to design games, you
will
need English—and math.” Mike winked at me.
“Creativity, passion, and some mad computer skills won’t be enough
if you want a stable income. You need that piece of paper they call
a degree. That’s all there is to it. So, in that way, your dad’s
right. But—” he held a finger up while he shovelled a spoonful of
potato in and swallowed, “—if you just do all the hard work while
you have nothing else to worry about except being a kid, when you
grow up and you want the job stability you care nothing for now,
you won’t have to fight for it—it’ll be yours.”

Sam’s eyes changed,
narrowed with thought, then he stood up and dumped his napkin on
his beef and gravy.

“
Sam, where are you
going?” Vicki asked.

“
I just realised I
didn’t do my essay,” he called from the stairway before we all
heard his bedroom door close.

Dad grinned and patted
Mike on the shoulder.

Then, the conversation
went on without me, while I pushed the food around on my plate. I
just wanted to go upstairs and wait for David to come. Despite
enjoying watching movies with Mike, I found myself checking the
length of the shadows outside his window for most of the day—just
waiting for night to fall.

“
You okay, baby?”
Mike asked quietly, leaning closer.

“
Mm-hm.” I nodded,
forcing a smile. “I’m just tired.”

“
Maybe you should get
an early night.” He pushed my fringe off my face.

Vicki held back a
smile, watching us, then quickly looked at Dad.

“
You do look a little
tired,” Mike added after a lengthy silence.

I stared into his face
with narrowed eyes. I wasn’t really tired at all. I just said that
so I could excuse myself early to be with David. “Well, I feel
tired,” I said, wondering if “you look tired” was guy-speak for
“you look hideously haggard. Go see a beautician.”

“
Well, why don’t you
head up now and take a shower?” He nodded toward the archway.
“Doesn’t look like you’re getting any closer to consuming your
dinner by transforming it into a plate.”

I looked down at my
canvas of mash and gravy. “Can’t yet. Gotta do the dishes
first.”

“
Ara—” Mike’s brows lifted, sarcasm hovering in his tone.
“
I’ll
do the
dishes for you. Just go get some rest.”

I shook my head. “No
way. You’re a guest. Guests don’t do dishes, right,
Dad?”

Dad looked at Mike,
then shrugged. “I don’t see why not—if he’s offering.”

“
Dad! You never side
with me!”

“
I’m sorry, Ara, but Mike’s not really a
guest
, is he?”

“
Then what is
he?”

“
He’s practically
family.”

My mouth hung open,
allowing only a breathy scoff to show my disapproval.

“
Besides, Ar, you
always made me do the dishes at your old house,” Mike added with a
cheeky grin.

“
That’s different.” I
bit my teeth together.

“
Why?”

“
I don’t know. ‘Cause
it…it just is.”

“
Ara?” Mike scratched
his eyelid and sighed. “Go to bed.”

“
Make me.” I folded
my arms; he merely glared at me with one brow arched and a look of
intent behind his half smile. “Argh, fine!” I stood up, slapping my
napkin on the placemat. “You’re all traitors.”

As I reached the
stairs, Mike’s laugh echoed out in response to some comment of
Dad’s—probably about my mood swings.

Stuff it. As if I
cared. They could have their little laugh—maybe they’d annoy me
just enough to make me accept the offer to run away from all of
them forever.

That’d show
‘em.

My room greeted me
with the crisp scent of fresh linen under a diluted waft of coconut
soap and strawberry shampoo. “David? You in here?” My gaze
subconsciously flicked to the window; closed.

Maybe it was too
early.

I took a shower,
changed into some pyjamas and curled up in bed with a book. But I
couldn’t focus. That dream I had last night—the ruby slippers, the
bouquet, the look of acceptance on David’s face as he backed
away—kept playing in my thoughts. And a gooey filling of dread
burned a giant hole in my heart with its acid.

What if he wasn’t
coming back? What if he took me literally—what if he thought I
agreed with Fate’s decision?

The book landed on its
side between my bed and the wall as I jumped up and, with rather
quick steps, walked to the window and threw open the
curtains.

No. No way. He
promised he’d never leave without saying goodbye. He was just late,
that was all.

In one sweep, I sent
my orderly homework into a spread of disarray over my laundry-rug,
then climbed over the wood top and tucked myself into a ball
against the cold glass of the window.

Pale blue light
filtered in from the world outside and lit the edges of my desk and
bed, casting soft shadows across my floor. The streetlight below
seemed to sing loneliness down onto the vacant sidewalk, and clouds
hijacked the stars from the sky. There was nothing out there that
resembled life tonight, and strangely, though my heart was beating,
there was nothing here that much resembled it either.

With a long, dejected
sigh, I lowered my head onto my knees and closed my
eyes.

A loud chime set my
heart ablaze with a start; I looked up from my knees, instantly
regretting having moved my stiff neck. I rubbed the top of my spine
and looked around my room, then down into the street below,
counting the chimes I heard in my head.

One, tw—There were
only two. There should’ve been more than that. I came to bed at
seven. It couldn’t be two in the morning.

My window was still
shut fast into place, no sign of any vampire having entered, and as
I rubbed the tingle of pins away from my toes, realisation sunk
right into my heart. It really was two in the morning. David never
came. He just left me here to fall asleep in the windowsill—by
myself, cold and alone.

I buried my head in my
arms, holding back the tears. What did I do to him? Why didn’t he
come back to see me?

A tear rolled down
past the tip of my nose and fell onto my thigh, trickling down into
a salty pool on the windowsill.

It was the dream. It
had to be. But that dream didn’t mean anything, and he didn’t even
give me a chance to explain.

The gentle sobs of my
heart breaking stopped abruptly when the door handle twisted and
light spilled into my room, creeping in a yellow line along my
floor, up my desk and over my toes. I rubbed my nose and eyes into
my knees to dry the tears, feigning sleep.

The deep, husky voice
of my best friend reached me with a breath of concern. “Baby girl,
what’re you doing asleep here?” he whispered to no one in
particular.

His wide, broad arms
fixed a hold under my knees and around my back, then swept me off
the windowsill, over the desk and into his body like he was some
kind of ultra hot fireman rescuing me. I stayed floppy in his arms,
breathing long and deep as if I were asleep, and the softness of my
bed—much warmer than the cold glass my elbow was leaning
on—cocooned my body safely, Mike tucking my feet under my quilt,
bringing it up around my shoulders as I rolled away.

“
Night, baby.” He
pressed a quick kiss to my temple and left the room, closing the
door behind him.

“
Thanks, Mike,” I
whispered quietly, allowing a smile to appear for one second before
it melted away in the darkness.

* * *

“
It’s alive!” Mike
waved his hands dramatically as I zombie-walked into the kitchen
and sat on the stool.

“
Barely.” I laid my
head on my hands, watching Mike by the stove.

“
Hungry?” He held up
a spatula.

“
Not for plastic
kitchen implements, if that’s what you’re offering.”

“
Oh, a comedian
today, huh?” He turned back to the stove, grinning. “So, are you
hungry or not?”

“
A little.” I grabbed
an apple and took a bite. “Where is everybody?”

“
Sam’s at school,
Vicki’s gone to the movies with her friend, and your dad’s at
work.” Mike turned back and winked at me. “It’s just
us.”

“
Okay, so, is that
why you think it’s acceptable to wear a pink apron?”

He laughed, untying
it. “Thought that might cheer you up a little.”

“
What makes you think
I need cheering up?” I turned my wrist over in question—the apple
still in hand.

“
Ara, I know you
better than you know yourself. You need cheer. So—” he grabbed the
fry pan and tipped the contents onto two plates in front of me, “—I
made your favourite. Pancakes!”

I glared at him
sceptically.
“Is there maple
syrup?”

Mike grinned, placing
his hand on a bottle of brown liquid right by my elbow, and slid it
slowly over. “Would I forget the syrup?”

“
It wouldn’t be the
first time.” I snickered and snatched the bottle.

He walked around the
counter and slid onto the stool next to me, dumping a fork by my
plate. My attempt at moodiness slipped away completely, though,
when the first bite of his light, fluffy pancakes touched my
tongue. Like sugar-coated puffs of heaven, the golden exterior of
the pan-fried breakfast melted with the syrup at the perfect ratio
of sweet and savoury—sending trickles of warm delight down my
spine.

I stopped eating and
studied him—the chef, the wonder-cook, the man who knew no
failure.

“
Something wrong,
baby?” Mike asked, mid-shovel.

Yeah, you’re making
it really hard not to love you.
“I uh—I
just remembered I have rehearsals today.”

“
Rehearsals?”

“
Mm. For a benefit
concert we’re doing to raise money for this kid who
died.”

“
Oh. Okay. What
time?” he asked.

“
Dunno.” I shrugged.
“I don’t think I’ll go.”