Keeping You a Secret (9 page)

Mom actually blushed. Removing my parka from the coat rack, I informed them, “I’m going out for a while.”

“In this weather?” Mom looked aghast.

“I’m wearing clean underwear. Just in case.”

***

Washington Central was farther than it seemed. I’d printed out an Internet map at the computer lab during study hall today. The legend was misleading; it had to be more than twenty-five miles away, and the streets were sheer ice. A stoplight changed unexpectedly and I slammed on the brakes, skidding through the intersection. Horns blared and an SUV narrowly missed me.

Shit. My heart hammered against my ribs. What was I doing?

Had to see her. Talk to her. Apologize about the locker incident. About the assholes in our school. Try to make it right. Even though the janitors had painted over the lockers by the end of the day – covered up the crime so we could all pretend it never happened – she had to be freaked. I wanted to quell her fears.

Depressing the gas pedal slightly and swerving away from the curb, I inched along toward town. After circling the block a couple of times, I spotted it: Hott ’N Tott Donuts.

Ten minutes later I was still huddled in the parking lot, shivering from cold. Not only from the cold. “This is stupid,” I muttered. “Get out already.” What was I afraid of?

Her, that’s what. This had nothing to do with the locker incident. I wanted her to like me. Wanted to find out if she did. Was that important enough to risk my life over? Apparently.

So cold. I started the engine again and cranked up the heater.

She wasn’t even here. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of her through the plate glass window in the year I’d been stalling, freezing my butt off. I was safe. Just came to check the place out, buy a cup of coffee. Reasonable, rational. Only one customer had braved the weather – a cab driver who was hunched over one of the tables, nursing a cup of coffee while thumbing through the newspaper.

“Just go get a donut. What’s the big deal?”

Okay. I bolstered my courage. Opened the Jeep door and got out.

“Evenin’, Help ya?” the older man behind the counter asked. He smiled kindly. Was this Cece’s uncle?

I smiled back. “I’ll, um, have one of those.” I pointed to a glazed cinnamon twist. “And… do you have hot chocolate?”

“Sure do. What size?”

I skimmed the cup display. “Medium, I guess.”

“For here or to go?” He stoked up the cocoa machine.

My eyes searched the interior. No sign of her. “To go,” I answered.

He finished my order and rang it up. “Is Cece her?” I asked, handing him a five.

“Cecile!” he shouted through a rear door.

“What?” she shouted back.

My heart raced. Exploded.

“You got company.”

Cece appeared out of nowhere, wiping her floured hands on an apron. The top of her head was covered in a blue bandanna, tied gypsy style. When she saw me, she stopped dead in the doorway.

Well, finally, I’d managed to shock her. “Hey.” I hitched my chin. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

The hint of a smile cricked her lips. “Unc, okay if she comes back?”

He eyed me up and down. “Sure, I guess.” He opened the counter top, which was hinged on one side. “No funny business.” He pointed at Cece.

She blew out puff of air at him.

What did he mean by that? No funny business.

Cece walked across the room to a long butcher block table. I followed. “You can pull up a stool if you want,” she said over her shoulder.

I set down my cocoa and twist on the table, then dragged over a high-backed stool and climbed aboard.

Cece lifted a rolling pin and ran it over a circle of dough. “What are you doing here really?” she asked.

“Like I said –”

“In the neighbourhood.” Her eyes cut to me and she grinned. “Let me just get these in the proofer. It’ll only take a minute.” She sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on the dough, rolled it into a snake, and sliced it into identically sized wedges, as if she’d been doing this all her life.

“I’m sorry about what happened today,” I said.

“Forget it. It’s not your fault. Grab me that pan.” She pointed.

I flinched at her sudden movement. I pulled out a large, aluminium tray from the rack behind me and handed it to her. With a spatula, she flipped the wedges onto the tray, then carried it to a glassed-in case where racks of similar pans were resting. Proofing, I surmised. I’d never seen the inner workings of a donut shop. It was all shiny metal and spicy smells. Sparkling and sweet and warm. So why was I trembling?

Cece returned, exhaling a weary breath, and leaned against the cutting table, arms folded.

“What?” I said.

She smiled and shook her head at the floor. “Nothing.”

“You work here every night?” I sipped my cocoa.

“Why don’t you drop by and find out.” She lifted her eyes and held mine.

Two could play at this game. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She set down the spatula. “What do you think?” she said.

I think I couldn’t breathe.

“Cecile, when you’re done with the rolls would you mix a batch of egg batter for the morning?” her uncle called through the door.

“Slave driver,” she called back.

I liked that, the banter. I liked everything about her.

“What?” She zeroed in on me again.

I blinked away, realizing I’d been staring at her. “I don’t know.” My eyes skimmed the floor tiles. Checkerboard. 

“If you don’t know, then I can’t help you.” Cece moved past me, almost grazing my arm. Almost.

“Okay, so I’ll just help myself,” I quipped, retrieving my cinnamon twist off the table and chomping off the end.

She disappeared into a back room. A few seconds later she stepped out, lugging a bag of flour. “Look,” she said, dumping the bag on the table. “I really have a lot to do, okay? And I don’t like playing games.”

Heat fried my face. “I’m sorry.” I slid off the stool; stumbled. Dropped my twist on the floor. “I’ll go.” I picked it up. As I staggered for the open doorway to flee, escape, I heard her curse and pound the table with a fist.

She hated me, I thought. What have I done? Oh, God. She hated me.

***

For the first time in my life, I didn’t get all my homework finished. I set my alarm for five A.M., but instead of hitting the books, I went swimming.

The lights were still off in the pool area when I got there and it was so quiet my bare feet echoed. I dove in.

The cold surged through my veins – a welcome relief. I concentrated on my muscles contracting, my arms slicing through the water. Soon the rhythm of my breathing and stroking and breathing and stroking drowned out my thoughts. Banished my feelings to a dark recess in my mind, where they should be banished.

Forget her. Force her out of your head, get her out of you.

I don’t know how long I swam, lap after lap after mind-numbing lap. My lungs and muscles collapsed simultaneously, and I let my final kick propel me to the edge.

Where she was sitting, elbows on knees. She looked me in the eye and said, “I was in the neighbourhood.”

I wrenched off the shower faucets, but wasn’t about to go gallivanting through the locker room half naked. Although…

She likes me. I smiled to myself. I wonder what she’d do if –

My phone rang. Before I could think, Cece called, “I’ll get it.”

Towelling my head, I heard her say, “Who? No, sorry. What number did you dial?”

I gave my prickled body a once over and wrapped the towel around me. A little lower than usual. Grabbing my wet swimsuit off the floor, I padded to the benches, asking, “Who was it? My mother?”

“Wrong number.” Cece scanned me up and down, then let out a breath. She stood abruptly and said, “I need coffee. Gotta fly.”

I sank to the bench, feeling embarrassed, exposed. Stupid. I quickly dressed.

***

On the way to my Jeep at lunch to head for McDonald’s, Kirsten said, “Oh, by the was, Holland, Seth. Saturday night’s off. Trevor dumped me.”

I skidded to a stop on the icy parking lot. “Kirsten, oh no. What happened?”

“The funniest thing. His mother doesn’t approve of me. Says I’m too old for her little Trevie. I guess word got back to her that I was a slut.” Her glare sliced through me.

What? I never – “Oh, excuse me,” she added. “A player.”

“Kirsten,” I protested, then said more gently, “I’m really sorry.” I was. She looked miserable. She wasn’t even wearing makeup today, her face was all pale and blotchy.

She gazed off into the distance. “I can never keep anything good.” Her eyes pooled with tears. I reached to hug her, but she climbed into the back of the Jeep, scooting over to the far side and staring straight ahead.

Leah and I exchanged glances. I think Leah already knew. She crawled in beside Kirsten and patted her knee. Felt her pain, I suppose, more than me.

“Saturday night?” Seth said at my side. “What was Saturday night?”

Oops. Guess I forgot to tell him. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter now.” He was going to say something else, but I cut him off by handing him the keys. “You drive.” Normally Seth rode shotgun, but today he’d brought along Coop, so I figured he’d appreciate the opportunity to amp up the testosterone.

McD’s was jammed with little kids squealing and chasing each other around Playland. As the five of us claimed a booth in back, I said to Kirsten, “Do you want me to come over tonight? Talk about it?”

“No. I’m all right. He’s a momma’s boy. So what? He was getting on my nerves, anyway.” She stuck a straw through the lid of her diet Coke. “So is your lezzie friend going to reapply for a Gay Straight Alliance?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, a slow burn spreading through my gut. “Don’t call her that, okay? Her name is Cece.” I lifted my Big Mac to my mouth. “She doesn’t want a GSA. Just a gay club.” I took a bite.

“See?” Kirsten bent over to sip her soda. “Agenda.”

I chewed and swallowed fast. “There is no gay agenda.” I tried to control my voice, my temper.

“Could I have some ketchup?” Leah interrupted.

Around in front of me, Seth passed her a handful of packets.

Kirsten said, “Did you see the shirt she was wearing yesterday? That OUT! AND PROUD!?” She curled a lip.

“What’s wrong with it?” I said.

Kirsten shook her head. “She’s just so obvious. Look at me, I’m gay. I’m special,” she mocked.

My jaw clenched. I set down my burger, deliberately.

Leah piped up, “I don’t think that’s what she’s doing. She’s just being who she is.”

I sent Leah a silent thank you.

Leah added, “I imagine it’s pretty lonely being the only out person in school. I think she’s incredibly brave. I don’t know how they find each other if they’re not out.”

Coop said, “They list their phone numbers in the john. ‘For a good time, call Bruce. 1-800-222 –’”

Kirsten snorted. Coop smirked. He said, “You know what gay means, don’t you? Got AIDS Yet?”

Seth pre-empted my explosion. “Shut up, Coop. That isn’t funny. You going to eat that?” He indicated my Big Mac.

I shoved it over to him.

Kirsten dipped a Chicken McNugget into a cup of barbecue sauce and popped it into her mouth. “She’s just trolling for meat,” she said with her mouth full. Turning to Coop, she added, “And not the Oscar Mayer weiner variety.”

He choked on a fry.

That did it. I elbowed Seth. “Let me out.”

“What? We’re not done.”

“I am.”

He just sat there.

“Move!”

Seth scooted off the end of the bench. I pushed pas his and stormed out the exit.

I hated how they talked about them. About her. Kirsten, Coop, all of them. Especially Kirsten. I understood that she hurt, she was venting, directing her pain elsewhere. Still, she should just shut up.

We drove back in silence. At least, I did. Coop apologized, like that was going to make it all better. Seth tried to tickle me once and I slugged him. I was still fuming when I got to art. I kicked a chair and sent it crashing into the easel up front.

My brain engaged. Chill, Holland. God.

On impulse I took the chair next to the window and waited for Cece to arrive. Needed to feel her presence, her strength. Needed to protect her from all the ugliness in the world. As I dug in my pack for my sketchbook, a body descended on me. I glanced up.

“That’s my seat,” Brandi said.

“Do you mind if we switch? I’m having a hard time seeing the slides from the back.” I nudged my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

She hesitated a moment, then wandered away. A few seconds later Cece sauntered in. She spotted me and held my eyes as she moved across the room. Floated. The chair next to me scraped back and a flash of orange hair caucht my eyes. “Yo,” Winslow said in my ear.

“Winslow, I’m saving this –”

“Sorry I’m late.” Mackel charged into the room. “Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover today. You’ll need your larger tablet for this exercise. And your marking pens.”

Cece vanished. I twisted around to see she’d taken the empty seat in back next to Brandi. Shit.

***

Faith was getting reamed out in her room when I got home from school. What was she doing here? I wondered. She’s stayed over last weekend. What happened to every
other
weekend? At the bottom of the stairs, I heard Mom snarl, “It’s sacrilegious and I won’t have it in my house. Grow up, Faith.”

“You grow up!” Faith screamed at Mom. “Stay out of my stuff. Just get the hell out of my life. You’re not my mother and you never will be.”

I purposefully tripped over the laundry basket.

“Wait until your father hears about this,” Mum said in a lowered voice.

Faith countered, “He won’t care and you know it.”

Mom charged across the basement, eyes flaming. “Hello, honey,” she intoned between clenched teeth. “And how was your day?”

“About like yours.”

She stomped up the stairs. As I rounded the partition, Faith said, “Bitch.”

“Same to you,” I replied.

“Not you. Her.” She jutted her chin toward the ceiling. Rolling over on her bed, she scrunched in a fetal position and drew a pillow into her face. That’s when I was what Mom had gone ballistic over. Standing in the middle of Faith’s dresser was a statue of the Virgin Mary clutching this headless baby Jesus. Sick.