Never Gonna Tell (2 page)

The gods shine upon me, and I am granted a reprieve as the bell rings and the whole class stands in unison to leave. I smile dimly at Mrs. Timmons as I grab my backpack and head to the door.

“Be prepared to answer tomorrow, Reagan,” Mrs. Timmons calls as I shuffle my way through the throngs of students heading to the cafeteria for lunch. In that one brief moment when the bell rings, the entire student body goes from lethargic to full of life. I mean, who wouldn’t bubble with anticipation at the thought of school cafeteria food? It is Taco Tuesday, after all.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, but I don’t bother to pull it out right away. Only one person would text me in the middle of the day—my best friend, Charlie. Charlie and I grew up next door to each other in Baltimore, and we bonded in elementary school when we both tried to stake a claim on the hidden corner of the playground that the teacher couldn’t see. I wanted to color alone without being disturbed, and Charlie wanted to hide so he didn’t get beaten up. Seemed the other third graders weren’t very open-minded when Charlie wanted to play with My Little Ponies and Barbies instead of monster trucks and GI Joes.

Ducking into an alcove, I slip out my phone and laugh aloud when I read the three lines of text: “2 hrs of Calc HWK? Ain’t nobody got time 4 that! Project Runway premieres 2night! SMDH.”

A few people turn and stare at my outburst but continue on without so much as a “hello” or “what’s your problem?”

I type out a quick reply, “The inhumanity of it all.” I’m still smiling as I enter the cafeteria. I don’t have a lot of friends, and none truer than Charlie. Charlie was a foster kid who bounced around from group home to group home for years. When my family decided to move here, it didn’t take much convincing for my mom and dad to become his foster parents so he could come with us. He practically lived at our house anyway. We just made it official.

Weaving through the cafeteria, I don’t bother to pay much attention to the happenings around me, but it’s hard not to notice Vincent Gumble standing on the table, shoving six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in his mouth to the cheers of his friends. Shaking my head, I make my way to the end of the line, trying not to cringe at whatever is sticky on the bottom of my tray while I impatiently wait behind the offensive line of the football team as they heave spoonfuls of food onto already-overloaded plates.

I smile at the redhead now squeezing in beside me, knocking one of the football players out of the way and looping our arms together. “Seeing what they attempt to pass as food around here reinforces my decision to become a vegan every day. You know I only endure this house of ill repute for you and Charlie.”

Kally is a self-proclaimed hippy, my next-door neighbor, and one of the six people here who know who I am.

“Right about now, Kal, I’m thinking of joining you,” I laugh. “I can still have bacon if I’m vegan, right?”

She scrunches her nose in disgust before going ahead of me in line and grabbing an apple, placing a second on my tray. The coins from her Turkish hip scarf clink against the metal serving line as she skips along, eyeing today’s selection. “Ugh. Gross. I have no idea how you eat that stuff.”

I met Kally the first day I moved to Hope Mills. Charlie and I were unpacking boxes from the U-Haul when she came bouncing over, immediately engulfed me in a hug, and told me that my aura was the most beautiful shade of blue/green she’d ever seen, and she just knew we’d be friends. I love that she couldn’t care less what people think about her, that she always finds a silver lining, and that she totally gets that I’m an introvert. She’s never upset that I’d rather eat alone sometimes and don’t always want to hang out for hours after school.

“I could say the same about your tofu and bean sprouts.” I pretend to make gagging sounds, eliciting looks from a few people around me. “So are you ready for the Calc quiz next period?”

Kally shakes her head. “I’m leaving early for the day.”

“What? Why?”

“My parents and I are going away to Cassadaga, Florida for their annual Autumn Solstice festival. I’m so excited. They’re going to have dozens of spiritualists and amazing mediums doing readings this year. And of course there’s the haunted walking tour at midnight. Last year, there were so many spirits who came out and made their presence known. It really is a magical time of year. Do you want to come with?”

Her parents are free spirits like her, valuing “life experiences” much more than the institutionalization of classroom learning. They also opt her out of the standardized tests each year, claiming that the capacity of children’s minds can’t be measured by filling in bubbles on a scantron.

I skip over the questionable meat they’re calling “tacos” and add my usual slice of burnt pizza and Diet Mountain Dew to my tray, handing a crumpled five to the cashier. “Sadly, I’m only a muggle.”

Kally giggles, pointing out an empty table near the back of the cafeteria. “I heard they have this town elder who’s a hundred and eight years old. He makes this amazing paste out of herbs you can only get in the rainforest of Peru, and it’s supposed to be amazing for opening your chakras. And great for the skin, too. I’ll bring some back for you.”

“Me, too?” Charlie slides in the seat next to me.

“As if I could ever forget you!” Kally kisses him on the cheek.

“How long will you be gone?” I ask, popping the tab of my soda.

“A few weeks. Maybe more depending on if my parents want to stop by New Orleans on their way back and visit my aunt. But I’ll have my cell—though I’m not sure how great the coverage is down there.” She pops a grape from her fruit salad in her mouth.

Charlie pouts. “But you’re going to miss the
Project Runway
premiere. And then I’ll be stuck watching it with this one.” He juts his thumb out, pointing at me.

Kally cringes. “I’m sorry, Charlie. Save it and we’ll do a marathon when I get back? I’m only going to miss two episodes. Three at the most.” She gives him her best puppy-dog eyes.

Charlie’s still pouting, but I know him too well. He’s just making her work for it. “Fine. But only for you. And to get out of having to justify to Reagan why you can’t pair chiffon and flannel each week.”

Kally nods in sympathy. “She really is a disaster.”

“Hey!” I protest, hiding my smirk with a bite of apple. They’re totally right. I am a fashion disaster.

“All right, you two, I’m off to Florida.” She stands, gathering up her apple core and putting it in a baggie, no doubt for her compost pile at home.

“Bye, Kally. And hey, if you see Bruce Willis on your ghost tour, just remember that he doesn’t know he’s already dead!”

She rolls her eyes before disappearing from view, leaving only the tink-tink sound of her bells behind.

“That girl is too much,” Charlie laughs. “You think she really will communicate with the dead?”

I take a bite of my apple. “I highly doubt that.”

“Maybe that should be your next story—investigating that place. Send her in with a hidden camera or something.”

It’s an interesting idea, but I brush it aside. “Nah. She’d never go for it. Besides, I already have big story I’m working on.”

Charlie lathers mayo on his burger and nods. “Oh, yeah. How’s that going?”

My nose crinkles as I think of how much research I have yet to do on it. “Ugh. Slowly. I’m having a hard time coming up with anything concrete. It’s frustrating the crap out of me.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

I sigh. “No. But thanks. I just need to keep digging. Speaking of, I should go work on it now.” I stand up, taking my tray with me. “Meet you at my locker after school to walk home?”

“You bet.”

Back in the solace of my favorite hidey-hole—the school newspaper office—I set my food on the desk before digging in my book bag for the notes I’ve been working on for my story. I’m the only person who works at the paper. Everyone else thinks that it lost funding and had to be shut down a few years ago.

It did.

So the once-bustling office sits empty in the south corridor of the school, and it’s the perfect place for me to work alone and uninterrupted. I’m determined to revive the paper, even if I have to do everything myself, and a thousand questions from a faculty advisor is the last thing I need right now. Last year, I tried to go through the proper channels to restore the paper—talking to the PTA, guidance counselors, and the front office—but without much student interest and no money in the budget, my efforts were futile.

This year, I’m not even going to bother asking permission. I borrowed—okay, stole—the copy codes of several teachers, and once I have a few features written, I’ll publish online and print out a few copies anonymously. It’s not about me getting credit; it’s about getting the story out.

Journalism is my purpose. My happy place. My future. Sometimes I think being normal and having a large group of friends to hang out with at the mall or whatever would be nice, but I’ve never been normal. I’m not interested in celebrity gossip or fashion trends. I watch
Dateline
with a big bowl of popcorn like other girls watch
The Vampire Diaries
. Lester Holt is way sexier than Damon Salvatore. (Okay, not even Charlie agrees with me on that one, but the heart wants what the heart wants.)

I take a quick bite of pizza, careful not to let the still bubbling cheese burn the roof of my mouth, and go over my notes from the previous day. I’m a journalist—or at least that’s what I plan to be when I get out of high school. And not the cheesy morning show anchor reporters or even the six o’clock news kind. No, I want to be a serious journalist who uncovers corruption and secrets for the world to see, like Woodward and Bernstein did during Watergate—minus the bad seventies haircuts.

I’ve been observing people for as long as I can remember. I’m fascinated by what people will do when they think no one is watching. It amazes me how many people in this civilized world still pick their noses because they think no one will know.

When I was little, I would sneak out of bed and just sit on the top of the steps in the hallway for hours, watching my mom and dad downstairs. Usually they were doing mundane tasks like washing the dishes, arguing, or making out on the couch (which, for the record, they still do, and it still grosses me out). It helps that I’m shy and quiet—no one notices me and I easily slip off the radar.
All the better to watch you, m’dear.

I slip off my shoes, wiggling my toes encased in Scooby Doo socks, pull my feet up, and sit cross-legged as I eat my apple, spinning around slowly in the squeaky chair as I remember my first days here. It was really hard as an introvert to be the new kid, but staying unnoticed in this school was easier than I thought. When we moved to Tennessee during the summer after my sophomore year, I was devastated. I had gone to one of the biggest schools in Baltimore for most of my life, and with over two thousand students it was easy to get lost in the background. But then Mom got a new job in this podunk town outside of Chattanooga. It has exactly one high school and a whopping five hundred kids total in grades nine through twelve, so I thought for sure my time as a fly on the wall was over. How could I continue to go unnoticed with so few kids? Everyone notices the new girl.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, there was so much drama going on already that I was barely a blip on the radar. There were maybe a handful of people who perked up at the news of a new girl, and that was only until they got a good look at me. My non-highlighted brown hair is usually tossed only in a ponytail with zero mousse, hairspray, or other styling product (because I’d much rather sleep than spend an hour on my hair every morning). I hardly ever wear makeup except for my sunscreen and cherry Chapstick. And, to top it off, my short, beanpole-like frame boasts a whole A-cup (okay, that’s being generous, it’s more like an A minus). They all quickly lost interest. They had other gossip to focus on. And boy, did they.

During the second week of school last year, I realized why everyone had better things to talk about—and I went home to kiss my mom in thanks for moving us here. Who would’ve thought there’d be more drama in such a small town than in an episode of the
Real Housewives
? This school was like a journalist’s wet dream. I didn’t even know where to start, there was so much to choose from. Most of it was tabloid fodder, but this wasn’t DC or New York, and I’d take what I could get.

I toss my apple core into the trash and flip the page of my notebook, still lost in my thoughts. During my freshman and sophomore years in Baltimore, I’d wanted to join the paper, but it was restricted to juniors and seniors only, so I began to investigate on my own and turned in stories anonymously. One of the other reporters found them, published them, and took full credit herself. I was pissed at first, but there was nothing I could do since I’d turned in the articles without even giving myself credit. I could only take satisfaction that people really liked what I wrote.

My favorite piece, the one I was most proud of, uncovered what really happened in the mysterious disappearance of four of the school’s most popular kids. They were in class on Friday, but by Monday—poof! No one had seen them all weekend, their Twitter and Instagram accounts were shut down, and all of their cell phones went directly to voicemail. Rumors ran wild, claiming everything from aliens to
21 Jump Street
-style government conspiracies, and their parents were tight-lipped about the whole thing. It was me who revealed that they had been recruited by some top private boarding school up north to play lacrosse. The story was salacious and all anyone could talk about for months, mostly because people were jealous they weren’t selected, too.

Here, that story probably wouldn’t even make the top ten list of school craziness. I chuckle aloud at the thought. Take, for example, the town’s golden goodie-goodie, Amelia Valentine, who got caught in a police sting involving uptown working girls and johns. Turns out, Amelia could afford all her designer duds because she spent her nights with several members of the town council. Talk about gossip! The halls buzzed like the inside of a beehive for a month over that one.