Rules for Secret Keeping (10 page)

“I don't know,” Eric says. He looks nervous, and he shifts his weight back and forth between his black dress shoes. “I just found it taped up by the art room, and I thought maybe you should know about it, but now on second thought . . .” He chews his lip. “I didn't want to upset you, Samantha. I don't ever want to
upset
you.”

I look up from the paper. Crap. Eric looks like he might start crying. “No, no, Eric,” I say quickly. “This isn't your fault.”

“
What
isn't his fault?” Daphne asks, walking down the hall and joining us. I hand her the flyer wordlessly.

“Hmm,” she says. “Who says ‘LOL' in a job posting? And a business partner? She can't be serious.”

“Well, internet-speak is becoming more mainstream, with a record number of people of all ages using internet messaging services and texts to communicate,” Eric chimes in helpfully.

“Thanks, Eric,” I say. “But I don't think internet-speak is really appropriate for a business flyer, do you?”

“No, Samantha, absolutely not,” he says. He looks even more nervous now.

“What are you wearing?” Daphne asks me.

“Emma's dress.” I do a little twirl, the skirt flying out around me. I wait for Daphne to compliment it, but she says nothing. “You don't like it? You said it was cute when Emma pulled it out of her closet on Saturday morning.”

“No, I like it,” Daphne says. “I just didn't know you were going to be wearing it to school.”

“Why wouldn't I wear it to school?”

“Because you never wear dresses to school.” Daphne's looking down at the floor now, and she has a really weird
look on her face. Like maybe she wants to tell me something, but can't. I know because I've seen that look on her face before. It was last year, when I let her borrow Taylor's gray hoodie without asking Taylor and then Daphne's cat threw up on it and there was no way to get the stain out.

“True, but there's no time like the present to start switching things up!” I say. Daphne just scowls. “Okay,” I say, crossing my arms. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Daphne says. She looks down at the ground. “I just didn't think you'd be wearing Emma's dress, that's all.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “Is this about me being friends with Emma? Because she wants to be friends with you, too, Daph.”

“No,” Daphne says. “It's not about that.”

I want to say something else, but I don't know how much I should push, and besides, Eric is standing right there. I don't like getting into friendship confrontations in front of other people. Especially in front of Eric, since he gets real nervous if he thinks I'm upset. And he's worked up enough already.

“What's going on?” Jake asks, walking up to our group. “Why is Daphne scowling and looking like that time when her cat threw up on your sister's sweatshirt?”

“She can't figure out why Samantha is wearing a dress
to school,” Eric says. Which kind of proves how clueless he is, since that's not really what we were talking about at all. And then Eric takes a step closer to me, probably because Jake's here now.

I sigh. Eric and Jake don't exactly, um, get along. The really bizarre thing is, it has nothing to do with the fact that I like Jake, because Eric doesn't know I like Jake.
I
didn't even know I liked Jake until a few months ago. Eric doesn't like Jake because he thinks
Jake
likes
me
. Eric thinks
everybody
likes me. It's kind of flattering.

“Why are you wearing a dress?” Jake asks.

“I just felt like it.” Suddenly, I'm annoyed. I mean, really. Who cares if I wore a stupid dress to school? People wear dresses to school all the time! Everyone's acting like it's some kind of huge global event. Don't they know there are people dying in Darfur? I might have to get Candace from the photo shoot to email them some information so they can increase their social awareness.

“Yeah,” Eric says. He moves another step closer to me. “She felt like it!”

“Anyway,” I say, waving the flyer in my hand. “Forget about the stupid dress. We have bigger problems here.” It's not on the level of Darfur, but it's still pretty important. At least to me.

Jake takes the flyer and reads it.

“Yikes,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “Emma said Olivia's a quitter, but it doesn't seem like it.”

Daphne rolls her eyes and mutters something that sounds like “What does Emma know?” but I'm kind of not paying that much attention because I'm too busy watching Jake's face for any reaction to Emma's name. But he doesn't move a facial muscle; it's like his face is made of stone or something. I decide to push it a little bit. “That's what
Emma
said when I was at her sleepover this weekend. You know, when you
called
me?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I wanted to see if you had Julia Tibbot's number. We were going to invite her brother over to skateboard, since you didn't want to come.”

“It seems as if Samantha had
plans,”
Eric says. He moves even closer to me. “So she couldn't come to your little skateboarding party.” He says “skateboarding party” like Jake had been planning to take me to a gang fight or something.

Daphne says, “I can't believe you're wearing a dress.”

“Get off the dress!” I almost scream. “We have THINGS TO DEAL WITH!”

“Look,” Jake says. “You have to stop freaking out about this whole Olivia thing. Just take it for what it is—competition. Nothing to get all worked up about yet. How many
secrets are in your locker right now?”

I look. “Three,” I say.

“Is that normal for this time of day?”

“Yes,” I say. “Three's about right.”

“So there you go,” he says. “Keep an eye on what this Olivia girl is doing, and if it seems like your business starts falling off, then you might have to come up with a plan. Until then, it's just a minor annoyance.” Hmm. I guess he might be right. I
could
be freaking myself out over nothing. I
can
be extremely dramatic like that.

Jake readjusts his book bag on his shoulder and smiles at me. “It's going to be fine, Samantha.”

Eric glares at him. The bell rings then, and Daphne says, “Gotta get to homeroom” and then heads down the hall without even really saying goodbye. What is up with her? She and I are going to have a serious talk at lunch.

The boys head to class, and I turn around and start gathering the books I need for the morning, along with the three secrets that were left in my locker. There's a tap on my shoulder as I'm sliding the last secret, a note for a girl named Miri Jones, into my bag.

It's Jake. “I forgot to tell you one thing,” he says. “I like your dress. I think you look really pretty in it.”

Oh. My. God. I can feel myself blushing, all the way from the top of my forehead down to my toes. He did
not just say that! I take a deep breath and try to think of something witty to say. I lean against my locker and wrap a strand of my hair around my finger, the way I've seen Taylor do when she wants a guy to notice her.

“You came all the way back to tell me that?” I say, and give him my most winning smile.

“Uh, no,” Jake says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper and holds it out to me. “I came to give you this.”

I look down at the paper, hoping it's some kind of note for me in which he confesses his love and all the things he's too shy to say to my face. But it's not. It's a secret that he wants passed. It's held together with a paper clip, and there's a dollar on top, and the name on the front says
EMMA
.

“Why would he send her a secret
back
?” I ask Daphne. It's lunch, and Daphne and I are working in the computer lab, since Daphne wanted to work on the story she's doing for the school paper. I think it's way too early in the year to be working on the school paper (I mean, no news has even really happened yet), but their first meeting is on Wednesday, and, according to Daphne, it's super hard for seventh graders to get any kind of responsibility. Apparently there's some eighth-grade editor in chief who's
on a big power trip and has told everyone that the seventh graders will get no assignments unless they're really, really good. Everyone who wants to be on the paper was asked to bring a sample story, and so Daphne really needs to make a good impression.

“Because
she
sent
him
one?” Daphne tries. “He was probably just being polite and writing her back.” She's still clicking away on the computer next to me, her fingers flying over the keys.

“Yes, but that doesn't make any sense; it's not a note-passing service, you send one secret and then you're done. If he likes her back, then why doesn't he just tell her?” I bite my lip and press the mouse on the computer I'm using. I'm playing Snood, this game where you line up little creatures into patterns and then zap them away. It's kind of a lame game, but it's one of the only ones they have on the school computers. Anything cool is either blocked or not able to be downloaded.

“I don't know, Samantha,” Daphne says. “Maybe because they think it's cute or romantic or something.”

“Yes, but if that's true, then why did he say that about my dress?”

Daphne sighs. “You do know that's the fiftieth time you've asked me that, right?”

“Yes,” I say, realizing Daphne's probably getting pretty
sick of my little anecdotes and freak-outs about Jake and Olivia. I decide I need to work on being a better friend. “What's your story about?” I ask.

“Global warming,” Daphne says.

“Wow,” I say. “Ambitious.”

“I'm writing about the global epidemic, but my article is going to focus on the things we can do here, as a school, and how kids can get into being green.”

“That sounds cool.” Daphne gives me a look. “What's that look for?” I ask. “I'm totally into being green!” I am, too. Well. Sort of. I do recycle. Or at least, I try to remember to recycle. And yeah, maybe
sometimes
I accidentally leave my air conditioner up too high while I'm sleeping. But only on really hot nights. And I always turn it off when I leave the house or even the upstairs. Most of the time.

“Listen,” Daphne says, “I'm sorry about the way I acted about your dress this morning.” She starts playing with the corner of her notebook sitting next to her on the computer desk.

“It's okay.” I say. “But what's going on? You've been acting really weird ever since we spent the night at Emma's.”

“I don't know.” She's still fiddling with her notebook.

“Daph,” I say. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Seriously, it's—”

I'm cut off by a voice. A very loud voice that's talking
so
loud that it carries over the whole bank of computers to where we're sitting. And that voice is saying, “I know, it's so lame, like, you leave a
dollar
in her locker? How 1990 can you get?”

“You weren't even born in 1990,” another voice says. “So how would you know?” And then the two voices combined start to giggle.

“Ohmigod,” I whisper to Daphne. “They are
so
talking about me!” Who else could it be? I'm the only one who gets dollars in my locker!

Daphne holds her finger to her lips, so that we can hear the voices better.

“Anyway, Olivia,” the second voice is saying. “How much money have you made so far?”

“Twenty dollars just today,” the first voice (obviously Olivia) says.

Twenty dollars! What a liar! There's no way she made twenty dollars just this morning. I mean, on my best day ever, which was Valentine's Day of last year, I only made about ten or fifteen dollars. Of course, I was in a much smaller school then, but still. Twenty dollars in one day? Less than a week after she started, at the beginning of the school year, when no crushes or scandals have even had time to start? Impossible!

“Twenty dollars?” her friend says. “That is so awe-some!”

“I know,” Olivia says. “But honestly, that Samantha girl has really done me a favor. Since she's running such an old-fashioned operation, people are super psyched to work with me. A lot of the people don't like the idea that there's an actual paper out there with their secret on it. They love that everything's digital, which is why I'm raking in the money.” I hear the vibration of what sounds like maybe her cell phone. “Oh, there's another one right now,” Olivia says. “Make it twenty-one dollars. And this one is totally prepaid.”

My mouth's open so wide my jaw feels like it might be on the floor. I look over at Daphne. Her eyes are the size of saucers, and her eyebrows are all the way up almost to the top of her forehead.

“Don't you feel bad?” Olivia's friend says. “For ruining that poor girl's business?”

“Not really,” Olivia says. “In fact, I want to end her. That's life in the big city.” A bunch of giggling follows this pronouncement, which totally makes no sense.
That's life in the big city?
Do they know we don't even live in the big city? I guess it's just a figure of speech, but still. And
end
me? Gosh. That sounds very . . . dramatic. And kind of scary, like something you'd see in a gangster movie.

We hear the sounds of chairs scraping, and then the
clack of heels against the floor, which get fainter until they're gone. When I think it's safe, I pop up out of my chair to see if I can get a glimpse of her, but it's too late. She's gone.

“Oh my God,” Daphne says. “She's totally after you.”

“I know,” I say. “What am I going to do?”

“I don't know yet,” Daphne says. “But this means war.”