Rules for Secret Keeping (18 page)

Hope to hear from you soon,

Nikki XXX

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Yes, yes, yes, yes! An extra ticket! Which means both of my dads can go! Of course, I'm going to have to do some major convincing in order to get my dad to sit at the same table as Tom. But how much can he really protest? I mean, it's
my
night. So he kind of has to go along with what I want, doesn't he? Plus it's not like he even has to talk to Tom. He can just sit there and enjoy his dinner of roast chicken or whatever ridiculous thing they're serving and wait for the winner to be announced. Which will not be me, but that's a whole other story that will need to be dealt with later.

Yes, yes, yes! I wonder what I should wear. Probably something professional-looking. But not too professional, and definitely shoes with—

“Are you Samantha Carmichael?” a voice is saying. And, like, right in my ear, too—whoever it is has never definitely heard of personal space. I turn my head slowly to
see a girl standing behind me. She has long blond hair, all the way down to her waist, and she's wearing a short white tiered skirt and earrings that are so big they brush against her shoulders.

“What?” I ask dumbly.

“Are you,” she repeats, “Samantha Carmichael?” She taps her foot on the floor, and puts her hands on her hips.

“Yes,” I say, before realizing that I probably should have figured out who she was and what she wanted before I told her who I was.

“Well, I'm Olivia Snetski,” she says, real haughty-like. “Of Olivia's Secrets?”

“Oh. Uh, hi.” The elusive Olivia! After that one day when I overhead her in the library, we haven't had any more run-ins. At first I was desperate to get her pointed out to me, but after a while, I kind of forgot about it. I didn't want to put a face to the business, I guess.

“I just wanted to say I am soooo sorry for ruining your whole company. I heard you're, like, devastated by it.” She flips her long hair over her shoulder and gives me a sympathetic smile. And not in a nice way.

“You didn't
ruin
my whole business,” I say. “But thanks for your concern.” That's kind of (okay, a lot of) a lie, but Olivia doesn't know that. Does she? I guess she might. People might have told her that they're using her now
instead of me. Plus she's probably getting so many secrets that she can't possibly imagine there could be any more out there. “And I'm not devastated by it.” Another big lie.

“Yeah, well, that's not what everyone's saying.” Olivia puts her hand on the back of my chair. French manicure. I guess she hasn't heard about the pumpkin spice craze.

“Who's everyone?” I ask.

“Just, you know, everyone.” She smiles again. “Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself so that things wouldn't be awkward between us. And if I ever need an assistant, I'll totally keep you in mind.” She squeezes my shoulder in pity, waves her French manicure at me, and then walks away.

I stare after her, my mouth open. The nerve! I turn back to the screen, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. Who am I kidding? Planning my outfit for the banquet next week, thinking about cute shoes? It's over. That lady Barb is coming tomorrow and it's going to be disastrous and everyone is going to find out I'm a fraud, including that jerk Olivia. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I log out of my email and head back to study hall. I might as well gossip with Emma and Charlie. No way I'm going to be getting any work done after
that
.

After school, I head to The Common to drown myself in doughnuts and a hot cider. Daphne's staying after for
newspaper, so I'm going to work on homework until she's done, and then my mom's going to pick us up. Of course, I end up doing more obsessing over Barb's visit than homework, and so by the time Daphne comes marching into The Common after her meeting, I've only done two measly math problems.

Daphne has Karissa Green in tow. Like, she is literally holding Karissa's hand and pulling her toward the table I'm sitting at. I don't know Karissa that well—we have a few classes together, and we went to the same elementary school, but we're not close or anything.

Honestly, I'm a little annoyed. This morning I finally told Daphne about my maybe near-miss kiss and the fact that Jake is totally avoiding me, and I was hoping we could discuss (read: obsess about) it. But we can't do that in front of Karissa.

“Hi,” Daphne says. She looks excited. Like, really excited. She's about two steps away from jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

“Um, hi,” I say. I try to send her a message with my eyes. The message being, you know, that I'm not in the mood for extra company. Karissa doesn't say anything. She just pulls at the bottom of her T-shirt.

“Hi, Karissa,” I say. Now that she's here, I guess I at least have to try and be nice to her. “Do you want some
doughnut?” I hold up my half-eaten glazed.

“Tell her,” Daphne says proudly. She puts her hand on the small of Karissa's back and pushes her toward me.

Karissa's blue eyes look back and forth between me and Daphne nervously. “It's okay,” Daphne says, sounding exasperated. “She's not going to
tell
anyone, she's a professional secret-keeper.” I think about maybe adding “used to be,” but decide to keep quiet.

“Okay, well.” Karissa looks down at the ground. “I like Micah Wilkins.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, that's great.” I don't get it. Not to sound horribly mean, but who cares? I mean, Micah Wilkins? I know nothing about him, really, except that he's one of the cutest guys in our class. He went to Kennedy, but everyone at our school already knows who he is and loves him. He plays, like, every single sport and he has hair on his legs and wears a different pair of sneakers every day. I guess he's good-looking. Of course, Jake is way hotter, even if everyone else doesn't realize it.

“And . . . ,” Daphne prompts, like a teacher trying to get their student to give the right answer.

“And,”
Karissa says, “I sent him a secret through Olivia's Secrets asking him if he would go to the Fall Festival with me.”

“That's very brave of you,” I say generously.

“And . . . ?”
Daphne says. She sounds
really
impatient this time. She's even tapping her foot on the ground.

“And now I'm not going with him,” Karissa says. She sighs and rolls her eyes.

Daphne, apparently sick of waiting and pulling the story out of Karissa, decides to take over. “And the reason she's not going with him is because that jerk Olivia totally asked Micah after she read Karissa's secret!”

“What?!” I gasp, putting down my doughnut. Suddenly the story is getting interesting. I mean, way to bury the lead. I hope Daphne knows that if she wants to be a journalist, she's going to have to make sure she gives people the pertinent and interesting facts right off the bat.

“I know!” Daphne says. “I mean, Olivia totally asked him, like, ten minutes after you sent the secret, isn't that true, Karissa?”

“Yeah,” Karissa says. She looks sad as she pulls on the bottom of her T-shirt some more. But then she says, “Whatevs, it doesn't matter anyway, because Micah really isn't as cute as everyone thinks he is. He's getting a mustache.” She wrinkles up her nose when she says “mustache,” like she can't even fathom how disgusting it is.

“And besides,” I say, my heart sinking, “It doesn't prove anything. It could just be a coincidence.”

“She definitely read it,” Karissa says.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Well, because I kind of said something cute to him in the note,” Karissa says. “Something about how maybe if things worked out at the Fall Festival, we'd be doing more than just pumpkin picking.” Her cheeks get all red. Wow. I had no idea Karissa had it in her to flirt like that. Maybe she should take my place and be the third crazy cowgirl.

“You mean you were implying that you guys would, like, kiss,” Daphne clarifies.

“Right, but how do you know that Olivia definitely read the note?” I ask.

“Well, because I hadn't heard anything from Micah. And so I asked Olivia if she'd given him the secret, and she said yes.”

“So . . .” God, this is like pulling teeth.

“So
, finally I went up to Micah and I was all, ‘Look, do you want to go to the Fall Festival or not; I sent you a secret and I know you got it and if you're trying to play hard to get, that's so not cool, because we're going to have to coordinate our costumes or whatever,'” Karissa says.

“Good for you,” Daphne says. I nod. I mean, seriously. You have to give the girl some credit for having the guts to confront him.

“So
then
he says, ‘Sorry, but I'm going with Olivia,' and so then I marched up to Olivia and was like, ‘Did you ask
Micah to the Fall Festival?' and she was all, ‘Yeah why?' like super innocent.” Karissa sighs. “Honestly, she might be the most annoying girl ever.”

“That's what you get for not going through Samantha,” Daphne says. She puts her arm around me and gives me a hug. “She's the best.”

“So then what?” I ask Karissa.

“So then as I'm walking away, I hear her say to her friends, ‘So, yeah, I'm going with Micah, and we might do more than pumpkin picking, if you know what I mean.'” She looks at me, a scandalized expression on her face. “In other words, she totally took what I was saying in my note and passed it off as her own. That's total
plagiarism
.”

“Totally,” Daphne agrees.

“Totally,” I say, even though it kind of isn't. I think it's just more like copying.

“Anyway,” Karissa says, sighing. “Next time I'll definitely go through you, Samantha.” She gives us both a sad smile and then walks away.

“Wow,” I say once she's out of earshot. “Olivia really
is
reading the secrets.” A jolt of guilt flashes through me for a second, as I think about how
I
read a secret too. The one from Jake to Emma. The one that said “Yes.” But that was only one! And it was totally under special, specific circumstances. Circumstances that any sane person would have
caved under. And after a whole year of not reading ANY secrets, wouldn't you think that maybe a person would have the right to read one secret? One measly little secret? One measly little secret that didn't even tell the person anything, except for that fact that it said “Yes,” which could mean anything??? Besides, I totally got what I deserved—mental torture and anguish. Plus I was basically fired from being their secret-passer and now Jake and Emma are just talking to each other all the time without me.

God, I really need another doughnut.

“She totally is,” Daphne says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out an oatmeal cookie. “You want a bite?”

“No thanks,” I say.

She puts her cookie down and turns her chair toward me. “So I was thinking about the whole cowgirl thing. And I've decided I'm on board.”

“You're on board?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“With the whole cowgirl thing?”

“Yes,” Daphne says. “That's what I just said!” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I know I said I was before, but now I really am. I think it could be fun. And we'll be together, so even if Emma and Charlie are acting crazy, we'll have each other.”

“Yes!” I say. “Exactly. We can maybe even ditch them
and have fun on our own. We can probably even drive over without them. It's Saturday, so my mom will be off work, she can totally pick us up.”

“It's Friday,” Daphne says.

“What is?”

“The Fall Festival.”

“What?!” Oh no, oh no, oh no. “But the
You Girl
banquet is on Friday!” I say.

“What?!” Daphne screeches, then throws her cookie onto the table. She glares at me.

“I totally mixed up the days!” I say. “You know I'm horrible with that stuff.” It's true. I am horrible with that stuff. Once I almost forgot my own birthday. It was super embarrassing—my mom had this whole special breakfast planned with chocolate chip pancakes (my fave) and when I came downstairs I was all, “What's the occasion?”

“You forgot the date?” Daphne repeats incredulously.

“I am so, so sorry,” I tell her. “And if you don't want to go with Charlie and Emma alone, seriously, you don't have to. Just tell them you don't want to go.” God, this sucks. I mean, can this day get any worse?

“But I
do
want to go to the Fall Festival,” she says. “I think it's going to be really fun.”

“So then you can still go with them,” I say. “It
will
be fun!” I'm trying to cheer her up and be a good friend, but
the truth is, I'm pretty bummed, since (a) I really wanted to go, and (b) the thought of the three of them having fun without me is pretty upsetting.

“But it won't be the same.” She kicks the table.

“I know, but—”

“Um,
hell
-o!” Taylor's voice comes echoing through The Common, and I do a double take. Taylor doesn't belong at The Common. She doesn't even belong at our
school.
But there she is, standing in front of us in her perfectly faded jeans and her black North Face jacket, tapping one Ugg boot on the ground impatiently. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

“Taylor!” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, picking you up?” she says, like it's obvious. “What do you think? Mom and I have been waiting outside for, like, fifteen whole minutes. You weren't answering your cell.” She plops down in the chair across from me. “Mom had to send me in here to get you. She went to get a coffee and she'll be back in a few minutes.” She looks around The Common distastefully, like she can't believe she's back at the middle school. “So what are you guys talking about? You both have weird looks on your faces.” Her tone implies that it can't be anything too interesting, since we're too young to have anything really worth talking about. If only that were the case.