Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (14 page)

“Yeah, he was really focused on me,
Ms. Wells
. I couldn’t hold his attention for half a second,
Ms. Wells
. Are you planning on coming to
class again tomorrow,
Ms. Wells?”

Oh, that was too much. “Shut up!” I smacked his arm, almost
knocking more root beer float everywhere.
“Although, if you
get a pair of those half-glasses you might be a younger version of him,
Mr. Kent
.”

“Have you guys been taking something we don’t know about?”
Ben looked from one of us to the other. “Like some type of happy-history drink
or something?”

I snatched my hand back from Chris’s arm and tried
desperately to escape Alternate Universe World again.

“Oh, you know. History partner bonding.” I forced a grin,
hoping everyone was buying that the two of us were working on our imaginary
project. I really couldn’t deal with everything that went with the undercover
tutoring.

“So, you guys are high on history?” Ben looked from one of
us to the other.
Definitely suspicious.
“Is that
legal? Is it even possible?”

I’d like to say I had a super-amazing witty comeback. But
the truth was that the alarm on my phone went off.
Literally
saved by the bell.

“Sorry guys.” I pushed out of the booth, grabbing my sweater
as I went. “You’re on your own.”

I breezed away, making a glamorous—and unquestioned—exit.

Chapter
17

“So, Rachel, how’s your week been?”

Eventually, Dr. Meadows would come up with a new way to
start our sessions. But why mess with what already works well enough at
torturing me, right?

“Not too bad.”

She pulled her glasses off and set them beside her
ever-present notebook.

“Every time you start off with ‘not too bad’ it’s never a
good thing. Don’t take up poker.”

I closed my eyes and ran the week through my head. Not so
good. Okay, maybe worse than not so good.

“Yeah.
It wasn’t great.” I tried to
grin at her. She never bought it, but I figured I should make the effort to be
polite. “Actually, it kind of sucked.”

“Why don’t you tell me what some trigger events were and how
you handled them?”

As if living through them again helped.

“I saw Jared with his new girlfriend.” I tried to hold her
gaze, but found myself counting the little tiles along the edge of the wall.
“He didn’t even notice me, and they were all happy-happy.”

She picked the notebook back up. That was one of the hard
parts, knowing she was writing down every screwed up thing. I know they didn’t
go anywhere and it was just so she could remember what we talked about the next
week, but still…the mess known as my life recorded for all to read.
Big shudder.

“Did I mention she’s blonde and gorgeous?
And
tiny.
Kind of perfect-girlfriend material looks-wise.”

“Is it her or her looks that bother you most?”

Were her questions getting harder?

“I don’t know.” That was actually the truth. When she asked
the question, I didn’t know. But as I sat there thinking, I ran both sides
through my head.

“Really?” she pushed. “You don’t know?”

“I guess it’s kind of both. I mean, he replaced me in less
than a week, and it seems like he upgraded. I couldn’t compete with that. She’s
gorgeous.”

“That’s what you said. So, you think he’s only dating her
because she’s pretty?”

“
Gorgeous
.”
There’s definitely a difference.

“Because she’s gorgeous?”

“Why else would he be dating her?”

“So he dated you because you were gorgeous?”

That’s why I hated Wednesday nights. No matter how
everything lined up in my head walking in the door, Dr. Meadows shuffled it all
within minutes.

“No. He dated me because we were a great match. We hit it
off immediately and things were really good.”

“So, what happened?”

My palms itched. I rubbed them along the cushioned arms of
the chair.

“I don’t know. I told you. He just showed up one day after
we’d dated a couple weeks and said he really liked me but thought we’d be
better off as friends.”

“And you were surprised.”

“Of course I was surprised. I thought we were a great
match.” I thought we were the perfect match. We had so much in common. Our
sense of humor, things we liked, how we thought about stuff. Plus, with Amy
dating Luke now, dating his brother just made sense.

“But then he moved on?”

“Yeah.
To
Gorgeous Girl.”

“Sounds familiar.”
She
absent-mindedly tapped her pencil against her notepad.

I may not be the therapist in the room, but by then even I
knew how to read some of her tells. This was where I was supposed to cave and
say “I know.” I really didn’t want to.

“It isn’t the same.” Yeah, that sounded a little whiny.

“Why not?”

Oh, as if I hadn’t seen that one coming.

“When I break up with someone, I’m not moving on to upgrade
to the next model.”

“So, you’re an older model?”

“What else am I? He just decided we were friends when things
were great and then, like, days later had a new girlfriend. Not a new kind of
girl he was getting to know.
A full on girlfriend.”

Off came her glasses again. Brace yourself.

“Rachel.” Dr. Meadows let out a sigh that could only be
described as
exasperated.
“How many
boys did you date last year?”

“During the school year?”
Seeing as
I wasn’t allowed to date during the summer at camp, I think we could call that
question a stall tactic.

“Yes.
During the school year.”

“I don’t know.”
Fourteen.
“A handful.”

“You know exactly how many. Say it out loud.”

That’s the problem with long-term therapy. I swear Dr.
Meadows could read my mind at this point.

“Fourteen. Okay?
Four.
Teen
.”

“So, Jared—who you’ve said is just like you—is displaying
behavior similar to your own. Does that mean his behavior reflects more on you
or on him?”

“But he moved on to her
because
of me.” Why couldn’t she understand that?

“I know this is going to come as quite a shock. But not
everything
is about you. He may have his
own issues and dating around may be how he handles them.” She paused and I
could tell she was judging if she should push. “Just like you.”

Being told what you’re already trying to ignore really cuts
down on the self-delusion. Sometimes a girl
needs
a little delusion to make life run smoothly “But I’m not dating anyone now.”

“I believe the agreement when you left Camp
Oscheen
was
that you wouldn’t date
anyone for three months.” She glanced at the notebook. “We discussed that the
last two weeks.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to date him. It was just so easy. We
fell into it.”

“And it made you feel better,” she said, her voice soft. Not
a trace of accusation or judgment.

I nodded. I knew that. I knew having a boy who was just for
me, who
liked
me, made me feel
better. If he liked me, if he didn’t see
the
me
I saw, then everything must be
fine. And, as she pointed out several times last year, if that boy started to
get close, it was time to go. There was nothing worse than worrying about how
clear their vision might get—not a risk I was willing to take.

“How did you handle seeing them?”

“Oh, you know. Threw up in the girl’s room and then refused
to come out,” I said with a shrug. It wasn’t like that was the first time.

“How’d you get out?”

Translation:
How bad
of a panic attack was it?

“Amy came in and I didn’t want her to know. I
couldn’t
let her know. It gave me that
focus.
To get through it, to push it away.”

She nodded. We’d talked about focus a lot. It wasn’t
typically a person who was right there, but it had worked.
“And?”

She watched me struggle not to shift on the overstuffed seat
I’d spent too much time in over the last few years. I had a feeling I wasn’t
going to like what was coming next.

“Have you considered that maybe you weren’t ready to come
off the meds?”

What was up with the keeping-Rachel-drugged movement this
week?

I tried to keep the suspicion out of my voice. “Why?”

“Why?” Dr. Meadows actually sounded surprised, which
was
a surprise. She was typically so
good at keeping that non-emotional therapist thing going on. “I don’t know,
Rachel? Maybe because the first week back from camp you broke one of the major
rules, which created panic attacks you could have avoided, and you’re still
putting the blame for them in the wrong place? You haven’t been handling things
like you’re supposed to. And, do you really think I’m so dumb as to not notice
you’re trying to slide through your sessions without really dealing with anything?”

Okay, wow. Um, where to start?

“I’m not faking it through therapy.” Not a lot anyway. But,
I was really tired of having to come and talk about me, me,
me
while someone judged me with a notebook and a
Bic
pen. “And I know I messed up with the dating Jared thing. Obviously he was a
poor choice.”

“Dating or dating Jared was a poor choice?”

Did the woman miss nothing? I know what I was supposed to
say. I was supposed to say,
Why, Dr.
Meadows. Of course I meant
dating
when it was against the rules was a poor choice.
But I knew the truth. I
knew I would have done it again in a heartbeat.

“Rachel, if you’re not going to take the steps to handle
things without the medication, I’m not sure you should be off them.”

I panicked. Not in the panic attack kind of way, but in the
typical teenager about to lose something she really wants kind of way.

“Okay. I’ll stick to the plan.” I tried to smile, but I was
too busy trying not to worry
she
and my mom would
magically come to a decision about the meds together…without me. “No more
dating.”

“Good.” She nodded, a reassuring movement I’d learned didn’t
always mean
good.
“That’s a start.
And how did that affect the rest of your week?”

I glanced at the tiny clock she kept next to her. We both
pretended it didn’t exist, but times like this I was glad it was there.
Unfortunately, it didn’t read late enough to know escape was coming soon. And,
obviously, faking answers tonight was not really going to fly.

“Not bad.” I mean, it could have been amazingly worse. It
could have been dire.

“But?”

I really needed to switch therapists to someone who didn’t
know when to push.

“But…there’s this boy.”

The next thing I knew, I was explaining about Chris and how
he shoved his way into my life. She’d heard a little about him before because
of the whole Amy’s-kind-of-ex boyfriend thing. But, I had to tell her the
truth, to tell how he was too beautiful to look at but seemed to have his own
thing going on. How we brought out the worst in each other…but that I was
suspecting we were seeing the best too. Oh, yeah, I was all about the sharing
tonight.

I even admitted to the two clothing mini-attacks.

“That seems normal. It seems like you’re dealing with high
stress situations in good ways.
Things that would have
created full blown panic attacks before, have you finding your inner-window in
time for you to escape an embarrassing or harmful situation.”
She leaned
back, looking at me as if she hadn’t seen me in years. “Rachel, that’s good. I
know it doesn’t feel like it, but in a way, these are successes.”

It took a minute to absorb that. Things seemed desperate all
the time. Actually, they seemed desperate or they disappeared.
Poof.
Suddenly, something would just not be an issue…until it
was again. But, life was getting to the point where I wasn’t dealing with the
attacks constantly. I guess I needed that reminder that things were different.

That I was different.

But that didn’t mean that everything was better. I looked at
my hands fisted on my lap and knew for sure that better was relative and
everyday life got a little bit saner. Saner on a Rachel-sliding-scale kind of
way, that is.

“See you next Wednesday.”

Of course.
Every
Wednesday for the rest of my life at this rate.

Chapter
18

I’m not sure why I was surprised to see Chris sitting on my
front porch, his backpack next to him.

After spilling my guts about having a beautiful boy around
who wasn’t the least bit interested in me, I wasn’t really up for studying with
said beautiful boy.

I got out of the car and leaned against the side, watching
him swat at the bugs attracted to the porch light.

“I’m really not up for studying.” I hoped he wouldn’t argue.
I knew I’d have to drive him home anyway.

He stood, slung his bag over his shoulder and crossed to
tower over me. Then he was looking at me, really looking. I hated it. I was raw
already from the hour with Dr. Meadows. Chris looking at me was not what I
needed.

I dropped my gaze away, unable to watch him study me. Afraid
of what I’d see if I could read his thoughts.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and telling me the
one thing I could cling to. The one thing I hadn’t even known I’d wanted to
hear. “Let’s go to the bridge.”

~*~

The moon hid behind a rogue cloud, casting the bridge in a
darkness that felt like the perfect outfit—comfy and safe. I wrapped it around
me.
Holding it to me, while Chris leaned against the pylon a
few feet away.
I could feel him watching me. This new awareness growing,
growing beyond what I’d ever expected. Beyond what I’d ever wanted. But there
on the bridge, it didn’t matter. It just was.

This place was separate.

And I…I was drunk on the darkness.

Dizzy with carelessness, I faced him head on and asked,
“What do you see when you look at me?”

He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “What
do you mean?”

I should have stopped. I should have backtracked and made
some sarcastic joke that worked as well out loud as it did in my head. But
moon-fever and exhaustion had canceled out any cues for emotional safety. I
needed the truth from one person.

“I mean, do you see all my…flaws?”

His grin hitched up.

“Do I see how pushy you are? How you kind of are always
doing something in your head? How you aren’t what you try to make people think
you are? How you have some weird obsession with lip gloss? Those?”

Wow, not the answer I expected. And yet…how many other
people would have pegged each one of those things?

I pushed off the railing and strode toward the middle of the
bridge. I almost kept my back to him, but that was the coward’s way out, so I
faced him. The moon still hid behind a cloud, just enough light slipping
through so I could make out where he was, if not his expression.

“No. I mean, when you look at me.” I held my hands out by my
sides. “What do you see?”

I couldn’t believe I was asking. I can’t believe I put
myself in front of the most beautiful looking person I’d ever seen and asked
him about my appearance.

He stepped away from the railing, not quite coming to me.
Just easing the distance a bit and looked at me.
Really
looked at me again.

My heart thudded heavily against my ribs, painfully so, and
I knew I’d pushed my luck. It was too much.

Hell, it probably would have been too much even if I hadn’t
gone to my session that night.

This was definitely a,
What
was I thinking,
moment. Actually, add a couple creative curse
words in there to up the accuracy level.

“Never mind.”
The words rushed out
as I headed back to the car.

“No. Wait.” He didn’t touch me, didn’t even move toward me,
but the tone of his voice had me frozen mid-step. “I’m not sure why you’re
asking. I mean, I think you must know you’re pretty. You’ve got great legs.
Those shorts the other day…”

His voice trailed off. I almost turned around to look at
him, to try to see if he was lying. But the darkness would have hidden that
anyway…hidden his lies like it hid my embarrassment. And shame.

“You’re kind of everything. Smart and pretty. It’s tough to
know someone like you.” He cleared his throat.
Twice.
“Things aren’t good for me right now. I’ve always had everything and it’s
been…not good. I don’t really like being me and it’s my own fault.
But you.
I know something’s going on, but still…you’re
pretty and you’re smart. And you’re a good friend.”

I hadn’t realized my hand had come up to cover my heart
until I felt it racing beneath my fingertips.

Nothing, since my diagnosis had been laid out before me,
scared me as much as his words did.

“There’s just something…” His voice trailed off, leaving
behind questions I was afraid to ask and an odd expectation I was scared to
name. Then, it was the weirdest thing—and, being therapy night, that’s hard to
do—but when I turned back, he was grinning. “Plus, you have that whole mystery
thing going on.
That
untouchableness
.”

I hooked in a breath, confused by all of it. I was
mysterious and pretty and untouchable. Oh, and pushy. What did all that mean? I
turned away from him suddenly afraid that, if I tried to explain, he might
almost get it all. Afraid he’d listen. Afraid he wouldn’t listen.

It was a long drive home.
A very, very
long drive home.