Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (4 page)

“So, what’s good here?”

Amy and I ordered our usual. So did Luke and Ben, only they
ordered a pizza each.
And non-diet.
Darn their
athletes’ metabolisms.

Then, oh-so-casually—okay, not casually at all—Amy glanced
at Luke and says, “We need to pick those things up at the counter?”

Luke glanced toward the counter. “We do?”

“We do.” Amy gave him a little push, more of a tickle, under
the ribs to get him moving.

Luke, of course, did her bidding, sliding from the booth as
I watched Phase Two of Amy Fixes Rachel’s Dating Life kick in.

I glanced at Ben, happily nursing his soda and watching the
crowd around the pinball machine. She could have done worse.

Not that Ben wasn’t hot.
And nice.
And funny.
And smart.

Okay, wait. Maybe there was more wrong with me than a recent
bout of get-dumped-
itis
and, you know, life. But I’d
always gotten the Closed
For
Business vibe from Ben.
I’d noted him dating a couple girls, but it always looked like he was kind of
going
though
the motions.

There
had
to be
something wrong with him to keep him in the single category.

He was polite and considerate and everything you want a guy
to be, but typically weren’t aware enough to—

O.M.G. Ben Harrison was gay! How could I not have figured
that out before? I checked him out from the corner of my eye. What a shame. He
really was the total package. But there’s no way a guy who didn’t date could be
that perfect for female consumption and
not
be gay. He even had a best friend that was a girl. And Emma was a jock. I’m not
sure that’s important though.

And yet, I couldn’t work up a full steam of disappointment.

“I’m so sorry about this.” I blurted out after stirring my
Diet Coke a couple times with my bendy straw. He must
be
hating
this. I mean, being set up with a potential date was bad enough.
Being set up—and put on the spot—for someone outside your dating box must be
excruciating.

Ben turned those wasted-on-me ice blue eyes my way,
obviously confused about what I was sorry about.

I waved a hand between us.
“About this.
This really bad set up.”

He glanced toward the counter and back at me, his smile
blooming slowly into a dead ringer for George Clooney’s—which come on, even
with how old he was didn’t make it any less lethal. Ben’s wasn’t a halfway
little grin that just kind of smirks at you, but a full on smile, as if he
didn’t know how to give you anything less.

“Oh.
This,”
he
said and then actually winked at me.

You know, all the cool neurotic girls in the movies have gay
best friends. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad set up. It’s a horrible stereotype, but
we were both in a spot where more good friends
was
a
bonus. Also, he was still very much a guy and I’m not sure I could have given
up my role as the flirty, lip glossy friend.

Ben was obviously a good lesson in diversity for all of us.

“I mean, it’s obvious that this isn’t a good idea.” I rushed
on, trying not to insult him but let him know everything was cool.

“It isn’t?” There was that confusion again.

“Amy’s worried about me. And I think Luke’s feeling a little
guilty.” I glanced toward the counter wondering how long those two could stall
for. Of course, they were so involved in each other I wondered if they
remembered they were stalling. “Luke’s brother Jared just dumped me.
First time getting dumped.”

I tacked on a little laugh that came out sounding a bit
sickly.

“That sucks.”

I turned and finally gave Ben Harrison my full attention. No
one—not one person—had just said the truth. That it sucked.

I think Amy didn’t really get it. She was finally happy
with, not only her first
real
boyfriend, but Mr. Forever. Not to mention, yeah, I had gone through guys
fairly rapidly over the last two years or so.
But this one?
This meds-free, Mr. Happy-Maker breakup?
Yeah. It
sucked.

“Thanks.”

“So, we’ll just pretend this is a great idea. Hang out. Have
a great night and chalk it up to our friends caring about us.”
Intuitive too.
See?
Total package.
Such a waste.

Amy and Luke still stood at the counter, although they’d
worked their way to the end and seemed huddled in their own world at that
point.

“So, you and Luke?
You guys seem
tight?” I said I didn’t care. I didn’t say I wasn’t nosy.

Ben glanced toward them too, and nodded.
“Yeah.
You know, the team’s a competitive place.
Lots of jerks.
It’s good to just have a nice guy on the field with you. Plus, you know. He’s
Luke
.”

Oh, God!
Every time.
Every time I
think it couldn’t get worse. This was something I had no idea what to do with.
Ben was in love with Luke.

“So, you know, you like Luke?” Could this get any more
awkward? Maybe I should just let it go. Maybe Ben didn’t need to be talking
about this with an almost stranger.

“Yeah.
He’s an easy guy to like.”
He glanced toward the couple again, a look I couldn’t quite peg down but looked
suspiciously like envy raced through his eyes. “There aren’t many guys like him
around.”

“Amen to that.” I raised my cup in a toast.

“And Amy’s great, too,” he rushed on to add. “They’re great
together.”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to convince me. I know what
you’re saying.”

Ben leaned back and looked at me again. “You do?”

“Yeah.
I mean, I can’t really
imagine being in your situation, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m guessing you’re
pretty quiet about it since I’ve never heard any rumors or anything.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the happy-happy couple
again.

“You haven’t?”

When I shook my head, his shoulders dropped. He looked like
he’d been walking around with all seven periods of books in his backpack for
two weeks and finally gotten to take it off.

Leaning forward, Ben lowered his voice. “I can’t tell you
how hard it is.”

Oddly, it was comforting to have someone confessing to me.
For once the issue wasn’t mine. And it was a pretty hefty one. Our school
wasn’t living in the dark ages, but it wasn’t super liberal either. And I’m
pretty sure jocks still strictly lived in the boy-girl-combo dating package box
here.

“I know I’m not in a place to say that I know what you mean,
but I think everyone feels that way…to an extent. Not being able to have the
person they want.”

Ben dropped back against the bench, nodding his head like I’d
just given him the keys to some secret soccer guy kingdom.

“It sucks.” His gaze rolled toward the ceiling—focusing out
and away. “It feels like it gets harder every day.”

I reached out to squeeze his hand where it sat clasped
around his soda.

“And,” he continued. “Who am I going to tell? There’s no one
you can really trust with something like this.”

I was so out of my depth, I just gave his hand another
squeeze. I did what Dr. Meadows did when I reached my toughest confessions. I
waited. I listened.

“Anyone I tell is either going to gossip or tell me to talk
to her about—”

“Wait,” I cut in. “
Her
?’

“Yeah.
My
friend.”
His brows lowered as he studied me. “The one you guessed I
liked.”

“It’s a she?”

“Yes, it’s a she.” The whole restaurant turned as Ben shouted
the words at me. “Who the hell did you think I was talking about?”

I didn’t
mean
to
glance Luke’s way. You know when you really don’t want to do something, but
your body does it anyway? Yeah.
My day.
The one that couldn’t get worse.
Make this a Worse Times
Twelve moment.

“Luke?” Ben turned and stared at his
friend
in disbelief before turning his glare on me, his voice
dropping to an angry shouting-whisper. “You thought I was in love with Luke?”

“You said he was a great guy and where would you find another
one like him.”

“So?” It was more a demand than a question.

“You never date.”

“I date.”

“
Phft
.
You barely date. It’s like you’re dating to check that off your to-do list.”

“And you date to be taken.”

Ouch.

“Whatever.” When the glaring continued, I continued. “I
meant my comment as a compliment. You’re good looking, smart, nice, funny,
athletic,
just
popular enough. You could pick a girl
and be done with it. Thus, if you’re single, you’re gay.”

Yeah. It sounded more stupid out loud than it did in my
head.

“Not any girl.” Ben’s fingers wrapped around his soda again,
and I wondered just how much we had in common.

We sat—Ben looking at his root beer, me pretending I wasn’t
there—for another
long
moment. I felt
horrible. This is what happens when you have the option between going out with
friends and just going back to bed.

I totally should have picked bed.

I glanced toward Ben. He didn’t look any happier to be
there. He seemed like he was plotting an escape. He
definitely
was not looking Luke’s way.

“You could tell me.” I blurted it out, surprising even
myself. “I mean, I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I’m definitely not someone to be
in the advice-giving category right now.”

Ben finally glanced my way again, his face a bit softer than
a moment ago.

“I swear, it isn’t nosiness.
Not
that I’m not totally nosey. But this time, if you just wanted to tell someone,
you could tell me.”

By then, Ben had turned in his seat to face me. I couldn’t
read his expression. It wasn’t hard like a moment ago, or embarrassed. It was
like he was reading me and wasn’t sure he was translating the Rachel Language
into Boy English correctly.

“We’re back.” Amy’s perkiness broke through the
sizzle-thick-annoyance-filled moment.
Which was odd, because
Amy was previously a perk-free person.

“Thank God,” Ben mumbled.

Amy glanced from one of us to the other, her smile firmly in
place. Apparently, she’d decided that setting me up was a life-fixer. I was
pretty sure failure was not an option in her book.

“So, how are you guys getting along?”

Oh, God, we were moving into Worse Times Thirteen. How was I
going to explain to Amy that I alienated Luke’s new best friend? The one he
probably really needed since he’d just moved here and the team had divided
because of the whole he-got-Amy-but-Chris-got-the-spot thing.

Suddenly, from beside me, Ben laughed. I mean really
laughed. The kind that makes your sides hurt. Maybe I wasn’t the only crazy one
at the table.

“We’re getting along great,” he said between gasps.

What?

I looked at him, waiting for him to clue them into my
embarrassing, potentially insulting blunder.

“Oh.” The smile spread across Amy’s face. I could see how
proud of herself she was. She gave Luke a little nudge with her elbow I was
pretty sure she thought was inconspicuous.

Which had Ben laughing again.

“What?” Amy’s nose squished a bit as she looked from one of
us to the other…pride being replaced by confusion.

Ben was still laughing, so I was pretty sure explaining his
erratic behavior was on me.

“We’re getting along great.” I glanced his way and smiled,
happy he was finding the humor in this. “Ben’s just so happy about winning the
game and hanging out with us…” I leaned across the table, lowering my voice. “I
mean, look at him. He could use all the friends he could get.”

“
Amy,
thanks for inviting me.” Ben
tossed an arm across the bench behind me. “It was exactly what I needed.”

Me
too.

I sucked in a relieved breath that puffed out on a laugh so
deep it almost hurt my lungs.

So, Worse Times Thirteen was going to be me bursting into
tears in front of the only people who really mattered. The relief was just that
much. I was that—happy. Something I’d forgotten I knew how to be. Thank
goodness I’d gone out with them. It put the whole Jared thing in perspective
for a night.

He was someone that hurt me. It still hurt…missing him,
feeling less than I should be because he dumped me. But tonight…tonight I got
to be a little freer because I had an amazing best friend and there
were
good guys out there—even if they
were in love with someone else.

I looked around the
table,
sure
this memory was A Moment. The absurd
amazingness
of a
night out with your best friend and two really fun guys—of getting to relax and
not think or obsess—just being able to be as close as I come to a normal teen.
Yeah. I tucked it away for those days when I just couldn’t deal. Because
honestly, I needed to remember that when things in life were good, they didn’t
get much better than that.

Chapter
5

The generic Verizon ring vibrated my cell for an unknown
number. It was probably someone I could get away with killing for calling
before the alarm clock went off on a Saturday.
Which would be
noon.

“Hello?” Please note,
hello
might have sounded more like
who the hell
is this?

“Hey.
Just got back from my run.”
A
deep, unexpected voice jolted me awake.
“Wanted to see about
us getting together.”

I looked at the number again. It suddenly seemed odd that a
girl—any girl—in the RV didn’t have Chris Kent’s number programmed in her
phone.
Even if that girl was me.

“Today?”
As
in…today?
I glanced at the clock again.

“Yeah.
We’re already a couple weeks
into the semester. We’ve got to get going.”

What had I been thinking? Oh, yeah. Some strange force had
created a momentary sympathy for the
uber
-popular It
Boy.
And a trust that he might be able to add better than I
could.
Not to mention getting my butt back on the Dean’s List.

My phone beeped. Did these people think I was Matt Lauer or
something? Who really gets up that early?

I glanced at the screen and groaned.
Again.
Amy.

All of a sudden, as if I’d had social amnesia or something
yesterday, every reason I shouldn’t tutor—couldn’t tutor—Chris Kent came
rushing back.

“You know, Chris,” I began, hoping he’d just pick up on the
issues and let me out of our non-agreement. “I’m not sure this is such a great
idea.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? We agreed to this
yesterday.”

“Well, a girl has the right to change her mind.” Or, at
least that’s what my mom says every time she changes shopping plans. That woman
hates to shop. It’s the one thing that makes me question my heritage. “And like
I said, this is just a bad idea.”

“Rachel, you can’t back out on me.” That was definitely not
the smooth tone he used to pick-up girls. “Who else am I going to find to tutor
me at this point?”

Yeah, because demanding is so much more convincing than
asking.

“I’m sure someone else can help you. I mean, I’ve never even
tutored anyone before.”

Good point. Score one for me.

“You’re smart and you’re available.” His voice was clipped
as if he said the words fast enough and strong enough, I’d have no choice.
“That’s all the requirements I need in a tutor right now. Plus, what happened
to your desperate need to get your Calc grade up?”

He was…words failed. The ego on that boy was immeasurable.

“Listen, just because you’ve
handsied
your way through most of the senior class already, doesn’t mean I have to tutor
you. I couldn’t care less if we make states, so there’s no worries for me if
you pass or not.”

“I told you, this isn’t—you know what? I’ll see you in
twenty minutes.”

Before I could ask what the hell that meant, he’d hung up.

The voicemail reminder on my phone beeped again.

I dialed through to my message box.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s supposed to be, like, 80 today. Luke and
I are going to Ben’s to hang out at his pool. He said we should definitely
invite you. I think he likes you.” I could hear the hopeful smile in her voice.
“Grab your suit. We’ll pick you up at ten-thirty.”

I glanced at the clock. Unfortunately, all interested
parties would be arriving at about the same time. Not the drama I needed in my
life right now.

I hit #1 and got Amy’s voicemail. How could someone call you
and thirty-seven seconds later not be available? Of course, Amy had said the
same thing before when I’d call her and then call the current boyfriend.
Which meant she was probably on the phone with Luke.

“It’s me. Leave a message.” Wow, even her voicemail sounded
perkier. Luke really had upped the happiness level in her.

BEEP.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m going to have to meet you at Ben’s.”
Yeah, as if that wasn’t going to be awkward. “Are you sure he said he wanted me
to come?
Text me.”

Now I only had to deal with
Mr. Doesn’t
Take No For An
Answer.
Ever.

Twenty minutes. That gave me just enough time to shower and
get dressed. Maybe I could head him off at the front door before he got inside
and my innocent sisters were exposed to him. Little girls did
not
need to be subjected to that level
of hotness and sarcasm.
Or just hotness.

BEEP.

Actually, this one was more of a
twirledtweetertwirled
—my
text message alert.

Of course Ben wants
you there. Don’t forget your suit.

I hurried to my bathroom for as long a shower as I could get
away with. Since they’d pinpointed my triggers, Mom had switched rooms with me
so I had the master suite—amazing how much you looked at yourself to leave the
house. That meant I didn’t have to see anyone until I was fully prepared.

Or my version of fully prepared.

In the shower I thought about how to handle Chris.
Which had me thinking about Chris.
Which
had me thinking about the fact that Chris was a hot guy who seemed to go for
perfect blondes and athletic girls named Amy he couldn’t have.

Which had me thinking about how not blonde and
un
perfect
I was.

Not that it mattered in the dating sense. But the idea of
knowing I constantly came up lacking stung.
And made me a
little nauseous.
Chris was too much like Jared. He was charming—and hot
and popular and a girl-user.

I could feel my skin getting hot just thinking about
it…getting that tight, anxious feeling.

This was definitely a bad idea. I’m not sure I could take
the stress. Stress led to too many opportunities for anxiety, and anxiety meant
more locked-in-public-bathroom moments.

I looked down at my feet, way—way—down the end of my way—
way
—too long legs, and tried to pull myself
together.

Almost lying to the best friend.
Trying to tutor someone when I’d never tutored anyone before.
Trusting the
untrustable
guy to get me
through Calculus.
Dealing with him comparing me to
every hot girl who walked past.
It all got thrown into the cauldron
called my life and equaled a recipe for more than disaster. It equaled a recipe
for meltdown.

I avoided the mirror as I opened the cabinet and reached for
the pill bottle on the ledge. Popping the lid off, I let one slide into my hand
and rolled it between my fingers.

Forty-one.
It had been forty-one
days since I’d actually taken one of these. I’d thought the camp set up to
handle meds withdrawal would make it easy-
peasey
. No
such luck, but I was off them.
For now.

I could take one at any time—go back on my dailies. It
didn’t mean defeat. It meant I knew I’d reached a limit. At least, that’s what
Dr. Meadows said.

But to me, it did. All I’d wanted for the last
three-and-a-half years was to be boringly, averagely normal.

Not to question what people saw every time someone looked at
me. Not to use every moment, every movement as a way to camouflage myself.

I dropped the pill back in the bottle and sealed it shut
with a childproof thud. Not today my friend. I could fly solo one more day.

Closing my eyes, I pictured my morning. I’d put on safe
clothes. Meet Chris. Hash out if he could get me back on the dean’s list or if
I was dumping his plan. Go to Ben’s with a bathing suit tucked in the very
bottom of my bag, which may conveniently have been “forgotten” at home. And
generally have a good Saturday.

It
would
be a good
Saturday, damn it.

Once I found my black skirt I’d feel better. It made me look
more symmetrical.
Less disproportionate.
Avoiding the
mirror, I brushed my teeth and pictured the perfect day.
The
perfect outfit.
The perfect me.

Rule 18: Always, always, always have a safe outfit ready to
go for any occasion.

I closed my eyes and pictured the pool party. Black
wraparound skirt hanging loose off my hips for balance, fitted tank for
slimming, flip-flops for kicking off.
Bangs wispy but out of
my face, check.
Pedicure, check.
Three favorite
lip glosses, triple check.
Now to find my clothes.

As I headed back to my room, the tattered edges of my robe’s
sleeve caught on the door handle as I went by. I gave it a yank, a harsh rip
overriding the music playing from my iPod speakers. That was
not
a bad sign. Only good things were
going to happen today. Saturday had no options. I was in charge.

I turned to my room. It was a mess.
Understatement.

Every night I cleaned it, carefully putting each piece of
clothing where it belonged. Organized and ready to go.

Only last night I hadn’t put anything away. After the day
from Chaos Grand Central, all I’d wanted to do was crash, so everything lay
where it had fallen before school.

I waded through the pile, pulling anything out that was
black, looking for my skirt.
Nothing.
Every time I
found something, I tossed it behind me, sorting through things on the floor,
draped over the chair, at the foot of my bed.

I got down on my hands and knees and looked under the bed.

Where the hell was it?

My hands shook already. I needed that skirt. It was the only
thing I could leave the house in. I’d done all my special visualizing in the thing,
now I needed it like air, water, and a satin pillowcase that wouldn’t snag my
hair. It was like social armor. Never go out in public without the right armor
or you’ll get—emotionally—skewered.

From downstairs the dim chime of the doorbell echoed up the
hall. Oh, crap. I grabbed at the towel loosely twisted about my wet head. How
did he get here so quickly? What was he, like, Superman now?
Only
without the Clark Kent part.
Which would make him…what? Besides annoying
that is?

I faced the pile of black clothes in the corner. Maybe I’d
accidentally thrown the skirt in with everything else.

On my hands and knees, I rifled through the deluge of black,
throwing things behind me again in such disarray that it made the earlier mess
look show-room-perfect. No skirt.
Seriously?
No skirt?
I couldn’t leave the house without that skirt. Damn it, I couldn’t leave my
room without that skirt.

I sat back on my heels, tears streaming down my face, when a
knock came at my door.

This is what I always feared. Things like this. I mean, even
a three-year-old can dress herself. Before the meds, before the diagnosis—hell,
before we’d known there was anything really wrong with me—it had started with
little things. But, the more I tried to explain to people how I really looked—without
them humoring me with “the truth”—or about my fears around people looking at
me…well, that never went well. Most girls thought you were just trying to get
attention.

So I stopped since that was the last thing I wanted anyway.

“Rachel?” my mom called from the hall knowing better than to
open it in the morning before she’d seen me. “You have a friend downstairs.”

“I know, Mom.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.
Oh, dear God. What was I going to do? I clutched the robe around me. Air made
it down my throat, but my lungs must have had a giant balloon blocking them. Or
maybe there was an invisible elephant on my chest.

“Do you need me to ask him to leave?”

This is what I hated. I hated knowing that people knew.
That they could see everything wrong with me.
That my mom
knew I couldn’t talk to “my friend.” Probably couldn’t leave my room. I grabbed
at that thought.
At her embarrassment and worry.
Another emotion.
Harnessed.
For my mom.

No matter what, she’d be cool.
No matter
what.

I stood, kicking myself free from the nest of clothes around
me, and walked to my door. Resting my head against it, I watched my hand trace
the stained knot of the wood.

I felt a light knock, as if she were on the other side
leaning her head against the door too. I pulled myself together, focusing.
Before I wouldn’t have been able to, but now…

Now I was someone who could—who would.

“Can you give me a minute, Mom?”

“Sure,
Rach
.
I’ll feed him. He looks like he eats a lot.” After a moment, she said. “I’ll be
back up in about five minutes. I love you.”

Those last words.
Those last words
were everything. I knew she meant them and that she honestly couldn’t see me
the way I did—monstrously out of proportion—even if she could, I knew she’d
still
love me.

I whispered back through the door even though I knew she was
gone, “I love you too, Mom.”

Wiping my cheeks dry, I closed my eyes and tried to focus.
On the back of my door I’d tacked a big colored paper sign that read: In case
of emergency.
The list of safe clothes.
And, the most important thing.

The outfit.

I always kept one safe outfit clean and hanging on the back
of the door below the sign. Even Mom checked to make sure there was always one
there. That was the end game.
The brass ring.
The pull in case of emergency.
The center
of the Tootsie-Pop.
The every cliché ever made by man to signify the end
of a long, hard road.