The Secrets We Keep(27)

Nodding my apology, I took up Ryan’s favorite pastime and started reading the etchings on the desk. I’d finished counting the number of times the f-word could be used as a descriptor and was hazarding a guess at whose initials were in the heart when a piece of paper covered my desk.

“Try your best,” Mr. Peterson whispered. “I won’t grade it.”

I wrote my name and date on the paper. I missed nearly a month of school, and on my first day back, I had to take a test.

The book’s title was in bold letters across the top, two questions posed in italics below. East of Eden. I read it freshman year; it was on the summer reading list for those of us who had tested into the advanced track. Had I known there was a test today, I would’ve dug it out and reread a few chapters so I’d have quotes to support my answers.

I glanced at the first question and started writing my answer, worrying that I would forget something important. I remembered enough of the book to formulate a decent response. It wouldn’t be an A, but it wouldn’t be a C either.

Mr. Peterson had given us nearly the entire fifty minutes of class time to take the test, and according to the clock on the wall, I had twelve minutes left. I looked over my answers twice before I put my pen down. Writing those two responses had felt great, like a little part of the old me was safe to come out. An old part of me that was still useful.

I took a quick peek at Ryan’s test. He had three sentences down for the first answer and was struggling his way through the first paragraph of the second. A quick look at Molly’s proved that she was no better off. There was less than ten minutes left of class, and she hadn’t even started on the second question. I’d been to one class, had spent less than an hour in school as Maddy, and already I’d screwed up. I’d read the book for American Lit and actually answered the questions.

Frustrated, I balled up my test and pushed it aside. That sound, the crumpling of paper in my hand, echoed through the room, every head swinging in my direction. Alex, Jenna, Molly, even Ryan stared at me.

“I can’t do this,” I said, and stood up.

“Nobody expects your best work on your first day back.” Mr. Peterson approached me, his eyes wary, his tone a little too gentle to be comforting. He stopped a few feet from me, his attention turning to the balled-up test on my desk. When I made no motion to pick it up myself, he reached for it, smoothed it out between his hands, and began to read.

His lips moved silently with the words, and he flipped the paper over as the arrow I’d drawn on the bottom of the page indicated him to do. I knew what he was doing, knew the instant he turned it over for a second read that he was trying to figure out how Maddy had pulled this off. How some girl, fresh out of the hospital and still stricken with grief—the same girl who’d barely managed to pull a C in his class—had written this.

His eyes widened. A look of pure astonishment crossed his face, and I stumbled backward, knocking my chair over. Alex stood up, motioning to Jenna to stay seated when she started to follow him.

“Maddy?” Mr. Peterson laid his hand on my arm, tried to drag my attention back to him. “Maddy, this is good.”

“I know,” I whispered as I scrambled toward the door. “That’s the problem. It’s too good.”

I heard Alex behind me, saying something about taking care of it. I didn’t wait for him to catch up. I ran as fast as I could down the hall to the one place I knew Alex wouldn’t follow me, the one place in this entire building I knew of that had doors with locks.





17

The bathroom was completely empty. My only company was the sound of the old radiator struggling to pump heat. I walked to the last stall and locked myself in. Alex was at the main door, knocking and calling out my name. I half-expected him to come in. Part of me wanted him to so I could wrap myself in his arms and selfishly believe it when he promised me it’d be okay.

I chased away my thoughts of Maddy, of the accident, of Josh. My mother’s tears, the whispers that threatened to suffocate me, and the burrowing eyes of the entire school. I needed them gone.

My mind cleared slowly and the dingy tiles of the bathroom floor blurred together in a clutter of gray. I was perfectly content to sit there forever, but the bell rang, the shrill sound filtering in, growing louder as the door opened and closed in rapid sequence. Not wanting to be noticed, I pulled my feet up onto the seat and stayed silent.

I heard bits and pieces of the gossip I’d missed over the past few weeks. Jenna was vying for the title of Snow Ball queen, but I figured that. She may have been Maddy’s best friend, but I’d caught the spark of jealousy hidden behind those blue eyes.

“I gotta say, when it comes to campaigning though, Jenna’s got one amazing platform. I mean, what guy wouldn’t vote for her—”

I don’t know which of Maddy’s idiotic friends came out with that line, but she was absolutely right about Jenna using her assets to get ahead. As far as I could tell, her personality was about as deadly as the plague, so using her figure was probably her best option for gaining votes.

“She won’t win. Alex will make sure of that. Plus, Maddy’s got the pity vote. That’s gotta count for something.”

I cringed at her words, remembering a conversation I’d overheard last month. Maddy had been in the bathroom at home, her phone on speaker so she could talk and put her makeup on at the same time. She and Alex were strategizing, going over who they thought would vote for who. At last check, Maddy and Jenna were tied. I didn’t hear Alex’s plan to fix that—whatever he was saying was garbled by the sound of running water. All I heard was Maddy arguing with him, something about her last plan having gone horribly wrong.