All Your Twisted Secrets

by Diana Urban

  “Text me when you get there,” Mom called after me.

  It was only a few-minute drive to the carnival. When we arrived, Robbie bought my ticket and a huge mass of pink cotton candy. I hated cotton candy, but took it anyway, hoping my fluttering stomach could handle the sickening sweetness.

  “Feel any older yet?” he asked.

  I grinned slyly. “You’ll have to ask me tomorrow.”

  “It’s close enough.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t love the idea of getting older.”

  “What!” He shoved my arm playfully. “Come on. You’re seventeen!” Yes. Seventeen. The same age Maggie was when she died. “You’re, like, not even a fifth of the way through life.”

  “True,” I said, biting back my morbid thoughts.

  “So how’s the play coming along?” he asked.

  “Pretty good.” I pinched a clump of cotton candy and let it dissolve on my tongue, practically feeling the sugar disintegrate my teeth. “I’m trying to finish before Sasha comes back from cheerleading camp.”

  “Good thing you guys put it off ’til December, huh?” he said as we wandered past the spinning teacup ride—the one so nauseating it turns your insides to slime.

  “Yeah, I guess.” My progress had stalled this spring—it was hard to focus as my mind reeled with gory images of what might have happened at school if I hadn’t busted Phil. But I didn’t want to talk about that now.

  “Oh hey look, there’s an actual roller coaster this year!” I pointed to it, eager to change the subject. “Though you’d have to have a death wish to ride it.”

  I turned back in time to catch Robbie’s eyes roaming up and down my body. Oh my God. He was checking me out. “Nah, I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “Um, no. It could get stuck upside down. Or derail. You see stuff like that in the news all the time. People have died.”

  “Yeah, but that wouldn’t happen to us.” He chuckled, waving off my concern, like death was only something that you saw on the news—something that only happened to other people.

  I took another bite and offered the pink cloud to Robbie, but he waved it off. “Oh, come on,” I said. “I can’t eat all this myself.”

  He grinned. “What, you can’t put away a square foot of pure sugar?”

  “No way. Am I weird for thinking cotton candy is gross?”

  “Not even slightly.” He grabbed it and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “Everyone else is weird for liking it.”

  “So you assumed I was some weirdo, huh?”

  “My bad. What else can I get you? An artery-clogging funnel cake? A mystery-meat corn dog?”

  I cringed. “Uh-oh, are you some sort of health freak?”

  “‘Uh-oh’?” He clasped his chest, feigning offense. “I take pride in my freakishness, thank you very much.”

  I laughed. “I guess you can be a freak if I can be a weirdo.”

  “Mm’kay.” He took my hand, and butterflies wreaked havoc on my innards as we loped through the aisles of carnival games and food vendors, the pungent smell of fried dough and meat wafting from the stalls.

  My mind raced for something clever to say, but all I could come up with was, “So what’ve you been up to?” Earth-shattering, I know.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been hitting the gym a bunch.” I tried not to glance at his biceps, which I hadn’t stared at the entire car ride over.

  Okay fine, I stared. Sue me.

  “You haven’t been playing baseball?”

  “I’m going to baseball camp next week. It’s local, though, so we can still hang out.” The butterflies raged. He wanted to spend more time with me. Me. “And I’m playing in the county baseball league in the fall, since I still haven’t been recruited for college yet.” Worry lines etched his forehead.

  “Still? It’s not even senior year.”

  “Yeah. You usually get recruited junior year.” We paused at a stall to watch some middle school boy chuck bean bags at three milk bottle pyramids and fail miserably. “My brother Paul was actually recruited sophomore year.”

  “Whoa, seriously?”

  “Yep. But he only went to college a year before getting drafted to the minors.” His voice was strained. I thought I was running out of time with college applications due in December. I’d be devastated if I felt like I’d already lost my chance.

  “It’s not too late or anything, is it?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, it might be. But I’m not giving up. There’s no way I can give up.” Wow. I admired his perseverance. Before I could tell him so, he approached the middle schooler. “Hey man, lemme show you how it’s done.” He swapped cash for three bean bags from the balding man running the stall. The boy backed toward his older sister, who I hadn’t noticed before. It was Becky Wallace. Her expression soured as her eyes darted between me and Robbie.

  Robbie tossed me two of the bean bags and stood back from the stand, holding the remaining bean bag behind his back, like he was lining up a pitch.

  “Don’t you play third base?” I teased, trying to ignore Becky’s stare.

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pitch.” He stepped forward and hurled the bag at one of the pyramids, knocking over all six bottles. I cheered. He curled his pointer finger at me in a come-hither motion, and I tossed him a bean bag, giggling.

  He easily toppled the last two pyramids and whooped, and picked me up for a hug, twirling me around. Becky’s little brother cried, “That was badass!” but Becky grabbed his forearm and marched him away, ignoring his protestations. What was her problem, anyway?

  “So what’ll it be?” asked the balding man, sounding bored. “The giant dog, the giant dragon, or the giant cat?” He motioned to the stuffed animals dangling over his head.

  Robbie glanced at me. “Lemme guess. You want the cat, right?”

  My eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

  He glanced at his legs; his dark blue jeans were coated with Mittens’s white fur. “Just a wild guess, really.”

  “Well, I’m going with the dragon.” I crossed my arms. “Call me mother of dragons.” The man started fishing the dragon off its hook with a long pole. “No, wait. The cat. Definitely the cat.”

  “Ha!” Robbie guffawed as I hugged my new oversized cat.

  “Shut up.”

  “Okay.” He pulled me around the last stall in the aisle and tucked my bangs behind my ear. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine, and I was pretty sure my heart was about to burst out of my chest. His hands cupped my face, and with my free hand I clutched a bunch of his shirt, pulling him close as he deepened the kiss. Heat tore through my veins, and my entire body tingled, like every nerve ending was on fire.

  A few people shrieked nearby, pulling us from the moment, and I gasped. But it was just the roller coaster soaring past. Robbie grinned. “C’mon, let’s do it.”

  “I dunno . . . I don’t exactly have a death wish.”

  “Neither do I!” Laughing, he led me toward the line, right behind Becky and her brother. Oh, no. Becky was still glowering at me—not quite a glare, but more like I’d just stabbed her in the gut and she couldn’t fathom the betrayal. Had she been watching us kiss? Was she jealous or something?

  Back when we were friends, she’d crushed on every boy in our grade at one point or another, even Phil Pratt. At each slumber party, she initiated the game Kiss, Marry, Kill to gauge whether any of us liked the same boys.

  Robbie checked his wallet. “Crap, I’m out of cash. There were ATMs near the entrance. Lemme hit that up real quick.”

  “I have some cash—”

  “No, no, today’s on me.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hold our place in line.”

  As he jogged off, Becky openly gawked at me. I awkwardly shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “So much for going Dutch, I guess?” I laughed feebly. But she said nothing. Guilt clenched my chest as I remembered Sasha and her friends, and even Priya, mocking Becky’s outfit at Maria’s birthday part
y, while I stood by and did nothing.

  I met her gaze, wanting to make amends. “Listen, I’m sorry . . .”

  “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” she said. Her little brother stood behind her, ignoring us as he played a game on his phone.

  Now it was my turn to gawk. “What? What do you mean?”

  She fiddled with the end of her braid looping over one shoulder. “I just . . . I don’t understand you. You think you’re so high and mighty now. What happened to you?”

  Whoa. Oh, no. Had she been holding this grudge since middle school? Maybe she thought I was social climbing now that I was friends with Sasha and Robbie. But that wasn’t why we’d bonded at all.

  “Listen, Becky . . .” I hugged the oversized cat close to my chest. “I never meant to hurt you. You know that, right? I wasn’t in a good place for a long time—”

  She dropped her braid and balled her hands into fists. “This isn’t about me.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  She glanced at her little brother, but he was still in his own world. “This is about Phil.”

  I gasped. “Phil, as in Phil Pratt? God, Becky, how were you even friends with him?”

  “I am friends with him. Am. Present tense.”

  “But . . . why?”

  “He’s not a bad person. You don’t know anything about him.”

  I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. “He brought a gun to school. That’s all I know.”

  Her expression darkened, the resentment in her eyes magnified by her thick glasses. “Of course it’s all you know. You never bothered asking him anything. You don’t know why he had that gun.”

  I cringed at her tone, like I was the one who did something wrong. “Then why did he?”

  Becky clamped her lips, considering me for a moment. “His reasons aren’t mine to tell. I promised him I wouldn’t . . .” She swallowed hard. “But you don’t know him. You don’t know anything. Phil didn’t deserve to be expelled. And now he’s trapped at home with . . . with . . . he’s trapped at home, and it’s all your fault.”

  “Hey!” Robbie squeezed past people behind us in line and stepped in front of me like a shield. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” He towered over Becky, and her eyes widened as she cowered backward. But Robbie went on. “Don’t talk to Amber about Phil. Do you have any idea how traumatic that was? She saved all our lives.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Her voice shook, and her lower lip trembled. “She didn’t save anyone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Phil never would have hurt anyone. Not like how you and your friends hurt him, all the time.”

  Robbie screwed up his face. “We didn’t hurt him.”

  Becky shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Now I’m calling bullshit.” Without another word, she grabbed her brother’s arm, yanked him from the line, and ran off, while the hate in her eyes seared into my mind like a hot iron branding my skull.

  38 Minutes Left

  I let out a deep sigh. “Phil told me why he had the gun, alright? But he swore me to secrecy—”

  Robbie grabbed my arms. “You let that psycho talk to you?”

  I broke free from his grip. “He saw me in Starbucks once, after the carnival.” Becky must have told him what happened. She might have even encouraged him to tell me the truth. “He sat at my table while his mom ordered coffee. I couldn’t just pack up my stuff and leave. I can’t run away every time I see him.”

  “Yeah you can!”

  “But he’s not dangerous. Not really.”

  “What did he say?” asked Priya. She straightened to get a clear view of me over the table.

  I hesitated, gritting my teeth. I hadn’t told anyone this. Phil asked me not to, and his life was already in pieces. But now I had no choice. “He said he only had the gun to protect himself from his father. And to protect his mother.” I’d never forget the look on his face when he rolled up his sleeve and showed me the cigarette burns. The way his lower lip trembled when he spoke about the pain. The coldness in his eyes when he looked into mine. Like I’d knowingly betrayed him, subjected him to a year at home with his drunk, violent father.

  Guilt ensnared my heart. I knew I did the right thing snitching on Phil. You see a gun in school, you report it. And it was absolutely wrong of him to bring a BB gun to school. But I had no idea things were so bad at home. How was I supposed to know he had an abusive father? It wasn’t exactly like he’d confided in me before.

  But Becky was right—it wasn’t like I ever asked, either.

  I’d seen the bruises on Phil’s face. I’d seen him hobbling around on crutches last year. But I hadn’t cared to ask what happened. I hadn’t cared about anything but the play and my bustling social life. Maybe if I’d been more observant, more empathetic, I could have helped him escape his abusive situation, even if it just meant tipping off our school guidance counselor or something. Instead I blinded myself to his pain and wrote him off him as a loser who could use a shower more often.

  Priya climbed to her feet. “Was his dad beating him or something?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He was. All the time.”

  “Bullshit,” Sasha snarled. “That’s probably just a sob story he came up with.” She pointed at the door. “I bet that sniveling little cockroach is out there right now, laughing at us.” I winced, startled by her tone.

  Robbie swatted her hand down and whispered, “Don’t say that,” throwing a pointed look at the camera.

  “It wasn’t just a sob story,” I said. “I told our guidance counselor what Phil told me, and now he’s living with his aunt.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s true,” said Sasha.

  “I don’t think he was making it up,” said Diego. We all looked at him. “I’ve seen bruises on him before.”

  “I did, too,” I said. “Right before I saw the gun in his bag. At first, I thought it was because Zane pushed him in the hall. Or maybe even you.” I glanced at Robbie. “I thought that was why he had the gun. To shoot one of you.”

  Robbie gave me a pained look. “I never touched him.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Robbie,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ve seen you knock into him before. Was it always really an accident?” I’d never confronted him about it before. Maybe I should have called him out the first time I saw him collide with Phil. But I’d assumed it was as he made it appear—an accident. I was dazzled by him, and wanted him to like me. To love me. Back then, he looked at me like I was the only girl in school worth looking at, even next to Sasha, and I didn’t want to ruin that. But I was stupid. I knew the toll bullying could take on someone.

  Robbie reddened and rubbed his neck. “So I might’ve pushed him around a bit. But I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yeah, but still,” said Diego. “Even if it wasn’t Phil, maybe someone else you ‘pushed around’ put us in here.” He made air quotes at “pushed around.”

  “You think it’s my fault we’re stuck in here?” Robbie tensed and flexed his hand. The syringe’s needle gleamed on the silver platter mere inches away. I’d seen Robbie’s temper flare before, but he wouldn’t reach for the syringe in anger . . . would he?

  I touched his arm with trembling fingers. “This isn’t your fault. We’re just trying to figure this out, okay?” Robbie’s nostrils flared, but after a few moments, he nodded. “And anyway, I think it’s more likely that someone more conniving would put us in here.”

  “Think it was Becky?” said Robbie. “She clearly hated both of us.”

  “Wait, what was this?” asked Sasha.

  “We were at the carnival last summer . . . I went to get cash, and when I came back, Becky was yelling at Amber like a fucking psycho.”

  “Becky knew the truth about Phil,” I explained. “She was angry . . . well, I think she was angry for a bunch of reasons, but especially because I turned in Phil and got him expelled without knowing why he had the gun. And when Robbie sto
od up for me, she turned on him, too.”

  Sasha nodded along with this. “Alright, Becky seems plausible.” She raised her hand like it was her turn at the podium. “She hates Amber because she busted Phil. She hates Robbie because he took Amber’s side.” She kept tally on her fingers. “She hates Diego because he’s Diego.”

  “Hey,” said Diego. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Sasha snapped. “You’re already a millionaire because of a stupid sponge. Everyone hates you.” Diego opened his mouth to protest, but Sasha kept talking. “So that leaves Scott and Priya.”

  “What about you?” Priya glowered at Sasha. “She hates you, too.” I raised my eyebrows, impressed. I’d rarely seen her talk back to Sasha before.

  To my surprise, Sasha nodded. “Yeah . . . she’s always staring at me like some freaky bug-eyed stalker.” She shuddered at the thought. “She’s always been jealous of me.”

  “Oh, come on, Sasha,” I said. “It’s not just jealousy. You know that, don’t you?”

  Sasha frowned. “Well, what else would it be?”

  “Oh my God.” I clasped my forehead. For a borderline genius, Sasha could be incredibly thick.

  “Maybe she hates you because you’re a total bitch to her?” said Scott. “Just a theory.”

  “She’s a total bitch to everyone,” Diego muttered.

  Sasha’s mouth dropped open, and after a moment, she pursed her lips, as though to hide her surprise. “That’s not true. I’m a nice person.” She turned to me, and the pleading look in her eyes caught me off guard. “You don’t really think I’m a bitch, do you?”

  6 Months Ago

  AUGUST BEFORE SENIOR YEAR

  “Zane asked about me?” Priya asked for the third time.

  I laughed mid-sip, and water dribbled down my chin. “I swear to God, yes. And why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t seen you all summer.” I grabbed a napkin and wiped my chin and shirt. We were sitting in Mike’s Diner—I’d been avoiding Starbucks ever since my run-in with Phil.