Dark Secrets

by A. M. Hudson

  She walked away again, and I shifted the photos until the dark wood of the table bared itself from under them. Not one of those photos was of me. I spent every summer and at least six winters here since I was a child, but the absence of my face in these scrapbooks was just another indicator that I really was just a walk-in—a temporary fixture made permanent by circumstance. I was like a painting you hung on the wrong wall using your last nail.

  “Did you sit with anyone at lunch?” Vicki asked.

  I spun around again and watched her fussing about near the stove. “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s good. I knew you wouldn’t end up sitting alone—even though you were so sure you would.” She laughed lightly.

  “Guess you were right.”

  She ignored my disingenuous tone, tipping the chopping block over the pot, breaking the cloud of steam as she scraped the veggies in. “So, do you like any of your teachers?”

  “No.” But my friend likes your husband.

  “What about Dad? You’re in his class, right?”

  “Yeah, but he gives boring lectures.” I assume. Not that I was listening.

  “Well, don’t tell him that—you’ll hurt his feelings.”

  Feelings? Do dads have feelings? Almost as if his past self heard me, his smiling face appeared among the pile of photos. He was so much younger then. His hair was darker and the crinkles around his eyes weren't as deep. Vicki was younger, too. Her hair was still the same straight blonde, but her thin, white face had no smile lines. They were abysmal now, running down from her nose to the outside corners of her mouth like a V… for Vicki.

  “What did you think of the cafeteria food?” Vicki asked, tasting her casserole.

  I spun my apple core between my fingers and watched her rinse the spoon off under the tap. “It was okay. Pricey, though.”

  “Shall I give you some extra money tomorrow—did you have enough today?” She looked up with round eyes of concern.

  “Actually, I didn’t use my own money.”

  “Well, how—”

  “Someone offered to spot me.” Well, forced me to let them.

  “Oh, that was nice. Who was it?”

  “A guy named David Knight.”

  “Hm. David…David,” she muttered his name under her breath, her brow wrinkles deepening. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well,” she said, “sounds like you’ve made an impression, Ara-Rose. I told you people would like you—you’re a very lovely girl.”

  I dropped the snotty teen facade and sat back against my chair. It was hard to be hostile when she wouldn't take the confrontation bait. “Um, thanks, I mean, that’s great and all, but I don’t think being a lovely girl is an asset in high school these days, Vicki. Also, I’m just gonna go by Ara now.”

  “Oh? Really? But you always loved your name. What does your dad think of that?”

  “Well, it’s my name.”

  “But you were given the name Rose for a reason, dear. I know it would break your fathe—”

  “Mike always called me just Ara, Vicki. It doesn't bother me, so it shouldn't bother my dad.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and turned back to the stove. “If you’re sure?”

  But I wasn't sure. I didn't want to drop the Rose. I didn't want to go to a new school, make new friends—pretend to be something I just wasn't sure I could be anymore. “I’ll be in my room,” I said, shoving my chair out. “I have a lot of homework to do.”

  “Okay, Ara,” Vicki called after me with a hint of detest behind my new name.

  Why did she have to make it worse? She could just be nice about it—supportive, even. I mean, on what twisted version of this story was I supposed to seek my dad’s permission to omit my middle name? I felt like kicking something.

  “Is Mom still cooking?” Sam asked, coming in through the arch on the right.

  “Yes, why?”

  He grinned, dropped his books in his schoolbag, then dumped it back on the stair. “I'm gonna watch TV. Don't tell, okay?”

  “She’ll hear it.”

  He held up his wireless headphones.

  “Whatever,” I said, grabbing my bag, and stomped up the stairs. As I pushed my door open, it swung back and hit the wall, making my open window rattle. But the heat in my temper simmered a little at the sight of dancing prisms on my lemon walls, like rainbow butterflies, as the afternoon sun reached through the crystals on my windows, reflecting life around the room.

  Back home, my room faced west, and the setting sun would cast golden rays of blinding light through my window, igniting the whole room ablaze with a warm, orange glow. I’d lay on my bed, talking to Mike on the phone, watching the prancing spectrums perform their final act for the day. But here, my window faced east, giving me only morning sun. Dad, somehow, knew how much that daily routine meant to me, so he bought these Plane Mirrors and even let me climb out my window—after I threw a tantrum about independence—to position them carefully so they’d catch the light of the retiring sun. It was just a little piece of magic, from a childhood passed, that he wanted me to hold onto.

  “Homework. Now.” I heard Vicki say.

  “But, Mom,” Sam whined.

  “Now.”

  I smiled to myself and shut my door, kicking my shoes off as I flopped backward on my bed; one hit my dressing table and the other landed by my door, then, I dug my toes into the squishy carpet and let out a long sigh.

  It was over. The torturous first day was over.

  “See?” I called across to the girl in the mirror. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Mo-om!” Sam yelled from the hallway. “Ara-Rose is talking to herself again.”

  “Shut up, Sam!” I sat up and ditched a pillow at the back of my door.

  “Time to call the men in white coats,” he yelled.

  “That’s enough, Samuel,” Vicki said, loud enough that I heard her voice from the kitchen.

  Sam’s boisterous cackle faded down the hall, but he’d left a great cloud of infuriation behind. I huffed out loud. Talking to myself did not make me crazy. Waiting for myself to talk back did, but…let’s not go there.

  I looked down at my bag, then over at my dresser, sitting against the angled wall of my wardrobe. The girl in the yellow dress wasn’t there anymore; the only thing looking back was the oak tree outside. I smiled then, thinking about my day; thinking about how David said he liked me, and I read into so wrong I couldn’t even speak after. I think he took it pretty well, though. He didn’t make me feel like a total loser. Well, until Society and Environment class, when he corrected the teacher on the Emancipation Proclamation. It wasn’t even on topic, but it took one simple comment from a kid up the back, and our discussion on North America turned into a full-blown slavery debate. David, rather heatedly, put everyone in their place. I stayed quiet through the whole thing, but his mere presence made me want to pick up a book and read it. I think he had that effect on everyone—even the teacher.

  “Ara?” Vicki knocked on my door.

  “Yeah?” I jumped up and sat at my desk, quickly grabbing my books from my bag.

  “Dad called—asked if you need some help with homework.”

  “Um. No, thanks,” I called.

  “Okay. Well, just give him a call if you do,” she said through the door. “He’s supervising detention today.”

  “Got it,” I said, kind of just wanting her to go away. I waited another few seconds, and when she added nothing else, spun around to face the window. The day outside was so bright and the afternoon breeze had settled among the leaves of my oak tree, rocking the rope swing in a soothing wave, as if to say, “Come to us, Ara-Rose.” And I wanted to. I really did, which made homework feel like a rock of pressure on my neck. I looked at the pink phone on my desk and slowly pulled my nail from between my teeth, grabbing it quickly to dial Dad’s mobile.

  “Ara?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, how was school today, honey?”

&
nbsp; “Um, great. So, I was just…I'm a bit stressed, Dad—with homework. Can I…”

  “Why don't you leave it for today?” he said, and I grinned. “Maybe just do a bit of reading, and I’ll talk to your teachers for you. Sound good?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, maybe a little forced. “Thanks, Dad. That’d really help.”

  “Okay. That’s good then. Hey, since you’re finally using that phone I got you, why don't you call your pal in Australia? I know he’s—“

  “Dad. No.”

  “Ara, he’s been calling every day.”

  “Yeah, but he stopped now, right? You said he hadn't called for a week.”

  He went quiet. “That’s not necessarily a good thing, honey.”

  I sighed heavily, resting my head on my hand. It wouldn’t be easy to talk to my best friend again. I wasn't even sure I had the right to after evading his calls so often.

  “Ara-Rose, he cares about you. He’s just worried—just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Why not give him a call then? Maybe after, you can sit back and read a book for a while?”

  “I just…what if he doesn’t want to speak to me?”

  Dad laughed. “Just call him.”

  I jammed my fingers between my teeth again. “Okay. Maybe I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s great. Now, go rest up and don't stress over homework, okay? I promised you we’d ease you back into this slowly, so that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “Anytime, honey. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I hung up and, before placing the handset down again, flipped it over and stared at the numbers. I’d dialled Mike’s number so many times I could do it with my toes if I wanted, but it took me a minute, as I stared at the phone, to remember the first digit. And in that moment, a pocket of fear crept in, asking me what I was going to talk to him about. I mean, what did I say? “Hi, Mike. I haven’t called to see if you’re coping in the last two months, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm not. That I feel tired and sad all the time. That I went to school today and fell in love with a boy at first sight, and I'm pretty sure I might be going insane, because that’s just not normal, but I thought I’d just tell you that because you have no reason to care how I feel anymore after I’ve ignored you the way I have.”

  With a sigh, I looked at the phone again.

  “Go on,” it teased.

  I pinned the number in, my hand shaking, and it only rang twice before the husky voice on the other end made my heart jump. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mike.”

  “Ara?”

  “Yeah. It’s me.”

  “Hey, kid. How you doin’?” His voice pitched high on the end.

  “Um—” I scratched the wood grain on my desk. “I’m good.”

  “How’d your first day go?”

  “How did you know I was starting school today?”

  “I spoke to your dad on Saturday.”

  “Oh.”

  “So…?” he said leadingly. “How was it?”

  “Um, well, it was good, actually.”

  “Really?” He exhaled. “That’s great. I’ve been worried ‘bout ya all night. I haven't even slept.”

  “Oh crud, the time difference thing.” I slapped my forehead. “I'm sorry, Mike. Should I go?”

  “No. No, of course not.” I heard a ruffling sound on his end and imagined him sitting up in bed, his black cotton sheets looking blue in the moonlight under him. “So, did you make any friends yet?”

  “I did.” I grinned, then Mike got the run down on all the happenings of the day; Emily, Alana, how cool Ryan was—a tiny bit about David—and a massively overdramatised recap on music class with Mr Grant.

  “No joke? What an arse.” Mike laughed. “I wish I’d been there. I would’ve played Chopsticks and deliberately done a bad job of it.”

  “I know you would. I was thinking about that while I was playing.” I chuckled.

  “You were thinking about me?”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I really missed you today.”

  Mike went quiet. “I…I'm actually really glad to hear that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just. Ara, about that night…”

  “Can we not talk about the past?” I said quickly. “Can we just talk about…normal stuff, please?

  “Sure thing, kid.”

  “Thanks. So, what’ve you been up to the last few months?”

  He sighed heavily, probably running a hand through his sandy hair. “Well, you know how I applied to Tactical last year?”

  “Yeah?” I said, getting excited at the excitement in his voice.

  “I’ve got one more interview to go, and I’m pretty much in.”

  “You’re kidding me? Mike, that’s so awesome. I can’t believe you’ve finally done it.”

  “Well, don’t jinx it. I haven’t made it yet.”

  “Yeah right. You’re, like, super fit and super smart. You were in when you were born and you know it.”

  “Yeah. I know. Hey, listen, I was thinking…once I make it in, I’ve got a few weeks before training begins. Can I come see you?”

  “Are you kidding?” I stood up, practically squealing. “Of course you can. I’d love that. There’s so much I wanna show you, and I really want to talk to you about this guy, and—” I paused.

  “What guy?” Mike’s voice peaked. I pictured his face, the way the corners of his lips would turn up under his rough, sandy-brown stubble.

  “I really need your advice, actually.” I slumped back down in my chair.

  “Sure, I’m good for it. What’s the deal, kid?”

  “Well, his name’s David.”

  “The one who showed you around today?”

  Does he not miss anything? I barely even mentioned David. “Yeah, except I left everything out. He didn’t just show me around, Mike, he, like, I don’t know, he stayed with me all day, and didn’t really make a secret of the fact that he likes me.” My brows rose. “He’s, um, well. I really like him.”

  “That’s great, right?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the problem then?”

  “After one day?” I looked out at the corner of the school’s front parking lot, just visible from my window. “Does that make me creepy?”

  “How long did it take you to fall completely in love with Leopold?” he asked, referring to my favourite movie.

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Because Leopold’s not real. David is, and I’m not some character in a love story.”

  “Ara?” Mike groaned. “You’ve always been like this.”

  “What?” I asked, defensive.

  “You like a guy, flirt with him, befriend him, but whenever—” he cleared his throat, “—whenever they like you, show the tiniest bit of interest, you run the other way. I don't know, it’s like you’re afraid they’re gonna wake up one day and realise you’re not that special or something.”

  I gasped silently, closing my eyes. “You know me better than I thought.”

  “I know I do, Ara. I’m your best bud. Now stop worrying and just let this David guy like you—if that’s what he wants to do. I mean, you like him too, right?” He sounded so mature, so unlike my Mike—my fun-loving, carefree Mike.

  “Yeah. I like him, but—”

  “But what? You’re afraid that liking someone you just met means you’re abnormal?”

  “Well, yeah. Kind of.” I shrugged, scraping at the wood grain again.

  “It’s not creepy or weird if you both feel the same way. And, do you think he’s creepy for liking you?”

  I might if he liked me the way I like him. “No.”

  “So, then, you’re not creepy—you’re a teenager. You’re supposed to fall head over heels with every guy who has a cute smile.” He laughed.

  “Mike, you make too much sense
.”

  “I know,” he said, still laughing lightly. “But you do the same to me when I’m having a girl crisis—so we’re even.”

  “Yeah, how are things on that front, anyway?”

  He groaned loudly. “Don’t even ask. I am never dating again, Ara. They’re all the same.”

  “Hypocrite.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The smile on his lips came through with his voice.

  But the small moment of happiness fizzled out quickly when I looked at my stack of homework. I sighed and leaned on my hand. “I should go, Mike. I asked Dad to get me out of homework and now I feel kinda bad.”

  “Why?”

  “I told him I was too stressed, but I actually just couldn't be bothered doing it.”

  Mike laughed. “Oh, good to see you’re still the same Ara.”

  I smiled.

  “Okay, kid. Well, keep ya chin up. I’ll come see you in a few weeks, okay?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be great.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  “Bye.” I hung up the phone, and the room felt suddenly empty, like I’d just caught the first vortex back to reality—one where I was alone. Always alone.

  “Ara?” Dad sounded panicked.

  I flung my door open and the concern on his face dropped instantly.

  “What were you doing, honey? I’ve been calling you for two minutes.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I was reading the compulsory books for English class—I had my earphones in.”

  “Oh.” He seemed suspired. “Any good books?”

  “Eh.” I nodded, rolling my shoulder forward.

  “Well, I spoke to your teachers and—”

  “Um, about that, Dad,” I said as we walked down the stairs. “I think I’ll be okay. I can handle a little homework.”

  He smiled widely and pulled my chair out at the dining table for me. “Good girl. I'm very glad to hear that.”

  As I sat down, I glanced at Sam, who, for the first time since I moved here, didn't smile; he pushed his vegetables around his plate with his fork, hiding under his baseball cap. Poor Sam. I wondered how he felt suddenly inheriting a permanent sister after fourteen years being an only child. If it bothered him, he hadn’t acted out or anything. I was grateful for that. But something seemed to be bothering him tonight.