That Secret You Keep

by Brenda Benny

  “See you, Serena.” I raise my fingers awkwardly and wiggle them.

  “Bye.” She nods absently.

  I don’t want to leave her standing here, but I don’t know what else to do. She’s adamant that Vanessa is picking her up. And, at least, it’s not raining. Finally, I nod and turn to walk towards my car.

  When I start driving home, though – it’s the weirdest thing – I think I catch a glimpse of Serena, between the parked cars, walking in the direction of Vanessa’s.

  Chapter 4

  Serena

  My walk to school is wetter than usual today. The fog lays over the city like a toque pulled down too low, hiding the tops of the downtown buildings and the crests of the two bridges that connect the South Mainland, where we live, to the city’s business centre peninsula. I’ve got my head-to-toe Vancouver armour in place: insulated rubber boots, fisherman-worthy knee-length raincoat, and umbrella shield. It takes me almost twenty minutes to walk to school, but I like the solitude. The soft, misty rain somehow makes things even quieter.

  Vanessa started driving to school while I was away last year. I could have tested for my license as soon as I got back from Spain – I already had my Learner’s permit before we’d left that summer. But it was out of the question now. My friends think it’s crazy. What seventeen-year-old doesn’t want that kind of freedom? But cars don’t evoke freedom to me. They symbolize something altogether more menacing.

  Like most days, I arrive at school just a few minutes before class is about to start. I don’t like to spend extra time in the hallway where everyone gathers in the morning to talk about what show they watched last night, the harmony parts they’re working on for class, or the gossip that someone posted the night before.

  Vanessa usually finds me right before we head into first period English. Today is no exception.

  “Hey Serena! Did you see the photo I posted of Grace and me, wearing the dresses that we got at that Starbright store on Broadway on the weekend? I bought one for her too. It’s so cute on her!”

  Grace could never afford the things that Vanessa buys regularly, but Vanessa is generous like that. It’s not for show. She just wants her friends to have what they want, and she doesn’t understand why money should get in the way.

  “Uh, no. I missed that one.”

  I watch as her lips purse and her eyebrows draw together, and I work to repair my mistake. “I’m sure you looked great though, Ness. You always do.”

  Her lips press into a line, and her fists come to rest on her hips. “You really need to ‘Like’ some more of my stuff. Honestly, Serena, it’s like you don’t even care about what any of us are doing anymore.”

  I shrug and let out a sigh. “I’ll try to look at it later today when I get a chance.”

  Suddenly, she grins, jumping in front of me, effectively blocking our path into class. She claps her steepled hands together like one of those wind-up toys. “So, are you excited?”

  I look from one side of me to the other, trying to find a source of excitement, but see only the steady stream of students trying to make it to their morning classes on time.

  “About what?”

  Her eyes roll a full circle, and she lets out a gasp. “The holiday concert parts! They’re being posted today, remember?”

  “Oh. That. No, I forgot about that.”

  She puts on a stage-worthy incredulous expression. “Are you serious? How could you forget? Mrs. Alonso said she’d be announcing the list before Vocal ensemble today. I wonder who will get the solos?”

  Oh, yeah. The solos. I know Vanessa wants this. We are both sopranos, and over the years we’ve always had some friendly competition as to who would get a soprano lead part at school. I had quite a few of the leads when I was here in tenth grade. Vanessa and I have always supported each other. Even when she was an understudy to me in one of the shows we put on, she was constantly giving me advice to improve my performance.

  “I mean, I really hope you get a great part too, but I think I might end up getting the solo again this year, don’t you?” She is practically teetering on her toes in front of me.

  “I’m sure you will, Vanessa. Mrs. Alonso has said really nice things about your work since school started.”

  This is true. On the other hand, I’ve been hearing a lot of: “Let me feel your emotion, Serena!” “Where’s your effort, Serena?” and “More passion, Serena!” And I know they’re not only talking about my singing.

  “Will you help me with rehearsals if I get it? Just like we always do?”

  It had become a habit, of sorts, to work through our parts together. Over the years, my mom had helped both of us. There had been a lot of nights singing over the food that was frying on the stovetop, my mom pushing us to reach higher and stronger notes.

  God. It feels like the air just got thicker – heavy and hard to breathe.

  “Yeah. Of course. Maybe I’ll come over to your house this weekend?”

  She seems to flinch at the suggestion, maybe still worried about the parts to be announced today. “I’ll have to see if we’re doing something special with my dad when he’s back,” she says.

  Her dad is always overseas working somewhere, it seems. Vanessa’s mom doesn’t need to work, and she spends most of her time at various salon appointments, or organizing their gardeners.

  Just then, Emily runs up beside us and squeezes both our arms. “Hey! Today’s the day! Can you believe it?” She is bouncing too, like her shoes have springs under them. “Saw your post, ‘Ness. Those were the cutest dresses ever! I already tweeted it to Malik and Suki. Did you see?”

  Vanessa beams in response. She stands on her tiptoes and speaks in a pitch only a soprano can pull off. “’Kay, we better go! It’s going to be so exciting!”

  Then she pulls us into class just before the bell rings.

  By lunch period, I’m sitting at our regular table, waiting for Vanessa and Emily to buy their food when Max appears in the doorway. I see his face light up with a smile when he looks over towards me. It’s like I’ve caught him off-guard, though, and he swiftly works to reign in his grin as he approaches me.

  “Hey,” he says, self-consciously pulling his fingers through his messy hair.

  “Hey,” I reply. I duck my eyes away from his gaze.

  “Mind if I join you today?”

  Over the last couple weeks, he’s sat with me a few times, but still seems tentative each time he asks.

  “Sure. Of course.” I nod, waving my hand across the empty space.

  He folds his long legs under the table, sitting on the bench opposite me, and busies himself with his lunch bag. I remember Max, in Grade Nine and Ten, as that really tall kid that looked completely uncomfortable in his gangly body. He moved like a giraffe: graceful and intentioned in slow motion, but jerking and bizarre looking with any speed. Now, he’s just doorframe-tall – and equally sturdy. He has arms that you wouldn’t quite describe as skinny – more like smooth and lean with some of the longest fingers I’ve ever seen. If we were at a regular high school, you’d probably assume he was on the basketball team. He pulls out a huge sub sandwich with meat, lettuce and tomatoes oozing out the sides, and then takes a T-rex-sized bite from it. I can’t help but smile a little. He catches a glimpse of this and smirks through his chewing.

  “What?” He struggles to swallow the mouthful before continuing. “What’s on your menu for today? A celery stick? Maybe a raisin or two?”

  I look down at the two bites I’ve taken from my apple, and the unopened yogurt.

  “I’m half your size.” I try to defend myself. Sometimes, eating just seems like a tasteless chore.

  “Ah, but twice my talent.” He grins into another huge bite.

  His eyes dart over towards where Vanessa and Emily are standing. They’re gathering with some others, not far from the bulletin board by the doors, buzzing with talk about the concert roles like bees around a lilac bush.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” he asks, licking
some mayonnaise from his bottom lip. My eyes linger there for a moment too long. I’m not sure if he notices.

  I still can’t believe I’ve agreed to go to this show with him. I don’t know why I keep saying “yes” to Max – there’s just something about him.

  “Yeah, sure.” I swallow around the lump that has swiftly appeared in my throat. “Are you still driving?”

  I’ve been “self-talking” and rehearsing all week. Or – as I like to think of it – I’ve been having imaginary conversations with myself like I’m a crazy person.

  Max nods, and for a moment, I think he’s confirming my unspoken thoughts.

  “I’ll be there at eight. You live on 7th, right?” His lips twitch a bit, and his eyes shift away from mine for a moment. “Or – somewhere around there.”

  “On the corner of Sasamat. The blue house with the green roof.”

  A shrill shriek goes off like a warning alarm. Vanessa is jumping up and down and clapping her hands by the cafeteria doors. Grace is beside her, looking much less excited while Emily gives her a comforting one-arm squeeze around her shoulders.

  “I guess she got the part,” I comment.

  “What part’s that?” Max asks, seemingly oblivious.

  “The soprano solo, Maxwell. You do attend this school, correct?” Hayden’s voice startles me more than it seems to do Max. I whip my head around to where he’s standing just behind me, while Max barely lifts his eyes.

  “Right. The soprano solo. You didn’t get that part?” Max looks genuinely shocked as he takes another bite of his sandwich. His reaction is just a little bit endearing.

  I shrug and glance towards Hayden, whose smug look makes me wonder if he already knows he’s got the solo male lead. It wouldn’t be at all surprising. He gets a lot of lead parts at our school. “Probably not. That’s okay, though. I’m glad Vanessa got it.”

  “Well, I’d rather hear your solo any day.” Max grins.

  “Might be waiting a while for that one,” Hayden says under his breath.

  Max shoots him a dark look.

  There was a time back at the beginning of ninth grade when I would have considered Hayden a friend – but by the following year, he’d started giving me the cold shoulder, and now he hardly talks to me at all.

  “I just mean that the next opportunity for solos won’t be for a while,” he adeptly states.

  I catch sight of Vanessa practically skipping over to us from across the room.

  “Looks like it’s you and me singing the main solos again this year,” she coyly states to Hayden. She flips her long auburn waves over her shoulder.

  “How exciting for you,” Hayden replies in a flat tone that doesn’t seem to match the grin on his face.

  “Rehearsals start on Monday.” Vanessa turns to me. “Oh, and Serena, you’re in the chorus. We’ll probably be able to practice harmonies together! Isn’t that great?” She clasps her hands together like she’s just finished saying her bedtime prayers.

  Blending into the chorus sounds perfect to me.

  “Yeah, that’s great.” I feel Max’s eyes staring at me. “Congratulations, Vanessa.”

  She lets out a shrill, excited noise while leaning closer to Hayden with her phone stretched out in front of her. It dawns on me that she’s trying to take a selfie with him in it. But, like opposing magnet poles, Hayden’s grimace leans as far away as Vanessa’s photo-ready smile leans in. He finally takes a few steps around the table to escape, and leans in closely over Max’s shoulder.

  “See you tonight?”

  Max doesn’t shrug away from his proximity, but turns to meet his face. They are inches apart like they’re trying to share a secret between them.

  “Oh. Um. Actually, Serena and I are going to the Gaslamp tonight.” His chin lifts in my direction as he says this.

  Max didn’t say it loudly, but Vanessa and Hayden seem to freeze in tandem, Vanessa’s screen-tapping fingers halting while Hayden’s expression hardens. Hayden’s eyes flicker towards me, momentarily, and then return to Max.

  “How will you swing that underage accomplishment, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Finnegan.” Max shrugs.

  Hayden abruptly stands upright. “Oh, yes. The leprechaun. Well, don’t waste your wishes. Remember, you only get three.” And, with that, he turns away and leaves.

  Vanessa has returned to her phone, but I can see the impatience in her exaggerated finger swipes, waiting for me to walk to Calculus with her. She has yet to even acknowledge Max.

  I stand up from the lunch table, looking at the time. “I better get going, too.”

  Max nods, crumpling up the remains of his lunch wrappers. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at eight.” He grins.

  My shoulders feel immediately tense, but I exhale and grind out my answer, “Yes. Eight.”

  As soon as Vanessa and I are walking through the cafeteria doors on the way to class, she turns to me with a frankly baffled expression. “You’re going out with that guy?” she asks.

  “Max.” My answer is quieter than I mean it to be. “His name is Max.”

  Vanessa adjusts the shoulder straps of her leather bag, and lets loose a disapproving throaty noise. “I thought he was with Hayden? You know, like, ‘with’.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Vanessa, I’m pretty sure they’re just friends.” My statement came out more like a question.

  I think this is a date, but it makes me wonder. Am I misinterpreting this whole thing? Is it possible that he only asked me out because he feels like such a jerk for the way he acted the first time he met me? Maybe he just feels sorry for me. As we walk into Vocal together, I begin to wonder if I can be so far removed from reality that I can’t even tell if a boy likes me.

  * * *

  It’s seven. And then, it’s seven thirty.

  I’ve changed my shirt once, and put on extra deodorant already. My jaw is cramping. I walk into the hallway again, trying to decide if I should head downstairs to wait, but then turn around, wearing down further the path between the hall and my bed. I lie back on my pillow and close my eyes, trying once again to calm down.

  That’s a mistake.

  Emerging from the silence in my ears, the sound of squealing tires returns. Behind my closed my eyes, I am turned towards her and yelling, the words lost in the high-pitched screech of metal on metal, followed by exploding glass. It is all so fast. Every time, it’s just too damn fast! And then the long, slow silence fills with a bone-deep pain mixed with regret.

  I can’t do it.

  I thought I could. But now – sitting here, waiting for him to pick me up – I know it’s all wrong. What if he sees how nervous I am? What if I freak out?

  No. I can’t. I pick up my phone to text him.

  Me: Change of plans. Going 2 b late. Meet me @ the door 8:30?

  The buzz comes almost immediately.

  Max: Everything ok? I can b late 2. Happy 2 come get u.

  There is no question.

  Me: No need. C u there.

  It’s a difficult conversation with my dad: one in which, I can tell, his hopes deflate like a slow leak from a celebratory balloon. But he eventually concedes.

  When we arrive, Max is waiting by the entrance, looking up and down the street. I quickly re-apply some deodorant and tell my dad to drop me off a block away so that Max can’t see I’m in the back seat. I point him out before leaving the car, and remind my dad that I have my phone with me. Before I leave, he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze over the seat.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Have fun, Chispa!” He smiles tenderly.

  You’d assume most dads would be less than eager to drop their underage daughters off at a downtown club to meet a boy they didn’t even know. But, honestly, I think he’s just happy that I’m going out – somewhere – with someone – and maybe even that it’s a boy.

  Max spots me right away, looking somewhat relieved before a huge grin spreads across his face.

  "Hey. You made it."
<
br />   "Yeah. Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Did I keep you from the show? Has it started yet?"

  He shakes his head. "I don't think they come on until nine, so there's still loads of time."

  Max motions for me to follow him around the side of the building to where there’s a black door that blends in with the dark-painted brick of the building. He knocks on the door four times, his smile still radiantly in place.

  We wait. He drums his fingers against his leg, tapping his foot to the same beat. I can’t hear any music from the alleyway, so I’m not sure if this is a musical habit, or if he’s nervous.

  "Finnegan shouldn't be long." He gives me a sideways glance while his human rhythm section continues on.

  "You come here often?" I finally kid him, wondering if this might be the end of our evening.

  The door swings open suddenly, and from behind it, appears a fair-haired guy that I vaguely recognize from the coffeehouse. A huge grin is on his ruddy, freckled face.

  "Get out of here, you underage hooligans!" he yells loudly, making me jump and then stiffen.

  Max is smirking at him and doesn't seem taken aback at all.

  "Serena, this is Finnegan, the musical leprechaun." Max looks between us.

  "Ah, the lovely Serena." His lilting cadence makes the word lovely into loafly. "I do believe I've heard something about you from this laddie here. All good, all good, though. Glowing, really."

  "Finn!" Max cuts him off, seeming a bit embarrassed. "Are you letting us in here, or what's the story?"

  "Brilliant! Yes, yes. You're in, you lucky dogs. Right this way!"

  He ushers us through the door into a back hallway that is so dark, I startle when Max's hand reaches back to find mine. His fingers easily curl all the way around the back of my hand, but grasp it just tightly enough to assure me he knows where we’re going. I squeeze back to let him know that I’m okay. There are two corners, which he gently tugs me around, saying, “This way”; and then a set of three wobbly, wooden stairs up to an entryway that finally sheds some muted light onto our path. I see Finnegan, again, as he gives Max a quick salute and disappears behind one of the mixing consoles. We are side stage left, behind a dark purple velvet curtain. Max continues to lead me by the hand until we descend from the small platform stage and into the audience seating.