That Secret You Keep

by Brenda Benny

  It’s too early for my dad to be here, but his car is in the small lot anyway, waiting for me. I start for the back door handle, then stop short, and look over to the front door.

  I can do this. I don’t need therapy. I can do this.

  Pulling the lever up, I startle my dad from his book, and as I climb into the front seat, I surprise him even further.

  “Chispa! What is wrong? You are crying. Did it not go well today?” His hand is on my knee, rubbing my jeans reassuringly.

  I can’t look at him. I reach for the seatbelt and tug it into place. Immediately, I feel like I’m going to vomit. “I just want to go home. Can we please just go home?” my voice squeaks out.

  He pulls his hand back very slowly, and rests his fingers on the keys in the ignition, waiting. “Are you sure?” he rasps. There is such concern in his voice; hope, too. It’s heartbreaking what I’ve done to him.

  I can only nod in response, my fingers shoved underneath my thighs, eyes closed, bracing myself for the engine to roar to life. The car inches slowly backwards, and I begin to blow out short bursts of air through my mouth. There’s a shift in momentum and now we’re moving forward, turning onto the downtown street. My stomach flips, and I can feel the rolling waves of panic churning inside of me as my rapid breathing turns convulsive. We haven’t gone more than a couple of blocks. But I can feel it – the stifling presence of every car all around us – the possibility that any one of them could just…

  “No! Stop! Stop! I can’t!”

  I’m sobbing now, my fingers on the handle, already starting to open the door.

  “Serena, wait! Let me park!”

  But I’ve swung the door open, the wheels having stopped abruptly. A horn blares from behind us, but I don’t look up, rushing to the safety of the sidewalk. I sprint as fast as I can down the street, fleeing the fear that chases me – leaving my secret behind.

  * * *

  My steps fall in line with Vanessa’s in the long hallway that stretches between our Vocal classroom and the auditorium. Emily and Grace are walking arm in arm behind us, past the walls lined with framed cast photos and mementoes of our school’s award-winning performances from previous years.

  “I’m just not sure if I have enough of the vibrato in the right place. I keep practicing it, but my vocal cords are starting to feel sandpapered,” Vanessa complains.

  It’s hard to say who is moodier right now, Vanessa or me. Even two days later, I’m still on edge over the whole thing with my therapy session. My dad has forgiven me for taking off on him like that, but I can still feel his scavenging urge to break our agreement and ask me about it. Oddly, as I avoid voicing my own issues to keep my stress under control, Vanessa may be spending too much vocal effort trying to quell her own nerves over tomorrow’s show. We both know that overdoing it can be just as devastating to a singer as insufficient preparation.

  “Vanessa, it sounded just fine at practice yesterday. The bumps will get smoothed out by tomorrow night – it always happens this way.” I try to soothe her.

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have the solo!” It comes out sharper than she means, I’m sure. My eyes snap up to hers, and I can almost feel Emily and Grace exchanging glances behind us, our footsteps having slowed. Vanessa lets out a huffy breath and shakes her head, despondently.

  “I just really could have used your help on Saturday night when we were practicing together, that’s all.”

  She’s still mad at me for “ditching” her Saturday night. I told her that I couldn’t go over to her place with Emily and Grace because I had homework. The next day, I wanted to share with her how spontaneous, and kind of romantic, it had been with Max. But when I told her about the night, her response wasn’t exactly as enthusiastic or supportive as I had hoped.

  “I guess when monkey boy calls from his tree house, we know where your priorities lie.” She smirks and elbows me, maybe having forgiven me somewhat.

  “A tree house?” Emily pipes up, “Wait! You were in a tree house with Max on Saturday night? Oh my God, that’s perfect!”

  Grace is coughing on her laughter now while Emily sings in her falsetto the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song. I can feel my face is flaming with embarrassment.

  “Oh my God! Did you guys hook up?” Grace gasps. “Imagine if your first time was in a tree house!”

  Emily grabs my arm, then. “Hold on! Was it his first time?”

  I can feel the red patchwork quilt rising up my neck like I’ve pulled up humiliation-patterned bed covers.

  “Stop it! There was no first time going on in the tree house. God! You guys!”

  “Oh, so it wasn’t his first time?” Vanessa asks teasingly. “He’s been up there with others, then?”

  Without even thinking, I answer with the truth, hoping this will shut down the whole conversation. “No! He’s only ever been up there with Hayden.”

  I realize how it sounds as soon as I say it. They all stop walking, now suspended from the ceiling by their eyebrows.

  “Not with Hayden! I mean…” I sputter.

  They collapse into a sloppy heap of giggles, tripping over each other, a mess of hands slapping one another’s arms, delighting in their inside joke, and spurred on by Vanessa’s lead.

  “Oh, I think we know exactly what you mean!” Vanessa cackles.

  Emily switches her song to “Max and Hayden, sitting in a tree house…”

  “Shut up, you guys!” But I’m laughing now, too. It’s hard not to get caught up in this teasing from my friends. And it’s nice to be laughing with them like this again.

  We spill through the doors of the auditorium into a discordant cacophony of instruments being tuned, and arpeggios warming throats. It’s an instant buzz kill to our giggling. I spot Max sitting over on the stairs at the side of the stage, listening to something with earphones. Emily and Grace head over to Malik and his friends, while I walk towards Max with Vanessa hot on my heels. He looks up when I’m steps away, and our beaming smiles crash into one another, as he pulls one earphone free.

  Vanessa breaks between us with a singsong voice reminiscent of a schoolyard bully. “Hi, Max. Where’s Hayden?”

  I’m seized with the sudden fear that she is going to betray my revelation. But as Max’s smile falters, and his shoulders shrug in ignorance, Vanessa’s gaze travels the length of the auditorium to where Hayden is folded into an aisle seat, engrossed in a book. Without another word, she determinedly walks in Hayden’s direction.

  A pull on my sweater sleeve brings my attention back to Max.

  “Hey,” he says, as I sit down on the step next to him.

  “What are you listening to?” I ask, grabbing his dangling earbud and moving my head close to his, trying to separate the musical chaos in the room from his tiny speaker.

  “That song we’re doing from RENT,” he says.

  I make a slight adjustment of focus over Max’s shoulder, like changing the aperture on a camera, and Vanessa and Hayden come into view. She is leaning towards Hayden to speak to him. I wonder what she’s up to.

  “Have you seen RENT?” Max asks, and I shift the lens back to him again.

  Memories flicker through my mind: Mom was singing at the Lincoln Centre in New York City that week; we ate dinner at Sardi’s, competing to see who could identify the most celebrity caricatures that lined the bright red walls of the famous restaurant; we walked, mesmerized, all three of us, down Broadway to Times Square; and later, my mom and I sobbed through most of the musical.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it – on stage, not the movie.”

  My hands rest on his thigh, and Max is twirling the thin gold ring around my pinky finger. My focus shifts again. I see only Vanessa’s back, but it’s obvious she’s still talking to Hayden. I see his eyes flash up towards Max, and his gaze fills with something fierce.

  “Do you think Hayden would play the part of the gay man who lost his lover better than someone else because he’s gay?”

  Max’s fingers tense, and abruptly
stop twisting my ring, but he doesn’t look up.

  “Well… Vanessa is singing the part of a gay woman, who is dating a bisexual woman who is cheating on her straight boyfriend,” he replies.

  I see Hayden quickly shift his focus back to Vanessa, and then his face hardens into what looks like a controlled mask. I think he’s going to say something to her, but, instead, he shakes his head and stands up from his chair dismissively.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right – that’s a stretch for her,” I mutter in amusement.

  I can see by her stance that Vanessa wasn’t expecting Hayden’s departure, but with a toss of her long red hair, she rearranges her shoulders, and turns in the direction of the stage.

  Hayden is walking towards us, his narrowed eyes trained on Max who is still concentrating on my fingers. Ever since Hayden showed up unexpectedly at the tree house, it’s been weird between them. Max only shrugged when I asked him about it earlier in the week. He begins tracing the gold heart on my ring with his thumb.

  “Isn’t that what the musical is all about, though?” Max says. “Love is love, no matter who it’s between, or how it happens – we all have similar experiences.”

  I think about the lyrics to the song we’re singing. How there’s only this life, only the here and now, and that we should forget about fear and regret, and give into love. I think about how close I feel to Max now – and how fast it’s all happening.

  Max looks up from where he’s been playing with my fingers, and discovers Hayden’s menacing approach. Hayden only glares at him. Max ducks his head and seems to grimace slightly while Hayden climbs the stairs around us, attacking two at a time, without acknowledging either one of us. I raise my eyebrows at Max. He replies with a disheartened half smile.

  I don’t have a chance to answer Max’s idealistic aphorism about the musical, or ask him more about Hayden, because Mr. Yankov cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, “Okay, everyone! Let’s get started here!”

  There’s an immediate burst of movement as people make their way around music stands and adjust their chairs. Mr. Yankov continues to tap his conductor’s stick on the podium where he is arranging the sheet music in front of him. His sleeves are pushed up, and his rectangular reading glasses have slid halfway down his nose.

  I’ve moved to position myself on my mark behind Vanessa for the number that we’re starting with, and lean over to remind her the technique my mom taught us to find the sweet spot of the vibrato. Hayden sneers back at me from where he stands a few feet away, like I’m interrupting his mental preparation.

  The only rehearsal worse than the first one is the rehearsal the day before the performance. Expectations are high, nerves are as frayed as an old sweater, and although everyone should be playing and singing perfectly, it just hasn’t quite reached that magic moment where it all comes together. Today’s rehearsal is just like that. It’s stilted, and the mistakes we’ve been working on, and thought we had fixed, make their last ditch appearance, trying to grab a piece of the limelight. Mr. Yankov spends much of the afternoon tapping his stick on his music stand and clearing his throat.

  Hayden is one of the few who seems to have it all down. His singing is spot on. Whatever is going on between Max and him doesn’t seem to be affecting his performance. He’s always had this unflappable composure that is truly enviable.

  But even so, I can sense his terrible mood. Hayden has never been a diva, and he’s certainly not throwing any fits, but when Vanessa doesn’t hit her note on “O Holy Night” with the clarity he does, I see him flinch in disgust. When she misses her cue on another piece, his responding eye roll could probably be seen from the back of the auditorium. I wonder what she could have said to him earlier. It’s as though he is purposefully going out of his way to antagonize her. Standing behind Vanessa, I can see how tense her shoulders are, and I can hear how it’s affecting her voice.

  Finally, after Vanessa’s vocal run – that she’s been working on all week – veers off course, I hear Hayden mutter, “Even Serena could do better than that.” This is not meant to compliment me; that much is clear. From under hooded lids, I see his eyes flash to me and then over to Max. I can’t hold back my shocked reaction at his cruelty. Vanessa is glaring at me, and when I look over at Max, who is too far away to hear any of it, he stands even taller, like he’s sensing Hayden’s discordant behaviour. Hayden seems to be redefining the concept of theatrical “triple threat” today.

  The end of rehearsal can’t come soon enough. When it does, Mrs. Alonso – who has been quietly nodding her head, and only saying things like, “take it from bar 32” – gives the pep talk. It’s the one where she tells us that they’re sure it’s only pre-show jitters and holiday distraction, and that if we just feel the joy and the promise of the performance, we are all sure to hit our peak tomorrow evening.

  I guess we’ll see.

  Hayden is already deserting the group, swiftly moving towards the seat where he’d left his jacket and book.

  Vanessa hasn’t moved. She seems focused on a spot far in the distance like she’s trying to regain her composure. I reach out gently to her shoulder, which I can feel quaking under my touch.

  “Don’t!” she flinches, glaring back at me, her voice thick with what sounds like a stew of humiliation and resentment. She shrugs away from my hand, snatches her music, and marches towards the aisle.

  On the other side of the stage, I see Max already descending the stairs, headed towards Hayden. Just then, I realize that Vanessa is doing the same thing. I stand transfixed, watching the storm clouds merging.

  As I move to follow them, our Vocal instructor stops me. “Wonderful work today Serena.” She smiles warmly. “It’s a real pleasure to hear that tone in your voice rising above the others again.”

  “Thanks Mrs. Alonso.” I try to smile.

  “I’m expecting to hear more of that,” she says, with a tilt of her head that tells me this is more than just a compliment – it’s a directive. I nod and duck my eyes away from her lingering gaze.

  Straight ahead, I can see Vanessa’s jaw is set, her eyes gleaming with anger while Max looks worried and cautious. I hurry towards them, feeling helpless to quell the oncoming tornado, already sensing the gusts of emotions swirling around me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Vanessa shouts at Hayden, her voice competing with the snapping of instrument case latches and chattering students.

  Hayden looks up at her, then over her shoulder to where Max has stepped forward looking worried.

  “Hayden, what’s going on, man?”

  “You really need to ask?” Hayden is looking at Vanessa again, but I’m not sure whose question he’s addressing.

  “All I need to ask is why you’re being such a colossal prick!” Vanessa is seething.

  “I’m not the one that doesn’t have my shit together,” Hayden calmly retorts, avoiding her glare by looking beyond Vanessa, to Max.

  “We’re doing a duet. You’re supposed to be my partner.” Her voice is quavering now.

  “I was thinking the same thing. But sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way.” He’s still avoiding her by looking at Max. Vanessa is doing a dance in front of him, her red hair bobbing in random directions, trying to get Hayden to meet her hostile gaze.

  “You’re making this harder for me than it should be!”

  He glares at her now. “I’m so sorry that it’s hard for you, Vanessa. Maybe when you grow up, you can figure out how to navigate this on your own – without needing help from the girl who gave up to the understudy.” He shoots a look at me. I see Max intercept it on the way, and watch his eyes grow wide.

  “Hayden!” Max yells.

  Vanessa bristles and is practically foaming at the mouth. She’s already leaning in, only inches from Hayden’s face. “Yeah, well Serena doesn’t have the solo this time, does she? This time, I’m the one that deserved it!”

  I know she is just trying to defend herself – but the way it comes out f
eels so hurtful. I can see Max’s furious reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, waiting for me to respond. I don’t. I know she’s just offended, and angry, and spraying bullets at anything in her path right now.

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Hayden mutters under his breath. Then he grins in a way that is anything but sweet, looking straight at Vanessa. He picks up his book, glancing back at Max before shaking his head and turning to leave.

  Vanessa grits her teeth, fists clenched at her sides, watching him go. “Pompous asshole!”

  I put my hand on her arm, holding her back from chasing after him. “Vanessa.” I try to reassure her. “Listen, your performance wasn’t that bad today.”

  A hurtful sound escapes her throat. “Not that bad? Not that bad? That’s supposed to make me feel better? You don’t get it, do you? God, Serena! And you’re no help at all! You were gone all last year, and now that you’re back, it’s like you’re not even really here!”

  Her words are paralyzing. How could she say such a thing? With gale force she moves, stomping towards the side exit, knocking into me, and causing me to spin like a weathervane in the other direction.

  “You shouldn’t let her treat you like that,” Max says from behind me.

  I try to breathe. I try to relax. I try to forget about the hurtful insinuation she just made. It’s just too much – too raw, and too soon after my blowout in my session earlier this week. Finally, I turn to look at him.

  “It’s not really her talking. She’s just upset about her performance right now.”

  “Well, it sounds like her,” he mutters. “It sounds like she cares more about herself than she does about your feelings.”

  “I’m fine, Max,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

  “Are you?” A solemn look comes over him, and it takes me a few moments before I can say anything.