Tell Me a Secret

by Holly Cupala

  In the hospital, I’d had help. At home, it was all me.

  “At least you’re young and can handle a few all-nighters,” Mom had joked. After ten or twelve all-nighters, though, it got considerably less funny. After a month, it came across as simply hostile. Then she would shock me by following up with a brief, stiff hug and, “Why don’t you go take a nap? I can watch the baby for a while.”

  Not that this perpetual state of awakeness would change my feelings about Lexi. You know you love someone when you willingly give up that much sleep for them.

  Dad arrived a few minutes later in his beat-up construction truck to take me on a tour of Cornish College of the Arts.

  He and Mom still had a lot to work out, but at least they were trying. She was trying, especially—reaching out where she hadn’t before. Taking on responsibility as forgiveness moved in. Looking in corners that, after lying unnoticed for the five years since Xanda died, needed serious spring cleaning. Luckily, Mom hated dirt. And she loved my dad, more than she’d realized, I guess. Enough to look into the darkest corners of her own heart.

  “Here, take this,” Mom said, handing me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She straightened my sweater and brushed off a fleck of lint. Then she sighed. “Good luck,” she said, giving me a quick squeeze.

  It was one of those rare April days where the sun came out of hiding and shone brilliantly on Seattle and the surrounding lakes.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom called from the front door with Lexi tucked into her arm like a football, “I’ll take good care of the baby.”

  That lasted about five minutes—enough time for me to get into the truck, up the hill, and into my own personal panic attack. What if something happened while I was gone?

  Dad gave me a knowing smile and turned the truck around. I knew what that smile said. Sometimes you’re just like your mother. But I was glad he didn’t say it.

  After we’d swapped cars, packed the diaper bag, and got a wailing Lexi fastened into the car seat, we were on our way.

  Cornish itself looked like a medieval castle on one of the highest hills in the city, with Lake Union and downtown on one side and a network of neighborhoods—including ours—on the other. In the unexpected brightness of the sun, we could see it all, churning, winding, and sparkling.

  We escaped the crisp air through a pair of great, ancient doors and into a maze of halls leading in every direction. I could see exactly why Essence wanted to come here and why she thought I should, too. It was like one big drama class. Everyone bustled through the tunnels, their talking and laughter bouncing off the walls. Individuals headed off to sketch or journal in the garden while groups sprawled in the common spaces.

  “This is an amazing place,” the student at the info desk told me as he handed over a stack of papers. “When you come here—well, I can tell you, it will change your life.”

  My life had already changed so much, and it was still changing in drastic, immeasurable ways.

  When I had dialed Kamran’s cell phone a few weeks before, he’d picked up halfway through the first ring.

  “Miranda,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.” And it was like all the time and space between us, over these whole last nine months, compressed into one moment—not of perfection, but of something sweet and familiar and real.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I said, the words tripping over themselves. There was so much more. Like Essence pointed out, no one in my family told the truth about anything. Maybe it was time for me to start.

  He picked up Lexi and me with his parents’ car. I strapped Lexi into the back, where the leather upholstery smelled clean and new, with a hint of his dad’s sandalwood aftershave. Kamran watched from a distance, as if somehow his proximity could shatter her. I knew better. However delicate she looked on the outside, inside she was stronger than wire.

  “We should go for a walk,” he said. “Talk about things.” The future, with him on one end of the country and me on the other. What was there to talk about?

  He parked near the University Bridge, and we struck out on the Burke-Gilman Trail, a footpath sweeping past the university and along Lake Washington. We were close, not touching, reminding me of the pat pat pat he had given me when we first saw each other last fall. Neither of us wanted to be the first to speak.

  Lexi protested when I tucked her into the front pack, then quieted with the rhythm of my steps. The University of Washington loomed ahead, bright in the March light, with the path rolling out before us.

  We stopped at a bench under the astronomy building with the sundial clinging to the outside of it like a copper-green spiderweb, a lazy figure eight marking months and minutes, patterns of time.

  “There’s a reason I brought you here,” Kamran began, looking as though he might have to spring any second to catch Lexi if she slipped out of the carrier. Beneath her, my heart thudded, waiting for the words to tumble out of his mouth. “I’m not going to MIT.”

  I sat there beside him, letting it sink in. “Not going?”

  “I didn’t get in. Too focused. Or not focused enough. The letter didn’t really go into it.”

  “But…what about…”

  “Harvard? Well, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about. I’ll be here, at the U.” He glanced up at the sundial. “I got into the Aeronautics and Astronautics program. After MIT, it’s one of the best in the country, plus there’s a scholarship, so…I’ll be around, is what I’m trying to say.”

  In an instant, everything had changed, yet again. “I’m going to Cornish,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “Essence,” we both said at the same time. He smiled, that smile that had captured me yesterday, today, and the days to come—not because it was like Andre, but because it was his very own.

  “So…I’ve been thinking,” he was saying. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And…we’ll both be here…” His knee bounced up and down the way it did when he was worried. “…and I was thinking maybe you were right, maybe we should—”

  Here he was, about to say the words I had always hoped to hear. And yet, it was all wrong—the right words spoken at the wrong time, in the wrong place, in the wake of all the wrong reasons. There was nothing else I could say but, “No.”

  “No?” He blinked, a quick kiss of lashes.

  “No.” My voice felt stronger, more solid. When he looked puzzled, I closed my eyes. What would Xanda say? I didn’t know. I only knew what I had to say.

  On the bench under the sundial, I told him what I’d wanted to tell him the night of the Winter Ball: that in him, I’d been looking for the door to unlock my sister’s life, that I’d made him into someone else’s image, and most of all, that I was sorry.

  Since that day at the university, he’d already been over to the house a few times—getting to know Lexi, and getting to know my parents. I was getting to know him—the real him, not what I wanted him to be.

  “He’s a good kid,” my mom said, after he tried teaching her how to make lamb kebabs while I gave Lexi a bath in the kitchen sink. At first he was nervous, but now he held Lexi all the time.

  Here, at Cornish, Lexi snuffled and fussed, signaling imminent meltdown. I looked over at my dad, who seemed to be waiting for me to decide what to do.

  “Thanks,” I said to the student at the info desk, dashing out the front doors with my dad close behind.

  The air smacked us, but in the way that makes you feel like it’s just been cleaned by a good, hard storm. Lexi’s crying gained momentum in the wide-open space while I bounced, swayed, shushed, anything I could to get her to quiet down for the tour.

  “It’s too bad your mom didn’t come with us,” said my dad—still uncomfortable in his new roles. Father, revisited. Husband in revision. Grandfather in training.

  “It’s okay,” I said, though I was anything but sure as I continued to bounce. “I can handle it. Besides, she’s probably writing notes for next year’s montage.” It was going to be different this year
, she promised. “I won’t even ask you to be in it,” she said in an uncharacteristic flash of shyness, “unless you want to. You and Essence. And Lexi.” I wondered what part she’d already dreamed up for Lexi—only my mom could get away with giving baby Jesus a gender change.

  My bouncing wasn’t working. “I’m going to try walking instead,” I said, and we headed for the garden.

  “It’s time for the big college tour,” I sang, but Lexi clearly wasn’t listening, unless she was listening to the sound of her own impressive pipes.

  Maybe this tour hadn’t been such a great idea. I switched to a sway, sway, sway that I hoped would rock her back to sleep. I could see myself sway, sway, swaying through class, at the easel, handing in my portfolio, getting my diploma…all the while swaying to keep Lexi from having a small eruption.

  A couple of girls walked past, giggling and sharing a look at a magenta cell phone, slinging their messenger bags with their hips as they walked. I could have been one of them, I thought, if I had made some other choice. They cooed at the baby as they walked past.

  Without the pregnancy to keep me warm, I had to pull my jacket and scarf closer around the two of us. Dad put his arm around me. Across the sound, the Olympic Mountains—a force risen out of the depths—now rested under a layer of clean, white snow. “I don’t say it much, Miranda, but I thought you should know I’m really proud of you. It’s a hard thing to protect what you love. Sometimes you can’t. But it’s a good thing when you try. I know Xanda would be proud, too.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I hugged him back. The future was going to be difficult—I was still catching up with school in time to graduate, not to mention slowly repairing my friendship with Essence and figuring things out with Kamran.

  But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Because now we had Lexi.

  “We’d better go in for the tour,” Dad said, steering me gently toward the double doors—complete with stained glass, shimmering with shadows and light. A stream of bodies rushed from one class to another, worlds unfolding in front of them in this castle of crossed destinies. I stood on the threshold. It was hard to imagine myself knowing where to go without Xanda going before me.

  Would we really be able to do this?

  It’s the grit that makes the pearl, Shelley said when I called, right before she offered me my old job back. She’d even stopped by a couple of times, just to visit.

  I started to sway Lexi again when I realized she was quiet. Waiting. Both of us paused on the cusp of the unknown. I couldn’t go backward or even retrace my own steps, let alone Xanda’s. I could only go forward. The threads of time weren’t unraveling but weaving into a tapestry—a future, and a hope.

  The only way to discover was to step into it.

  Acknowledgments

  I am indebted to many for their unflagging support: To Edward Necarsulmer IV, who had me at “wow” and has been wowing me ever since, and to Catherine Onder and the HarperCollins team, whose talents glow with uncommon grace;

  To the generous people at the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators for the gift of a Work-In-Progress Grant;

  To my panel of experts—Michelle Grandy, CNM; Kari Christie, MSW, LICSW; and Thom Johnson, Rocket Scientist—who helped me navigate possibilities, time, and space;

  To Splashdown—Melissa Kaplan, Kasson Crooker, and Adam Buhler—for inspiration and use of lyrics from their song, “Presumed Lost”

  To my writer friends and mentors: Molly Blaisdell, Annie Gage, Julie Reinhardt, Martha Brockenbrough, Sara Easterly, Mitali Perkins, Peggy King Anderson, Katherine Grace Bond, Judy Bodmer, Dawn Knight, Jet Harrington, Meg Lippert, Brenda Guiberson, Kathryn Galbraith, Kirby Larson, Bonny Becker, Kathy Adler, Donna Bergman, Clare Meeker, and the readergirlz—Lorie Ann Grover, Dia Calhoun, Melissa Walker, and especially Justina Chen for opening one door and Janet Lee Carey for closing another;

  To my parents, nieces Nellie and Molly, and family; to friends Amy, Deanna, Glynis, Pam, Alice, Kristine, Erika, Cathy, Claudia, the Crookers, the good people of Capitol Hill Pres, and the real BabyCenter girls—they know what is truth and what is fiction, but they will never tell.

  Above all, I offer gratitude and love to my husband, daughter, and the memory of our dear Ezri—and to the Author and Finisher of our continuing story.

  About the Author

  HOLLY CUPALA wrote teen romance novels before she ever actually experienced teen romance. When she did, her writing became all about about tragic poetry and slightly less tragic novels. When she isn’t contributing to www.readergirlz.com and writing, she spends time with her husband and daughter in Seattle, Washington. These days, her writing is less about tragedy and more about hope. TELL ME A SECRET is her first novel. Part of the author’s proceeds from this book will go toward helping sexually exploited girls around the globe. To find out more, visit Holly online at www.hollycupala.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Credits

  Jacket art © 2010 by T. Kruesselmann/Zefa Photography/Veer

  Jacket design by Alison Klapthor

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TELL ME A SECRET. Text copyright © 2010 by Holly Cupala. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cupala, Holly.

  Tell me a secret / by Holly Cupala.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Seventeen-year-old Rand’s unexpected pregnancy leads her on a path to unravel the mystery of her sister’s death and face her own more hopeful future.

  ISBN 978-0-06-176666-4 (trade bdg.)

  [1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Pregnancy—Fiction. 3. Secrets—Fiction. 4. Family problems—Fiction. 5. Seattle (Wash.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C91747Te 2010 2009035132

  [Fic]—dc22 CIP

  AC

  FIRST EDITION

  EPub Edition © April 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-200153-5

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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