Rules for Secret Keeping (22 page)

“Thanks, T.” I give her a hug. Following Olivia around is slightly shady, but it's not, like, illegal or anything. Plus what Olivia's doing is way worse. Not to mention stalking me down in the library.

“Wait!” Taylor says as I move to get off her bed. “That's it? You just come in here asking for stalking advice and then I don't even get to know any more of the deets?”

“We-ell,” I say, settling back in. “So there's this girl, Olivia, right?” I fill her in on pretty much everything that's been going on.

“And have
you
considered building a website?” she asks when I'm done.

“Well, sort of,” I say. “I mean, I
did
consider it for all of two seconds. But I don't have the money for that.”

“If you don't have the money,” she says. “You might have to think outside the box.”

“Outside the box?”

“Yeah, like, Amanda totally can't afford to get her hair blown out for homecoming, but she's getting this girl we know who takes cosmetology to do it. And then she's going to lend her her green organza dress.” She slides another
bead up her braid. “Get it? Like a trade?”

“Taylor,” I say. “I'm in seventh grade; I don't know anyone who makes websites.” But then I remember. That's not really true. I
do
know someone. Nikki. The girl who's giving me her extra ticket to the
You Girl
banquet. I remember when we met at the photo shoot, she told me she was a website designer. Maybe I could get a cheap or reduced rate in exchange for putting her business name on the website!

“Taylor,” I say, awed. “I think you might be a genius.”

“Duh,” she says. She looks at herself in the mirror. “Do you think these braids are a little much?”

Nikki's going to make me a website! I emailed her, and she called me right away, and she knows all about coding and stuff, and she said she'll only charge me a hundred dollars! Of course, with business being the way it is, that's pretty much all the money I have. And I was totally saving it up for a Blu-ray player, or an iPhone, or maybe some new clothes. But I guess I'll just have to look at it as an investment in myself.

I'm so excited and motivated by the possibility of my website, that the next day at school, I put Operation Stalk Olivia into action. (Eric Niles works in the main office during his study hall, and he copied down her schedule for me.) I tail her to math. I tail her to science. I follow her into
the library during her free period, and then try to see what she's doing at the computer. She almost catches me when I follow her into the bathroom between seventh and eighth periods. I thought she'd left, but when I come out of the stall she's still at the sink, drying her hands.

“Well, well, well,” she says. “If it isn't Samantha Carmichael. I heard you put fake notes in your locker and then had to scramble when the
You Girl
lady caught you.”

“Who told you that?” I ask nonchalantly.

“Wouldn't you like to know.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a pink lipstick, then lines her lips. The thing is, I kind of already know. Who told her, I mean. There are only four people in this whole world besides me who know what happened that day. Barb and Tony are, obviously, out, unless somehow they ran into Olivia and decided to tell her. Not likely. No way Daphne would say anything. So that leaves Emma. Sigh.

“Not really,” I say, shrugging. “It was probably Emma.” I can tell by the look on her fact that I have it right. “And if there's any information I
really
want to know, it's why people think their secrets are being read.”

I rip a piece of paper towel off of the holder, dry my hands, and then walk out.

By the end of the week (and the day of the
You Girl
banquet), I still have nothing on Olivia. Not one. Single. Thing. I've followed her all week, and I have absolutely
nothing
to show for it. Although, there was one small sliver of time today where I lost sight of her between third and fourth periods. I saw Jake coming down the hall, and I ducked into an empty classroom so I wouldn't have to pass him. She could have done something shady then. It's such a shame! It would have been absolutely perfect if I could have exposed her today, the day of the
You Girl
banquet. Of course, I have bigger problems, i.e., the fact that I still haven't told Tom or my dad that they're both going to the banquet. An it's in, um, three hours.

“Maybe she's not reading them,” I wail to Daphne while we're sitting outside on the benches after school, sharing a bag of chips and waiting for Daphne's newspaper meeting to start.

“She definitely is,” Daphne says. “We just have to think. What
did
you find out today?”

“Nothing!” I say. “Absolutely nothing, except that Olivia likes to reapply her lip gloss about three bajillion times a day. She's probably reading them at home. Which makes sense. I mean, think about it—the only ones she would read at school are the paper ones. And most of her secrets are probably digital.” Crap. I wonder if we could follow Olivia to her house. We could get one of those long-lens cameras
and try to get pictures of her at her computer, doing scandalous things with all the secrets. Like paparazzi.

“Samantha!” a voice cries. I turn around. Emma. Great.

“Oh, hey,” I say. “What's up?” Ever since Emma confessed to me that she was going to the Fall Festival with Jake, and ever since I found out that she told Olivia about what happened with Barb, I've kind of added her to the list of people I'm avoiding. (And okay, yeah, the list isn't that long. In fact, she and Jake are the only two on it. But still.) I haven't answered her texts, I've made sure that I'm in class before she is, I don't go down the hallways where I know she's going to be. I've been forced to talk to her a little bit in homeroom, but that's about it.

“Samantha,” Emma says, pouting out her bottom lip. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No,” I say. “Um, not really.”

“I called you, like, fifty million times!” She plops herself down on the bench between me and Daphne.

“My phone's been dead,” I lie.

She looks at me skeptically. “Anyway,” she says. “I am sooo tired. I've been like, nonstop running around trying to get ready for the Fall Festival tonight.” She pushes her long curls out of her face forlornly, like she can't deal with the stress of trying to get ready for a seventh-grade school event. “By the way, Daphne, we're totally going to wear
our cowgirl hats to school on Monday, so make sure you wear yours.”

“I'm not going as a cowgirl,” Daphne says.

“Yes, you are,” Emma says. She reaches over and grabs the bag of chips Daphne's holding, then pulls one out and pops it into her mouth. “If the money's a problem, just tell me. I can give you back the twenty dollars.” She rolls her eyes.

“No,” Daphne says. “It's not the money. And I'm not going with you.” Uh-oh. I thought Daphne had already told Emma about this.

“I don't like plans getting changed at the last minute,” Emma says. “Besides, I already told my mom to pick you up.” She leans back and pulls up the bottoms of her jeans, revealing caramel-colored cowboy boots. “Aren't they cute? I figured I'd wear them to school so I could break them in.”

“Well, I'm sure your mom won't mind that she doesn't have to come and get me,” Daphne says lightly. She reaches over and takes the bag of chips out of Emma's hand. Wow. Things are getting really tense around here. I look down at the ground.

“No,” Emma says, her voice tight. “Probably not. But we need to have three cowgirls.”

“You don't
have
to have three cowgirls,” Daphne says.

“Yeah,” I chime in. “It's not like the Three Musketeers
or the Three Stooges or something.” I meant it to come off as light, like,
Oh, look, you don't have a costume that really requires three people
, but Emma turns around and glares at me.

“Two cowgirls isn't as fun,” she says. She turns back to Daphne. “And if you don't dress as a cowgirl, you can't come with us.”

“I don't want to go with you,” Daphne says. “I'm going with Michelle.”

“Michelle who?” Emma asks. She sounds totally bewildered, like she can't fathom the fact that not only is Daphne not going with her, but that she's going with someone named Michelle. I take a chip out of Daphne's bag and chew on it nervously. I don't think this conversation is going in a very good direction.

“Michelle Josephson,” Daphne says. “We're going as soccer players.”

“Michelle Josephson?” Emma snorts and pulls her jeans back down. “You're kidding, right? Daphne, come on, that's not exactly going to help your social status, now is it?”

Uh-oh. So not the right thing to say.

Daphne's hand tightens around the bag of chips she's holding, and a few of them crunch as they crush under her grip.

“Well, whatever,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I'm sure you
guys will run into each other at the Fall Festival and maybe you'll have some punch together or something.” I stand up and try to grab Daphne's hand. “But we should get you off to the newspaper office; you're going to be late.”

“Well, whatever,” Emma says. She rolls her eyes. “It's fine, I don't care if you go with Michelle to the festival. I just didn't want Charlie to have to be left alone, since I'm going to be spending a lot of time with Jake.” She tilts her head and thinks about it. “But I guess she'll be fine. Now that you're not going, more boys will probably talk to her.”

“Yeah, so, we'll see you later,” I say again. I'm standing up completely now, and pretty much trying to yank Daphne off the bench. Seriously, I'm really yanking. I'm pulling the sleeve of her coat and everything.

“Bye,” Emma says. “Just make sure you and Michelle don't have too much fun without me.” She sounds like she's trying to make a joke. A really snarky, semi-mean joke that makes it sound like Daphne and Michelle are maybe the least fun, most lame people ever. And so Daphne turns back around. Crap. I was
this
close to getting her out of here.

“All right,” Daphne says, her tone getting dark. “I've kept quiet about this for too long, but now . . . now this has gone just FAR ENOUGH.” Her cheeks are red and she pushes the sleeves of her coat up. Wow. I've never seen
Daphne like this. Are Daphne and Emma going to get into a fight? Am I going to have to break it up? God, I hope not. There's no way I'm strong enough to separate the two of them.

“Watch it, Daphne,” Emma says, standing up from the bench. Her voice goes all steely and scary. “You don't want to say something you'll regret, now, do you?”

“Oh, trust me,” Daphne says. “I won't regret it.” And then, before I have time to even realize what's going on, she whirls on her heel and looks at me. “Emma knows you like Jake.”

“What?”
I shriek.

“Yup,” Daphne says. She crosses her arms over her chest. “She knows. She's known since the sleepover. And she continued to pass notes to him anyway, she continued to
go after him
anyway.”

“I didn't,” Emma says, shaking her head. “I don't know what she's talking about, Samantha, I swear.” Her blue eyes are wide and innocent.

“But she . . . How would she . . . ?” This is way too much information to be given all at once, and I'm trying to put it all together in my head. Emma knows I like Jake? And she's known this whole time? But how could she possibly? The only person who knows I like Jake besides me is Daphne. And
I
certainly didn't tell Emma, and I can't
imagine Daphne would ever in a million . . . I turn to look at Daphne.

“I told her,” she says quietly. Her lower lip trembles, and she looks down at the ground. “It was an accident, I didn't mean to, I just . . . It slipped out; I thought she already knew.”

I look at Emma. “Is it true?” There's a huge lump in my throat, and it's making it hard to talk.

“No,” she says, shaking her head vehemently back and forth. “Why would I have asked him to the Fall Festival if I knew that you liked him?”

“I don't know,” I say slowly. “Maybe because you liked him too?” It all starts to click into place. The way Daphne was acting all weird after the sleepover. How Emma told Olivia what happened with Barb. It's true—Daphne told Emma I liked Jake, and Emma went after him anyway. So basically I have one friend (Emma) who I thought was my friend but never really was, and another friend (Daphne) who told my biggest secret.

“No,” Emma insists, shaking her head some more. “I wouldn't do that.”

“Why would I tell you that I told her unless it was true?” Daphne asks. “Why would I risk you being mad at me?”

“She's lying!” Emma yells. “And anyway, it doesn't matter. I mean, even if I did know you liked him, I didn't do
anything wrong. He doesn't like you like that, Samantha; I asked him.”

Warm tears spill down my cheeks, and I wipe them away angrily with the back of my hand. “I'm sorry,” I say. “I . . . I have to go.”

And then I push past both of them, ignoring them when they call my name. I walk out of the courtyard, down past the circle in front of the school, and onto the road. And then I start to run.