Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (5 page)

In a hopefully not-so-distant future, everything I wanted
would be signified in that one thing: To never have to make sure there was a
safe outfit hanging on the back of the door.

I ran a light gel through my hair before pulling it up in a
ponytail. With an ounce of luck, there would be zero finger-fins, but with the
morning I was having there was no way I was looking in a mirror to check.

Pulling on the emergency outfit, I took a couple deep
breaths. Actually, I tried to take a couple deep breaths, but the elephant had
been replaced by a walrus so breathing was easier, but still a struggle.

I placed my hand on the doorknob, and gave myself a moment.
Focus
. Panic was an emotion I was
learning how to manage. It usually started with a trigger. Bam—like flipping a
light switch on, but went out like a sunset. Slower, fading as I
compartmentalized it back into its appropriate box.

Downstairs in my kitchen was the enemy—who just also
happened to be one of the best looking guys I’d ever seen. Not one of the best
looking guys I’d ever seen in real life. One of the best looking,
period
.

He hooked up with every hot, semi-hot, and
almost-kind-of-hot girl in the school.
Probably in the
county.
But he never even showed an interest in hooking up with me.

Not that I
would
have.

What if he saw what I saw when he looked at me? What if
everyone knew and they
all
saw that?

I yanked my hand from the knob and backed away from the
doorway like it was on fire…with lava…and dinosaurs…that eat people.

I sat on the edge of my bed, surrounded by the wreckage of
my closet and knew I wasn’t leaving my room. Sliding down the side of the
mattress, I started folding clothes and placing them in piles to put away. As
soon as this was done, I’d be safe.

Safe.

The soft knock came at my door again.

“Rachel?”

I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer I’d make it through
this conversation.

“Come in.”

My mom pushed the door open and peeked around it, obviously
afraid of what she was going to find.

After a moment she joined me on the floor, folding clothes
and handing them to me so I could put them in my version of the right pile.

“You know there’s a boy downstairs waiting for you,” she
said as we finished the shorts-that-made-my-legs-look-less-giantess pile.

I nodded. Yeah. How could I miss that? It’s what had me
sitting in my room. At least it wasn’t Jared. Chris I could ignore.

Mom handed me a dark blue cardigan with extra long sleeves
that fell to my fingers. That was a miracle within itself.

“Are you thinking about letting him stay down there?”

She reached out to take my hand, but faltered. How many moms
had to think about if touching their kid might make them have some type of
breakdown? She must have feared that every movement was a mistake waiting to
happen. A trigger she could set off that would send us back to the year before
my diagnosis, before the introduction of meds into our world. When everything,
every look, every thought, every person, every fear could lead to a meltdown so
large it could leave me locked in the house for days. Not just the house, but
my room.

Have you ever lived in a house with someone who won’t let
you look at them? No? Well, my mom and sisters have.

I get their fear. I
was
their fear.

And now, Mr. Potential Trigger was sitting in our kitchen.

“I don’t know. Maybe you could ask him to leave?” I heard my
voice go up at the end, turning it into a question.

“What would Dr. Meadows say?”

I hate when she did that. When she didn’t have the answer
and was afraid of misdirecting me. She
trusted
me to tell her the truth. She’d gone through as much counseling that first year
as I had. She’d gone from angry and frustrated to…really
good
at being patient.

Or at least appearing patient

“Dr. Meadows would tell me if there is any way humanly
possible to get myself out of this room without destroying my calm, then that’s
what I need to do.”

I flipped my hand over on my knee, letting it sit palm up,
showing her she could take it if she wanted. She wrapped it in both of her own
delicate ones, rubbing the top with her thumb.

“Can you?” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

Right then, with my mom who couldn’t possibly get it yet
still tried to understand, I thought I could do anything. I knew that could
change in a heartbeat, but every once in awhile I felt indestructible.

“I can go down there, but…” Should I tell my mom the
situation I’d gotten myself into?

“But what, honey?”

“I’m not sure I should.”

She rubbed my hand again.

“Rachel, I know Dr. Meadows said all this dating wasn’t the
best way to handle your fears—”

“I’m not dating him.”
As if that would
happen.
So
very
many reasons why that wouldn’t happen.
I looked at my mom and realized
for the first time in a long time, I had a normal problem. She’d probably love
to hear about it. She deserved to hear about it.

“He’s not a very nice guy.”

She leaned back against the bed, still holding my hand in
one of hers.

“He seems nice.” I could hear the doubt in her voice. He was
good looking and polite.
Every mother’s dream.

“Mom, he’s the one who screwed over Amy this summer. He’s
also got the reputation of a high-end call girl.”

Mom cocked her head to look down at me.

“Then why is he in our kitchen?” She seemed more curious
than anxious. Wasn’t she supposed to be worried about my maidenly virtue or
something?

“He wants me to tutor him.” Her brows came together and she
gave me this weird look. “I’m smart enough to tutor someone.”

For the first time since opening the door, my mom smiled.

“I didn’t say you weren’t, honey. I’m just a little
surprised that he’d ask you if he and Amy have such a bad history. And that
you’d say yes.”

“That’s the problem.” I pushed off the floor and started
pacing the edge of my patchwork rug. “He seems to think he can help me with
math. And he seemed so—”

“So?” she asked, more curious than worried.

“So pathetic and desperate.
He
sounded like he was about to panic.
And he’s run through just about every girl in the school so the only other
person who might tutor him isn’t really an option.”

“You weren’t kidding about the call girl thing, were you?”

“Did you see him?”

For a second, my mom got this silly grin on her face. It
would be sad if every teacher, counselor, principal, coach, bus
driver,
human of the female persuasion didn’t get the same
one when in close proximity to Chris Kent.

“It’s a good thing your sisters don’t get up until lunch
then.” She grinned, making the joke.

If only it were actually funny. The last thing I wanted was
Chris Kent anywhere near my sisters. “Mom, I’m not kidding. He’s not Mr. Safe
To Bring Home To The
Young Ones.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s using his powers for evil.”
Great.
Now she was joking about it.

“Oh, trust me. He’s evil.”

“Just say no, dear.”

Just Say No To Evil.
I needed that on a T-shirt.

“I’m not sure, but I may have actually promised. And he
claims he’s great at Calculus and can help me get my grade up.” My mom knew I
was struggling and hated that grade even more than L’Oreal discontinuing my
favorite comfort-color
lip
gloss.

Before she could respond, a knock echoed through the house.

“Hello?” Chris’s voice came muffled through the door from a
distance.

My mom looked at me. I could tell the decision was totally
mine to make, but I couldn’t stand the guilt of telling her I broke a promise.
The least I could do is talk to him and try to straighten things out.

Plus, I had to get to Ben’s house. Curiosity was one thing I
always had in abundance.
About everything.
So, I
needed to figure out who the mystery girl he was in love with, who wasn’t Luke,
was. That was the closest thing to normal I was going to get.

I set aside the folded sweater on my lap and gave her a nod.
My mom, always the thinking one, squeezed my hand. “Rachel, are you sure about
this?”

I knew what she meant. She didn’t mean, are you sure you
want to go downstairs to that pretty boy who can’t keep his pants on.

“Yup.
This is going to work.” It
had to work.

“Were things really that bad on the medication?”

I thought about it. No, things weren’t
horrible.
It just wasn’t the life I’d envisioned for myself.
The sometimes slower emotions, dulled responses.
The point
that I knew the only thing allowing me to get through looking like everyone
else was a little pill. It made me feel…fake.

But, I also knew that for them—my family—things were better
after I got on the meds. There were no sudden, unforeseeable breaks in
personality. I was even. No surprises. No crying jags.

“Not horrible, just…” We’d discussed this before I’d gone.
There was nothing new to say.

My mom nodded and stood before offering me a hand. Pulling
me up and straight into a hug, she whispered in my ear, “You can stay in here
all you need, but I’d rather you be out there.
Even with Mr.
Unsafe.”
She let go and started toward the door, finishing over her
shoulder, “Especially since you’ll just be in the kitchen.”

Chapter
6

“Your mom makes great French toast.”

So
not the opener
I thought he’d go for.

“Um, thanks.”

Chris stood and walked his dish to the sink, turning his
back on me while he rinsed it. I have to admit, that was a surprise too. I’d
assumed he’d expect to be waited on hand and foot.

“Rachel,” he started as he towel-dried the plate. “I know
you think I’m using you to get to Amy. Yeah, I’d like another shot with her,
but I know that’s not going to happen—at least for a while. The last thing I
want from you is help on that front. I just want to get my grades up. I wasn’t
kidding about her not knowing about this tutor thing.”

I placed my hands on the top of the kitchen island, afraid a
confrontation so soon after the little kick-the-day-off-meltdown would have
them shaking. The cool tiles with their mortar ridges felt solid beneath my
hands.
Real.
Centering.

“I’m still not—”

“Okay, how about this?” He leaned against the counter and
crossed his arms over his chest. “You agree to meet me a couple times this week
and we’ll see how it goes. Check me out. And I can see if you’re even worth
arguing about this with.”

Leave it to Chris to turn asking for a favor into a test
drive.
And an insult.

It seemed fair—an easy way out. I could just say I wasn’t
comfortable…which I wasn’t. It sounded like he’d be more willing to hear that
after this whole test-week thing blew up. Which, I mean, only a cocky jock
would need to see evidence of how bad an idea this was. And maybe that would be
just enough time for me to get a better math foundation.

“Fine.
But not
this morning.
I have somewhere I need to be.”

He pushed off the counter and moved toward me so just the
island separated us.

“Are you going to Ben’s?”

How does he know this stuff?

“Why?”

He shot that grin at me, the one I was pretty sure typically
got him whatever he wanted.

“Because he called
me
this morning
and I could use a ride.”

I closed my eyes for a second. I’m not sure I could do a drive
with just us in the car. My fingers crept down at my side, measuring my skirt,
judging where it fell and where it would when I sat down.
When
I had to shift gears.

Safety skirts passed those tests ahead of time, but that
didn’t stop the blip. I filled my lungs, sucked in a breath, and opened my eyes
again,
focusing on his face and the odd look he gave
me. Oh, good lord, could he see something different.

I looked down at my arms and rubbed a hand across my
stomach—I swear my stomach was bigger than it had been this morning, but my
skirt wouldn’t fit then, right?
Right?
It had to be
fine. Glancing up, I saw he was looking at my face. Maybe it was my oversized
head he’d notice.

“Are you okay?” He was looking me right in the eye. It was a
sincere question.

I smoothed my hand down my sides again, trying not to yank
on the skirt’s hem, and nodded.

I’ll admit I was surprised when he didn’t jump on my answer
and push his case for a ride. He continued looking at me as if he’d see a
different answer. He leaned forward, closing the space between us.

I suddenly felt glad for that annoying kitchen island, even
if I’d walked into its corner six million times before. I’d never noticed this
level of intensity coming off him, but I guess that’s because it had never been
focused at me before.

It messed with me…in too many of the expected ways.

Hot guys are not an accessory. Yup, I’ll just keep telling
myself that. Dr. Meadows has made it very clear that tying my self-worth to
boys is bad, bad, bad. She’d say I need to get validation somewhere besides
having a hot guy on my arm.

But, with Chris the hotness was more. It was all about
throwing my balance off.
Of hitting me in weird places.
He was
so
beautiful…perfectly
sculpted…that my own perception of myself got kicked even further out of whack,
totally taking me off guard. I wasn’t used to this happening with guys.

Usually, the comparison game only happened with girls. But,
when faced with this much beauty, I was pretty much walking an edge.

An edge where I had to balance because there’s no way he’d
be looking at me the same way. He’d never be able to see me…but that was okay.
Actually, that was for the best. He was the Least Safe Boy on the Planet.

I stepped back—well, I stepped back in my mind.

“Okay.” He pulled back. “So, we’re on? I’ll ride with you.
We’ll talk about studying later today. Good to go?”

I nodded again.

“Great.”

Great
, I echoed in
my head. Yeah, that was sarcasm. I might be able to edit my mouth, but there
was no way I could keep it out of my head.

We both just stood there, looking at each other. Finally he
said, “Do you have a bag or something.”

Wow. When did I get stupid? Everything just felt
more
without the meds.

That was the weird thing. Coming off them, not only did I
have to process stuff I wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have even felt for the
last three years, but I also had to deal with everything being fresh.
More.

And let me tell you, the emotions of your average American
teen were insane. I mean, not clinically insane…but, yeah. And I was not your average
American teen.

I knew even on the meds there was no reason in this world
Chris Kent needed to be
more
.

On the way out, I grabbed my bag off the end of the banister
and checked for a sweatshirt, swimsuit, towel,
sunblock
and—of course—lip gloss. Chris followed me to my third-generation-hand-me-down
Civic, tossed his backpack in the back seat, and folded himself into the front.

“Where’s your car?” I asked as we backed out of the
driveway.

It didn’t seem like a tough question, but he didn’t answer.
Maybe he was thinking about something else. Maybe he was thinking about Amy.

“Chris,” I raised my voice. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, yeah.”
His voice wavered a
little.
Like he wasn’t sure how to answer.
“My mom
needed it.”

Chris didn’t seem like the mama’s boy type, but what did I
know?

Actually, what did I know?

I glanced toward him, but he’d
leaned
his head against the door and was watching the world go by through the peeling
tint of the window.

I knew he was hot. I knew he got around. I knew he was the It
Boy of high school soccer for the entire state. Every adult in the school
bragged about the college scouts coming to look at him by sophomore year. I
knew he was struggling with his grades. He was in a panic and I suddenly
suspected it wasn’t just about the grades.

You know what they say: Takes one to know one.

“Is everything okay?” As if I was in a place to help anyone
out.

“Yeah.
Everything’s fine.” He
didn’t even bother to turn and pretend to give me his attention. He just kept
staring out my window, letting me drive his butt to his friend’s party while
taking over my life to get him into his college of choice.

Whatever.

I’m not anyone’s social confessional.

“It’s about seeing Luke and Amy, isn’t it?” I just couldn’t
seem to help myself. Sometimes someone else’s mess makes yours disappear. Or at
least go into hiding.
Like wearing a hat on a bad hair day.
“I’ll be
honest,
I didn’t think it would hit you this
hard. You really don’t like losing, do you?”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking out the window.
The silence kind of sat between us. I felt like one of those people in a bad
cop movie trapped on my side of the
Plexiglass
wall
without a two-way phone. After a minute, I turned the music on. Anything was
better than listening to him not talk.

I’d never been to Ben’s before, but I wasn’t about to ask
Mr. Broody Pants which way to go. Rustling through my purse with one hand and
keeping my eyes on the road, I thought my car was having a
transition-engine-alternator-whatever-else-can-go-wrong fit when the music went
dead.

“It isn’t Amy.”

What was I supposed to say to that? It didn’t really matter
if I believed him or not.
Or even if it was true.
He
could be lying to himself for all I cared.

But there was more at play here. This was more than the
strong-silent act going on.

“Okay.” I let the word kind of drift out there between us.

“It isn’t Amy.” He pointed at the road coming up on the
left. “Turn there.”

“Whatever.” Really, what did it matter to me?

He shifted in the seat, as much as a six foot guy could turn
in the bucket seat of a ‘97 Honda Civic.

“Not that I care what you think, but I know you’re not sure
about this tutoring thing. I have some crap going on and I’d really appreciate
you dropping the Amy thing.” He turned back in his seat. “I just…you know the
Amy stuff was hard enough, but I just don’t want to think about anything right
now.”

Says the guy who’s done nothing but brood since he got in my
car.

“Okay.” I felt him study me.
“Really.”

“Thanks.”

We were coming up to a house with a few other cars out front
and Luke’s wicked old truck.

“This must be it.” Just call me Captain Obvious.

I parked in the shady spot behind Luke’s truck, threw the
emergency brake and twisted to pull my bag out of the backseat only to come
nose to nose with Chris.

“So, we’re on?”

My brain stalled out. I can’t think of any other way to put
it. I suddenly understood the power of beauty and why his airheads would make
fools of themselves for his attention. I got all those romance novels where the
hero and heroine couldn’t stand each other but there’s that undeniable pull
between them.
That
something
that keeps them coming back to each other when sanity dictates they run the
other direction.
The uncontrollable outside power of
it all.

He cocked an eyebrow.
“Ready to go?”

Or not.

I shook it off. It was just the after effects of dealing
with a rough couple of days. The idea that someone could be as beautiful as
Chris was just a novelty. And it wasn’t like he was beautiful on the inside.

I heard the music blaring from the backyard. Judging by the
cars out front, a good number of the soccer team must be there. Including
Chris, so that meant it wasn’t necessarily just the good guys like Luke.

I stutter-stepped on the stone walkway
thinking about everything that might go on at this party.
I’m not sure I
wanted to be around drinking guys who were used to having girls like me handed
to them in the hallways with bows on their heads. Plus, there was the whole
bathing suit thing.

Chris stopped at the arched gateway in the tall wood lattice
fence.

“You
coming?”

I tried to shake my head.

“Rachel?” If I didn’t know better, Mr. Broody Pants was
looking a little concerned. He moved away from the gate, the gravel walkway
crunching under his feet as he came to hover over me. Glancing over his
shoulder, he took my arm and pulled us out of the view of the backyard.
“Everything okay?”

He really seemed worried. It kind of threw me. Actually, it
really threw me. Right out of anxiety mode.

If I could live with him looking at me, I could live with
anyone looking at me, right? Plus, on the other side of that gate
was
my best friend and one of the nicest guys in the world.
Also, there was Ben who may possibly be the other nicest guy in the world. It
seemed a complete shame that I wasn’t interested. I’d even tried to be. After
Jovi’s
, I’d gone home and told myself all the reasons I
should be interested in Ben Harrison…but not even a heart murmur let alone a
full out flutter. What a shame.

But, if I wanted to figure out who his mystery girl was,
this was the perfect time to start.

“Yup.
Fine.
Why?”

He kept staring, taking in my eyes, my face. “You look a
little pale.”

I brushed my cheek with the tips of my fingers as if I could
feel the ash, push it away,
hide
it.

“I’m fine.”

He reached out, as if to test my cheek before snatching his
hand back. It was weird and intimate and I didn’t really know what to do. But
suddenly, standing there with a guy I barely knew and
couldn’t
trust, I was okay
. Because, really, how much weirder could the day get,
right?

“I’m sure everything will be cool with you hanging,” he
continued. “I mean, I know you aren’t one of
those
girls. The guys won’t mind having a normal chick hang out who
doesn’t count and stuff.”

Okay, not weirder, but how much more derogatory could it get
than that?

Of course, he probably thought that was the most reassuring
statement in the world.
Pfft
, guys.
Actually,
maybe just,
Pfft
, Chris.

I took a deep breath and checked my skirt one more time.
“What are you waiting for?”

He gave me a look that might have been a billboard saying he
didn’t know which one of us should be annoyed and pushed the gate open. I liked
keeping him on his toes. Maybe that could be
my
sport.

I ducked under his arm before he could tell me how much I didn’t
count again and headed toward the revelry-noise. I’d been so worried about
going to a party, especially with people I didn’t really know, that I hadn’t
thought through the part about showing up with Mr. Soccer.