Dark Secrets (16 page)

“
No, I uh—” I placed
my bag in his outstretched hand, a little puffed. “My diary was
begging me to write in it—I was compelled to obey.”

“
Compelled?” David
nodded, smiling.

“
Yeah, you know how
it goes with these things,” I joked. “If you don’t do as the voices
tell you, they just get louder.”

David stopped walking.
“You hear voices?”

“
What?” I frowned.
“No. It was a joke.”

“
A joke?”

“
Yeah. You do know
what a joke is, don’t you?”

“
Of course I do.
Just—”

“
Just when it comes
from me it isn’t funny.” I nodded.

“
Not about hearing
voices.”

“
Why?”

“
Because you faze out
all the time. If you’re hearing voices as well, it might mean
there’s something wrong.”

“
Oh.” I dragged the
word out, nodding my head, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I
suppose.”

“
Did you eat
breakfast?” he asked accusingly.

“
Yes,
Dad
,”
I responded in the same tone.

“
Sorry.” David laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve just noticed
that you get a little…
tempestuous
when you haven’t eaten enough.”

“
Tempestuous?”

He nodded.

Hm
. “It isn’t my fault, you know. I have an ogre living in my
belly. He makes me do bad things.”

“
So…you faze out,
hear voices, and blame your tempered outbursts on a fictional
creature living in…” he looked down at my stomach, “—your
belly.”

“
Precisely. The boy
catches on quick.”

“
Well—” he shook his
head, “—one thing I can say about you, Miss Ara, is that never a
moment passes where I am not entertained.”

“
Is that…a good
thing?”

He chuckled once.
“Yes. It’s a good thing, mon amie.”

Mon amie.
I repeated the words to myself, unable to hide my
grin. “Why do you speak French?”

“
Why?” he asked,
surprised.

“
Yeah. I mean, what
made you want to learn French?”

He looked forward,
both of us slowing simultaneously as we neared the big brown
building. “I uh—I grew up in a community that was inhabited mostly
by the French.”

“
Oh. Cool. Where did
you grow up?”

“
Not too far from
here.”

“
And…they all spoke
French?”

“
Yes.”

I frowned. I couldn’t
think of anywhere in New England that was grossly dominated by any
one race. But, Mr I-Don’t-Elaborate had, indeed, elaborated. I
wasn’t going to push for more. Not yet, anyway. I exhaled, looking
up the stairs ahead of us, wishing it were Friday. “Do we have to
go to school today?”

“
Yes,” he said
kindly.

“
Well, I think we
need an evasive action plan for Her Royal Dictator-ness at
rehearsals today.”

David tossed his head
back, laughing. “She was pretty moody yesterday, wasn’t
she?”

“
Yeah. I mean, I know
it’s just ‘cause she’s trying to get things done. And I guess, if
it weren’t for Em, this benefit concert really wouldn’t be
happening.”

“
Hm, yes, but if she
wanted to get things done, then casting the football team in a
comedy skit was a terrible idea.”

“
Yeah, but it breaks
the monotony of all the musical numbers.”

“
Yes. How many do we
have now?”

“
Um, ten, I
think.”

He nodded, slowing his
steps to match mine. “Good line-up too.”

“
Yeah. But Emily
should be letting us practice our songs at lunch; not spend the
whole period separated like kindergarten kids, painting ticket
signs.”

“
Well, if we hadn’t
joined the pencil throwing fight, she wouldn’t have separated us.”
He smirked.

“
She shouldn’t have
anyway. We’re not children; we’re practically adults.”

“
Then we should act
as such,” he said with a nod.

“
Fine.” I folded my
arms. “No mucking about today then.”

“
I
don’t know about that.” He tilted his head almost bashfully toward
one shoulder. “I kinda liked
mucking
about with you
yesterday.”

I couldn’t help it; I
giggled a little. “Yeah, me too.”

“
Then, we shall
endeavour to attempt discretion, today.”

“
Discretional
chasing, giggling and poking each other?”

He chuckled. “Yes,
except, now that I know where your ticklish spot is, I don’t need
to chase you; I can just poke you whenever I please.”

“
Not in English
class, though. You know how ticklish I am.”

His smile grew, his
eyes small with thoughts I wanted him to share. “Yes, and your
infectiously sweet giggle is at my disposal.”

I tensed, noticing his
eyes on my lower ribcage. “You wouldn’t.”

He clicked his tongue
and winked at me. “You can
try
to stop me.”

I hugged my ribs and
bit my lip, grinning. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

Emily leaned forward
on her desk, eagerly engaged in Dad’s lecture. I hoped she was
getting an A for all the extra listening she was doing. Then again,
her interest wasn’t companionless today—most of the class seemed to
be paying attention.
My
listening skills needed some work, however. Then
again, get David out of my head for five minutes and I might be
able to function.

“
Now, who here
believes in God?” Dad asked, holding his hand in the air; stunned
silence replied. “It’s not a trick question, people. Hands up if
you believe there exists something bigger than
yourself.”

Come on, Dad, as if
anyone’s going to risk popularity to answer
that
question.

Emily’s hand shot up
into the sky.

“
Oh my God. You
suck-up.” I elbowed her, but put mine up, too—to save getting in
trouble from Dad later. A few other people followed; the rest of
the class just laughed and pointed at us.

“
Okay. Now, hands up
who believes Jesus walked on water.”

Everyone in the class
started laughing. My dad, with his own hand up, nodded, then
started writing on the board: “Myths and legends—Religious
History.” He read the words out, tapping each one, then popped the
lid on his marker with a thud from his open palm. “Who can tell me
what that suggests we might be discussing?”

Emily put her hand
up.

“
Emily?” Dad pointed
the marker at her.

“
It means, like you
mentioned last week, that nearly everything we know about religion
is based purely on some story or, like, Chinese whisper that’s been
passed down from one generation to the next. Not too many cold,
hard facts.”

“
Right.” Dad wrote
What is
real?
on the board. “Now, I’m not saying
Jesus never
actually
walked on water, but what I am saying is that, like young
Emily just said, nearly every story you’ve ever been told has been
written by someone else. We don’t know the facts for ourselves. But
there is a fact behind every story. Now, it’s my job to inspire
freethinking, not encourage atheism, so, having said that—” He
wrote something else on the whiteboard.

Assignment: Fact of
Myth

“
For the next few weeks you’ll be researching the origin of a
myth or legend—” he shook his head, “—doesn’t have to be religious,
but if you sift through any myth and go deep enough, you’ll usually
find some religious connection, like most things in life. So, find
a myth, research the legends around it and make a report based
on
your
opinion
whether or not there could be some truth behind it, and what it
originally had to do with religious beliefs.” He looked around at
all the students. “Because, let’s face it, if Jesus walked on water
then there’s a damn sure bet there’s a Santa Claus,
right?”

The class broke into
laughter.

“
Mr Thompson?” a girl
asked. “Does that mean you’re admitting Jesus didn’t walk on
water?”

“
No.” My dad leaned
against his desk, crossing his arms. “It means I’m admitting
there’s a Santa Claus.”

The class roared with
laughter again.

“
Maybe he wasn’t
lying to my five-year-old self when he said he believed in Santa,”
I whispered to Emily.

She started laughing.
“I can
so
picture
your dad saying that, too.”

“
I’ll bet you can.” I
grimaced.

“
So, find the myth and decide the truth from your
own
perspective. That’s
all everybody. Have a good day,” he called out over the
bell.

Emily and I walked out
of class, shoulder to shoulder, still laughing at Dad’s unusual
lecture. “And, if he actually caught a burglar in your house on
Christmas Eve, he’d think it was just Santa.”

“
Oh my God. I could
so see that happening.”

“
Yeah, then, next morning, he’d be like, Gee, Sam—” she
lowered her voice to sound like my dad, “—I’m terribly sorry, but
when Santa came last night he
filled
his sack with your presents
instead. And…er…and the china and the silverware and the
jewellery.”

I folded over in a fit
of teary giggles. “Oh, my God, Emily. That’s so spot on. I mean,
his belief was unyield…” With an abrupt jolt, my cheek hit a warm,
firm chest, and a boy stumbled back an inch, looping his arms
around my shoulders.

“
I knew you’d fall
for me eventually,” he said.

“
David.” I looked up
into his sparkling emerald eyes, melting within the circle of his
arms. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was
going.”

“
Don’t sweat it,
pretty girl. I got ya.”

I closed my eyes,
feeling the tingle of his fingers down my ponytail, touching me
like I belonged to him, making no effort to move away.

“
Not on school
grounds please, you two.”

I jumped back from
David’s arms. “Sorry, Mr Thompson.”

“
Keep it PG.” He
pointed at David, then tossed a scrap of paper into the wastebasket
beside his desk—without taking his eyes off us.

Emily’s eyelids
fluttered as he walked away again. “He’s so cool.”

“
Ew?” I
winced.

David laughed at her,
dropping his lingering arm back down to his side. I wanted him to
ignore my dad and just pull me close again—steal me from this place
so we could lay together, my head in his lap, talking for hours
about nothing. But, unfortunately, he was no mind reader, and I
would never muster up the courage to say that, so, staying at
school, pretending not to want him, was my only option.

“
So, I hear Mr
Thompson gave an unusual lecture today?” David asked
Emily.

“
Oh my God, yes.” She
sunk into her knees, moving her hands around as she recounted the
lesson. A few other kids joined in, adding their own theories on
what my dad was aiming to teach us, and I just stood there watching
David—watching the way he interacted with others. When he noticed,
he sent a soft smile my way, the crescent-shaped dimple above his
lip showing—the one that only showed with that certain kind of
smile. I imagined pressing my finger to it; imagined the moment I
fell into his arms back there happening all over again, except he’d
sweep me off my feet this time and prop me against the wall,
wrapping my legs all the way around his hips. My lips would finally
be on his, and his hands would sneak up my skirt, forcing a sharp
intake of breath in me when he…

“
Earth to Ara?” Emily
waved a hand through the cloud of my fantasy.

I snapped back to the
reality of a noisy corridor. “Huh?”

“
Welcome back,” she
said.

Ice rained through me.
“Did I faze out again?”

David cleared his
throat, growing seemingly taller as he slowly rolled his shoulders
back.

“
Uh, yeah. Just a
bit,” Emily said.

“
David?” I looked
right into his emerald eyes, seeing them go dark, almost
black.

“
I uh—I have to go.”
He wiped a hand across his mouth, then stalked off into the
crowd.

“
What happened?” I
asked Emily. “Where’s he going?”

She just stared at me
blankly. “What were you thinking about just then?”

The ice rain melted as
my bones turned to lava. “Uh. Nothing PG, that’s for
sure.”

She cackled. “Yeah, I
guessed that much.”