Rules for Secret Keeping (25 page)

“Two pumpkin milkshakes,” she says. “Tip-top.”

“Thanks,” Taylor says in her real voice. The waitress shoots her a weird look before disappearing back behind the counter. “Dad and Tom don't have to be BFFs,” Taylor says. “But we have to do
something
so that we don't feel so totally uncomfortable about the situation. I mean, we've never told Dad that it bothers us. At least I haven't, have you?”

“No,” I say, squirming around on my chair. The thought of talking to my dad about how I feel is pretty upsetting. Of course, a lot of bad things have been happening because of the fact that I didn't want to tell people how I felt. If I'd just told Emma from the beginning that I liked Jake, then maybe I would have known all along that she was a backstabber. If I'd told Jake I liked him, maybe things wouldn't be so weird between us now. And if I'd told my dad about what was going on with my secret-passing, maybe last night wouldn't have been such a disaster.

“Look, talking to him can't be any worse than what's already going on, can it?” Taylor asks.

“I don't know,” I say. I take a big sip of my shake out of
the special jumbo straws they give you at Shake It.

“We can do it together,” she says, then reaches over and takes my hand.

“Okay,” I say, giving it a squeeze. “I'll try.”

The waitress comes back over and puts the check down in front of us.

“Thank you, darrrling,” Taylor trills. “Now I will have to figure out how many pounds this check is; that is what they use in England, you know.”

“My grandmother's from England,” the waitress says. She looks annoyed. “And that, darrrling, is the worst fake accent I've ever heard.” She turns and walks away, and Taylor and I burst into giggles. And we don't stop laughing for a long time.

On Monday, I avoid Daphne in the hallways. Emma ignores me in homeroom, laughing and talking with Charlie. Jake looks over at me a couple of times, but I don't look back. I just pretend I'm working on homework. I still have no secrets in my locker, and in kind of a last-ditch effort, I spend all day trailing Olivia, but again, I don't catch her doing anything.

I do the same thing on Tuesday, but the whole thing is pretty futile. And besides, even if I
did
catch her reading a secret, what would I really do about it? I still don't have
my cell, so it's not like I could snap a picture of her or anything. It would be her word against mine, and honestly, who's going to believe me? Everyone knows her business is beating mine.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, I've given up on following Olivia. I decide that the thing I need to focus on is making
my
business better, not trying to discredit hers, even though what she's doing
is
pretty despicable. I just have to trust that people will eventually start figuring it out on their own, the way Eric and Karissa have.

The good news is I'm able to check my school email account from the library (I'm still grounded from the computer at home, but my mom has no control over the school computers, now, does she?) and Nikki's sent me a mock-up of my website. It's absolutely gorgeous! All aquas and shades of blue and purple, with big swirly letters that spell out
SHHHHH!
all across the top. I am ecstatic. I can't wait for it go live in a few weeks, and I can't wait to show—well, I guess Taylor, since no one else is really speaking to me.

Every chance I get, I'm back at the computers in the library, staring at the mock-up. Which is where I am on Wednesday morning when I feel a pull on the back of the hood of the pink zip-up I'm wearing.

Daphne.

“Hi,” she says, sliding into the chair next to me.

“Bye,” I say, starting to gather up all my things and put them in my bag. Daphne's made a couple of attempts to talk to me over the past few days, but honestly, I'm over it. I don't want to talk to her. Not now, not ever. Every time I think about her telling Emma I like Jake, and then keeping it from me for so long . . .

“No, wait,” Daphne says. “I need to explain.”

“Nothing to explain,” I say, taking my bag and sliding it over my shoulder. “You told Emma a secret that was not supposed to be told to anyone, under any circumstances,
ever
.”

“I know,” she says, biting her lip. “But, Samantha, I swear, it just sort of slipped out. I would
never
tell one of your secrets on purpose, and
especially
not to Emma.”

I start walking quickly toward the exit, but Daphne follows me. “Wait,” she says, stepping in front of me and blocking my path. “What would you do if I told you that I have proof that Olivia is reading secrets?”

I scrutinize her face for any sign that she's lying in an effort to get me to talk to her, but there's none. “Tell,” I say. “And do it quickly.”

“First you have to listen to what happened with Emma,” she says.

“No.”

“Then no proof.” She stares at me. I stare at her. It's like
a stalemate, with each of us waiting to see who's going to blink first. I think about it. On one hand, even though I said it wasn't really about bringing Olivia down anymore, it
would
be nice to have some proof that she was doing shady things. On the other hand, I don't want to have to listen to Daphne, because I'm still really mad at her. On the
other
other hand, I do kind of miss her. Daphne, I mean.

“Fine,” I say finally, narrowing my eyes at her. “But make it quick.”

Daphne leads me over to a table in the back of the library.

“Like I said,” I say, still not completely ready for this. “Make it quick.”

“Okay, so the night of the sleepover,” she says. “While you were getting your makeup done with Charlie.” She looks down at her hands. “It just . . . slipped out. Emma kind of tricked me into thinking she already knew.”

“And how did she do that?”

“She said, ‘So what's the deal with Samantha and Jake; how long has she been in love with him?' and so I thought you'd told her. And so I said, ‘Well, they've been best friends forever, but they just started liking each other.'”

“You made it sound like Jake liked me, too?” I ask, pleased in spite of myself.

“Of course,” she said. “I didn't want her to think that
she could just swoop in and steal him!”

“So then what?”

“So then she goes, ‘I doubt that. I mean, it was obvious from the way Samantha looked at me when I passed Jake that note that she likes him, but I really don't think he's interested in her at all.' And then I knew. That she didn't know.” She's still looking down at the floor, and her green eyes look all watery, like maybe she might start crying.

“Why didn't you just tell me you told her?” I ask.

Daphne doesn't say anything, and so I start to stand up.

“No!” Daphne says, grabbing my sleeve. “Wait! Look, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. I felt like I was getting squeezed out everywhere. You and Emma and Charlie were becoming friends, and I thought you and Jake were going to be a couple. I was losing everyone! She wasn't a good friend, Samantha, but I couldn't tell you because I didn't want you to find out I told her. And I didn't want you to think I was just being jealous.” Daphne's eyes are filling with tears now, and I feel my heart melt a little bit. This whole thing must have been really hard on her.

“I would never have done anything to hurt you. I thought Emma would eventually tell you that she knew you liked Jake, or that you would tell her on your own.” Daphne wipes away her tears with her sleeve. “I'm so sorry, Samantha.”

I feel myself melting even more. I mean, honestly, who
am I to judge someone when they make a mistake? I've gotten myself into a lot of my own messes lately. Plus I can tell Daphne really is sorry. She hardly ever cries. “I really, really wish you would have told me sooner,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “But I was scared of losing my best friend completely.”

We're both crying now, and I reach over and hug her. “It's okay, Daphne,” I say, “I forgive you.”

“I missed you so much,” Daphne says. “I've been calling your cell, like, nonstop.”

“No cell,” I tell her. “I'm grounded.”

“You are?” she asks. “For what?”

I fill her in on what happened at the
You Girl
banquet. Every single, solitary, sorry detail. “Geez,” she says.

“I know.” I look down at my hands for a second, then decide to ask her the question I've kind of been dying to know. “So how was the Fall Festival?”

“I didn't go,” she says. “Michelle's grandmother got sick, so she had to cancel. And obviously I wasn't going to go with Emma and Charlie.”

“That sucks,” I say. “I'm really sorry you didn't get to go.”

“It's okay.” She looks at me, her eyes shining. “So do you want to see what I found out about Olivia?”

DAPHNE TAKES ME TO THE NEWSPAPER
office, which is really just an old English classroom with a bunch of computers and a copier. There are a couple of other kids there, including Eric Niles.

“Samantha!” he says when he sees me. “How are you? Do you need a drink? I could run to The Common and get you a lemonade. Or maybe you're hungry. Here, do you want some of my muffin?” He holds up something that looks like a gray rock with icing on it.

“Uh, no, thanks, Eric,” I tell him. “I'm fine.”

“Okay.” He looks disappointed as he goes back to working on his computer.

“Now,” Daphne says. “I'm glad we got to be friends again before I show you this, because once you see it, you are going to love me forever.”

She pulls a picture out of a manila folder, and sets it down on the table.

“Are you showing her? Are you showing her?” Eric says, bouncing over to the table we're at.

“Yes, Eric,” Daphne says, rolling her eyes. “I'm showing her.”

“But you said you weren't going to show her until you two were friends again.” Eric takes a bite of his muffin, and crumbs get all over his green button-down shirt.

“We're friends again,” Daphne says.

We all crouch over the picture. It's black and white, one of those random shots that gets taken for and put in the school newspaper or the yearbook. It shows Marissa Murphy and two of her friends with their arms around each other, smiling into the camera. And over her shoulder, in the background, is Olivia. She's leaning against her locker, reading something on a halfway folded-up sheet of loose-leaf.

“You can't see it,” I say. “You can't see what she's reading!”

“No,” Eric says, grinning from ear to ear. “You
couldn't
see it.” He rushes over to a computer in the corner and pulls something up on the screen. “Until I blew the picture up.”

I bend over and peer at the screen. In this shot, you can clearly see that Olivia's reading something that says, “Dear
Marcus, want to go to the Fall Festival? We can do more than pumpkin pick, if you know what I mean, wink, wink, XXXXXO, Love, Karissa.”

“It's Karissa's secret!” Eric yells, stating the obvious.

“Yes, I see that,” I say. My heart is leaping with joy. “Daphne,” I say, “you're a genius.”

“It wasn't me,” she says. “Eric's the one who found it and blew it up.”

“I took the picture too,” he says, blushing.

“Eric!” I say. “I thought you didn't know that much about computers. How did you know how to blow this up?”

“Well,” he says, “after that day in The Common with Jake, I figured it might be time to learn a thing or two.”

“You guys,” I say, “are awesome.”

Daphne beams.

Eric beams.

And I get ready to figure out what I'm going to say to Olivia.

“Tell her you're taking her down,” Daphne instructs a few minutes later. The first bell is about to ring, and I'm waiting at Olivia's locker, getting ready for her to come out of The Common. I know she was there before school because we sent Eric by the caf to do a little recon mission. “Tell her you're not going to put up with her anymore, and that
if she ever starts with you again, you'll—”

“Daphne!” I say, holding my hand up. “I'm not going to do anything violent!”

“Of course not!” Daphne says. “I just meant that—ooh, here she comes.” Daphne looks down the hall over my shoulder. “I'll be right over there. And don't let her intimidate you.”

“I won't,” I say. My stomach is flipping over and over again, even worse than it does when Jake is close to me.

Olivia walks up to her locker and starts to spin the dial, and I lean over and tap her on the shoulder. She turns.

“Oh, hi, Samantha,” she says. She places her white fluffy coat into her locker, and then checks herself in her locker mirror. “Are you coming to ask for a job? Because, honestly, people have kind of started to talk about how you lost the
You Girl
award, and I'm not sure your name is so good in the secret-passing business anymore.” She smiles sweetly. “You're kind of, like . . .
disgraced
.”