Rules for Secret Keeping (9 page)

Charlie starts yelling about how I need some fake eyelashes and a hair straightener. “Fake eyelashes!” she yells out the bathroom door to Emma. “Do you have 'em or what?” She's rummaging around in the drawers in the bathroom, where there's apparently every single beauty product or tool you could possibly want, except fake eyelashes.

Emma doesn't answer. I hope nothing bad is going on out there. A few minutes ago I heard her saying to Daphne, “Honestly, with your skin tone, this lime green skirt is PERFECT,” and then I sort of tuned out, not really wanting to think about what kind of activity was about to take
place in which a lime green skirt was the couture of choice.

“FAKE EYELASHES!” Charlie screams. She pokes her head out of the bathroom door. “Oh,” she says. “She's on the phone.”

From the other room comes the sound of Emma giggling softly.

“That's okay,” I say, sensing an opportunity. “I don't think I really NEED the eyelashes.”

“You totally do,” Charlie says. “Without them you just look . . . normal.”

She says “normal” like it's a bad thing. Also, I most definitely do
not
look normal. Not even close. I look kind of like a clown. But maybe she's right about the eyelashes. Maybe I need to take some chances. Will chances get Jake to notice me? Does he think I'm completely normal since he's known me for so long? Do I need to shake things up? I might be in a rut and not even know it.

From the other room, I hear Emma say in this totally flirty voice, “You could just
tell
me what it's going to say. Since I'm going to find out anyway.”

“Who's she talking to?” I ask Charlie.

Emma laughs loudly from the other room. Charlie rolls her eyes. “She's obviously talking to some guy. You can tell by the way she's being all giggly.”

Some guy? Yes! If Emma's talking to some guy, maybe
she'll get together with him! And maybe she'll forget all about Jake! In fact, maybe she likes one of Jake's friends, like Leo Wheeler. Maybe she just sent Jake that note to be like, “Hey, I like your friend, can you ask him what he thinks about me?” because she was too embarrassed to tell him in person. And that's why she said she usually doesn't play games!

I stick my head out of the bathroom so I can try and figure out who she's talking to. If Emma
does
like Leo, maybe Emma, Jake, and I will double date! Or at least all hang out in a group. Of course, Daphne would feel left out, but I'm sure we could find a boy to bring for her.

But when I finally focus on what Emma's saying, Daphne feeling left out is the least of my worries. That's because Emma is lounging on her big poufy couch, her legs draped over the side, her long red hair in a perfect halo around her on the cushions. And then she giggles again and says, “No, Jake, I told you . . . if you're going to send a note back, then just tell me what it's going to say!”

Her words are like a horrible dagger to my heart. And the worst part? Emma's on
my
phone.

“I saw his name on the caller ID and so I answered it,” she says, like it's no big deal. Which it wouldn't be, normally. Normally, as in, if I didn't like Jake.

“Oh, it's no big deal,” I say. “I was just wondering why he was calling me.”

“He didn't say,” she says, handing me back my phone. “He had to go, he was going to spend the night at Leo something-or-other's.” Just like that, my double-date fantasies disappear into the night.

Daphne, who had apparently been sent up to Emma's room to fetch some sort of gold beaded shirt that Emma thought would be perfect on her during the whole Emma-Answering-My-Phone Incident, is looking nervously back and forth between us. Charlie is still in the bathroom, where she finally located the fake eyelashes. Since there was only one pair, she is gluing them onto herself.

Emma squeals, then grabs me and dances me around the room. “He said he got my note and that he was going to write me back and give it to you on Monday.” She looks at me. “Isn't that amazing?”

“Well, I guess it's—”

“I mean, it's so romantic. Passing notes back and forth.” Her eyes narrow. “Plus there's something so old-fashioned about actually writing a note to someone, instead of sending a text or an email. It's like . . . retro. Olivia totally sucks; you're way better.”

Daphne clears her throat, and when I turn to look at her, I notice for the first time that she's wearing a lime green
miniskirt over black leggings. Which is so not Daphne.

“You look fab,” Emma says. She pulls a flip cam off the bar in the corner. “And now,” she says. “It's time to karaoke. Charlie!” she screams. “Get out here so we can sing.”

We karaoke for most of the night. Fast songs, slow songs, duets. We change outfits a million times. We film ourselves, and then spend some of the night uploading the footage and editing it into music videos using Emma's dad's computer software.

“If they come out good enough, we'll put them on our Facebook pages,” Emma declares. “Or enter them into one of those online karaoke contests.”

We order pizza at 1 a.m. from the twenty-four-hour pizza place down the street, then sit around Emma's huge glass kitchen table, eating slices and planning our revenge against Olivia.

“What you have to do,” Emma declares, “is beat her at her own game.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I take another delicious, globby bite of pizza off my plate, and wash it down with some lemonade. I can't believe I can eat at a time like this—meaning when Emma has basically told us she's in love with Jake, and when Jake might be in love with her.

The thing is, I'm kind of having a lot of fun. Yeah,
Emma and Charlie are a little over the top with their karaoking and their fashion (they seem to favor fedoras, feathers, and anything fake—eyelashes, fur, etc.), but they're also really fun and nice. And besides the whole “I want to date Jake” thing that Emma has going on, I think we could really be friends.

“I mean that you have to start an online secret business as well,” Emma says. “Expand into the twenty-first century!”

“But you said earlier that something about passing notes the old-fashioned way was romantic.” Honestly, all these conflicting messages are not good for my mental state.

“Well, it is,” Emma says, “but maybe you could do both, you know, like have an online part, and a regular part that you just do out of your locker. Just like Olivia.”

“But then wouldn't she just be copying Olivia?” Daphne asks from her seat next to me.

“I still think you should read the secrets,” Charlie says. She's eating a salad with gluten-free, fat-free, sugar-free dressing because the sauce on the pizza aggravates her acid reflux.

“I told you, I can't,” I say. I take another bite of my pizza. “It would totally ruin my reputation, and my business would be over.”

“Whatever,” Charlie says. “I'm sure people, like,
expect
you to read the secrets.” She rolls her eyes.

“No, they don't!” I say, shocked. “They would never pass things through me if they thought I was reading everything. And if they
did
think I was, they'd totally use Olivia over me.”

“It doesn't matter,” Emma says. “Because Olivia's not going to keep this up.”

“What do you mean?” Daphne asks. “She's not going to keep what up?”

I take another sip of my lemonade.

“I mean that she's a quitter,” Emma says. “Like last year when she tried to start up this collection to help the needy? She ended up keeping, like, half the money for herself so she could buy a new iPod and a sweater for her dog.” She spears a piece of salad on her fork, then dips it in the pile of dressing that's on the plate next to her.

“She did not!” Daphne exclaims.

“Well, it wasn't, like,
proven
or anything,” Charlie says. “But it was a little weird that everyone was giving money, and like, she had none for the needy. But she somehow had a new video iPod and this totally expensive sweater for Bitsy.”

“She sounds like a brat,” Daphne declares.

“She is,” Emma says. “But I'm totally right about her being a quitter. So really, there's nothing to worry about.
You just have to wait her out until she gets sick of the dumb secret-passing.” A worried look comes over her face. “I mean, not that secret-passing is dumb, I just meant that her trying to steal your idea was dumb. Of course I don't think that what you're doing is dumb; I think it's awesome.” She smiles.

“It's okay,” I say. And then she's off and running, telling some story about her mom and this new car the family wants to buy. I guess that's it for our strategy session.

Later, when Emma and Charlie are asleep, Daphne and I whisper. The karaoke room has two big couches that pull out into queen-sized beds. Charlie and Emma are sleeping on one, and Daphne and I are on the other. The best part is that the couches are far enough away from each other so that even if Charlie and Emma
were
awake, Daph and I could whisper without anyone hearing us.

“So that wasn't that bad, was it?” I ask.

“Which part?” she says. “The part where they made me wear a lime green miniskirt, or the part where they filmed it and are now going to put it on their YouTube channel?”

“Not their YouTube channel,” I say, giggling. “Their Facebook pages.”

“Oh, right,” she says. “They only put it on YouTube if the lighting is right and they think it can go viral.” We both
giggle, covering our mouths to muffle the sound.

“Thanks for coming,” I whisper. “You're a good friend.” I grab my cell off the table next to us and check the time. It's 3:09 a.m. I scroll through until I get to my received calls. “What do you think Jake wanted?” I ask Daph.

“I don't know,” she says. She sounds a little strange. I turn to look at her, but it's so dark that all I can really see are shadows.

“Do you think I should call him back tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Daphne says.

“Are you sure?” I press.

“Look,” she says. She props herself up on one elbow, her blond hair falling over her elbow and onto the bed. “If this were last summer, and Jake called you, would you call him back?”

“Of course,” I say. “But this isn't last year. This is
this
year, and everything is totally different.”

Daphne sighs.

We both lie there quietly for a few minutes. From the other bed, the soft sounds of Charlie and Emma breathing fill the room.

“Hey, Daph?” I whisper again. “You asleep?”

“No.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you think I should tell him that I like him?”

Daphne hesitates, then finally she sighs and says, “I don't know.”

Silence.

“Daph?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“You're welcome.” Daphne squeezes my hand under the blanket, and then I flip over onto my stomach, bury my face into my pillow, and try to fall asleep.

ON MONDAY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL
Eric Niles is waiting for me at my locker.

“Didja see this, did you see this, SAMANTHA?” He's really screaming. Eric Niles is very excitable. I think it's from eating all that paste in the third grade. It probably messed with his brain chemistry or something.

“Yes, Eric,” I say. He's holding one of Olivia's flyers in his hand, moving it back and forth, back and forth. It's shaking so much that the papers tacked up on the wall behind us announcing all the new school clubs are fluttering around like crazy. That's how much wind he's generating. I had no idea he was so strong. His arms are like toothpicks.

“
First
of all, Samantha,” Eric says, “you look very pretty today. I really like your dress.”

“Thank you,” I say, pleased even though it's just Eric. He
is
a boy, after all. My dress is really simple, light blue with puffy sleeves and a cotton skirt that flares out a tiny bit at the bottom. I never really wear dresses to school, but Emma let me borrow it when I was leaving her house over the weekend, and I thought it would be fun to wear it today.

“
Second
of all,” Eric presses, “did you know, Samantha, that Olivia's business is booming, and she is hoping to expand it even more and is maybe even looking for a business partner?” He dangles the flyer in front of my face.

“Let me see that,” I say, grabbing it.

“We have only been open for two days!” the flyer says. “But we have received such a huge surge in business, that we apologize if it is taking us a little long to get to your secrets, LOL! Keep them coming. Also I might be looking for a business partner, so if you want to, please email [email protected].”

“What the heck,” I say, “is she even talking about?
A business partner?
”