“I just wanted to say I am soooo sorry for ruining your whole company. I heard you’re, like, devastated by it.” She flips her long hair over her shoulder and gives me a sympathetic smile. And not in a nice way.
“You didn’t ruin my whole business,” I say. “But thanks for your concern.” That’s kind of (okay, a lot of) a lie, but Olivia doesn’t know that. Does she? I guess she might. People might have told her that they’re using her now instead of me. Plus she’s probably getting so many secrets that she can’t possibly imagine there could be any more out there. “And I’m not devastated by it.” Another big lie.
“Yeah, well, that’s not what everyone’s saying.” Olivia puts her hand on the back of my chair. French manicure. I guess she hasn’t heard about the pumpkin spice craze.
“Who’s everyone?” I ask.
“Just, you know, everyone.” She smiles again. “Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself so that things wouldn’t be awkward between us. And if I ever need an assistant, I’ll totally keep you in mind.” She squeezes my shoulder in pity, waves her French manicure at me, and then walks away.
I stare after her, my mouth open. The nerve! I turn back to the screen, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. Who am I kidding? Planning my outfit for the banquet next week, thinking about cute shoes? It’s over. That lady Barb is coming tomorrow and it’s going to be disastrous and everyone is going to find out I’m a fraud, including that jerk Olivia. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I log out of my email and head back to study hall. I might as well gossip with Emma and Charlie. No way I’m going to be getting any work done after that.
After school, I head to The Common to drown myself in doughnuts and a hot cider. Daphne’s staying after for newspaper, so I’m going to work on homework until she’s done, and then my mom’s going to pick us up. Of course, I end up doing more obsessing over Barb’s visit than homework, and so by the time Daphne comes marching into The Common after her meeting, I’ve only done two measly math problems.
Daphne has Karissa Green in tow. Like, she is literally holding Karissa’s hand and pulling her toward the table I’m sitting at. I don’t know Karissa that well—we have a few classes together, and we went to the same elementary school, but we’re not close or anything.
Honestly, I’m a little annoyed. This morning I finally told Daphne about my maybe near-miss kiss and the fact that Jake is totally avoiding me, and I was hoping we could discuss (read: obsess about) it. But we can’t do that in front of Karissa.
“Hi,” Daphne says. She looks excited. Like, really excited. She’s about two steps away from jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
“Um, hi,” I say. I try to send her a message with my eyes. The message being, you know, that I’m not in the mood for extra company. Karissa doesn’t say anything. She just pulls at the bottom of her T-shirt.
“Hi, Karissa,” I say. Now that she’s here, I guess I at least have to try and be nice to her. “Do you want some doughnut?” I hold up my half-eaten glazed.
“Tell her,” Daphne says proudly. She puts her hand on the small of Karissa’s back and pushes her toward me.
Karissa’s blue eyes look back and forth between me and Daphne nervously. “It’s okay,” Daphne says, sounding exasperated. “She’s not going to tell anyone, she’s a professional secret-keeper.” I think about maybe adding “used to be,” but decide to keep quiet.
“Okay, well.” Karissa looks down at the ground. “I like Micah Wilkins.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s great.” I don’t get it. Not to sound horribly mean, but who cares? I mean, Micah Wilkins? I know nothing about him, really, except that he’s one of the cutest guys in our class. He went to Kennedy, but everyone at our school already knows who he is and loves him. He plays, like, every single sport and he has hair on his legs and wears a different pair of sneakers every day. I guess he’s good-looking. Of course, Jake is way hotter, even if everyone else doesn’t realize it.
“And . . . ,” Daphne prompts, like a teacher trying to get their student to give the right answer.
“And,” Karissa says, “I sent him a secret through Olivia’s Secrets asking him if he would go to the Fall Festival with me.”
“That’s very brave of you,” I say generously.
“And . . . ?” Daphne says. She sounds really impatient this time. She’s even tapping her foot on the ground.
“And now I’m not going with him,” Karissa says. She sighs and rolls her eyes.
Daphne, apparently sick of waiting and pulling the story out of Karissa, decides to take over. “And the reason she’s not going with him is because that jerk Olivia totally asked Micah after she read Karissa’s secret!”
“What?!” I gasp, putting down my doughnut. Suddenly the story is getting interesting. I mean, way to bury the lead. I hope Daphne knows that if she wants to be a journalist, she’s going to have to make sure she gives people the pertinent and interesting facts right off the bat.
“I know!” Daphne says. “I mean, Olivia totally asked him, like, ten minutes after you sent the secret, isn’t that true, Karissa?”
“Yeah,” Karissa says. She looks sad as she pulls on the bottom of her T-shirt some more. But then she says, “Whatevs, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Micah really isn’t as cute as everyone thinks he is. He’s getting a mustache.” She wrinkles up her nose when she says “mustache,” like she can’t even fathom how disgusting it is.
“And besides,” I say, my heart sinking, “It doesn’t prove anything. It could just be a coincidence.”
“She definitely read it,” Karissa says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Well, because I kind of said something cute to him in the note,” Karissa says. “Something about how maybe if things worked out at the Fall Festival, we’d be doing more than just pumpkin picking.” Her cheeks get all red. Wow. I had no idea Karissa had it in her to flirt like that. Maybe she should take my place and be the third crazy cowgirl.
“You mean you were implying that you guys would, like, kiss,” Daphne clarifies.
“Right, but how do you know that Olivia definitely read the note?” I ask.
“Well, because I hadn’t heard anything from Micah. And so I asked Olivia if she’d given him the secret, and she said yes.”
“So . . .” God, this is like pulling teeth.
“So, finally I went up to Micah and I was all, ‘Look, do you want to go to the Fall Festival or not; I sent you a secret and I know you got it and if you’re trying to play hard to get, that’s so not cool, because we’re going to have to coordinate our costumes or whatever,’” Karissa says.
“Good for you,” Daphne says. I nod. I mean, seriously. You have to give the girl some credit for having the guts to confront him.
“So then he says, ‘Sorry, but I’m going with Olivia,’ and so then I marched up to Olivia and was like, ‘Did you ask Micah to the Fall Festival?’ and she was all, ‘Yeah why?’ like super innocent.” Karissa sighs. “Honestly, she might be the most annoying girl ever.”
“That’s what you get for not going through Samantha,” Daphne says. She puts her arm around me and gives me a hug. “She’s the best.”
“So then what?” I ask Karissa.
“So then as I’m walking away, I hear her say to her friends, ‘So, yeah, I’m going with Micah, and we might do more than pumpkin picking, if you know what I mean.’” She looks at me, a scandalized expression on her face. “In other words, she totally took what I was saying in my note and passed it off as her own. That’s total plagiarism.”
“Totally,” Daphne agrees.
“Totally,” I say, even though it kind of isn’t. I think it’s just more like copying.
“Anyway,” Karissa says, sighing. “Next time I’ll definitely go through you, Samantha.” She gives us both a sad smile and then walks away.
“Wow,” I say once she’s out of earshot. “Olivia really is reading the secrets.” A jolt of guilt flashes through me for a second, a
s I think about how I read a secret too. The one from Jake to Emma. The one that said “Yes.” But that was only one! And it was totally under special, specific circumstances. Circumstances that any sane person would have caved under. And after a whole year of not reading ANY secrets, wouldn’t you think that maybe a person would have the right to read one secret? One measly little secret? One measly little secret that didn’t even tell the person anything, except for that fact that it said “Yes,” which could mean anything??? Besides, I totally got what I deserved—mental torture and anguish. Plus I was basically fired from being their secret-passer and now Jake and Emma are just talking to each other all the time without me.
God, I really need another doughnut.
“She totally is,” Daphne says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out an oatmeal cookie. “You want a bite?”
“No thanks,” I say.
She puts her cookie down and turns her chair toward me. “So I was thinking about the whole cowgirl thing. And I’ve decided I’m on board.”
“You’re on board?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“With the whole cowgirl thing?”
“Yes,” Daphne says. “That’s what I just said!” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I know I said I was before, but now I really am. I think it could be fun. And we’ll be together, so even if Emma and Charlie are acting crazy, we’ll have each other.”
“Yes!” I say. “Exactly. We can maybe even ditch them and have fun on our own. We can probably even drive over without them. It’s Saturday, so my mom will be off work, she can totally pick us up.”
“It’s Friday,” Daphne says.
“What is?”
“The Fall Festival.”
“What?!” Oh no, oh no, oh no. “But the You Girl banquet is on Friday!” I say.
“What?!” Daphne screeches, then throws her cookie onto the table. She glares at me.
“I totally mixed up the days!” I say. “You know I’m horrible with that stuff.” It’s true. I am horrible with that stuff. Once I almost forgot my own birthday. It was super embarrassing—my mom had this whole special breakfast planned with chocolate chip pancakes (my fave) and when I came downstairs I was all, “What’s the occasion?”
“You forgot the date?” Daphne repeats incredulously.
“I am so, so sorry,” I tell her. “And if you don’t want to go with Charlie and Emma alone, seriously, you don’t have to. Just tell them you don’t want to go.” God, this sucks. I mean, can this day get any worse?
“But I do want to go to the Fall Festival,” she says. “I think it’s going to be really fun.”
“So then you can still go with them,” I say. “It will be fun!” I’m trying to cheer her up and be a good friend, but the truth is, I’m pretty bummed, since (a) I really wanted to go, and (b) the thought of the three of them having fun without me is pretty upsetting.
“But it won’t be the same.” She kicks the table.
“I know, but—”
“Um, hell-o!” Taylor’s voice comes echoing through The Common, and I do a double take. Taylor doesn’t belong at The Common. She doesn’t even belong at our school. But there she is, standing in front of us in her perfectly faded jeans and her black North Face jacket, tapping one Ugg boot on the ground impatiently. Her arms are crossed over her chest.
“Taylor!” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“Um, picking you up?” she says, like it’s obvious. “What do you think? Mom and I have been waiting outside for, like, fifteen whole minutes. You weren’t answering your cell.” She plops down in the chair across from me. “Mom had to send me in here to get you. She went to get a coffee and she’ll be back in a few minutes.” She looks around The Common distastefully, like she can’t believe she’s back at the middle school. “So what are you guys talking about? You both have weird looks on your faces.” Her tone implies that it can’t be anything too interesting, since we’re too young to have anything really worth talking about. If only that were the case.
“We’re talking,” I say, “about how horrible everything is.” I put my head down on the table in frustration. Eww. Kind of sticky. I pull my head back up quickly.
“What could possibly be so horrible?” Taylor asks. She reaches over and takes a bite of Daphne’s cookie. “You’re in seventh grade.”
“Shows how much you know,” I tell her. Then I start ticking everything off on my fingers. “One, the Fall Festival is the same night as the You Girl dinner. Two, that woman Barb is coming tomorrow and I haven’t gotten any secrets in weeks.” I hesitate, contemplating going for three, but then decide to leave out the stuff about Jake.
“So what’s going to happen?” Taylor asks, picking up my cider and taking a swig. “When she shows up and there aren’t any secrets?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Probably something completely and totally disastrous.” I take the last bite of my doughnut and pop it into my mouth. I look at Taylor and Daphne. “Anyone have a brilliant plan?”
“Are you kidding?” Taylor asks. “I mean, isn’t it so totally obvious?” Daphne and I look at her blankly. Taylor sighs like she can’t believe how childish we are. “Samantha, all you have to do is make up some fake secrets.”
“Fake secrets?” I ask skeptically.
“Yeah, like, just make up a whole bunch of fake ones and put them in your locker,” Taylor says, shrugging. “That way, when that Barb person comes, she’ll just think you have tons of them. She doesn’t know anyone at your school, so she won’t be able to tell that they’re fake. You could even use real names.”
“I don’t know,” I say. My stomach flips thinking about it. “What if I get caught?”
“Oh, please,” Taylor says. She takes another long gulp of my cider, and I reach over and take it back from her before she drinks the whole thing. “You worry too much about things.”
“I do?” I ask. I actually think I’ve been handling this whole situation quite well. I mean, my whole business is falling apart, not to mention that tomorrow a national magazine is coming to do a story about said falling-apart business, and somehow I’m still managing to keep it together. By a hair, but still.
“She might be right,” Daphne says slowly. “Remember that time in fourth grade when me you and Jake needed money to go to the movies, because our parents wouldn’t give us any, so we gathered up all the unopened food we could find in our houses and sold it and pretended we were raising money for the troops?”
“Exactly,” Taylor says. “You didn’t get caught that time, and you won’t get caught this time either.” She leans back in her chair and looks smug.
“You guys,” I say. “That was fourth grade. We were ten. This is a little more serious.”
“True,” Daphne says. “If you get caught you’ll probably get in a lot of trouble.”
“God, you guys are, like, so nervous,” Taylor says, sounding exasperated. She leans back in her chair, then reaches up and slides her hair tie out. Her long hair pools around her shoulders in soft waves. A couple of eighth-grade boys at the table next to us are staring at her, like, almost drooling.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just . . . I don’t think I can do that. I’m going to have to come up with something better.”
“Suit yourself,” Taylor says, shrugging.
“I will come up with something else,” I say, nodding determinedly. “I will.”
BUT I DON’T COME UP WITH ANYTHING else. Not One. Single. Thing. And by the time breakfast rolls around on Tuesday morning, I have a pit in my stomach the size of a cantaloupe.
“Oohh,” I say from my seat at the kitchen table. “I don’t fee-eeel so good.” The one idea I have come up with is to fake sick. If I’m not at school when Barb comes, she can’t figure out that my secret-passing is a sham, and voilà, perfect plan. Well, sort of. First I have to get Tom to let me stay home.
“What’s wrong?” Tom asks, looking alarmed. He leaves the oatmeal he’s making on the stove, and comes over and put
s his hand on my head. “Are you getting swine flu?”
“Yes,” I say. This was not something I really thought of, but swine flu it is! “I’m getting swine flu. Someone at school told me their uncle had it, and I was hanging out with her a lot.” This isn’t even a lie. Someone at school did tell me her uncle had it. Of course, her uncle lives in South Dakota and was nowhere near the girl in question ever, but Tom doesn’t need to know that. Also I don’t think anyone even really gets swine flu anymore, and if they do, it gets knocked out with an antibiotic in, like, five seconds. Unless you have one of those rare, serious cases. Which I obviously do.
“Swine flu is totally going around,” Taylor says, coming into the kitchen. “And if you have it, please don’t get near me, since it’s going to be homecoming soon.”
“I won’t get near you,” I promise. I decide that if Tom thinks this new swine flu development is pretty serious, then I should start acting it. Plus I heard somewhere that serious swine flu can progress rapidly. “Oooh, my head,” I say, resting it on the table.
The phone rings then, and Tom reaches over me to get it.
“Hello? Hello? Oh, yes, hi, Richard. . . . Yes, she’s right here. Unfortunately, she’s not feeling well; we think it might be swine flu.” Tom turns around to stir the oatmeal.
Gasp! Tom is on the phone with my dad! Talking about how I have swine flu. I don’t think that’s going to go over so well. My dad is probably expecting me to be at school no matter what, even if I have, like, rubella or something. Not that I know what rubella is. I just know that it’s pretty bad, since you have to get vaccinated for it. Anyway, the point is, a little bout of swine flu is not going to be enough for my dad to think it’s okay for me to miss my time with Barb.
“Well, I know today is the day that You Girl is coming to her school, but if Samantha’s sick, then that takes precedence over— No, I will not ask her if she’s faking, that is not a very nice thing to even imply; Samantha would never— Why, yes, maybe you should call her mother on her cell phone, that might be a better—Hello? Hello? HELLO?”