The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (ebooks online reader .TXT) 📗

look toward the fire alarm light. It isn’t flashing.

Katherine asks, “Why were you shouting?”

Was I? Shouting?

I look out at the students. Did one of them shout? They all appear to be awaiting an explanation. From me?

From me.

“Sorry, I just…” I have no words. I turn away, avoiding the pressure of their glares, the questions in Katherine’s gaze, the judgment in everyone’s mind. I fold up the map, quickly, quietly, and keep it clenched in my fist.

“Look, I get it,” she says, softening her voice.

I want to block my ears.

“The transition to working the overnight shift isn’t an easy one,” she continues. “It can make everyone a little off-kilter.”

Is that what this is? If so, what does it mean? That when I look at the folded-up piece of paper again, after some rest, it won’t be a map?

Katherine continues to talk, but I’m no longer listening. I’m focused instead on the table of girls by the photocopy machine. Jessie’s there. They’re all laughing at something, sneaking peeks in my direction. Did one of them do this?

Katherine’s still talking: “It isn’t right for everybody. Why don’t you take the rest of the shift off and try to get some sleep? I don’t mind. Miguel’s here early anyway.”

I manage a nod, sucking back tears. I don’t even clock out. I just head for the door, eager to get inside my car.

But I’m intercepted along the way. A dark-haired girl with big purple glasses, one of the girls from the laughing table. I look over from where she came. The others are watching. Jessie pulls down the visor of her cap to shield her face as though I haven’t already spotted her.

“Do you know this book?” the girl asks me.

It’s only then I notice. The front cover. The blazing title. Burning Down the House. It doesn’t go away, no matter how many times I blink.

My head starts to spin. I take a step back, able to feel the cover’s penetrating heat.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl mutters. “My friend put me up to this. Can you just give it a good look and then I’ll get out of your way? Sorry,” she says again. “This wasn’t my idea. I’m not even sure what it means.”

I cover my ears and back away some more, able to hear a blaring siren inside my head.

Fire, fire, fire.

Fire: inside my heart, searing my lungs, collapsing my ribs.

I struggle to take a breath as the girl goes back to the table.

Someone asks, “Terra, are you okay?” A male or a female.

I can’t quite tell. I don’t stop to check. Somehow, I end up back in my car, where I turn on the engine and lock all the doors.

Why, why, why?

Why would Jessie do this?

Why do I let it burn me? It’s not as if I don’t know Jessie’s secrets too, as if I didn’t sit with her on the floor of the locker room as she cried about being abandoned by her mother at ten months old. This obviously wasn’t the first time she betrayed our friendship. Back at Emo, when Ms. Melita, one of the group counselors, pulled me aside and suggested I seek out more compatible peers, I still glommed on to Jessie’s sparkling ways—one day getting me out of cleanup duty, the next sneaking us into the teachers’ room, where we scarfed down pound cake and cheese puffs.

“You have to choose who you allow to hear your story,” Ms. Melita said, after Jessie had made a comment in group about “some of us” being pyromaniacs.

“It was a joke.” Jessie laughed when I called her on it later. “Lighten up. Why do you always have to be so serious?”

I miss Ms. Melita a lot. But, even sadder, I miss Jessie too.

The folded-up piece of paper is still wadded in my grip. I open it up, hoping that here, in the safety of my mom’s Subaru, things will look so much different, become so much clearer. But unfortunately, they don’t.

The map is still a map.

And I am still me.

NOW

27

As soon as I get back to my aunt’s house, I grab the yoga blanket and go upstairs to my room, where I log on to Jane. Peyton isn’t in the chat room, but she’s left me a message.

Hey, Terra,

I got your msg. You aren’t on right now, so I’m thinking you might be working (???). I’m about to take a nap, but as soon as I get up I’ll go in the chat room and stay until I see you. I hope things have gotten better. I’m still freaking, btw. At least we’re freaking out together.

Xoxoxo!

Love,

Peyton

As I wait, I start season two of Summer’s Story. But I’m not sure how far I actually get, because the next thing I know, the episode’s stopped.

It’s light outside my window. Somehow, I managed to drift off to sleep. I check the chat screen:

RainyDayFever: I ended up feeling so overwhelmed that I ate two pints of ice cream.

LuluLeopard: Which flavors?

RainyDayFever: To be honest, I’m not even sure. I wasn’t paying attention. I just kept shoveling cold and sugary goodness into my mouth.

LuluLeopard: Lol!

NightTerra: Hey, everyone.

Paylee22: Terra, so glad to see you!!!

A message bubble from Peyton pops up on my screen: an invitation to go into a private chat room. I click the link.

Paylee22: Hey, are you there?

NightTerra: Yes, here.

Paylee22: Sorry I missed you before.

Paylee22: How are you? What’s going on?

NightTerra: You first.

Paylee22: You sure?

Paylee22: Ok, so, I found something. That page in my mailbox … About the junkyards. It had a message.

Paylee22: It said, “To be continued.”

NightTerra: Wait, what?

Paylee22: When you look at the page up close, you can see that some of the letters have been shaded in with pencil. When you put all those shaded letters together, in order, they spell out “to be continued”!!!

Paylee22: But don’t take my word for it …

Peyton posts a photo in the chat box. I click to enlarge it; it’s a picture of the page from the nonfiction book about junkyards. I give the page a