Please Don't Tell Part 7

"For your sweatshirt?"

He holds up a grainy printer-paper black-and-white copy of- No. No, how?

"You were so messed up yesterday, and I didn't even know for sure what I saw . . ." He kind of hugs himself. "But this photo I found in my locker-it was in your bag yesterday, wasn't it?"

I wrench open my backpack, find the envelope, grope for the edges of the photos and count. One's missing.

Preston. He took one last night, he made copies. He was so afraid I wouldn't do it.

How long would it take to slip one through the slats of every locker in the school?

"This is the princ.i.p.al. Is this real?" Levi holds the copy away like it's poisonous. "Did you put this in my locker?"

I can't speak, can't move.

Upstairs: the echo of the bus arrival stampede, everyone piling inside, shedding jackets. I start to walk, run. Have to find Savannah, have to get her out of the school- "Joy?" he asks, but I'm down the hall, fighting through the ma.s.ses.

And then a hundred locker doors open at once.

FIVE.

June 30 Grace "ONE STRAWBERRY SOFT SERVE, ONE VANILLA with rainbow sprinkles." Joy glances at me eagerly.

One childhood, two children: extra large ice-cream cones. Strawberry for her. Vanilla for me. "I don't want one."

"Grace, seriously. Stop it. You're not fat."

Which is something people always say to confirm that, yes, being fat is as bad as you think it is.

"One small," I tell the girl behind the counter.

We sit in our old corner booth. The red pleather is peeling now. There's more gum wadded to the underside of the table. When we were little, Joy would steal the cherry on Dad's sundae and hold it out to me, but I'd shake my head. I could always tell when she wanted something for herself. Sometimes they'd give us free ice cream for never ever fighting.

Joy bites into her ice cream with her front teeth. "Remember that time we were spitting sprinkles and nailed that bald dude's head?"

"That was just something you were doing."

She doesn't hear me. "And he wanted Dad's phone number to get us in trouble, and I gave him the number for that s.e.x hotline? This place is the best."

My ice cream's melting. Dripping on my thumb. I tear open a pack of sanitary wipes from my bag. When I told her I needed to talk, she insisted we come here.

"Remember when they had that sundae-eating contest, like if you could eat the whole thing, you wouldn't have to pay for it? And Mom and Dad were freaking out because they thought we wouldn't finish, but then I did?"

She's the hero of our childhood. The best part of every story. The knight in every game we played. I was the princess, and the point of me was to be afraid of dragons. But what does the princess do while the knight is having adventures? n.o.body sees her.

"Do you know how many calories are in that?" I ask.

She shrugs, her ice cream half-gone already. "What did you want to tell me?"

Soon I'll have to eat mine or throw it away.

"I have a thing for this guy," I mumble.

"Oh my G.o.d, Grace! What guy?"

I brace myself. "Adam Gordon."

"Him? That guy is such a d.i.c.k."

I shrivel up. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Duh." She tosses back her hair. Curly and wild. I flat-iron mine straight every morning. Forty-five minutes.

"You're not always so good at secrets."

"I am too! Well, no, I'm not. But you're the only person I'd get better for." She crunches cone. "Can we go back to him being a d.i.c.k, though? Nov hates him."

"So?"

"I trust her taste in people."

My stomach is a hard rock. "November hates everybody."

"She doesn't hate me," she says a little smugly.

"You're so special."

"Why are you so weird about her?"

"She's the weird one." I don't like what I'm saying, but I say it anyway. "She was out of school for her whole soph.o.m.ore year and n.o.body knows why. Supposedly she was into drugs."

"So?"

"It's just-November, and Preston, they're both . . . kind of . . . What was wrong with our old friends? Lily and Cat? And Brodie?" I ask.

"Those were your old friends."

"You liked them in middle school."

"They stopped talking to me when I didn't get into your honors cla.s.ses. And then I noticed, surprise, I didn't even have any of my own friends, because I always hung around with yours. So don't be weird about Nov and Pres."

How did I not know any of this?

"You wanna know how I met Pres?" she asks. "He hates gore, right? And one day I see Adam waving some gross picture of guts from a bio textbook in his face. So I yelled at Adam. Like, what the f.u.c.k?"

"You hold on to things," I say, but what do I really know about Adam? Just stupid fantasies. Nothing real, other than that five-minute conversation.

"I don't forgive people for f.u.c.king with my friends. So that's why it's a big deal that I'm gonna give Adam another chance."

My stomach uncoils. "Really?"

"You're my sister. If you like him, I like him." She smiles at me. "Or I'll try, anyway. That'll be important for when we make him like you. I guess it's kind of perfect! Adam and Ca.s.sius. We'll have that whole twins-dating-best-friends thing."

Could I trust her with more than just this? I'm trying to find the right way to start when her eyes widen. I turn and look over my shoulder. The warmth disappears. November Roseby has just walked into the Ice Cream Palace.

"Quick," she hisses. "Do I have stuff on my face?"

"You're acting like you have a crush."

She shushes me and jumps up, waving and hurrying over to November. Apparently we're not talking about Adam anymore. I get up and throw my ice cream away while she's not looking.

November moseys over like she's too cool to move any faster.

"You got my text," Joy's crowing.

She invited her? I told her I needed to talk, and she invited November?

"I got your text." November casually steals a lick from the bottom of Joy's cone. She hasn't taken off her sungla.s.ses. She has one of those haircuts where part of her scalp is buzzed. Several of her braids are dyed green. She has three holes in each ear. Rubber bands on each wrist.

What's so great about her?

"So what's up?" Joy sits down with her. Loops her arm over the back of the booth, then takes it back. Adjusts her ma.s.ses of hair. I have a feeling November likes how hard she's trying.

"Arguing with my a.s.shat dad, as usual." November yawns, but her shoulders are rigid. "Officer Roseby was bragging about his old arrest record. I pointed out that America has more prisoners per capita than any other country. He told me I'm turning into one of those sa.s.sy black girls."

"Are you kidding me?" Joy yells. "I hate him so much. G.o.d."

She doesn't weigh her words like I weigh mine. But all her words are light, no matter what they are. They soar out of her. Mine are always so heavy.

"He's like a h.o.a.rder," says November. "He has a copy of the arrest record of everyone he's ever arrested. Like a serial killer keeps trophies."

If I tap my knee on the underside of the table twenty times before Joy finishes her ice cream, November will go away.

"He's so white," Joy says. "He probably wears salmon shorts when he's not in uniform. And spends, like, half his paycheck on fancy cheese."

"Joy, you're white," I say, just to keep from vanishing.

She turns pink. November laughs. Slow. Warm. She tips her sungla.s.ses down. "I like you."

It's like a decree of approval from the universe. Joy beams.

"You're supersmart, yeah?" November says. "Heard you get these wild test scores."

I am now officially present and accounted for in the conversation.

Though my test scores should be better.

"I dig your makeup," she adds.

There's too much of it, Adam told me.

Joy gives November her special look that she's only ever given me. The you-are-perfect look. Makes you want to do anything to keep from shattering that illusion. But I'm not perfect, not on the inside, so November can't be, either.

"You're my two favorite people in the entire world, you know that?" Joy says. "And now we're all hanging out. We gotta hang out more this summer, the three of us. I'd invite Pres, but he hates people. Oh! I just had the best idea."

Oh no.

November knocks Joy's shoulder with her fist. "Yeah?"

"I think the three of us should make something out of this summer."

What's wrong with the two of us?

"I think this should be the summer of misdeeds," she keeps going. "Grace, you've been studying forever. We need to do some exciting stuff. Like getting you drunk, Grace, for the first time. Or maybe trying, like, weed. Doesn't matter. But seriously, we're going to be juniors. You need to loosen up or you're gonna regret being so flawless in high school."

"Corrupting you will keep me from getting too bored," November offers.

"Yes! You can find us cool parties to go to. We'll find the boys to make out with." She winks at me. Apparently we are still talking about Adam. "It'll help with all your stress."

"I don't know, Joy." She loves being the one who slashes through the jungle with a machete. Forging a path. Pulling me on.

"She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do," says November.

"Right." Joy's eyebrows dive down. "Sorry."

Two possible summers. One spent listening to her window open across the hall, the sound of her slipping away while I'm in bed by nine. More distance between us. Or I can become a girl who gets high test scores and sneaks out at midnight. Who reads philosophy books and does drugs. The kind of girl every musician boy wants. An interesting girl.

I sit up straighter. "No, it's fine. Maybe. The drinking, I mean. Possibly. We could try."

"Yes!" Joy punches the air. "Mom and Dad are gonna be so p.i.s.sed that I'm leading you into a life of sin."

Is this just a way for her to get back at Mom and Dad?

"And you'll have stories to tell Adam on your first date with him-"

I stare at her. So much for secrets.

"What's the look?" she adds, then gasps. Mimes zipping her lips. "Sorry. Sorry."

"You like Adam Gordon?" November hardens.