S.E.C.R.E.T. (Secret 1)

“Kit!”

“Jesus crap,” she groaned, rolling over onto her side.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I broke my ass!”

I clambered down the remaining steps to her. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Let me help you!”

By then Angela, in four-inch stilettos, was making her way carefully down, a bright pink boa draped over her shoulders and wrapped around her wrists.

Kit lay perfectly still. “Don’t move me, Ange. Oh. This isn’t good. It’s not my ass. It’s my tailbone.”

“Oh dear!” Angela cried, crouching over her. “Can you sit up? Can you feel your legs? Are you seeing double? Who am I? Who is the president? Should I call an ambulance?”

Without waiting for a reply, Angela made her unsteady way to the kitchen phone. I watched Kit attempt to right herself, wince, and lay back down.

“Cassie,” she whispered.

I crawled closer. “What is it, Kit?”

“Cassie … this floor … is really dirty.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I said. I was about to take her hand to console her, when I noticed her fall had caused one of her wristbands to shift, exposing a portion of a shiny gold bracelet—a S.E.C.R.E.T. bracelet! Covered in charms!

A look passed between us.

“What the—?”

“My ass is just fine, Cassie. And one more thing,” Kit whispered, crooking her finger to bring me closer. I leaned towards her lipsticked mouth. “Do you … accept your final Step?”

“Do I what? With you? I mean, you’re adorable and everything, Kit, but—”

A smile played across her lips as she sat up. “Relax, I’m not a participant. But I have been asked to nudge you forward. You’re almost there, girl. Now’s not the time to back down. Not when it’s about to get really fun!”

When we heard Angela returning from the kitchen, Kit collapsed back to the floor, fake-groaning all over again.

“This is a problem,” Angela said, hands on her hips.

“I know. I mean, who will dance in my place?” Kit asked, an arm dramatically flung over her eyes. “Who can we get on such short notice?”

“I don’t know,” said Angela.

Was she in on this too?

“I mean, who do we know who’s free tonight? And cute? And could totally fit into my costume?” Kit asked.

“Hard to say,” said Angela, never taking her mischievous eyes off me.

I’d known Kit for years, but I thought she’d always been like this: confident, dynamic, strong. To be in S.E.C.R.E.T., she must have gone through a time of great fear and self-doubt. Yet she showed no sign of that now. Then there was Angela, a stunning example of physical perfection if t

here ever was one. Yet knowing what I knew about S.E.C.R.E.T and how they pick participants, why was I still so surprised to find that when the pink boa slipped off her arms, Angela was wearing a bracelet too?

“All righty, then,” said Angela, extending her hand to help me up from where I was crouched next to Kit. “Upstairs with you, missy. We have some new steps to learn.”

“But … your bracelets? Are you two—?”

“There’ll be lots of time for questions later. Now we dance!” she said, snapping her fingers like a flamenco dancer.