Secrets in the Attic (Secrets 1)

I made up my mind that the next day, I wouldn't be so forgiving, and I certainly wouldn't be as friendly.

I pouted and had trouble falling asleep thinking about it all. I had, after all, invested everything in this friendship, sacrificed many others, made myself as much of an outcast as Karen was, and denied myself all the social activities I could be enjoying. Soon, if not already, my name and all sorts of profanities would be written on the walls of stalls in the boys' bathroom.

I fell asleep feeling certain I had been betrayed.

I didn't feel much different in the morning. Luckily, it was Tuesday, and my mother had an early shift at the hospital, so she was on her way out by the time I went down to breakfast; otherwise, she would have been full of questions. My father was scurrying about, because he had to be in court in Kingston, a good hour and a half away. He barely noticed I was there. Before I was finished having breakfast, I was all alone.

I went out to wait for the school bus. Although it was late April, the mornings were still quite brisk, so I kept my scarf wrapped around my neck and wore gloves. After the snows of March melted, weeks of rain injected the trees and bushes with what my mother called a growth hormone. One morning, we awoke to see the forest thickened, the skeletonlike trees filling out with green. The very ground unfroze and came out of hibernation. It was easy to imagine the earth itself yawning and stretching and smiling up at the warmer sun.

I heard the bus rattle around the turn and saw it approaching my house. It slowed to a stop, and the doors opened. There were only a half dozen students on it, mostly junior high kids. I nodded at the bus driver and made my way toward the rear to plop down and wait for Karen so I could be dramatic and sulk.

My friendship wasn't going to be taken for granted, I thought as I hardened myself all the way into town.

Lots of other girls would like to be my friend, I told myself, especially if I stopped being Karen's best friend. I was so angry I even considered being friends with Alice Bucci.

I glanced at the students waiting for the bus in the village. I didn't want Karen to see me searching for her in the crowd, so I turned quickly and sat looking out of the opposite side. I wanted to be just like that, with my back to her, when Karen got on the bus and sat beside me. I'd wait for her to say good morning, and then I'd grunt or something. If she didn't apologize, I would pout the entire way to school.

I didn't look at the kids boarding. I waited until I heard the bus door close and the driver shift and start away. Then I turned and looked and saw that Karen wasn't sitting beside me. I searched the bus quickly and realized she wasn't sitting anywhere else, either.

She wasn't going to school, at least not on the bus.

My anger deflated like a balloon with a pinhole and was quickly replaced by frustration. I couldn't even show her I was angry at her.

She was staying home just so I couldn't, I decided. She was avoiding me before I could avoid her, I concluded, which brought back my anger.

I wore it all day, moping, keeping to myself, chiding myself until it exhausted me. Very few of the other kids even asked about her, and when any did, I just shrugged and said, "I don't know. How would I know?" They looked as if they resented my not knowing more than I did.

Despite myself, despite my wounded ego and sensitivity, at the end of the school day, I got off the bus in town and reluctantly walked to Karen's house to see why she hadn't attended school. My curiosity overpowered my indignation. I was disappointed in myself for needing her so much while she obviously didn't need me half as much.

I'm just a weak puppy, I thought, and chided myself all the way to her front door.

Little did I know how much she would come to need me and how much stronger than she was I would have to be.

4 Pretend Central

She's doing it again, I thought after pressing the doorbell and waiting and waiting.

I pressed it again.

And again.

And then I shouted. "I'm not leaving until you answer the door, Karen Stoker!"

Nothing stirred inside. The spring afternoon breeze made the weeping willow tree on the north side of the house nod. Behind me, a few cars went by on Main Street, and down the block, the four-year-old Lohan twins chased their puppy on the lawn, their squeals of laughter carried off in the breeze.

Where was she? Why hadn't she come to school? Why had she ignored me? The lazy sound of a lawn mower nearly drowned out my indignation. The scent of cut grass filled my nostrils. Even the birds on the telephone wires looked lazy and content. Right in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting, I was falling into a panic.

I cupped my hands around my face to block out the glare and looked through the living-room window, through the living-room door, and into the hallway.

It was dark, and I saw no one, but I returned to the doorbell anyway. This time, I kept my finger on it and heard it ringing and ringing. 1 began to think she wasn't home. No matter how she felt, she couldn't possibly tolerate someone being this insistent.

With my arms folded at my chest, I stood there glaring at the closed door as if it were someone preventing me from speaking or seeing Karen. I felt like kicking it. I was that frustrated.

Suddenly, the door opened, and she stood there in a nightgown looking out at me, her eyes blinking madly because of the bright afternoon sunshine. Her hair was down but unbrushed, and she was barefoot. Creases from a deep sleep were carved on the right side of her face along her temples and cheek.

"What do you want?" she demanded in a cranky voice.

"What's wrong with you? Why weren't you in school? Why wouldn't you see me last night?"