Secrets in the Attic (Secrets 1)

I shook my head, but reluctantly. It was as if I were confessing to a failure.

"You will," she said. "My guess is Karen already is. I know you spend a lot of time with each other. Does she bring up sexual things?"

"No!" I said. What an embarrassing question to ask me. Of course, we had some conversations about it, but I didn't want to describe that to my mother.

She smiled. She knew I wasn't telling the truth.

"I'm sure you two talk about boys. Don't worry about that. It's nominal."

"She doesn't like anyone at school, and neither do I," I said sharply, hoping that might end it, even though it didn't mean we refrained from talking about boys.

"You will," she said, with that adult confidence I despised because I didn't yet have it. "Some boy will suddenly look . . . interesting. Maybe it will be in his smile or in his voice or just the way he walks. You'll find yourself vying for his attention, blushing when you least expect it, and hoping he sees you as special, too." She smiled at me. "Are you sure that hasn't happened yet?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Why does all that have to, happen now, anyway?" I asked. "Maybe I'm different."

"I hope not!" she said, laughing "Girls who are that different when it comes to boys are persona non grata."

I had only a vague idea of what she meant. Back then, we were ages away from openly confronting homosexuality, especially in our small community. I had really heard about it only in reference to boys, anyway, who were derided as fairies, which made no sense to me, because fairies were magical.

"Maybe it won't happen to me for a much, much longer time," I suggested, only because I was telling the truth. It really hadn't yet, and I was afraid it never would.

"Not much longer," she said. "You're sculpturing," she added.

"Huh?"

"Your body is changing, Zipporah. We're not so unlike caterpillars and butterflies. You're emerging."

Was I? Was I finally emerging? Maybe she could see more than I could because she was a trained nurse, I thought.

"I've been watching Karen, and I can tell you she's becoming a beautiful young woman. Don't be disappointed if she suddenly pushes you aside or ignores you to spend more time with a boy. The same thing will happen to you, and you'll grow closer when you two can share that, but until then, she might be more secretive, more withdrawn. She's developing desire. When that happens to our daughters, we mothers can only hope we've given them enough common sense to protect themselves from getting into bad trouble."

"You mean getting pregnant, don't you?"

"I do. I don't want you to become the Ice Queen, but I do want you to think about the consequences of every action. Promise me you'll do that."

"Mama, I don't even have a boyfriend!" I protested.

"I told you, you will, and sooner than you think. You know," she continued, "that there are times of the month when a woman is more likely to get pregnant if she doesn't take precautions."

"Yes, I know," I said. "We learned all about that in biology class."

"There are things you just can't learn in a formal classroom setting, Zipporah. All this can happen so fast your head spins. A boy attracts your attention. You can't help wanting to be with him. You just naturally explore, push yourself toward your limits. Sometimes it all happens literally overnight."

I sat back. Was she right? Would it all just happen one day as she said, unexpected, sudden, like a bolt of lightning? Is that what had happened to Karen, and because it happened just out of the blue, I didn't notice? Who could she be with or care about without my knowing?

I thought back to my conversation with Alice Bucci in the boys' room when she took me in to see what had been written about Karen on the stalls. "You don't live with her," she had said. "Lots of people do lots of things secretly. Even their parents don't know."

Didn't I have to admit that I had secret thoughts I had never shared with Karen? Why couldn't the same be true for her?

"I hope Karen's mother has had a conversation like this with her," my mother said. "Has she?"

What if she hadn't? I thought. Was she in danger? Did I dare ask?

"I don't know."

"I want you to feel that you can come to me with any questions, any problems, Zipporah, anytime, okay?"

I nodded.