Best Kept Secret (2 page)

“Be careful,” I said, through my puffed-up lip.

Some days, life will surprise you, my mom always says. Yeah, right. I just got swarmed by a bunch of angry bees for no good reason. Maybe they sniffed my desperate feelings for Forrest? And just when I thought things couldn't get any crazier, Forrest loaded my bike into the trunk and slid into the backseat right next to me.

“Forrest's coming along for the ride,” Mrs. McCann said. “I'm taking him to get his retainer fitted.”

In the car, I kept the ice on my lip, mostly to hide my deformity from Forrest.
Ask about the For Sale sign,
I told myself. But I just couldn't. Anytime I was this close to him, I felt strange. But it was good, too, because I often came away with evidence that he was just an actual guy, not a movie-star-perfect guy like I sometimes made him out to be in my head. For one thing, in the car, I noticed he had a crusty scab on his knee. And for another, he smelled a little like wet dog. He was still hot as ever, of course, but I was definitely getting a “dog-after-a-rainstorm” odor.

I tried to form any kind of sentence, to think of anything worth saying, but failed. The one time I was brave enough to look at him, he was smirking.

“Are you laughing at me?” I said.

“No … but it
is
a little funny. A swarm of bees? Like in a cartoon?”

“Forrest,” his mom said, trying to cut him off.

I smiled a little in response—as much as I could smile, seeing that one of my lips was the size of a snow tire.

“You know, I'm giving everyone at school nicknames,” Forrest said. “So I'm thinking of one for you.”

Please, please don't let it be dork or doofus or Fatty McFat Lip or Flatty McFlat Chest.
Forrest looked thoughtful and then turned toward me. I braced myself.

“I think I'll call you … ‘Buzzy.' ”

Three

In all, the Pink Locker Web site was out of business for five weeks. When we restarted, we wished we could have a grand reopening celebration, but we needed to keep it a secret. No one knew, except us—and all the girls who wrote into us with questions. (Bless them for continuing to send in questions, even when the site looked totally closed!)

But even our most devoted fans didn't know who the members of the PLS were. That was—and is—super secret. And no one seemed to notice that Kate, Piper, and I disappeared during study hall. But we were no longer hiding behind our pink locker doors in our plush office.

We didn't know if Principal Finklestein knew about the office hidden away behind our lockers, but we didn't want to risk it. Plus, we were afraid of what we might find in there! Of course, we wondered what Edith—our main point of contact and a former “Pinky”—was up to. We didn't know how much she knew or if she had somehow been told that the school had shut us down. I assumed she knew something, because she once told us there were other former Pinkies “on the inside” at our school. Edith sounded old enough to be someone's grandma. Back when school first started, she set everything up for us—the Web site and our beautiful office.

We felt we had no choice, so we found an alternate location. It's … unglamorous, to say the least. Our old office had super comfy chairs, a big glass meeting table, monogrammed towels, and snacks. This one, the old bomb shelter in the school basement, lacks a decorator's touch. But it's quiet, and we knew no one would come down here.

So in this dingy setting, we're secretly researching questions and answering them on our Web site. For instance:

•
How do you open a locker? I try to follow the instructions but I always end up late for class.

•
Do I have to wear a sports bra when I play sports?

•
I like my BFF's crush. What should I do?

Curiously, we continue to get a few questions from boys. They don't write as often as girls do, and they usually aren't as descriptive, but I guess they need help, too. I wonder if they feel weird writing into the
Pink
Locker Society. It's something I wanted to ask Forrest about, but I didn't. I could have asked Jake, the other boy on my radar, but I didn't ask him either. I knew Jake sorta liked me, so I avoided too many just-me-and-him talks. Do you wonder what questions boys ask? Some of their questions were:

•
I like this girl, but she only wants to be friends. How can I change her mind?

•
How can I grow taller and get a six-pack?

•
Can I go to a school dance if I can't dance?

I suggested we put up a notice that said “Only Girls Allowed.” But Piper and Kate said we should try to help boys, too, when possible. So the vote was two to one. We have a fourth member, Bet, but she wasn't there to vote.

We hadn't told Bet what we were up to yet, but I knew she had suspicions. In my opinion, she didn't have time for the PLS after she won the honor of hosting a show on Margaret Simon Middle School TV. Bet's show was broadcast on our school's in-house channel, MSTV, every Friday afternoon.

Her first show revealed Forrest McCann's girlfriend, Taylor Mayweather, as a hacker. She's the one who made all those mean comments about the girls who wrote in to the PLS site looking for answers. Taylor called the girls “la-ha-losers” and told them to give up if they, let's say, had too many freckles or liked their older brother's best friend. Ugh! She made me so angry. Let me count the reasons:

1. Because she liked to embarrass people (especially me!);

2. Because she never got punished for hacking into our site;

3. Because after all that, she was still Forrest's girlfriend.

Now that we were up and running again, I wasn't worried about Taylor hacking in again. She said she'd “been there, done that.” But I was worried instead about other unknowns.

Like, would Principal Finklestein discover us? He had sent a letter home to our parents saying we should “put this whole business behind us.” His letter, which he told us to destroy after reading, also said that the PLS Web site contained “potentially offensive material.”

Other than Principal F., I worried that just operating the PLS put us in potential danger. The PLS closed down in 1976 under suspicious circumstances. No one seemed to know why. Was someone out to get the PLS, and would they come after us, too?

I also stressed about Edith. Would we ever talk to her again, and would she be angry with us? We could have issued a PLS-SOS, but I once heard that it's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. What if we told her what we're doing and she said no? What if she was really mad at us for getting caught in the first place?

OK, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I was also worried my mom and dad would find out. They were not exactly pleased when the principal came to our house. They gave me a million different reasons why I shouldn't have done what I did. But now we were out there on our own, dancing on a thin pink wire.

Four

News flash: Forrest McCann broke up with Taylor Mayweather!

The news flew in my ears, my brain, and then up and down every nerve in my body. I overflowed with emotion. I could barely speak, but at the same time I couldn't wait to talk about it. One problem: I was inside a bathroom stall.

Outside by the sinks, Taylor was talking to Tia. I heard her say, “Yeah, he broke up with me, but it was kind of like he was cheating on me.”

“Forrest was two-timing you?” Tia asked, as if that was so impossible to imagine.

“Not exactly,” Taylor said, “Music is his other girlfriend. That stupid guitar—it's all he wants to talk about or do. Now, who am I going to ask to the Backward Dance?”

First, Piper. Now, Taylor. It seemed like everyone knew about Forrest's guitar playing except for me. (His band is another thing I should have asked him about that day in the car after the bee attack.) I wondered if I should quickly pick up some easy-to-learn instrument, like the triangle, and ask if I could join his band. The Backward Dance was another question. I also wondered if I should ask Forrest to go with me before someone else got to him first.

Here's what's backward about the Backward Dance: Girls have to ask the boys. Of course, technically, girls can always ask boys, but hardly anyone does. Why is that? And why didn't Taylor say anything about Forrest moving? Maybe he broke up with Taylor because he was leaving town, and she didn't even know!

But the answers to all those questions would have to come later. I first had to figure out how to gracefully exit my bathroom stall. Should I have bolted out and washed my hands like I hadn't heard a thing? I had been so very quiet: I didn't even tear a square of toilet paper while I eavesdropped. I would have startled them if I had just darted out. I probably should have cleared my throat when I was in the middle of listening in, so they'd have known they weren't alone.

Instead, I stood there, pants zipped, wishing I could wait in the stall until they left. But time was too tight and I had to get to gym class. I fake-coughed, flushed, and tried not to make any eye contact as I washed and dried my hands. Taylor and Tia said nothing to me or each other. As I placed two hands on the exit door, my grin was a mile wide.

At study hall, I followed my usual routine, sneaking behind the cafeteria to the dank staircase that leads to the new Pink Locker “office.” But it was hard to stay focused. Our underground location didn't help. I wished I could open my locker, open the funny alphabet combination lock, and return to our fancy offices behind the pink locker door. The bomb shelter basement was a major step down. Actually, it was thirteen dusty, creepy steps down.

When I arrived for today's meeting, Piper and Kate were already there. They were sitting around the makeshift desk we made out of massive packages of paper towels. The lighting was low budget—single lightbulbs with hanging pull strings. I was going to tell them about Forrest, but it was clear they already knew. Kate bounded up to me. “Did you hear? Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” I said, playing dumb.

“About Forrest? He's a free man. He dumped Taylor.”

“Yes, I guess I did hear something about it,” I said. And then I couldn't take it anymore and I grabbed both of Kate's hands and started jumping up and down with excitement, like I had just won a game-show grand prize.

“Shh! We should get to work,” Piper interrupted. “You won't believe how many questions came in overnight.”

Get to work? Piper?

Piper almost never wanted to work. She was queen of goofing off. But there she was, laptop open and humming, waiting for us like a teacher annoyed at her chitchatting class.

“First question: ‘I am gaining weight, my boobs are growing, and my clothes don't fit. I know everyone says this is normal. Some of my friends say they're jealous, but I don't like my new, bigger body. What do I do?' ” Piper said.

“I'll take that one,” I said, even though it would be hard for me to identify with this fast-blooming girl. I am the slowest-blooming girl I know.

“Hey, did we get any more of those weird e-mails?” Kate asked.

“Define weird,” Piper said.

I knew what Kate meant. After our first week running the new adult-free PLS, we had received a couple messages that said stuff like “Shut down the PLS, girls! It's for your own good!”

“Yeah, there was one, but I think someone's just having fun with us,” Piper said. “They're always signed ‘A Pink Friend.' It's probably Taylor Mayweather again.”

That was so typical of Piper. Worrying was not her thing. But I, for one, was worried. And much as I didn't like Taylor, I doubted it was her. She wouldn't call us “girls” and she was far too dramatic to send in an anonymous message only three people would read. If Taylor was going to be mean, she wanted to be seen. I wondered if it was Edith, trying to get a message to us.

“Second question,” said Piper. “ ‘My mom won't let me shave my legs. What do I do?' Third question: ‘I'm too shy to invite anyone to the Backward Dance. Can you help?' ”

Kate took those two and we moved on with business as usual. Piper took a question from someone—a boy (shocker!). This one was upset that he had been given an unkind nickname, Iron Mouth, after he got braces.

I wasn't sure Piper was the best person to get that one. She was always gifted with the cutest nicknames. In fact, Forrest gave her the latest one. It was “Peas”—the sweet little green vegetable. She's Piper Pinsky, so it started out as “Ps,” as in two Ps. But then Piper said she didn't want anyone to think her nickname was “P.P.,” like pee your pants, so Forrest changed it to Peas, like peas and carrots.

Peas was a much cuter nickname than Buzzy. For that and other reasons, I was becoming fed up with Piper, and more than a little bit jealous. By the end of the meeting, I was steaming. Why did she ignore my Forrest celebration? Why didn't she want me to be happy? When the bell rang, she quickly snapped the laptop closed and bounded up the staircase, not waiting for anyone. I tore after her and called her name, but in the noise of the crowded hallway, I guess she didn't hear me.

Five

On Friday afternoons at two thirty, every class takes a break to watch Margaret Simon TV's only show (besides the morning announcements in homeroom).
You Bet!
stars Bet Hirujadanpholdoi, who is my sorta friend. She's from Thailand and is both shy and not shy. Meet her for the first time and she'll hardly say a peep. But give her a reporter's notebook and a microphone and she's a tornado. Bet is actually in the PLS: She was invited in just like we were when school started. Being the new girl at school, she was sort of only half involved in the PLS, mostly because I didn't really welcome her with open arms.

But she floored me, and everyone else, when she investigated the PLS hacker, who turned out to be Taylor Mayweather. Has anyone ever heard of anything more rude? These girls wrote into us, putting their worries on display, and Taylor slammed them. Nice … real nice!