Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) (10 page)

I consider this. If we go shopping, we’ll still be within cell phone range, whereas if we go out into the “wilderness” to hike and take photos like he suggested earlier, we might not be. Also it would take longer to get there and back. And I’m really hoping Harris wants to do something before the day is over.

“Sure,” I tell Dad. “Shopping is fine. But maybe we should invite Estelle to come along.”

Dad looks surprised. “Really? You want her to come?”

“Why not? She’s a fantastic shopper and she’s fun.” Okay, that might be overstating it, but it’s for Dad.

He looks like I just handed him a thousand dollar bill. “So you like her then?”

“Yeah, I like her. What did you think?” Okay, here I go lying again. I do not particularly like Estelle. In fact, I sort of dislike her a lot. But I do like that she occupies Dad and that frees me up a lot. I’ve decided that Estelle is a very handy woman to have around. Although I feel like a real hypocrite for thinking that.

“I just didn’t get the impression you were that fond of her.” Dad reaches for the phone. “I’m actually really relieved to hear this, Haley.”

I make what feels like a phony smile. “Tell her hey for me. I’ll go get ready.”

Back in my room I stare at myself in the mirror. Who am I? Who am I becoming? But then I think of Harris and decide I don’t really care. What matters most is keeping him. I want to keep him … maybe forever.

To that purpose I go shopping with Dad and Estelle again. Oh, Dad pulls his “I gotta check my e-mail and the stocks” routine again. But everyone seems happy and I actually score some new clothes out of the deal. Now that Harris is in my life, clothes seem more important than they did last week. And Estelle is great at finding the kinds of things that make me look hot and really show off my figure, which she keeps pointing out is “totally fabulous.”

So maybe I like Estelle after all. Mostly I’m relieved that her “little” brother (aka Uncle Buck) isn’t ratting on me for making out with Harris in the Wet Willie’s parking lot on Friday night. Somehow I know that wouldn’t sound good to my dad. And as it is, he seems to like Harris. I’d like to keep it that way. Perhaps I can keep it that way for years to come … because I truly think Harris and I are the real thing. I would never admit this to anyone (because it sounds so corny), but I want to marry that boy. I really, really do!

……….

My communication with Harris is minimal on Sunday, but at least he’s in touch and texts me that he got roped into some family function. I text him back saying I’m doing the same. Then he says he’ll call me later tonight.

So after dinner I go to my room on the pretense of homework, but keeping my phone at my elbow, I’m really surfing the Net and listening to music. It’s almost nine when my phone rings.

“I’ve missed you,” he says first thing.

“I missed you too.”

We talk about our day a bit, then we talk about each other — how much we like each other, how cool it is we’re together. Finally he says he needs to go and offers me a ride to school.

“Sounds good,” I say, although I want to jump up and down and squeal. He says what time, then we say a gushy good night, and I close my phone and fall onto my bed. He’s still into me! I am so happy. And I can’t believe I’m now one of those girls who gets to ride with her boyfriend to school. Life is good. I carefully lay out what I want to wear tomorrow. Thanks to today’s shopping spree, my closet is looking more like a real closet — and I feel like a real teenage girl. Not like the nun my mother was trying to force me to be.

On Monday morning, I head down to the parking lot at the time Harris told me. I could wait to see if he comes up to get me, but it’s really no trouble to go down there. He’s a few minutes late and seems surprised that I’m waiting for him.

“Sorry I’m late.” He pulls into the street. “But you could’ve waited in the house. I would’ve called you.”

“Oh.” I nod. I probably looked overeager by standing in the parking lot. “I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice day all right.”

We make small talk as he drives, but at the stop sign, his hand wanders over and he gives my thigh a squeeze. “I missed you, Haley.”

I smile. “Me, too.”

At school he comes around and opens my door, helps me out, and then pulls me into his arms. “I really missed you,” he says passionately. Now we kiss and I feel myself melting again. Part of me wants to glance around to see if anyone is looking. Another part of me doesn’t care in the least.

“We better get to class,” I finally tell him as I pull away.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds husky. “I guess so.”

We hold hands as we walk into school, and I try to keep a perfectly natural expression on my face. I want to act like this is no big deal, like I’ve had lots of boyfriends and Harris is just one more. But underneath my cool veneer, I am trembling with excitement. This is so cool.

I can feel people looking at us. Some with mild interest. Others, like Emery’s friends, openly stare. A few say hey and we greet them back. Harris seems a little nervous too. But he walks me all the way to my locker and plants another kiss on my lips. “See ya later, Haley.”

I open my locker, resisting the urge to stick my head inside and giggle with glee, and I remove what I need, then close it. When I turn around, Emery is looking at me. It’s not a mean look exactly. More like she’s curious or confused. I attempt a weak smile in her direction. She seems to take that as an invitation and comes over.

“I’m not blaming you for the breakup,” she tells me evenly. “Everyone knows it was just a matter of time with Harris and me.” She looks around, as if wanting to see if anyone else is listening. “But just so you know, I will get him back … eventually.”

My brows arch but I try not to look alarmed. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

She nods. “We most definitely will.”

Now I force a bigger smile. “I’m just glad you’re not mad at me. I really didn’t want to make any enemies.”

She smiles back and I’m surprised at how truly pretty she is — strikingly pretty. “No, I don’t like to make enemies either. At least we agree on that.” She turns and walks away, holding her head high. Her confidence shakes me, but I try to act like I’m unaffected, like I don’t feel like a peasant in front of the queen.

Don’t be ridiculous,
I chide myself. Emery isn’t superior to me or anyone. It’s just that she acts like she is — oh, in a sugar-coated, friendly way — but it’s not like I have to buy into it. Besides, I have Harris.

Lunchtime is a little precarious. I’ve decided to remain low-key, hoping I can stay beneath Saundra’s and some of the others’ radar. I wait for Harris to come into the cafeteria, then follow his lead as we get our food and go to the regular table.

“Oh, look, here comes the happy couple,” someone says.

Now we get some teasing tossed our way. Some good-natured jabs, some with sharper barbs attached. But after a while they seem to grow bored and start talking about last week’s game and how this week’s is even more important.

“Having a new girlfriend better not slow you down,” one of the guys says to Harris.

“Don’t worry.” Harris gently elbows me. “This girl is keeping me in shape.” He chuckles like this is a private joke, so I laugh too.

This evokes some off-color comments and jokes, and my cheeks burn. I can also feel Emery’s eyes on me. I know what’s going on too — I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. Everyone here is assuming Harris and I have had sex. Part of me thinks I should just go along with this charade, but another part of me wants to raise my hand and make a statement of innocence. Naturally, I listen to the first part.

Somehow I make it through lunch with a smidgeon of dignity attached. Harris walks me to class and kisses me, and I think maybe I can keep up this charade after all.

“So you’ve gone ahead and done it,” Poppie says to me in art class.

“Done what?”

“Gone all the way over to the dark side.”

“Huh?” I select a very thin watercolor brush, then give her a blank look.

“You and Harris Stephens, you’re a couple now.”

“Oh.” I just shrug, heading back to the worktable. “Is there a law against that?”

“Not if you want to ruin your life.”

I turn and stare at her. “Ruin my life? Don’t you think that’s being a little melodramatic?”

She makes an uneasy smile as she sits down. “Maybe so. But I’ve heard things about Harris, how he rolls. I just didn’t think you were like that, Haley.”

“Me neither,” Zach says as he joins us at the table.

“It’s touching that you two are so interested in my private affairs.” I sit down too. “But I really think you should get a life of your own.”

“Ooh.” Zach pulls his head back like I just zapped him.“Ouch.”

“Excuse us for caring about you,” Poppie says.

“I think it’s sweet that you care,” I tell her. “But I just don’t get why you’re so worried. Harris is a great guy. We had a wonderful weekend and — ”

“Really?” Zach leans forward with way too much interest. “What did you and Harris do this weekend?”

“None of your business,” I sweetly tell him.

“Aw.” He makes a face.

“Well, I just hope you know what you’re getting into.” Poppie dips her brush in water, then turns her focus onto her painting of an old building.

“What she said.” Zach’s expression gets serious. “Watch out.”

I roll my eyes, then divert my attention to my own piece. I’m painting an old rusty pickup parked in the middle of a field, with crows sitting on it. I found the picture in a magazine and for some reason liked it. Maybe I’ll mat and frame it and give it to Harris when it’s finished.

After school Harris meets me in the hallway. “I have practice, you know,” he tells me, “but I’ll call you after, okay?”

“Okay.”

He leans in and kisses me, long and passionately, and I wish he didn’t have to go to practice. But I just smile and tell him, “Later.” As I walk to my locker, I feel like I’m walking on clouds. I’m beginning to understand all the clichés people use to describe love. It’s like I’ve finally been allowed into this secret universe — and I like it here.

When I open my locker, a folded piece of white paper slides out. I bend to pick it up, thinking it’s an assignment sheet that slipped out of my notebook, but it’s actually a note — to me. It’s not handwritten but printed in just a regular font, and glancing to the bottom, I see it’s unsigned. Apparently whoever wrote it wants to remain anonymous. Sensing someone (maybe even the writer of this note) is watching me, I shove it into my bag, grab what I need, then close my locker. When I turn around, I just see the usual people milling about. I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, then holding my head high, like I’ve seen Emery do, I walk down the hallway and exit the school.

I don’t mind walking home from school, and really it’s much better than the bus. The condo’s not far from school, and as long as the weather is like today, it’s actually quite pleasant. Besides, it helps me clear my head. Maybe someday I’ll even hang out and watch football practice, although I don’t want to look like a groupie. But it could be fun.

However, at the moment, all I want to do is read the contents of that mysterious letter. I would’ve read it at school except I’m worried it’s a hate letter — maybe written by an Emery fan. I didn’t want to give anyone the pleasure of seeing me get undone by their words. I’m tempted to pull it out right here on the street, but I really want to read it in the privacy of my own home. So I pick up the pace.

Finally I’m inside the condo, digging through my bag for the letter. I unfold it and begin to read.

Dear Haley,

I probably shouldn’t be writing this to you, but I am. I know you’re new here and you don’t know everyone in school — not the way I do. So I want to give you a friendly word of warning. You seem like a nice girl and you probably have no idea that Harris Stephens is dangerous. Very dangerous. I’m warning you to watch out and, if you’re smart, I’m advising you to break up with him. The sooner the better. Believe me, if you don’t you will be sorry. Very sorry. I hope you will take this warning seriously. Those who play with fire will get burned — and you will be no different. Lose him while you can.

Sincerely,

X

I’m not sure what a poison-pen letter is, but this one feels toxic to me. What kind of lowlife would write something like this? It’s so creepy; I don’t even want to touch it. And I’m determined to destroy it. But I decide to read it once more just to see if I can guess who wrote it and why. I read it again, more slowly, and try to imagine someone like Emery or one of her close friends writing something like this, but it just seems weird.

Still, I do remember the determined look in Emery’s eyes when she told me she’d get Harris back. Perhaps she’d stoop to writing a threatening letter. That’s what this feels like. Oh, the writer can call it a warning, like she cares about me, but it’s really a fear tactic. Someone wants to scare me away from Harris. Probably so Emery can have him back.