Secret Life (RVHS Secrets)

  SECRET LIFE

  By Bria Quinlan

  Copyright © 2013 Bria Quinlan

  Published by RogueGiraffe Books

  Cover by Okay Creations

  Edited by Harris Proofread

  Formatted by IndieMobi Ebook Formatting Services

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  I wish I could blame my mad dash to the restroom on what the school passed off as nutritional fare.

  Instead, it had everything to do with the girl strolling down the Senior Hall neatly tucked under Jared Parker’s arm. She gazed up at him, a silly grin mixed with bliss shining from her eyes for the perfect I’m-the-happiest-girl-here expression.

  Probably the same look I’d worn not even two weeks ago when school first started…and I was the girl tucked under his arm.

  I slammed the bathroom stall door behind me, throwing the lock with a hand that shook like the bleachers during a home game win. This was not what I needed. This was so not what I needed. There was no way a panic attack was taking me down after how far I’d come.

  I braced my hands against the door, forcing them to steady. Steady. Sometimes just not giving into the rush of sweat-drenching panic was a win.

  “Rachel?” Amy may be the best friend in the entire world, but she was also not what I needed right now. “Are you okay?”

  I wanted to answer her, to tell her I was fine and I’d see her in class, but the air—it wasn’t getting to my lungs. I guess I hadn’t noticed the lack of oxygen since I was too distracted by how my heart slammed against my ribs. Plus, I was hyperventilating louder than a warehouse exhaust fan. If I’d sworn on a stack of religious books that life was currently super dandy, Amy wouldn’t have believed me

  Hoovering in a breath, I lifted my unsteady hands to my chest to make sure my heart was still inside where it was supposed to be.

  “Yes.” Oh, Lord. I was anything but okay. “I’m all right.”

  Amy was the most considerate person I knew. I could almost see her through the chipped aluminum Hiney Hider door trying to figure out if she should accept it and go or push until I caved and spilled my guts…less literally this time.

  The panic attacks may be a get-over-get-around-get-through situation to me, but to Amy they were unheard of. As in, she’d never heard about them since I’d been hiding my disorder from her—from everyone—for years with the help of a monthly prescription and Emmy-worthy performances. I’m not sure which Dr. Meadows would give more credence to.

  “Okay…” She drew the word out like she wasn’t sure what the next one should be. Like she was searching and stalling and worrying all in that one word. “So, why don’t you come out and we’ll head to class?”

  My heart rate did the impossible and kicked up another speed to turbo beat. It actually hurt—and I don’t mean in the way it spazzed when Jared dumped me. I mean, oh no, should I be grasping my left arm and asking for aspirin while we wait for an ambulance hurt. I tried to chill everything out, slow everything down, find my calm—my window. It was there. I just needed a few quiet minutes to find it. I considered the stall’s latch but stayed, frozen, afraid to face her—or myself—out there.

  “Rachel?”

  I reached for the latch, but my hand shook so badly I looked like a junkie. God, I felt like a junkie. Maybe this was post-post-withdrawal. Coming off the meds had been not fun enough to replace root canals on my sucks-to-be go-to list.

  “I think I’m just going to stay in here a while.” Was that my voice? It didn’t sound like me. I thought it would to be stronger than that. I was stronger than that.

  I began to wonder if I’d really said anything as the silence drew out like someone forgetting their line in an already horrible school play.

  “You can’t hide in here all day.” The stall shook as Amy leaned against the other side. A deep sigh drifted through the door. “So, Jared has a new girlfriend? It isn’t a big deal. You’re always dating someone new. Just focus on who you’d like to have take you out next.”

  So says the girl dating Mr. Perfect. She’d had much drama while I was gone over the summer, but came out on the other side with Luke. She’d earned it after that ass she’d kinda-sorta-not-really-dated-but-got-painfully-led-on-by this summer.

  My summer? Yeah, not exactly that kind of dream come true. Not that I was going to tell Amy that. Ever. If I’d hidden my secret this long, there was absolutely no reason on the downside of the recovery hill to share now.

  “I know,” I said, even though I didn’t. Last year I’d dated constantly, my emotional reactions and panic triggers all numbed by a little daily pill. Jared had felt like a ballast after a long summer of trying to even out alone. Replacing that equilibrium was like trying to replace Tommy jeans from three seasons ago. Almost the same cut, but your butt looks just a tad bit not-as-good.

  Oh, and did I mention? Amy’s Mr. Perfect just happened to be Luke Parker, Jared’s older brother.

  “Yeah. It’s going to be fine.” Amy’s uncertainty drifted through the door. The truth was, she was right…or she should have been right. “You know, we should get to class.”

  Jared and New Girlfriend flashed through my mind. She’d been perfect. Tiny waist, perky boobs, and blonde frizz-free hair. Perfectly proportioned. Running my hand across my stomach, I shuddered. I’d never be that. I’d always have all these things wrong.

  I glanced down my arms—my very, very, very disproportionately long monkey-like arms—and wondered how I’d even found a shirt with sleeves to cover them. I forced myself to stop. Stop and back out of that thought. Logic and therapy told me I was wrong—that the misshapen monster I saw wasn’t the one everyone else saw.

  They didn’t see a freak whose body was messed up…arms, legs, head, stomach—all of them the wrong size, the wrong shape.

  I blinked, forcing that image stained on my mind away.

  “Amy, I just need to stay here, okay?” Please let her say okay. When she didn’t answer I felt like verbally kicking her out of the room. I was doing this as much for her as for me. She didn’t need to see the dark thoughts I carried in my mind. “Please. I just need to chill. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  The door shifted again as she straightened. Her feet took a step away from the space under the stall door.

  “You don’t want to miss Art, right?” I asked, knowing Amy’s one weakness. Well, her one academic weakness. Oil paints were her Kryptonite. “I’m totally good.”

  Lies. Lies. Lies.

  I watched her bag disappear from the little place beneath the door as she lifted it.

  “Okay. I’ll see you at lunch.” Her hesitation couldn’t have been clearer if she’d said, I’m not so sure I should leave you here…and did you at some point go insane and forget to tell me? But a moment later, her footsteps tapped toward the hall door. Before she opened it, she finished, “Maybe you should go to the nurse and lie down for a bit or something.”

  Just leave already.

  Isn’t that horrible? Someone cared and all I wanted was for her to be gone. All I needed was for her to be gone. I couldn’t manage myself while trying to manage the situation.

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that.”

  “Okay. Well, see you at l
unch,” she said again.

  The door opened to an almost quiet hallway and fell shut behind her. I counted to twenty, knowing when I got to the end I’d have to face my worst enemy in the mirror across from the stall.

  I knew the rules. I’d have to look her in the eye and measure out the thing I saw against the thing I knew was “real.”

  Reaching in my messenger bag, I felt for the small box at the bottom. Just knowing the funny-shaped pills were in there made me feel better. Breathe. Calm. Breathe.

  I braced my hands on the cool metal of the stall door, lowering my forehead between them. Breathe. Calm. Breathe.

  You can do this. It’s no different than at camp. I snorted at my own self-talk. Yeah, it was no different except for the lack of psychiatrists and counselors—and other kids dealing with their own issues and meds-withdrawal.

  Last year, I’d decided I couldn’t live life med-dependent anymore. I wanted to be normal, boring. I’d decided I wanted to go to college as me. Not chemically-enhanced me. But just deciding hadn’t gotten me any closer to tossing that little pill bottle away.

  Dr. Meadows had suggested a summer camp where they stepped you off the meds while you did daily work with groups and one-on-ones.

  I’d been all over that…and coming back for senior year to the new me—and apparently new Amy and school world order.

  Now, I just needed everything to line up. I looked for an inner-window, that place between where I was and a full-blown panic attack. The crack of hope would be there, and I’d crawl through it…even if it meant kicking its figurative glass out.

  Muscles tight, eyes closed, I pushed out of the stall. Following the edge of the wall to the full-length mirror, I raised my gaze to meet her head on. To meet me head on. I was not getting sucked down that rabbit hole. I’d become too much of a fighter for that.

  Nothing but stubbornness and months of training kept me standing there vulnerable to my disproportionate self. Big head, long arms, stomach that looked four months pregnant. And my legs. I knew this was my…problem trying to take over. Unfortunately, knowing and knowing in your gut weren’t always the same thing.

  For some of us, what’s in our head is the reining truth.

  Geez. I couldn’t even think about it, let alone get it under control right now.

  I stared at my face. Stared. Waiting for the details to become just geometric shapes. Nothing more. Nothing. Less. Things shifted—eyes, nose, mouth—shapes. Back to normal. As normal as it got.

  My heart slowed, and that dizzy, can’t breathe feeling eased from my chest.

  The nurse wasn’t a bad idea. Quiet, dark, alone—I could pull myself together without worrying about a hall pass. Plus, it reeked of smoke in the girls’ room and I did not need to attempt talking my way out of that—especially with my prescription on me. Zero tolerance had its place, but adults could be so shortsighted.

  I pulled a small, pink bag out of my tote and sorted through my emergency stash. I bypassed my Smack Me In The Mouth Pink lip gloss for my very safe, very neutral Dew Kiss. It was calming. Lip gloss had an oddly centering effect on me. It was easy, portable and made me feel better. Almost as good as a pill. But the best part? I didn’t need to look in a mirror to apply it.

  Through the over-frosted window of the door, the florescent glow of the hall lights shone without interruption, the quiet brush of sneaker-on-tile absent from its normal place.

  Bracing myself, I pulled my bag over my shoulder and stepped into the deserted hall knowing danger lurked in the eyes of every person I saw.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey you.” Amy wasn’t one to forget a little thing like how much foam you put in your cappuccino. A quasi-public panic attack definitely wasn’t going to slip by her. “Feeling better?”

  No.

  “Yeah. You were right. I went to the nurse for a period and chilled. Much better.” I forced the sunshine smile I gave the world and hoped she bought it. Or at least pretended to buy it.

  I actually felt like my stomach was lined with polyester and someone was holding a match to it, but that wasn’t something you just blurted out in the hall.

  Or ever.

  Amy reached up and tightened her ponytail, watching me from under her bangs. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she didn’t buy the lies. She’s totally on the shortlist: Best friend. And the other shortlist: People who usually know when I’m lying.

  Which basically left me feeling like a liar during all my waking hours. And screwed. I was an awake-screwed-liar.

  I stopped at my locker and focused all my attention on the excruciatingly difficult job of turning that little knob: 28R-4L-42R. I mean, I couldn’t think about this conversation when there was the very important and focused task of opening a locker.

  “Okay.” Amy shifted into inquisitive-tell-me-all-your-secrets mode, dropped her backpack on the floor, and reached for her own locker.

  I sorted through the Hello Kitty bag hanging on the inside of my locker door until I found my Bee Sting lip gloss. I felt more colorful, more cheerful with it on. I didn’t want Amy noticing my distinct lack of cheer.

  “What’s really going on?”

  “Nothing. Really.” The lies were adding up, and these weren’t even the first of them. And, unless talking was outlawed, they weren’t going to be the last either. “Amy—”

  “Hey ladies.” The deep rumble overrode anything I was going to say, stopping more than just my voice. If life were fair, he’d squeak instead.

  I’d like to say I was thankful for the interruption, but I would rather have been forced to take a lie detector test accompanied by Chinese water torture than deal with the guy connected to that rumbling voice.

  Okay. Maybe not. But it was close.

  The fact was, I was abso-lu-atoot-ly sick of Chris Kent. If I never heard his name again or saw his Adonis profile across my History class that would be more than perfectly fine. Trust me, I got that he’s gorgeous in an Abercrombie and Fitch way. But he was also an ass of the top degree. He’d led Amy on. Not to mention, he almost kept her and Luke from getting together. And then, when she and Luke had worked things out, Chris came to his senses and tried to get her back…or as back as you can get someone you never actually dated.

  Well, that’s how Amy saw it. I didn’t get it. I thought it was more a case of “wanting what you can’t have.” But what did I know? I’m only the best friend who wanted to wrap her in cotton and utterly destroy him. Slowly. Preferably in public. Something humiliating. Not that I’d put a lot of thought into it or anything.

  Pain and more pain was all Amy had known for weeks because of him, and now he stood there as if nothing had happened, both of us waiting him out.

  Now Amy seemed to look at Chris with amusement. I just couldn’t figure out if somehow he amused her or having once wanted him amused her. She hadn’t had any swoony moments over him since she started dating Luke. I could only hope that crush was dead for good.

  “Rachel, I was wondering if we could talk.” His words said Rachel, but his eyes said Amy. Amy. Amy.

  “Me?” That’s all I needed, another reason for my stomach to be churning. “Now?”

  He finally looked at me, those green eyes deeper than his personality. Not that that was hard.

  “Sure.” His gaze swung to Amy before coming back to meet mine. “Maybe we could go to the library?”

  “Kent.” Finally. Amy’s knight in shining cleats to the rescue. Luke slid up behind Amy, his arm casually snaking over her shoulder in what could only be called a protective stance.

  Not that I was jealous. Not of Luke exactly. More of Luke and Amy. It isn’t very often in high school—hell, in life—two people find their perfect match. I’d looked, and I can tell you, it wasn’t going to happen to me while stuck in Ridge View. Especially when the guys like Chris made RV stand for Royally Vain.

  Beside me, Chris cleared his throat and stepped back, shifting toward me.

  “Parker, what’s up?” As questions went, that one
was fairly casual. But it had only been a couple weeks since the whole better-man-won thing, and I doubted either guy was willing to let the mess go so easily…or the girl.

  Luke glanced between Chris and me, settling on the threat. “You ready for tonight’s game?”

  Ah, guy middle ground. Sports.

  Chris shrugged as if the competition between them on the soccer field wasn’t as insane as it was in the school hallway. And everywhere else. The rival team didn’t know it, but they might as well have had a death wish. With the two top scorers in the state on our team and both looking to prove something—constantly jockeying for Coach Sarche’s favor—well, it wasn’t going to be pretty. And that was just in the locker room before they hit the field.

  “It’s all good. They’re fourth in the league right now. Not a problem.” Chris’s gaze dropped to watch Luke oh so casually brush Amy’s hair off her shoulder. Very smooth.

  Even Chris knew when to retreat. He did that guy Pez-head-nod thing and wrapped his hand around my arm. I glanced down, surprised to find it there. Surprised his nails were cut short and needed a good scrubbing. Not the perfect model hands I expected.

  “I just need to grab Rachel for a sec.” He tugged me toward the library door as he called over his shoulder. “See you tonight.”

  Before I could protest—or take a swing at him—the doors fell shut behind us. The library was no man’s land in RVHS. Budget cuts had brought the staff down to this girl who went to a local university and was working on her master’s thesis in some type of teen behavior crap. No one appreciated being studied in our natural habitat so even the freshmen avoided the place where books went to die.

  She perked up as we flew by the desk, leaning over to watch Chris drag me toward the back. He glanced down the aisles as we passed the tall, aluminum shelving until he assured himself we were alone. Then, in a voice low with overwrought teen melodrama, he whispered, “I need your help.”

  I unwrapped his fingers from around my arm and stepped away. Then stepped away farther.