Secret Life (RVHS Secrets)

SECRET LIFE

By
Bria
Quinlan

Copyright © 2013
Bria
Quinlan

Published by
RogueGiraffe
Books

Cover by Okay
Creations

Edited by Harris
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Formatted by
IndieMobi
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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 lunch,” 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.

“I don’t think so.” Seriously, what was he thinking?

“Rachel, I’m not kidding. I’m desperate and you’re the only
one who can help me.” I waited for the Obi Wan reference as he stood there
actually managing to look pitiful. “I’m screwed and I’m not sure what to do.”

“If you think I’m the one to help you with this, you need to
think again.” This was so,
so
not
what I needed today. Of course, the list of so-not-needing was getting long and
it wasn’t even fourth period. But, when it came to Amy, what I needed didn’t
matter. What I needed to do for her did. “You treated her like crap. You almost
ruined things with Luke. And now you expect—”

“Wait.” He waved his hands in front of me. Politely, I did
not smack them out of my face. “You think I want you to help me break Amy and
Luke up?”

“What else could you
possibly
want from me?” I looked at him again, really looked at him.

He was the guy who’d been off limits since fifth grade when
Amy moved to Ridge View and became the best friend a girl could have. She’d
lost her mom to some disease that was too long to spell, and a few weeks later
she’d lost her heart to Chris Kent over a kindness so small it broke
my
heart to watch. He’d ignored her as
he turned into a god among soccer players. With fresh eyes, I studied him like
a new outfit off the rack.

It could have been his eyes. Or maybe it was his height,
making a girl feel feminine but not tiny. My bet was more on the shoulders.
That was one thing I liked about soccer players.
The
shoulders broad enough to be wide but not hulking.
Or
his lips.
It could definitely have been his lips. They were full, but
not too much. Not so much like I was jealous they weren’t mine. Or maybe it was
the whole deal. He really was gorgeous.
On the outside.

There was no other possible reason he could want to talk to
me besides a new get-Amy-back Plan.

“I need you to tutor me.” A blush so pale it clashed with
the yellow polo shirt stretched across those broad shoulders rushed up his neck
and over his cheeks.
“In History.
I’m not doing so
great.”

I wondered how he was doing in English.

“You want me to tutor you?” When in doubt, repeat. It’s a
rule to live by. Boys can be dense and unclear.

“
Yeaaah
.”
He dragged the word out like he thought I had hearing comprehension issues.
Plus, now he looked confused too. Yup, we were moving right along.

“You can’t possibly be doing that badly. And I’m not exactly
Einstein.” I knew what this was really about and I wanted him to just come out
and say it.

Chris’s hand rose and pushed through his short, blond curls,
the flush tipping his ears now too.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m not failing or anything. I have,
like, a C-, but that isn’t going to get me into Monroe State. There’s no way
I’m missing my chance to play there. It’s a good school. It has everything I
want. But now that the plan…”

I cocked an eyebrow. I used to practice this to use on my
little sisters, but never was there a time so perfect for it as now. Oh, to
reap the fruits of my labor.

I jumped in before he could backpedal off the completely
wrong thing to say.

“Oh yeah.
The Plan
.
That was the one where
you used Amy to get in with Coach to get captains slot, while using Cheryl to
get Homecoming King and all those Most Blah
Blah
Blahs in the yearbook?
Right?
That plan?” I took a
step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest, which just happened to be almost
at eye level for me.
“And speaking of Amy.
There is no
way I’m letting you use this as an excuse to get to her.”

He was shaking his head before I even finished talking.

“It’s not. Actually, I’d rather she didn’t know. It’s kind
of…embarrassing.”

“That you’re not smart?” Harsh, I know.

“Look.” I could hear the frustration straining his voice.
“She’s the only person who always believed in me. Not just on the field. I know
I screwed it up. I know she’s with Parker. Hell, in the end I practically
handed her to him. But, I won’t give up the idea that one person, just that one
really good person, believes in me…even if she doesn’t want to be with me. So,
if you could stop being an overprotective bitch for, like, thirty seconds and
consider helping me out, I’d appreciate it.”

Wow. Aside from the bitch comment I got everything he said.
Amy did that to a person.

If
not because of Amy…
“So, why me?”
Yeah, answer me that.

Chris looked around again like a bad spy in a B-grade movie
before answering. “Amy isn’t the only person I don’t want to know. If Coach
finds out, he’ll totally support it, but might use me less at practices and on
the field.”

“And?”
I ran a headcount through
our class. “
Stacia
does better than I do in History.
She’s carrying, like, a 98% average.”

Did Chris Kent always blush this much?

“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.”

“Why not?”
I find it hard to
believe he couldn’t charm her into tutoring him…and whatever.

“We kind of hooked up.” It wasn’t the words that took me by
surprise. It was the
embarrassed
tone. The way his
gaze drifted away and down to the rug. The
way that flush
staining his cheeks wouldn’t go away.

“You slept with her?” Why was I so surprised? If rumor had
it right, every girl in the RV had slept with him. Probably me too, and I’d
just somehow forgotten or something.

“No. We didn’t get to the sex thing, but not for trying. And
I really don’t want to go there.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say
Go where?
Sex or history?
But seeing as
they had both, I thought I’d just mind my own business for a minute.

“So, what are you looking to do here?” I asked trying to get
us back from Super-Surreal Land to just plain Surreal Land. Plus, one of my
prime weaknesses was nosiness. I always needed to know what was going on and
why. Other people’s drama seemed to have a calming effect on me.

Well, sometimes. I eyed him again wondering what exactly he
was up to.

Chris slipped his bag off his shoulders and threw it on the
graffiti covered coffee table before dropping into the patched, overstuffed
chair next to it. When he didn’t continue, I lowered myself across from him and
leaned my arms on my knees, the standard I’ll-wait-for-you-to-finish pose.

“I need to get all my grades up. I mean way up. There’s
still time to hit fall semester transcripts. I need the grades
and
a winning season.
Show’em
I can do it all.”