Secrets Out! Read online

  Here is what I’m afraid they said:

  Dear Sky High,

  You were right and I was wrong. Celie IS a terrible person. I can’t believe I was friends with her for all those years. You’re a much better friend. Want to spend every day of every weekend together for the rest of our lives, and talk about all the things we have in common and make up really great nicknames for each other? And never, ever include Celie?

  xo,

  Lula

  Dear Lula,

  Sure! As long as we don’t eat any candy or French fries or brownies or bacon. Actually, anything remotely tasty. Or stay on your phone for more than five seconds. And the five seconds need to be educational.

  Lots of love,

  Violet

  So Lula and Violet will spend all their free time together from now on, and Jo will be with Jake, and when any of them see me they’ll do this:

  No one is ever going to like me again.

  Later

  This is now officially the worst day of my life. And it isn’t even because of Lula.

  At first the afternoon wasn’t so bad. Dad was at work and Jo had her date plans, so it was me and Mom and Granny. Mom noticed that I was feeling sad and she tried to help. She kept asking questions like, “Are you okay?” And, “Are you sure you’re okay?” And, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  I just said, “No, thanks.” And, “I’m fine.” Because I didn’t want to tell her that I’m a thief and a liar.

  Eventually Mom had to go run some errands. As she was walking out the door, she said, “Why don’t you and Granny bake? I bet you’d both love that.”

  Granny and I decided that was a great idea. Especially because we were supposed to bake yesterday, only Granny kept napping.

  And, at first, it was great. Granny and I both put on aprons. I would’ve gotten the recipe for the twelve-layer cake, but Granny said, “How about brownies? My mother and I used to bake brownies together. She always wore a blue apron with pockets and a ruffle.” Which was such good remembering! Plus I love brownies. So I said, “That sounds perfect.”

  And then Granny had a genius moment. We were doubling the recipe, and I forgot to double the vanilla, and she corrected me!

  “It’s important to have enough vanilla,” she said. “In fact, I like to throw in a little extra.” And she added a splash of extra vanilla.

  So I wasn’t just baking with Granny. I was LEARNING from Granny.

  Only, something bad happened about one minute later. Because about one minute later, Granny said, “Did we put in the vanilla? It’s important to have enough. Actually, I like to throw in a little extra.” And she started to add MORE vanilla.

  I had to stop her and say, “Yes, Granny—we already put in extra.”

  “Oh,” she said. She set the vanilla down and smiled at me a little. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I told her.

  And everything WOULD have been okay, if that had been all. But it wasn’t.

  After we’d put the brownies in the oven to bake, Granny said, “Now we turn up the heat.” Only, we didn’t need to turn up the heat. Because the oven was at the exact right temperature. And also, she was reaching for the wrong knob. She was reaching for a STOVE knob—which shoots up flames.

  I tried to stop her. I said, “No, Granny—wait.” But she was already turning on the stove.

  Flames started jumping out of one of the burners, and she didn’t move back—she just stood there for a second, and the sleeve of her striped sweater was drooping, and the flames kept reaching, and that sleeve caught on FIRE! There were actual flames coming up from her sweater!

  I shouted at her to get back, and I turned off the stove, and without even knowing what I was doing I grabbed the kettle that Mom keeps for tea on another part of the stove and I poured cold water from the kettle up and down Granny’s arm.

  Thank goodness there was water in the kettle.

  The fire went out, which was good. And it didn’t get to Granny’s skin—I checked her arm. Only her sweater was burned. Which was very good.

  But she kept saying things like, “What are you doing? You’re watering me. I’m wet.” And then, finally, she looked at me and said, “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, Granny,” I said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” That wasn’t a lie, either. Because she didn’t understand what she was doing when she set her sweater on fire. So she was CONFUSED. Not wrong.

  She got calm then. And I could only think of one thing—I had to get rid of her sweater. Because if Mom or Dad realizes Granny is starting fires, they might not let her stay. They’ll probably send her away.

  I dried her arm gently with a dish towel and convinced her to take off her sweater and hand it to me.

  “I will give it to you, if you want it,” she said.

  I feel so sad now, thinking about her saying that. Because it’s always been true. I can’t think of anything she’s ever not given me. If I wanted it.

  I miss my old Granny. I do. I miss her.

  But that’s not the end of what happened.

  I took the burned striped sweater from her and got her to go sit in the living room. Because I can’t leave her alone in the kitchen anymore.

  “I have to do something very fast,” I told her. “I’ll be RIGHT back. Please wait there for me.”

  Then I RAN out of our apartment into the hallway, and I opened the chute that sends trash down to the basement. I threw the sweater down the chute and let the door to the chute bang shut.

  The elevator dinged then, and I spun around, and Jo stepped off it, into the hallway. I blocked her view of the chute, even though she couldn’t possibly have seen the sweater. The door to the chute was shut, and the sweater had slid down.

  It turned out, all she needed to see was my face.

  “What is it—what happened?” she said.

  She looked so worried, and I was so worried, and the situation was so terrible. I started crying, and I told her the story as fast as I could. She had to ask me to repeat some parts. Because my voice was shaky and I didn’t want to speak too loud.

  “You can’t tell Mom and Dad—you CAN’T,” I told her, when I’d finished. I was wiping tears and runny nose off my face.

  “I know, I get it, I won’t,” she said. She dug through her backpack and handed me a piece of crumpled paper. “For the guck on your hands,” she said.

  I cleaned my hands for a second with the paper. Then we hurried inside. To take care of Granny.

  Later

  Dinner was bad from the very beginning. Because I worried every second about what Granny would say. Jo did, too. I could tell, because we kept glancing at each other.

  The first scary moment came when Dad said, “How was everybody’s day?”

  “Fine,” I said, very fast. And Jo said, “Fine,” very fast, too. Then we both looked with worried faces at Granny. I held my breath and hoped she wouldn’t say, “I set myself on fire. Right, Celie? We did that together.”

  Luckily, she did not say that. She didn’t say anything at all. She just smiled at Dad and ate some turkey meatball. So I let out my breath.

  But then Mom said, “And how was the baking, Celie and Granny?”

  Before Granny could say a word, I tried hard to change the subject. I said, “You know what it reminded me of? It reminded me of that time we baked lemon squares in Louisiana and that friend of Granny’s came over, and she ate FOUR lemon bars and said they were the best she ever had. Remember that, Granny?”

  Granny stopped eating for a minute, and we all watched her and waited for her to answer. Then waited some more. Finally, she said, “I miss Mama’s fern.” And she sounded so sad.

  It was definitely a weird answer. And I was sorry about the sadness in her voice. But at least she didn’t say she’d set herself on fire.

  Mom and Granny talked about that fern for a while. I remember it. Granny always loved showing it to us when we visited her in Louisiana. It belonged to her mom
first, before she died. It’s survived miraculously, for years and years and years. It looks like this:

  Anyway, I relaxed as they talked about the fern. I thought we’d make it through the dinner safely. But then, all of a sudden, Granny turned to Mom and said, “I gave Celie my striped sweater today.”

  My heart started jumping then, and my hands started sweating. I glanced at Jo. She’d sat up very straight. Like she was getting ready to push back her chair and stand and make an announcement.

  “How nice,” Mom said to Granny. “I know how much you love that sweater.”

  “We might need to fix it for her,” Granny said.

  That’s when my heart dropped to the ground and splattered.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked Granny. “What happened to it?”

  Granny drummed her fingers on her mouth a little. We were all so quiet, and I stopped breathing. Until finally Granny gave us a little smile that looked like an apology. And she said, “My memory’s not so good these days.”

  I have to admit something very bad now. In that moment—ONLY that moment—I was glad Granny’s mind is not working so well.

  But my problems were not all solved. Because Mom turned to me and said, “Is there something wrong with the striped sweater?”

  And all I could think of to say was, “Uhhh.” Because Mom HATES when I lie to her. And I couldn’t tell her the truth.

  Then Jo was a genius. She started talking, fast, about a grammar test she has tomorrow. “I’m not sure how to study—I’m really worried about it,” she said.

  Nothing distracts Mom and Dad more than schoolwork that we’re really worried about. Plus Mom is obsessed with grammar. They talked about that test for the whole rest of the meal. So I was saved.

  Except, what am I going to do if Mom ever asks to see the sweater?

  Thursday, December 9

  My day would have been very different if Lula hadn’t worn a striped sweater to school. But she did.

  I sat at my desk and looked at the back of that sweater and thought, “I HAVE to fix one of the disasters in my life. I just HAVE to.”

  Then I tore a sheet of paper out of my notebook. And I wrote Lula a note.

  I remember exactly what I wrote:

  L—I am sorry I stole that piece of paper. I really, really am. I will NEVER do ANYTHING like that again. But can you please just PAUSE being mad at me? Because I NEED YOU. Remember how you didn’t tell me about your dad because my family is so perfect? It is REALLY NOT! We have a crisis! I need your help! Will you PLEASE help me? —C

  I leaned far forward and put my note on Lula’s desk, but just like last time, she wouldn’t open it. She turned and stuck it back on my desk.

  That made me mad! She should at least read my apologies. It’s the polite thing to do.

  I put the note BACK on her desk. She stuck it right back on mine.

  I picked up my pen. And in big letters on the outside of the note, I wrote, “CRISIS!! HELP!! PLEASE!”

  I stuck it back on her desk. She waited this time. And read what I’d written on the outside. Then waited another few seconds. Then opened my note.

  FINALLY, she wrote me back. This is her note:

  FINE. Meet me in the bathroom.

  Lula

  One moment after I’d read that note, Lula raised her hand and asked Mrs. McElhaney if she could go to the bathroom. I waited a little bit. Then I did the same thing. “I REALLY have to go,” I told Mrs. McElhaney. Some kids laughed at that announcement. But I didn’t care. I needed Mrs. McElhaney to say yes, and she did, and I hurried to meet Lula.

  She was standing by the sinks, with her arms crossed.

  “WHAT?” she said. Not at all nicely.

  I glanced under the stall doors. To make sure no one else would hear.

  “It’s Granny,” I told her. “My crisis is Granny. And it’s the WORST.”

  I told her the whole story, from Granny forgetting the word “shoe” to setting her sweater on fire.

  By the end Lula had one hand over her mouth, and she was almost crying.

  “That IS the worst!” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s so rotten. And fighting with you is so rotten. Please don’t make me do both. Please just be my friend.”

  “I won’t make you do both,” Lula said. “But don’t read my notes anymore.”

  “I won’t!” I said. “I promise!”

  “Can I do anything else?” Lula asked. “For Granny?”

  “I can’t think of anything,” I said. “Except—please don’t tell anyone what’s happening with her. I don’t want anyone to know, except for you.”

  “I won’t tell a single soul,” she said. “I give you my solemn promise.”

  She held out her hand, and we shook on it. Like we always do, when we give each other solemn promises.

  I’ve never actually thought before about how that feels. Shaking Lula’s hand on a solemn promise.

  It feels really good.

  But I had a hands PROBLEM later in the day. Because in Spanish my nice friend Nora sent me this note:

  Celie,

  Is Jo going out with Jake?? I just saw the two of them by Jo’s locker. They were holding hands!

  Your friend,

  Nora

  I couldn’t BELIEVE Jo was holding hands with Count Jake-ula. Where the whole world could see! And when she should’ve been worrying about Granny.

  I had to go see what was happening. So I told Señora Santacruz I REALLY needed to go to the bathroom. Just like I’d told Mrs. McElhaney.

  I guess Jack B. remembered. Because he said, “Celie rhymes with PEE-lie.” Lots of kids started laughing, even though that joke is STUPID, and Señora Santacruz started saying things like, “¡Chicos! ¡Silencio! ¡Silencio!”

  Then she told me I had to wait until she’d finished explaining the difference between two Spanish words that both mean “to be.” It took FOREVER.

  While she talked on and on, I grabbed my spy notebook from my backpack. And as soon as she nodded at me, I ran out the door with it.

  I kind of forgot that I’m not supposed to spy on Jo.

  She and Jake were still standing in front of her locker. I peeked at them from around the corner. Here is my spy report:

  From the

  Top-Secret Spy Notebook of

  Celie Valentine Altman

  Spies must at times take on a new identity. Try honing this skill as you spy.

  Who are you pretending to be? Useful identities include, for example, janitors or cleaning ladies.

  I cannot be the janitor. I’m ten.

  What props are you using to improve your cover identity? A mop and bucket might be useful for cleaning employees, for example. But be wary of tools such as vacuums, which might impair your ability to hear your targets.

  Okay. I won’t vacuum.

  Now that you are undercover, what do you see?

  Jo is standing too close to Jake and holding something up for him to see. She is waiting while he looks at that thing. Waiting and smiling and waiting. She must be getting a big crick in her neck.

  Wait a minute! That thing she’s holding up is her PHONE! She’s not supposed to touch her phone during school!

  And also, I’m pretty sure this is her lunch period! They should both be at lunch!

  I had to run back to Spanish then. Because the bell rang. Everyone was leaving the classroom when I got back. “¡Chica!” Señora Santacruz said when she saw me. “Faster next time, you understand? ¡Rápido, rápido!” I nodded and waved.

  Then I rápido rápido went to English. And hoped Jo wouldn’t spend the whole entire day embarrassing herself.

  A Little Later

  What if your hands get all sweaty when you’re holding hands with a boy? Or—what if HIS do?

  Yuck.

  Later

  Jo’s phone keeps buzzing with texts. Text, text, text, text. I bet it’s every girl in the whole school, saying, “I saw you and Jake! I can’t believe you’re going OU
T! He’s so TALL! Like a basketball player! Do you have to stand on tiptoe to whisper in his ear?” Or other ridiculous things like that.

  Unless it’s a million texts from Jake.

  I want to know who all the texts are from and what they say, but I can’t ask Jo. Because that whole subject gets me in trouble.

  So I left Jo and found an old frame in a living room drawer. Then I put the watercolor I’d painted for Granny in it, and I brought it to Granny.

  “A spectacular painting from Spectacular Celie,” she said, looking at it. “I have the perfect spot for it.” Then she set it on her nightstand.

  Now her nightstand looks like this:

  I’m going to paint another picture of Granny, for myself. So my nightstand will look like this:

  THAT is a good kind of hand-holding.

  Later

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no.

  The phone rang a little while ago. Jo and I were reading in bed, and Dad’s on a work trip. So Mom answered. I barely paid it any attention. But then Mom came into our room and closed the door.

  Her face was very serious and very angry. And she was looking right at me.

  I pushed my book away and sat up straighter and wished I could RUN. Because I was obviously in trouble.

  “That was Violet’s mother on the phone,” she said.

  “Violet’s mother?” I said. And then I thought, VIOLET’S MOTHER? Because Violet’s mother NEVER calls. Why would she be doing that now, and getting me in trouble?

  “Yes, Violet’s mother,” Mom said. In the weirdly calm voice she uses sometimes before she explodes. “Apparently she has heard that Granny started a fire, in our kitchen. While you were baking with her. Is that true?”

  My thoughts went crazy then. Because how did VIOLET’S MOTHER know about the fire? And what was I supposed to say to Mom?