Trading Secrets Read online

  “Yeah . . . Me too.” I feel precariously close to tears now. Not just because of the memories of those difficult months, but because it feels like something really special could be coming to an end—a swift and bitter end that I’m not ready for.

  “You really were lucky to have Zach for your pen pal all this time,” Lizzie says quietly. “I guess I didn’t even realize it until now.”

  “I know, and I’m thankful for it. But I’m just not ready to lose him as a friend, you know? It’s hard. Really hard.”

  We both get quiet now, like neither of us knows what more to say. And, really, what is there? I’m not even sure why I thought running over to Lizzie’s house and dumping on her like this would make any difference or change anything. What can she possibly say or do to change this mess I’ve created? Furthermore, what can I do? I slowly stand and thank her for listening, then make an excuse to leave.

  As I meander the several blocks back home to our condo, I realize how hopeless this is. Did I honestly believe I could preserve a relationship that’s mostly built upon lies? Never mind that the Amish aren’t even supposed to be in contact with the “English.” Seriously, what was I thinking? It’s clear that I’ve been stuck in a childish daydream. I should’ve known it was just a matter of time before my little charade blew up in my face.

  When that happens—which will be sooner rather than later—it seems inevitable that someone will get hurt. And I’m not just talking about Zach either, although I do hate the idea of hurting him, and I know that once he discovers I’m a girl, he will shut down completely. If there’s one thing I understand about the Amish, it’s that they have a big fat dividing line that separates the sexes. Men sit on one side of the room, women on the other. At social functions, they even eat separately. Okay, so I watch a little reality TV too. As a result, I should’ve known ages ago that a friendship like I’ve had with Zach could not last. It’s not like I’m an idiot. According to my GPA and some of my teachers, I’m rather smart, at least about some things, but I’ve been a total fool about this.

  As I unlock the door to the condo, it’s crystal clear that both Lizzie and Dad are 100 percent right. I have to tell my pen pal I’m not a boy, and the sooner the better. Zach deserves to know the truth, and I’ll just have to deal with the consequences.

  2

  It takes me all weekend and many drafts to craft my letter—my full confession. But even on Monday, when I know the letter should be in the mail, I procrastinate. I leave the sealed envelope on my desk when I go to school. I’m not sure what I’m hoping for by postponing the inevitable. Maybe I secretly think that if Zach doesn’t receive my letter in time, he’ll simply proceed with his plan and show up on my doorstep, and when that happens, I’ll somehow be able to salvage this whole mess. Except that I know that’s disingenuous. Not to mention selfish. And just plain stupid.

  “Are you going to send that letter?” Lizzie demands as we prepare to part ways after school. She’s been grilling me all day about this.

  “Yes, of course,” I assure her. “Like I told you, I’ll put it in the mail this afternoon. I’m sure he’ll get it by Thursday. Or Friday at the latest.”

  “And his plan was to come here on Saturday?” she asks.

  I just nod.

  “Cutting it pretty close, aren’t we?”

  I shrug. Maybe Lizzie should consider a career as an investigator or interrogator for the CIA.

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Hey, I kinda hope he doesn’t get your letter in time. It would actually be pretty interesting to meet this dude. Do you think he’ll come dressed in his Amish clothes? The straw hat and suspenders and everything?”

  I glower at her. “Don’t worry,” I say sharply. “He’s not coming here at all. In fact, I’ll send the letter in some kind of fast mail—like next day or FedEx or something.”

  She looks disappointed as she waves good-bye and continues strolling down the street toward her condo unit. As I reach for my house key, I automatically pull out my mailbox key. I don’t expect anything from Zach today, but I always bring the mail in anyway. As I scoop out the usual junk mail and bills, I’m surprised to see a plain white envelope with tidy penmanship.

  “No way,” I declare as I remove my key from the mailbox. “Two letters in one week—what’s up?”

  I hurry inside, anxious to see what this letter says. Maybe Zach has had a change of plans. Maybe he can’t come after all. I can only hope as I tear open the envelope and eagerly read his short letter.

  Dear Micah,

  I hoped to visit you next week, but Daed has put a stop to my plans. As you know, we are farmers. And as you know, I am the oldest son, with only sisters and baby brothers to help out. Daed cannot get the spring planting done without my help. That means I cannot come to see you. I am sad to tell you this news, but my family needs me and I cannot let them down. You are a good son too, so I know you will forgive me.

  Daed has made a suggestion, but I will not blame you if you say no. Daed told me to invite you to come visit our farm first. At supper today, Daed said to tell Micah that we can use an extra set of hands during spring planting. Daed said that if you come here to help us for a few days, after we are done I can go home with you for a visit. I will understand if you do not want to do this on your spring break, Micah. Farm work is hard work, I know. I don’t think English boys are used to farming, or used to our ways.

  Humbly and always

  your friend,

  Zach

  I reread the letter, noticing a note on the back that explains that I should travel to a town called Hamrick’s Bridge and gives directions to his farm, which is a couple miles away from the town. Feeling slightly giddy, I reach for my cell phone, and I’m soon relaying this new turn of events to Lizzie. “What should I do?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They need help on the farm,” I say urgently. “Should I go and help out?”

  She laughs. “Are you nuts?”

  “No . . .” But as I consider my outrageous idea, I do wonder about my sanity. “This might be my only way to meet Zach. I mean, without forcing him to make the trip here and then feel totally blindsided when he finds out the truth.”

  “And you don’t think he’ll feel blindsided to discover you on his doorstep—a girl claiming to be his long-lost pen pal Micah Knight?”

  “Hmmm . . . How about if I pretend to be a guy?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  I give this a bit more thought. “Not such a great idea, huh?”

  “Maybe it would work if you were starring in some schmaltzy TV movie. For real life . . . not so much.”

  “What if I just show up and introduce myself and do a face-to-face apology for deceiving him—what’s wrong with that?”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I’ll just quietly leave.”

  “Or get thrown out.”

  “They’re Amish, Lizzie. They’re nonviolent. They wouldn’t throw me out.”

  “You’d really do that?” she demands. “Just show up at his door?”

  “You heard the letter. I’ve been invited. By his dad, no less.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Total humiliation?”

  “Well, that’s okay. I probably deserve it.”

  “That’s pretty nervy, Micah, even for you.”

  “I really want to meet him face-to-face,” I tell her. “Just once.”

  “Why?”

  As I go into the kitchen, I consider my answer. I realize it’s not as simple as I’d like to make it sound. “Because he’s my friend, Lizzie.”

  “Your friend, or your secret crush?”

  “That’s totally ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, right.” She sounds skeptical, and I can’t really blame her.

  “This might be my only chance to meet him.” I take an apple from the produce drawer of the fridge.

  “What if he turns out to b
e a real hottie?”

  “You’ve seen those reality shows, Lizzie. Have you ever seen an Amish hottie?”

  “Well, some of the girls clean up nicely.” She laughs. “But I guess you’re right. The guys on the show I watched seemed a little wimpy to me. Maybe that’s why they defected from Amishland. Still, it all depends on what you like.”

  “It’s settled. This is what I’m going to do,” I declare. “Instead of him coming here on Saturday, I’ll go there.”

  “And what will your dad say about all this?”

  “Of course, he doesn’t know anything about this yet. But I’m sure he’ll let me do it. He’ll probably think this is another great life experience for me.” I take a big bite of my apple.

  “Yeah, probably. Your dad is so laid-back. My parents would get hysterical if I announced I was going to visit my Amish pen pal—who just happens to be a guy.”

  “So you probably don’t want to come with me then?” I don’t really consider these words until they’re out of my mouth. I don’t think I’d really want Lizzie to go with me to meet Zach. Not just because she’s so pretty that most guys can’t take their eyes off of her, but more because she doesn’t really understand the depth of my friendship with Zach or how important this is to me.

  “I wish I could go with you, but I promised Mom I’d babysit Erika next week. What a fun way to spend spring break, huh? I wonder how long you’ll be gone, Micah. Just a day, you think?”

  “Probably.” I sigh as I imagine an Amish family with grim faces scowling at me as they point to the door. “But it would be kinda cool to stay and help out a few days.”

  “You’re going to work on their farm?”

  “Why not?” I sit down on a kitchen stool, taking another bite of my apple. “I’m strong and in good shape.”

  “Seriously? You’d give up your spring break to be a farm laborer?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And I thought babysitting was rough.”

  I don’t remind her of how her little sister flushed Lizzie’s new smartphone down the toilet a few months ago.

  “How are you going to get to Holmes County or wherever it is they live? Will your dad let you drive his car?”

  “I doubt it. But Zach had planned to take a bus to get here. Maybe that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Make sure you charge up your phone before you go. Amish homes don’t have electricity or anything techie. And I want to hear all the breaking news on this story—as it’s unfolding.”

  We talk a while longer, and by the time I hang up, I feel certain that this is the best plan after all. It’s like fate or destiny, or maybe it’s God, but it seems like the doors are opening for me to meet Zach. I fire up my iPad, and before long I’ve found a bus route that looks like it will get me to the town closest to Zach’s farm. But before I purchase a ticket, I know I need to talk to Dad. Glancing at the clock, I know that he should be available now. He is co-owner of an air freight service and sometimes pilots the shorter flights, but he’s almost always back in his office by 4:00.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say cheerfully after he answers the phone.

  “What’s up?” There’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. He knows I only call him at work if I need something or if something is wrong.

  I quickly explain about Zach’s invitation, and Dad’s laughter sounds relieved. “You really want to spend your spring vacation working on an Amish farm?”

  “I . . . uh, yeah . . . maybe so.”

  “Sounds like a great experience, Micah.” This is followed by more amused chuckles. “And it sounds a whole lot better than what I hear other kids are doing with their vacation time. Evelyn here at work was just telling us about how her daughter got into some mischief down in Miami last year. She actually made the Girls Gone Wild show. Not her parents’ proudest moment.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have to worry about that in an Amish community.”

  “Sure, you can go, Micah. I think it’s a great idea. Should be a real cultural experience for you.”

  “Thanks, Dad!”

  After I hang up, I book my bus ticket to Hamrick’s Bridge, then hurry to write Zach a letter confirming what time I’ll arrive on Saturday afternoon. I’m not sure how I’ll get from Hamrick’s Bridge to his farm, but I figure if it’s not that far, I can always walk. That might be preferable to being picked up in town anyway. I don’t like the idea of our first meeting taking place in the public eye. I know it won’t be easy. And I hate to think of him becoming so angry that he just abandons me in town.

  Knowing that the mail gets picked up around 5:00, I hurry to get the letter to the drop box to make sure he gets it before Saturday. As the door clangs closed, I feel a little wave of anxiety. Am I really going through with this plan? But as I walk back home, I know it’s something I must do. Even if it all goes sideways and Zach despises me and sends me packing, at least I’ll know that I tried.

  3

  In preparation for spring break, I spend several afternoons at Lizzie’s place. We hole up in her bedroom and watch Amish reality TV shows that she’s recorded.

  “What are you going to wear for your trip to Amishland?” Lizzie asks as she fast-forwards through the ads.

  “Stop calling it Amishland,” I say to her. “You make it sound like an amusement park.”

  She reaches for a handful of popcorn. “Fine. What are you going to wear when you go visit Zach’s farm? You don’t want to insult his family, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “You don’t expect me to wear Amish clothes, do you?”

  “No. Of course not. That would be plain weird.” She pauses the TV. “But you do want to look respectful, don’t you?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess I do. It’s not like I was going to wear anything skanky.”

  She laughs. “I know that, silly. You don’t even own anything skanky. But what are you going to wear?”

  “I have no idea. What do you think I should wear?”

  “Well, it’s your first time meeting Zach. I’m sure you want to look good.”

  I shrug, reaching for more popcorn.

  “You should probably wear a dress.”

  “A dress?” I frown at her. “You know I hardly ever wear a dress.”

  “Which is a mistake, in my opinion.” She points at my jeans. “You’ve got great legs.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. But I hardly think showing my legs will do me much good in an Amish community.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I figured I’d just wear jeans,” I admit. “I mean, I am going there to work on the farm, remember? It doesn’t make sense for me to get all dressed up. Besides, it’s a three-hour bus ride. Who wants to dress nice for that?”

  “Good point.”

  “Anyway, Zach will probably be so shocked to see me that he won’t care what I’m wearing.”

  “That’s true.” She agrees. “But his mother might.”

  “I’m not going there to impress his mother, Lizzie. In fact, I doubt that’s even possible.”

  “Well, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t approve of you wearing pants.” Lizzie starts the TV playing again, and on the opening of a show we see a couple of girls walking along a dusty road looking rather sweet and old-fashioned in their long, baggy dresses in shades of blue and green and purple. They all have on black stockings and black shoes, and on top of their heads, where their long hair is neatly pinned underneath, they have crisp white hats with strings that flutter in the breeze.

  “I wonder how they keep those bonnets so white,” I muse.

  “It makes kind of a pretty picture, doesn’t it,” Lizzie says dreamily. “So old-fashioned and innocent looking. But kind of strange too.”

  I absently nod, absorbing this sweet scene before the image fades away and suddenly it’s a completely different scene, with a bunch of young people drinking and dancing at a noisy nightclub—talk about contrasts! This particular reality show is about Amish kids who leave their famili
es and homes to visit the outside world. Really, it’s rather sad to see these innocent Amish teens struggling to fit into what they call “English” culture. I find myself wishing that some of them had simply stayed home. I’m sure their parents would agree.

  “I don’t really get why these kids leave,” I say quietly. “Their home life actually seems kind of inviting to me.”

  Lizzie grabs my arm with an alarmed expression. “Please, Micah, don’t tell me that you’re enchanted with Amishland—that you plan to go there and never come back!”

  I laugh. “Yeah, sure, that sounds like something I’d do.” But even as I blow it off, I do wonder . . . what would it really be like to be Amish?

  It’s not until I’ve tried on almost everything in my closet and my room looks like a hurricane hit that I decide what to wear for my trip to Holmes County. Call me a chicken or call me a fraud, but by the time I’m getting onto the bus with my backpack, I feel fairly certain that I can pass for a guy. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. I’m wearing a pair of my old basketball shoes and Dad’s old man jeans that I’ve topped off with a gray sweatshirt and baggy denim jacket, also scavenged from Dad’s closet. I’ve pinned up my long, dark curly hair and shoved it into a Browns ball cap. To complete my manly look, and to make me feel better about going without a trace of makeup, I’ve donned a pair of aviator sunglasses. It’s not the kind of outfit I’d wear to school or around friends, but I tell myself that it’s comfy for traveling, and for the most part it is. Except I’m wearing two very snug sports bras to hold everything in—that’s not exactly comfortable. But I feel confident about my disguise. To any casual observer, I look like a guy. Or so I tell myself.

  However, once the bus pulls into the small, charming town of Hamrick’s Bridge, I start having serious doubts. Maybe my masculine costume is just one more major mistake. As I shove my water bottle into my backpack, I realize that nothing in there is going to help much either since I only packed more of the same. Really, what was I thinking?

  As I get off the bus, I tell myself to buck up and try to put on the demeanor of a teenage guy. Being nearly five foot ten doesn’t hurt. Even so, I take bigger than usual steps and attempt to swagger a bit as I sling a strap of my backpack over one shoulder. Not that I think anyone is noticing me particularly, but more for the practice. If I really plan to carry out this plan—as insane as it seems—I might as well give it my best shot.