Trapped: Caught in a Lie (Secrets) Read online

  “No, that’s okay. I feel better now. I can drive you.”

  “After that, you better go straight home,” she says as we walk to my car. “And take it easy. You don’t want to be too sick to go to the dance — ”

  “The dance!” I let out a groan. “I forgot all about that.”

  “Wow, you really must be sick.” She reaches over and touches my forehead. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No.” I unlock the car. “I’ll be fine.”

  “But what if it’s the flu?” Mary Beth sounds really worried now. “What if you can’t go to the dance tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll be okay. I think it was something I had for lunch.”

  “I hope so.”

  I let out a relieved sigh after Mary Beth gets out of the car. If anyone could figure me out and what I just did, it would be my best friend. Fortunately, she seems more concerned about my health than my conscience. As I drive toward my house, I tell myself that this was a one-time thing — a desperate measure, and my secret. A secret I shall take to the grave. I will never, never do it again. Then, determined to put it all behind me and wishing I could forget it, I go to bed.

  . . . . . . . . . .

  I wake up to the sound of Mom quietly talking to me, putting a cool hand on my forehead … and for a moment I imagine I’m eight years old and getting over strep throat. “Are you okay?” Mom asks.

  I open my eyes and look at her. She still has her hospital clothes on as well as a concerned look. “Yeah.” I sit up and give a weak smile. “Just tired, I think.” Rory hops down from the bed now, wagging his tail eagerly, as if he’s had enough of this inactivity and is ready for some fun.

  “Did you stay up late studying last night?” She cocks her head to one side. “I thought I noticed your light on when I got home.”

  I just nod.

  She frowns. “You should know by now that cramming doesn’t usually work. Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “I know.”

  She grips my chin, peering into my eyes, and turns my head from side to side as if she’s examining me. I’m used to this — the life of a kid whose parents are doctors. “Well, you don’t seem sick.”

  “I’m not.” I push the covers off. “I feel just fine, Mom.”

  “But that nasty flu is running rampant.” She goes over to turn on the overhead light. “And I told Dad that unless I was convinced you were perfectly fine, I was going to cancel tonight’s plans.”

  “Tonight’s plans?”

  “The annual Christmas party at Dad’s clinic. Remember? It’s been on the calendar for a month now.”

  “Oh yeah.” I stand and stretch. “The big bash.”

  She sighs. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, I picked you up some Thai food for dinner — your favorite.”

  “Sounds great.” I pull on my UGGs.

  “I wish I could join you,” Mom says as she pushes her bangs off her forehead. I notice that, like me, she has shadows beneath her eyes. “But as you can see, I’m in need of some intensive primping.”

  “Thanks for the takeout.” I lean over to stroke Rory.

  “And tomorrow evening, we’ll be sure to stay home,” she says from the doorway. “I told the hospital not to call me. I want to be around to enjoy your big night, GraceAnn.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I remember now. “The dance.”

  “Do you think Uncle Russ will let you leave the pharmacy early? So you can get all dolled up and ready?”

  “I’m sure five is early enough, Mom. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Well, I think it’s a big deal.” She makes a sly smile. “And your dad’s already digging out the video camera, planning to document the whole thing.”

  I groan dramatically. “Great. Can’t wait.”

  . . . . . . . . . .

  As I sit in the kitchen by myself, poking at lukewarm Pad Thai noodles, I realize that I’m not really hungry. In fact, my stomach feels like I swallowed a small bag of cement. I’m sure this is a side effect from what I did today. I still can’t believe I really cheated. In fact, when I first woke from my nap, I thought perhaps it was all just a bad dream. Unfortunately, I know that’s not the case. I did it … and there is no undoing it. My only consolation — and it’s not much — is that I will never do it again. Never.

  I feel a tiny bit better on Saturday. It helps going to work. I need the distraction, and I try to stay really busy, even doing the jobs no one likes to do, like thoroughly scrubbing down the bathrooms and “facing the shelves,” which is the tedious process of dusting all the merchandise and moving it all forward so that the store portion of the pharmacy looks clean and freshly stocked … even though some of the merchandise is a little old.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Aunt Lindsey asks me after lunch. She’s manning the pharmacy today.

  “Sure.” I look up from where I’m stooped down rearranging the boxes of elastic bandages.

  “You just seem awfully quiet.”

  I force a smile. “Just preoccupied.”

  “Your mom told me you’re going to the Winter Ball.” She looks on with interest. “Did you and Clayton get back together?”

  I stand now. “No …” I say slowly. Then I explain about Bryant and Jorge. “I guess I’m feeling a little uncomfortable about it now.” Okay, this is partially true, but it’s not the real reason I’m being quiet. Still, it seems a good smoke screen. “And these guys aren’t exactly youth group boys. Some people might even think that they’re sort of, well, bad boys. But they’re actually nice.”

  My aunt laughs. “GraceAnn with a bad boy? Now that’s something I have a hard time imagining. Make sure your dad gets photos. I want to see this.”

  “I’ll have him send them your way.”

  “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d make another delivery to Miss Julia this afternoon. I thought you could leave here around three and then just head on home.”

  “But that’s two hours early.”

  “I know, but I won’t clock you out until five. That will give you plenty of time to visit with Miss Julia and still get home with some extra time to spare for getting ready.”

  “All of it on the clock?” Uncle Russ can be a stickler about that sort of thing.

  She grins. “Don’t worry. I’m a co-owner here. I can change the rules if I want to sometimes. Just don’t tell your uncle. Besides, Miss Julia is a valued customer and friend. And she specifically asked for you.”

  “Is she still feeling pretty bad?”

  “I think she’s improving. But it’s hard on her being cooped up.”

  At three o’clock, I take the little bag of prescriptions and drive over to Miss Julia’s house. This time she’s dressed in pink velour warm-ups. But she still looks a little haggard and pale. “Come in, come in,” she tells me as she opens the door wider. “Welcome to my humble hovel.”

  I hand her the bag. “How are you feeling?”

  She makes a weary smile. “A little better.”

  “Oh, good. I’m sure it takes time to get well. But you do look better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thank you.” She pats her frazzled-looking white hair. “I missed my hairdresser appointment this week.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Just come in and sit a spell.” She leads the way into the living room. “Tell me about how you’re doing, dear. Tell me what’s going on in the outside world.”

  So I sit down and, for lack of anything else to say, tell her about the Winter Ball. And then to my surprise, I tell her about Clayton and how he broke my heart and how I hope my cranberry red dress will make him jealous. “I know that sounds silly and petty …”

  She chuckles. “I think it sounds quite normal. In fact, I remember a time when I did something very similar to that.” She tells me a story about a boy she liked in college and how they were good friends and study partners. But to her dismay, he seemed more interested in her roommate than her. “And my roommate, her
name was Lola, well, she was so glamorous and attractive. She looked a little like Bette Davis with her red lipstick and fancy clothes. And she smoked cigarettes too.”

  Miss Julia shook her head with disapproval. “So I tried to catch Howie’s eye by imitating Lola.” She laughed. “But smoking made me sick to my stomach, and I never looked very good in red lipstick either.”

  “But did you get his attention?”

  “In a way, I did. Howie took me aside one day and told me I would do better to just be myself.”

  “That’s nice. So did you start dating him then?”

  She waved her hand. “Oh no, he married Lola that next summer.”

  “Oh …” I feel disappointed and sad for her.

  “But really, I was thankful. Poor Howie turned into a hor-rible alcoholic and Lola was miserable. They both died young and unhappy.” She stroked the cat in her lap and smiled. “I’m quite content with my little life, and oddly enough, it turned out just like Howie said to me years ago. It’s better to just be myself.”

  I nod, taking this in.

  “I’m sure you’d agree with me on that. You seem like the kind of girl who knows how to be herself.”

  I think back to the bracelet I snatched from Kelsey … and what I did … then look away.

  “Oh, I’m sure there come times when you’re not completely sure about who you are,” she continues in a rambling sort of tone, “but that’s just part of growing up. Eventually, you figure it out and the puzzle pieces fall into place. You realize being you is the best you can be.”

  “I hope so …”

  “Just be true to yourself, GraceAnn.” She points to the clock on the mantel. “Goodness, how time flies with you here, but I suspect you want to be on your way. I’m sure you’d rather be getting ready for your big night than sitting around here listening to old tales of days gone by.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” I say as I stand. “But my best friend, Mary Beth, would probably like it if I pick her up soon.” I explain how we’re going to get ready together and help each other with our hair.

  “Yes, yes, be on your way, Cinderella.” She chuckles. “And if you have any photos taken, perhaps you’ll bring them by to share with me sometime. Or maybe I’ll be able to get myself over to the pharmacy before long.”

  “You just take care and get well.” I reach out to grasp her hand. “And thank you for sharing your stories with me.”

  As I drive to Mary Beth’s, I consider Miss Julia’s words about being true to myself. It’s not like I haven’t heard that kind of advice before. I mean, who hasn’t? But for some reason it felt almost prophetic coming from her mouth. Like she had some idea of what I am dealing with. I will never, never, never cheat again. It is behind me now. I just wish I could forget about it.

  . . . [CHAPTER 6]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  “You don’t seem very excited,” Mary Beth tells me as we make the final tweaks to our hair and makeup. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I feign an enthusiastic smile. “Sure. I feel great.”

  “Tired from working all day?”

  “Maybe.” I sigh, trying to shove off this weight that seems to have attached itself to my spirits — the remnant guilt from yesterday. “But I’ll be fine. I think I’m just hungry.”

  “That reminds me … Yesterday in art I overheard Jorge and Bryant, and it sounds like they’re cooking up something special for dinner.”

  “They’re cooking?” I stick in one last hairpin to secure my loose updo, frowning at how some of the hair is already slipping out.

  “Well, I’m not sure they’re actually cooking, but they seemed to be working on something.” She looks concerned as she brushes on some blush. “But I have a feeling that neither of those guys has much money, so we better not set our expectations too high.”

  “As long as we get something to eat, I won’t complain.”

  “And we definitely shouldn’t expect a limo.”

  I just nod, then turn to look at her. “You look smashing, darling,” I say with a fake British accent.

  Mary Beth grins. “And you look stunning.”

  “Ready to face the cameras and crowds of adoring fans?”

  She giggles.

  To our surprise, when we go out to where Mom and Dad are waiting, Mary Beth’s mom is there as well. And a nice array of appetizers is set out on the island in the kitchen.

  “Surprise,” Mom says as Dad goes for his camera.

  “You did this for us?” Mary Beth’s eyes grow wide.

  “Your mom and I did,” my mom tells her. “For you and your dates.”

  “We thought it was one way to get them to linger a little,” Mary Beth’s mom says.

  “So we can meet them.” Dad snaps some candid shots. “Just to make sure they’re respectable young men and not just trying to make off with our beautiful girls.” He grins as he adjusts his camera lens.

  “And you girls do look beautiful,” Mom says as she adjusts a strap on my dress.

  “So grown-up and sophisticated,” Mary Beth’s mom adds.

  Before long, Rory is barking and the guys arrive. As Mary Beth and I meet them at the front door, I’m impressed by their interesting outfits. Jorge is wearing a mint green tuxedo that he says is from a thrift shop and straight out of the seventies. I can tell Mary Beth is impressed, and I’m starting to wonder if this random dance date thing might turn into something more with her. Her eyes light up even more as Jorge hands her a boxed wrist corsage of purple orchids.

  “You look great,” I tell Bryant as I admire his sleek-looking dark suit and narrow tie. “Where on earth did you get that suit?”

  “It’s from the sixties. It belonged to my grandfather.” He smoothes his hand over his shaggy brown hair and nervously hands me a wrist corsage. It’s similar to Mary Beth’s, only my orchids are white. “My grandmother did some alterations to make it fit better.”

  I nod with approval. “It’s perfect.”

  “You, uh, you look really nice too,” he says politely.

  “Thank you.” I can tell he’s really uneasy as he looks around — this must be way out of his comfort zone and I feel a little sorry for him — but at the same time, it’s kind of cute too.

  “I didn’t know your parents were rich,” he whispers to me.

  I glance around the large foyer and shrug. “It’s just a house.”

  “Our parents want to meet you,” Mary Beth says. The guys exchange worried glances but follow as we lead them toward the kitchen, where introductions are made. And when the guys see the little feast laid out, they soon begin to relax. My dad gets more photos and takes some video, and finally it’s time to leave.

  But before we go, my dad stops the guys and gives them a very serious look. “Now, I realize how some kids think a dance like this is an excuse to drink alcohol and party, but I want to make it crystal clear to you boys that that is not only unacceptable and illegal but I will personally come after both of you if I hear of anything like that happening tonight.” His scowl melts into a charming smile, and I feel like crawling under a rock. “Understand?”

  Bryant nods with a slightly shocked expression. “Yes, sir.”

  Mom laughs nervously. “You see, I work in the ER, and I see the results of that kind of thing far too much.”

  “No problem.” Jorge holds up his hand like a pledge. “No alcohol. You’ve got our word.”

  “Good.” Dad seems satisfied, and we say our good-byes and hurry out.

  To my surprise, an old but gleaming, long silver car is parked in the driveway. “Whose is that?”

  “That’s my grandpa’s too,” Bryant admits. “It’s not a limo, but I hope it’ll do.”

  “It’s great,” I tell him. Okay, it looks a little like something out of a comic book, but it’s also kind of interesting.

  “It’s better than great,” Jorge says as the guys open the doors for us. “It’s a 1964 Cadillac — and in mint condition. I can’t believe your grandfather
let you use it, man.”

  “First he made me wash and wax it and clean out the interior, then he made me swear on my grandmother’s life that I would drive safely and return it looking as good as it looks now.”

  “This is so cool,” Mary Beth says from the backseat. “I feel like we’re starring in an old movie.”

  “This is fun.” I nod. “Much better than a limo.”

  Bryant turns on the radio and a jazzy song comes on. “This is my grandfather’s favorite station, but I can change it — ”

  “Don’t you dare,” Mary Beth says. “I love jazz.”

  “It’s nice.” Leaning back into the soft leather upholstery, I feel myself relaxing. And as I focus on the evening before us, the oppressive guilt that’s been weighing on me might be lifting … slightly. Anyway, I am determined not to think about it tonight. Not after I see all the time and energy these guys are putting into our evening.

  “So where are we eating?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Bryant tells me as he drives toward town.

  Then when we’re in town, he drives slowly by some of the nicer restaurants, and I notice limos dropping off kids we know who, like us, are dressed to the nines. But Bryant continues past these places and on toward the less-impressive part of town, finally pulling into a dismal-looking strip mall. The car is quiet, and I’m sure Mary Beth is thinking what I’m thinking: Where are we going to eat here? I sure hope it’s not Burger King. The only other eateries are a sandwich shop, which is closed, and a tiny taco shop called Rosita’s, where a couple of other cars are parked.

  “Here we are.” Bryant parks right in front of Rosita’s. “Jorge’s choice for dinner.”

  “Oh … ?” Mary Beth gives me a concerned look as we get out.

  I force a smile. “This should be interesting. Do they really have indoor seating in there? It looks tiny.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Jorge says as he opens the front door. But once we’re inside, this looks like a regular taco joint with a counter to order and menus printed on the wall behind it.

  “Mr. Mendez,” a plump Hispanic woman says to Jorge, “your table is waiting.”

  Jorge chuckles. “Thanks, Tia Rosita.”