Secrets, Lies, and Locker 62 Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

  Quercus

  55 Baker Street

  7th Floor, South Block

  London

  W1U 8EW

  Copyright © Lil Chase 2012

  The moral right of Lil Chase to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  eBook ISBN 978 0 85738 679 3

  Print ISBN 978 0 85738 483 6

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

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  Also by Lil Chase

  Boys for Beginners

  Secrets, lies & LOCKER 62

  Praise for Lil Chase’s Boys for Beginners:

  ‘A warm and funny story for 10+ readers about

  friendship, family and growing up’

  Guardian

  ‘Hilariously and charmingly, Gwynnie tells her own journey of discovery’

  Julia Eccleshare, lovereading4kids.co.uk

  ‘Very funny … realistic and scarily relatable’

  Wondrous Reads

  ‘An entertaining story, light-hearted and sweet … a great debut novel from an author who is definitely one to watch’

  Bookbag

  For my dad:

  you allowed your children to jump off high ledges but only once you’d checked the water was deep enough.

  Prologue

  I can’t believe what I’ve just done.

  The girl who ran through the halls of Mount Selwyn High School was still in shock, her hair still wet from the shower. It was way past eight p.m., five hours since it all started, but everyone had left for the day and no one had seen.

  She took the stairs two at a time and she went into the basement. Her locker was tucked away at the side, in a dark enclave with just a few other lockers. People only walked this way if they had to get to the music rooms, but it was too late even for after-school classes.

  She’d had no choice. She’d had to do it.

  Or did I?

  At her locker she scanned left and right before she opened the door and pulled out her backpack. She shoved in her school fleece, her gym socks – they might keep her warm if she had to sleep rough for the night – her favourite book of poems and one exercise book. On the front was written:

  No one understood what it was like to be her: Head Girl, Hockey Captain, Netball Captain, Founder of the Poetry Club. All her life she’d tried to be perfect, and she’d failed. If anyone knew the truth, if her parents knew what she’d done, they would disown her.

  But now only one thought circled and circled in her mind:

  Have I killed her?

  She ripped out pages of work from the book: grade A, after grade A, after grade A, fell to the floor. Then she stopped and ripped out a blank page and wrote on it:

  I am a coward

  She paused as she realized she hadn’t said the most important thing:

  and I love you.

  She folded the note in half and placed it on the shelf of the dark blue metal locker.

  A noise startled her. Someone else was in the building!

  She quickly put the book in her bag, clipped the bag shut and slung it over one shoulder. With tears in her eyes she said goodbye to the school, and to her life.

  Then she closed the locker, locked it and walked quickly down the hall to the fire exit.

  It was locker number 62.

  Chapter 1

  I’m starting a new school today and I can’t wait!

  Because of Mum I have to wait a bit longer than I want to. Registration is already over so we’re going straight to my first class.

  ‘Here we are!’ says Mum.

  The science lab. Great. My first lesson is my worst subject.

  ‘Lipgloss pep talk!’ orders Mum, and pulls a Juicy Tube from her pocket. She smoothes it over my lips and I rub them together. Then we look each other in the eye and both say, ‘Cool is everything!’

  Mum starts sniffing, and I see she’s crying. Actually crying! I rub her arm. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘This is not time for Mum the Hormone Monster.’

  ‘I’m just sorry you’re going to be late,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t get it together this morning. Must be the bumpling.’

  ‘Don’t try and put this on the pregnancy, Mum,’ I say, pointing down at her round belly. ‘You’ve always been disorganized!’

  Mum puts her hands up. ‘It’s a fair cop, guv,’ she says, laughing back the tears. She tucks a strand of her curly brown hair behind her ear. ‘I think you’re allowed to be late on your first day,’ she says. ‘In fact, it’s kind of expected. Now all your new classmates will think you’re a rebel.’

  ‘I’m not a rebel,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yeah, I know. But it might be fun to reinvent yourself – become a cool girl for a change. Make all the other kids want to hang out with you … for a change …’

  ‘I’ll be, like, the most popular girl in school?’

  Mum nods.

  ‘I like the sound of that!’

  ‘You’re so beautiful, darling. And with that snazzy new haircut and those funky red tartan tights that go with your new red uniform, you’ll have everyone falling at your feet this time.’

  One of the good things about Mum is that she’s not afraid to spend money on me. She wanted to give me the best start in my new school – especially as I’m joining Mount Selwyn in mid-October and I’ll be at a school with actual boys, sitting and learning in the same class as me. So we went to the swankiest hairdressers in London, flicked through tons of mags and chose the latest cut going. We dyed my hair from its normal blonde to brown like Mum’s and cut it in a short-short boy-cut. The magazine said it’s going to be the NBT – Next Big Thing.

  I am no longer blonde, gawky Maya Andrews with a bump in her nose, a slightly unhealthy interest in books and only one friend in the world. I am mysterious and alluring Maya Andrews, with a secret and interesting past, who’s cooler than cool.

  That’s the idea, anyway. Mum’s idea.

  Mum sniffs again and flaps her hands in front of her face. ‘I’ll walk you in, shall I? Maybe I’ll recognize your teacher from the good old days.’

  ‘No!’ I say, too quickly and too loudly. I look at Mum and wince.

  She laughs. ‘Of course you don’t want me in there spoiling your street cred.’ She kisses me on the cheek and I pull her in for a hug.

  ‘Don’t break too many hearts,’ she says, then walks away.

  I wait until she’s out of sight before I reach for my mobile and send Frankie a quick text.

  About to go in. Wish me luck x x

  I only have to wait two milliseconds for Frankie’s reply:

  Gluck darling. Remember what we talked about:

  mysterious and alluring. And remember that you

  always have your beffy x x

  I text her right back:

  Thanks, Beffy. See you after school tonight x x

  Deep breath. This is it. First impressions are everything, and I really want to make Mum proud. As soon as I open that door I have to be cool … and pretend cool comes
naturally.

  I plaster a gigantic winning smile on to my face, lift my head up, chest out, and walk in, trying not to look too much like a rooster. The whole class, teacher included, turns and looks at me.

  ‘Hello,’ says the teacher, a man who looks like Jim Carrey, if Jim Carrey had a sweaty face and a weird dress sense. ‘Can I help you?’

  I am momentarily stunned by the sixty or more eyes on me. I see thirty students wearing shirts with tartan ties and red jumpers with the Mount Selwyn school crest at the top left. We wore grey woollen V-necks at St Cecilia’s, with green checked shirts. This looks completely different. But I snap out of it quick and say, ‘Hi, I’m—’

  ‘The Year 7s are on the floor below. Would someone—’

  Year 7! ‘No, I – er – I … I’m Maya Andrews. I’m starting Year 9 today.’

  Perhaps a slightly false start. There are a few titters from around the classroom. It’s happening again.

  ‘Of course you are. Maya Andrews.’ He ticks my name on the register. ‘I’m Mr Holt. Grab a seat.’

  The lab is set out in long desks for doing experiments, with about six stools to each desk. I see there are two free stools for me to choose from. The first is next to a girl with perfect makeup, blonde ringlets and an expression that says she doesn’t want to be here. She’s leaning sideways and whispering to an equally beautiful girl with black hair extensions in neat cornrows that fall into large curls. These two are clearly the popular crowd, and to make the most friends I have to hang out with them.

  There’s also a space next to a nutty-looking girl dressed as a goth. She has olive skin with so much make-up on that she needs a Wet Paint sign. Her foundation is pasty white and she has black eyeliner all around her eyes. Her uniform looks like everyone else’s, but her tights are ripped, clearly on purpose, and she’s drawn a dagger on her notebook sticking out of the word Chemistry. Um, it’s not that I’m opposed to goths in general, but I don’t think she and I would have anything in common. Besides, I want to be the coolest, most popular girl in the school, and I don’t think that’s going to happen sitting next to her.

  Then I see there would be one advantage – one gorgeous advantage – in sitting next to the goth girl: the most super-hot guy I’ve ever seen in real life. He has wavy brown hair, big brown eyes and cherry red lips. I walk towards his desk and smile at him as I pass. Then, with sudden bravery, I say, ‘Hi.’

  He nods his head at me and does a half-smile. ‘Hi,’ he says.

  Five minutes into my first day and I think I have developed my first crush.

  I pull back the stool next to goth girl, but the amazingly gorgeous boy is still looking at me. OK, mysterious and alluring, mysterious and alluring. Cool is everything. I give him a mysterious and alluring look. He laughs a little. Not the result I expected, but still a result.

  I go to sit down, trip over goth girl’s gigantic backpack … and fall flat on my bum.

  Smooth, Maya. Very smooth.

  The class bursts out laughing and continues to laugh solidly for about five minutes. I haul myself up from the floor and try to laugh along with them. It’s a trick I learned at my last school.

  ‘Too busy staring at Ben Sands to concentrate?’ says Mr Holt. ‘What’s your name again?’ he asks me, and probably because of the hideous humiliation, I completely forget what my name is. I’m not sure forgetting your name counts as being mysterious.

  ‘Err … Maya Andrews,’ I finally say.

  ‘If you …’ he starts, then, ‘Wait a minute … Maya Andrews?’

  Here it comes. I knew it would happen eventually but I hoped it wouldn’t happen in the first lesson of my first day.

  ‘Are you Leanne Andrews’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I nod.

  ‘Well, I never!’ He says it like this is more exciting than Madonna being my mum. Or the Madonna being my mum. ‘Let me tell you something, class. Leanne Andrews was quite a hellraiser at this school. What a reputation she had!’

  Everyone says, ‘Ooooo,’ like my mum is a big deal. The two cool girls turn to look at me again. I try to smile. The one with the ringlets raises her eyebrows.

  ‘And as well as being notorious at Mount Selwyn, Maya’s mother has written lots of scientific papers on the copulation of rats.’

  The room sighs. They thought my mum was going to be interesting.

  ‘Don’t look so disappointed,’ he says. ‘Copulation means sex.’

  The fact that a teacher has just used the word sex means everyone is laughing. At me. Again.

  I slap my face with my palm.

  Mr Holt hands me a textbook and tells me to turn to chapter seven. Everyone is working in silence so I take the opportunity to assess my new class. At the back there is a gigantic, terrifying-looking boy. He’s the only person wearing a jacket over his uniform, an army jacket. I’m sure I can see stubble on his chin. He looks much older than everyone else. In front of him is—

  ‘Karmella!’ shouts Mr Holt.

  All heads turn to look at the cool girl with the blonde ringlets.

  ‘Karmella, what’s that in your hand?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Holt,’ Karmella says.

  ‘It’s not nothing. Give me that piece of paper.’

  ‘It’s my diary, sir,’ she says, looking defiant but also a bit scared.

  ‘It’s not your diary, Karmella. And if it is, you shouldn’t be writing it in class.’ He snatches the piece of paper out of Karmella’s hands. ‘If it’s so important, I’m sure the whole class should hear.’

  Everyone in class hates this bit; we’re all feeling Karmella’s pain. He reads the paper aloud. ‘Vote on the new kid: male or female or a tragic …’ Mr Holt tails off as everyone starts laughing.

  Oh God! I’m blushing like mad and starting to sweat. Maybe my new short-short boy-cut is not the Next Big Thing; maybe it’s a Long Way Off. And I’m sure the bright red sweaty look will never be trendy.

  Mr Holt growls at Karmella. ‘Karmella, you are in a lot of trouble—’

  ‘But, sir,’ Karmella protests, ‘I didn’t start the note. Look, there were loads of ticks in the “Tragic Posh Idiot” column before it got to me.’

  ‘I don’t care who started it. You’re the one being punished.’

  ‘But, sir. That’s so un—’

  ‘It’s OK, Mr Holt,’ I say, not wanting to make enemies on my first day, especially not with a girl like Karmella. ‘I’m sure it was only a joke.’

  Mr Holt ignores me. ‘Karmella, I want you to look after Maya. Make sure she gets to her classes, show her where the toilets and the changing rooms are, and make her feel welcome.’

  Someone shouts, ‘Gutted, Karm!’

  Hanging round with me has just become a punishment. I have to think of a way to turn it into a perk. Then maybe I can get into the cool group after all. Then maybe I won’t be bullied again, like I was at my last school.

  Chapter 2

  ‘It was so hideously unfair of Mr Holt to punish you.’

  I’m walking down the corridor with Karmella and the other girl, the one with the cornrows and hair extensions. I’m still carrying my coat, gym kit and all my stuff as I didn’t get the chance to put it away before class.

  ‘Hideously!’ the other girl scoffs.

  Hideous was what everyone said at St Cecilia’s High; apparently it hasn’t made it to London yet. Or maybe hideous was last year’s word and it’s completely over.

  ‘Don’t be rude to the new girl, Roche,’ says Karmella, and Roche looks shocked. ‘Maya, this is my best friend, Rochelle.’

  ‘Hi,’ says Rochelle.

  ‘Hi!’ I say. ‘Rochelle is such a pretty name.’

  Rochelle smiles.

  Wow, that was easy! Friends with the cool crowd on my first day.

  Karmella looks at Rochelle, winks at her, and then stops walking.

  ‘Just so you know, this is the ladies’, and I need to go.’ Karmella continues: ‘Roche, didn’t you say you needed to go too?’
r />   ‘I’m absolutely desperate, dahhhhling,’ she says. I think she’s mocking my accent.

  They push on the door to the ladies and I’m about to follow them in when Karmella says, ‘We’ll only be a sec. Will you wait for us out here?’ And they head inside.

  I watch as everyone walks by, most of them ignoring me but some giving me a look because I’m clearly new and they don’t know why I’m standing outside the girls’ loos like a lonesome lemon, carrying all my things. I hope no one tries to pick on me before Karmella and Rochelle get back. My tartan tights were so cool in St Cecilia’s, but everyone here is wearing sheer black ones. Their school skirts are rolled up really short.

  I try to subtly roll mine up too.

  Gradually the corridor clears. I look at my watch; they’ve been ages and our next class is in five minutes.

  I decide I can’t face being late twice on my first day – I know it’s sad, but I can’t fight my nature. I push the door to the ladies’ and I am instantly hit by the smell of bleach and cigarette smoke. It’s quiet.

  ‘Karmella? Roche – er – Rochelle?’

  No response. Nothing.

  There are five cubicles on either side and I walk down, pushing the doors. All ten are empty. At the far wall there is another door, tucked behind a cubicle, and when I push that door I see it leads out into a different hallway with classrooms leading off it.

  They must have left this way. They forgot I was waiting for them.

  Now I have only four minutes to find my locker and dump my stuff. So it looks like I’m going to be late. Again.

  A beep from my phone:

  How was the first lesson? Fall for anyone yet?

  Frankie. Who else? I text her back:

  Head over high heels! Will tell all tonight, got to find

  my locker then head to English.

  She replies:

  How romantic! Love at first lesson.

  I open the printout the receptionist gave me with my timetable, my locker number and a map of the school.

  Maya Andrews: Locker 62.

  According to the map, it’s downstairs in the basement so I follow the crowd and head there. There are rows and rows of lockers all side by side and back to back. Mine must be here somewhere. Each of the lockers looks the same; metal, painted blue, with a combination lock and three tiny slits for air vents.