Secrets, Lies, and Locker 62 Page 3

  ‘What?!’ My heart starts beating like mad. This was supposed to be the start of something new, but instead I’m right back to where I was a month ago: in the firing line. ‘But he can’t be,’ I say. ‘He was quite nice to me in class.’

  ‘He must have taken his happy pills today.’

  ‘What do you mean, happy pills?’

  ‘They put him on medication to try to control his rage.’ Zeba nods seriously as if she’s the expert on Rage Medication.

  ‘I bet that’s one of those high-school rumours.’

  ‘I’m telling you!’ she says, then flicks her head round to make sure no one is listening. ‘I’ve seen him myself, popping pills from a bottle.’

  So it is true. I gulp. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Apparently he was expelled from his last school for beating someone up.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes,’ she says as we get to the school gates. ‘He put the guy in hospital. For months.’

  I can’t believe this. Suddenly English is going to become something I dread. I’m going to have to stay on the right side of Lucas Marino. I wonder if Mum will let me move me to another school.

  Just then, a Mercedes pulls up and Frankie is sticking her head out of the window. ‘Hiya, Maya!’ As soon as I hear our silly greeting I relax.

  ‘Hiyeee, Frankieee,’ I reply and run over to the car. ‘Hi, Mr Lovis,’ I say to Frankie’s dad.

  ‘Come on,’ says Mr Lovis. ‘I’m dropping Frankie at yours, so jump in.’

  Zeba shifts from one foot to another.

  ‘Is it all right if Zeba comes too, please?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure,’ says Mr Lovis.

  As Zeba and I pile in, there is a look on Frankie’s face that says she’s not completely happy.

  ‘Frankie, this is Zeba,’ I say. ‘I’ve told her all about you.’ And Frankie’s look is gone.

  ‘Hi,’ says Frankie. ‘What’s in the bin bags?’

  I give her a wide, excited grin. ‘Wait and see,’ I tell her. ‘It’s so, so great!’

  Chapter 6

  My room looks like a blizzard has hit it. There are little pieces of paper everywhere. Frankie is on one side of me, wearing a lime green shirt with clashing orange trousers and Zeba is on the other in her red and black uniform and goth accessories, both of them sitting in a snowdrift of secrets.

  ‘This is the most amazing thing I have ever heard,’ says Frankie. ‘These are the secrets of all the people that have been in your school for the past, what … ten, twenty years?’

  ‘Trouble is,’ I say, ‘how are we going to work out whose secret belongs to who?’

  ‘To whom,’ says Frankie. She can’t help herself. ‘I don’t know, but we have to try. Look at this one.’ She picks up a piece of paper from the pile.

  ‘You can’t get a boob job at 15!’ says Zeba.

  ‘And you could buy a horse for that amount of money,’ says Frankie.

  Zeba looks confused so I explain. ‘Frankie’s got a horse.’

  ‘Sir Toby Belch,’ says Frankie.

  ‘From Shakespeare?’ asks Zeba. ‘Twelfth Night?’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ says Frankie.

  I’m glad Frankie and Zeba are getting on, but we’ve got to focus. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘It’s one down and about seventeen billion to go. How do we do this?’

  ‘We’ll need to start some sort of database.’ Frankie goes crazy for lists. Her happiest day is when there’s an excuse for a spreadsheet. ‘It’ll have three columns: one with the secret in, one with the name of the person who wrote it, if and when we find it out.’

  ‘What’s in the third column?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ll tick that column when we solve it.’

  ‘Solve it?’ asks Zeba.

  ‘Fix whatever problem they are having,’ I say.

  ‘Exactly,’ says Frankie.

  I stare at the massive pile of secrets on the floor. ‘With great power comes great responsibility. Who said that? Jesus? Oscar Wilde?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was Spiderman,’ says Zeba. And we all burst out laughing. ‘So, we work out whose secret belongs to who … m,’ she continues, making sure her grammar is perfect for Frankie’s sake, ‘and we try our best to help them.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Frankie. ‘And we must only use our powers for good. Agreed?’

  Zeba puts her hand out and Frankie and I both grab it and do a three-way shake.

  This is going to be a lot of hard work; these secrets go back years. Suddenly I get a brainwave. ‘Logically this locker 62 thing started when Hillary Randle ran away. Like, look at this one,’ I’m drawn to a yellowing piece of paper that came from the bottom of the locker. ‘It says:

  ‘It’s ancient. Zeba, have you got a smartphone?’

  ‘Yup,’ she says, and brandishes it.

  ‘Google Hillary Randle and find out when she disappeared.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ she says, and salutes.

  ‘Frankie and I will start on the spreadsheet.’ I pull my laptop towards me. ‘Look, Zeba, Frankie’s already salivating at the prospect.’

  Zeba looks worried. ‘Are you doing all the secrets?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘How else would we do it?’

  She looks uncomfortable. ‘Make sure you read every one out loud.’

  Why is Zeba acting odd? Then it hits me – there’s a chance that one or two of these secrets might be hers. We’ll have to be really nice if that ever comes up.

  ‘OK,’ I say, ‘I’ll make sure I tell you every single secret I find.’

  Zeba looks relieved and we get to work. I start reading them out and Frankie types them into the computer.

  A second later Zeba shouts, ‘Got it! I’ve just found an article about Hillary Randle. It says she ran away thirteen years ago. On 28 May.’

  ‘That’s just before your birthday, Maya,’ says Frankie.

  But I’m too busy concentrating. ‘Listen to this one,’ I say.

  We all gasp.

  ‘Who would say that about their best friend?’ Frankie says.

  I continue to read.

  ‘I would never ever do that to you, Beffy,’ Frankie says to me.

  ‘Neither would I,’ says Zeba. She just implied I was her best friend.

  Frankie’s eyes narrow. ‘Beffy is the strongest bond there is.’

  ‘What’s a beffy?’ says Zeba. Her eyes are even narrower.

  ‘Best Friends Forever. BFF. Beffy,’ says Frankie.

  I’m feeling a little like a territorial war is breaking out, and I’m the territory.

  I ignore them and read another secret.

  ‘Maya,’ says Frankie, ‘are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Zeba, ‘you’ve gone paler than me with my make-up on.’

  I show them the note.

  ‘Oh, Maya, I’m sorry.’ Frankie puts her arm round me.

  ‘Do you think it’s that boy in English … Luke whatshisname?’ I ask Zeba.

  Zeba bites her lip. ‘It could be.’

  I hang my head. According to the person who passed the note about me today I’m a completely uncool freak, so I’m going to be bullied.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maya,’ says Frankie, wrapping her positivity round me like a blanket. ‘It couldn’t happen again.’

  ‘What couldn’t?’ asks Zeba.

  I don’t want to explain about the teasing, the taunting and the mean stuff those girls did. St Cecilia’s was a nightmare. The days they bullied me were awful, but the days they didn’t were worse because I was constantly waiting for it. Frankie was my only friend, and there wasn’t a lot she could do to help.

  Zeba’s waiting for me to say something, but fortunately Mum calls up from the front door. ‘Maya! I’m home!’

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ I shout.

  ‘And I’ve brought Gran and Grandpa with me!’

  It’s great that we’ve moved so close to my grandparents.

  ‘Come and get dinner!’

  And we all run downstairs.

&n
bsp; Chapter 7

  We’re all sitting round the kitchen table as Gran and Mum stand at the kitchenette separating the portions of fish and chips so there’s some for everyone.

  ‘Hi, Frankie,’ says Mum. ‘I see we haven’t managed to get rid of you then.’

  ‘Not a chance!’ says Frankie. Frankie knows my mum almost as well as I do.

  ‘And Maya’s picked up another one!’ says Zeba, as her way of introducing herself.

  Mum tries not to look shocked by Zeba’s ghoulish appearance and says, ‘Nice to meet you. And you are … ?’

  ‘Manar Sakina Adiba Khan, I’m your local 24/7 goth,’ she says. ‘But you can call me Zeba.’

  ‘What a relief,’ says Mum, and from the way Zeba laughs I can tell that Mum has yet another fan.

  Gran smiles at me. ‘Your Grandpa and I thought we’d bring over your favourite tea, as it was your first day.’

  ‘Fish and chips was my favourite dinner when I was little.’ I get up and nudge Gran so she knows I’m teasing her. ‘I have much more sophisticated tastes now,’ I tell her in my best posh voice.

  ‘Well excuse me, Lady Maya of the Denham Dales,’ she says as she hands me two full plates. ‘What do you care to eat these days?’

  ‘Beef Wellington is my absolute fave,’ I tell her, putting the plates down in front of Zeba and Frankie.

  ‘Who’s made you beef Wellington?’ she asks as she brings over two more plates for me and Grandpa. She turns back to mum. ‘I can’t imagine you, who finds buttered toast a challenge, can make beef Wellington.’

  ‘Dave made it,’ says Frankie, her big mouth open to shove in a chip. ‘It’s now my absolute fave too.’

  Gran hovers over her chair and looks at me. I know what she’s doing; she’s trying to work out if I want to say more about Dave. But I don’t. I absolutely don’t. The only good thing about Dave was his beef Wellington, and he only made it twice.

  ‘Mum …’ Mum warns Gran and sits down.

  Gran sits too and laughs it off. ‘Well, in this part of the country, posh grub is fish and chips. If you like we can call it pommes frites.’

  ‘Poisson et frites,’ says Zeba.

  I kiss my fingers and throw them at her.

  ‘I did bring desert,’ Gran says, ‘but unfortunately your grandfather is feeding it to the dog.’ She points behind me at Grandpa.

  ‘We don’t have a dog,’ I remind her.

  ‘Try telling him that!’ says Gran with a shrug.

  Grandpa’s sitting wearing one slipper and one hiking boot. I guess he’s having one of his deranged days. Sometimes I wonder if he’s putting it on to amuse us. We all pretend to find him quite funny, but I know Mum and Gran are worried about him.

  ‘You can have this dog if you want,’ Grandpa says, pointing at an empty cardboard box on the floor. ‘He’s absolutely useless!’

  Zeba and Frankie giggle.

  ‘What’s wrong with the dog?’ I ask.

  Grandpa leans forward and puts his arm around me, as if he doesn’t want the dog to hear what he’s about to say. Which is weird for two reasons:

  a) the dog is a cardboard box, and

  b) even if the cardboard box was a dog, he wouldn’t be able to understand.

  ‘When I took him to the park he wouldn’t play fetch,’ he whispers.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I say, like I’m a vet and very concerned.

  ‘It used to be Hitachi’s favourite game.’ Grandpa shakes his head sadly.

  ‘Why is the dog called Hitachi?’ Frankie asks.

  ‘It’s written down his side.’ Grandpa points at the box dog, and it’s true. ‘Good dog,’ I say, and pat the box on the head.

  ‘Leanne,’ said Grandpa, looking up at Mum as if he’s only just noticed she’s there. ‘You really need to cut down on all those chocolates. You’ve put on a lot of weight recently.’

  The rest of us look at each other, stunned for a minute. Then we burst out laughing.

  ‘I’m not fat, Dad,’ says Mum. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘What? Another one?!’ he asks. Clearly this is news to him even though we talk about it every day. ‘But you’ve only just had a baby!’

  ‘Maya’s thirteen, Dad,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘And she’s sitting right next to you.’

  Grandpa sticks out his hand towards me. ‘Hello, Brian Andrews, nice to meet you.’

  Gran has had enough of this lunacy. ‘Come on. Eat up.’

  ‘Yum,’ says Mum. ‘Fish and chips is just what I wanted.’

  Gran clears her throat in a way that makes me tense. ‘It’s no beef Wellington,’ she says.

  Oh no, here goes.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Mum’s trying her best not to rise to it.

  ‘I bet it was delicious.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was delicious,’ I mumble.

  ‘You said it was your favourite,’ Gran replies.

  ‘So what?’ says Mum, the irritation showing in her voice. ‘So he makes a decent meal?’

  ‘I’m just saying that a man who can cook can’t be—’

  The clank of metal against china makes us all look up from our dinners. I can tell that Zeba and Frankie are feeling even more awkward than I am. ‘Because he can cook, you think I should take him back? Never mind that he’s a pig. Never mind that he called me a liar. Never mind that he shouted at me in front of my daughter!’ Mum’s shouting now, completely missing the irony.

  ‘You’re carrying his child, Leanne!’ says Gran.

  It’s like a tennis match, with me, Frankie and Zeba looking back and forth at the verbal ball. Suddenly, as if things weren’t bad enough, Grandpa starts barking.

  ‘You need the baby’s father,’ says Gran. ‘God forbid, a husband.’

  ‘Bark bark!’ shouts Grandpa.

  ‘I don’t need a man for anything. And if I did, it wouldn’t be a man like Dave!’

  I’m with Mum on this one: we definitely don’t need Dave around.

  ‘Bark!’ says Grandpa. ‘Would someone let the dog out?’

  ‘Darling, if you’d just see sense …’

  I glance at Zeba and Frankie and motion to the door. We all get up and get out of there. Gran and Mum continue arguing and Grandpa continues barking as if they haven’t noticed we’ve gone.

  We stand in the hallway and hold our own little meeting. ‘Sorry you had to see that,’ I say to Zeba. ‘Frankie’s met them all already, but I guess you had to find out about my bizarre family eventually.’

  Zeba grabs her huge backpack and flings it on to her shoulder. ‘Your family –’ she pauses as she loops her arm in the other strap, ‘are awesome!’

  And I can tell she means it.

  Chapter 8

  I’ve woken up really early for some reason. I think it’s because I have a lot on my mind, what with it being the second day at a new school, my mum being pregnant with Dave’s child – which means I have to face the fact that she actually had sex with him – Yuck! Not to mention that I think I’m the reason Mum and him broke up.

  Frankie’s great and everything, but her family is basically normal and she doesn’t really understand. Sometime I have secrets I can only tell to my diary.

  I reach under my bed and find my pretty notepad with the embroidered flower design on the front.

  I flip the page and start writing.

  ‘Morning, sweetheart.’ Mum startles me as she opens the door. ‘Are you awake?’

  I quickly shove my diary underneath my pillow and lie down, pretending to be asleep.

  ‘Time to wake up, Sweet Dream,’ she says in a quiet voice.

  I groan, turn over and turn my back on her. Mum sits on my bed and strokes my hair. ‘I want to say how sorry I am about last night.’

  I just mumble because I think there might be more apology to come.

  ‘I was just so knackered after work, and your Gran was winding me up, and I was annoyed about … anyway, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum.’ I know it’s not her fault. She’
s always telling me how her pregnancy hormones make her crazy, and I guess it’s true.

  ‘It’s not OK. I didn’t ask about your day, and I had a screaming match in front of your friends.’

  I turn around to face her. ‘Grandpa was barking like a dog.’

  Mum guffaws. ‘So tell me: how did it go?’

  I shrug and can’t really look her in the eye.

  ‘Did you make loads of cool friends? Did you find a boy to have a crush on? Did he instantly fall in love with you?’

  One freaky friend and one very gorgeous boy. But I don’t say this.

  ‘What’s the matter, hun?’

  ‘Oh, I love learning and schoolwork and stuff, Mum, you know I do. But it’s the people at Mount Selwyn … I really want to be popular, but I’m not sure they like me.’

  Mum gives me a big hug. ‘Oh, they will, honey, they will.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum’s always had loads of cool friends, so she must know the truth about this sort of stuff.

  ‘Well, yeah, sure. It just might take a little while because you’ve started late.’

  ‘But I tried so hard to be friendly and they laughed at me.’ I pull at the ribbons on my bed sheets. ‘I don’t know what to do. I might be an uncool freak forever.’ Which means that the bully who wrote the secret will target me first.

  ‘What about that girl yesterday? Zeba, wasn’t it?’

  ‘She’s OK, but she’s a bit … strange. I wouldn’t say she was part of the cool crowd.’

  ‘You want to be friends with the beautiful girls that all the boys fancy.’ Mum sighs. Then she looks me in the eye. ‘Want to know the truth?’

  ‘Desperately!’ I say.

  ‘You’re a super-smart girl, and you are sweet and lovely.’

  ‘OK …’ Why is she saying it like it’s a bad thing?

  ‘But something happens to girls about your age. They become so obsessed with their image that they forget to be nice to each other.’

  ‘They become so obsessed that they ditch me in the toilets?’

  Mum looks shocked. ‘Is that what happened, Sweet Dream? Did Zeba ditch you in the toilets? Do I need to come in and speak—’

  ‘Not her. The cool girls. The ones I want to be friends with.’ The ones that will stop me getting bullied.

  Mum frowns and shakes her head. ‘They do say that the friends you make in your first term are the ones you spend the rest of your school life trying to lose.’