Free Tell Me a Secret by Holly Cupala Page B

pomegranates wafted through the bookshelves.
    “She’s been through a lot,” Kamran said.
    “Yeah, but she tried to drag the rest of us through it with her. I swear, she imitated me. I want a friend, not a doppelganger.”
    Outrage washed through me. Is that why she liked Chloe?
    “I should have told her at the beginning of the summer. Stupid of me. I never should have let this get out of hand, and now…”
    “You’re not stupid. You’re a nice guy. Nice guys do the right thing.” Another giggle and the sound of a chair scooting. “So…what do you think’s in your future now, Mr. Nice Guy?”
    I looked back at the long letter of truth I had typed to the BabyCenter girls, waiting for me to hit SEND . As long as I didn’t, I could pretend none of this was happening—at least to them.
    I logged off the computer and slipped out of the library without a sound.
    I nearly collided with a few people from the drama crowd, though Essence wasn’t with them. I put my head down and walked the other way.
     
    It was fairly easy for me to avoid Essence these days—we hadn’t planned our schedule together like we had every other year. But it was impossible to avoid her on Sundays.
    Mom didn’t say a word to me or Dad on the way to church. She hadn’t said much since Miz Wrent’s unceremoniousdeparture. Instead, she spent every waking moment at her laptop—a new script, or maybe a memoir entitled Humiliation: A Chronicle of Motherhood . I had always wanted to be like Xanda, and now I was. I just didn’t know it would involve this much guilt.
    “So what have you been working on?” I asked my mom.
    Dad glanced toward her for a split second. Mom continued to stare straight ahead, zooming toward the church at uncharacteristically high speeds. “I’ve made some changes to the Christmas montage.”
    I could see it already—if I wasn’t sorry enough in real life, she’d make sure I would be onstage. No amount of repentance in real life would be enough. “What did you change?”
    “You’ll see.” Then she turned her conversation toward my dad and the sets—how to construct the perfect alternate universe.
    We arrived to a chorus of drama groupies whose whispers halted when we approached. I was stuck lugging in the box of new scripts. Mr. Warren (aka “Kindly Old Man”) stepped in and said, “You shouldn’t be carrying that.” My mother didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
    Essence was among the groupies. I was betting she couldn’t wait for this moment.
    If the rest of them were waiting around to witness the carnage, they obviously didn’t know my mother. She took the stage with her usual, enviable composure. “All right,” she said as she handed out the new scripts, “we’ve got some majorchanges in the works. I’m posting a new cast list as of today. Essence?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Mathison?”
    “You are taking over the part of Brenda.”
    Essence smiled. They deserved each other. “Absolutely. I already know Brenda’s lines! I will be Brenda. Brenda and I will be one. So does that mean Miranda’s taking my part?”
    “No…”
    Thank you, God.
    “…Claire will be taking over for you.” Claire, a fourteen-year-old with perma-grin, squealed with happiness. “Mandy is going to be working on sets with her dad.”
    Essence snickered as she read over her script.
    So that was it. I was demoted back down to set designer, a job I’d performed for half my life and even kind of liked.
    Except for the first time since Xanda died, I’d had my own part in the play. For the first time, however briefly, the daughter my mom noticed was me.

Fifteen
    After Miz Wrent’s visit, I expected my mom to champion my health care, but all she said was, “If you’re adult enough to get yourself into this, you’re adult enough to handle the consequences.”
    It wasn’t so difficult to see a doctor—just a quick web search and a phone call. I almost told Kamran in English class, where I watched the back of his neck the way