Can I Tell You A Secret?

Chapter One

My bedroom looks empty. It's filled with makeup, and clothes and old toys that 8 year old me loved and 15 year old me can't bear to throw away. But it feels like it did the day we bought the house; no furniture except a built in wardrobe, a door and 2 windows.

I close my eyes as someone pulls a hairbrush through my hair. In the mirror in front of me, I can see that it's just my younger sister, Wren. Ever since she cut her hair short last year, she's been playing with mine. She can't wait until hers grows back. Her fingers nimbly pick up strands of my hair and fold them over each other. I've never gotten the hang of plaiting, despite how many times Wren has tried to teach me. I lean forward and open the top drawer of the desk I am sitting at, grabbing out a silver nail polish.

"Hey, sit still!" my younger sister scolds, pulling on my plaits harshly.

"Ouch!" I complain.

"Serves you right!" Wren says, and I glare at her as I unscrew the nail polish.

Wren continues plaiting my hair as I paint my nails, the familiar smell calming me.

"There," Wren says, studying her work.

She moves from behind the chair I'm sitting in and sits on the bottom bunk of my bunk bed.

"Have mum and dad decided on what to do about school yet?" she asks.

I screw the nail polish lid back on and join her.

"I don't think so. They've been talking about it a lot lately," I say

It's been 3 months since Wren and I last went to school. We've seen some of our friends since our last day, but we've had to homeschool ourselves. Mum wanted to hire a tutor, but we don't have enough money. She then suggested teaching us herself, but we'd have even less money if she didn't work. Her last idea was to sign us up for an online school. But not only does that cost so much that tutoring looks like a two dollar shop toy, but she couldn't find a single online school in New Zealand.

"Speaking of school," I say, nudging my sister, and she sighs.

"But it's so boring, teaching ourselves from books!" she complains, like she does everyday.

I give her a stern look, and she hops off the bed to get her workbooks from her own room in a huff. I collect my maths, science and english workbooks from my bookshelf and go downstairs to sit at the dining room table. Wren saunters downstairs a minute later with her books and our stationery box weighing her down. She drops it all on the table where it lands with a thud.

"English first?" I suggest reluctantly.

For our English workbook, we're studying a novel of our choice. Wren, who adores reading, is loving this. She's already finished one novel and is now doing it for a second time. I don't have a problem with reading, but I can't concentrate on small words for long. Wren picked out Harry Potter for me, and I've struggled through the first few chapters.

For the rest of the day we focus on graphs in maths, and complete a chapter of our science workbook. We joke about going outside for p.e, but we take after our parents when it comes to hating sports. Mum comes home at 5 o'clock, looking really tired. She hugs us weakly, and smiles.

"Hey girls!" she greets.

"Hi mum," I smile at her.

"I hate leaving you girls home alone during the day," she sighs, "how'd you go?"

"We did well. We're almost finished our maths workbooks," Wren pipes up.

Mum smiles at her then walks up the stairs to her bedroom to get changed out of her stiff work clothes.

"She looks so tired. I hate it," Wren groans.

"I'm sure she's ok," I reassure her.

I'm not so sure though. Her smile is so fragile, I feel like her face is going to split into two. I feel my own smile slipping, but I adjust it before Wren notices. If mum is going to make Wren worry, then I'll have to be the one who makes her happy.

"Use your eyes, Alouette. I know you have eyes. They're green, just like mum's. She's obviously not ok. We can't ignore that," Wren says firmly.

"Why can't we ignore it? If we ignore it, then it's like nothing's wrong, like we don't have anything to worry about," I murmur under my breath.

"What?" Wren says, trying to hear what I said.

"Nothing," I smile an empty smile.

I follow mum's invisible footsteps up the stairs, and turn off into my room. It smells like nail polish and perfume. When I shut the door, and I'm finally alone with just me and my thoughts, I can finally let the smile slip. I look in the mirror, at my hair that Wren so artfully plaited. My red hair is split into two french plaits, which trail down to my pale shoulder blades. She's so talented at hair design and writing. I wish I'd known my talents at age 13. Heck, I wish I knew what my talents are now!

I flop onto my bed, my face buried into my pillow. I want to scream into it, but unlike in the movies when someone does that, and it muffles their screams so much no one hears them, in my house everyone comes running to make sure you're alright. I've tried it before. Twice. It doesn't work screaming from the top of a hill either. You just get some strange glances and a couple of rude comments from a group of German hikers. I'm left to take on the world, screamless. I roll onto my back and study the graffiti on the wooden boards supporting the top bunk. The first one ever left, a black vivid smiley face, was drawn at age ten. The rest of it is random doodles, and swear words from when I discovered them, and made up alternatives or swear words when I decided to stop swearing. Mum doesn't know about these doodles, and I plan to keep it that way. I lie there, just staring at the planks until mum calls me downstairs for dinner.

"Where's dad?" I ask.

Dad's normally home for dinner.

"He's going to be home late tonight. He has something he needs to do," mum says calmly.

Calmly? Her husband isn't having dinner with us, he's out doing something. That shouldn't have been said calmly, it should have been said with an air of bitterness, or stiffness. Wren looks just as confused as I feel, but after sharing a glance, we let it slide. I hear the front door open just before midnight, and pad downstairs in my pyjamas.

"Dad?" I call out.

"Hey, sweetie!" dad gives me a hug.

I give him the sniff test, but he doesn't smell like alcohol in the slightest.

"Why don't you go back to bed?" dad suggests.

I want to argue, but in my sleepy state of mind, I agree without hesitation. The bed sheets are warm, and I fall asleep immediately. Then someone's shaking me, calling my name.

"Alouette, mum and dad need to talk to us," Wren shouts in my ear.

I groan and sit up. Wren pulls me out of bed and practically drags me down the stairs, plopping me into my seat.

"So, you want to talk to us?" Wren addresses our parents.

"Yes, we have something we need to discuss with you. Get some breakfast first, though," dad says.

Wren pours herself some cereal and I blend myself a smoothie. We sit back down, curiosity showing in our faces. Our parents sigh as they look at us, like they don't know how to tell us something. Mum takes a deep breath.

"Girls, we're moving to England!" she smiles.

"No!" I yell, so forcefully that it scares me.

I storm up the stairs and into my room. We can't move. There's way too many memories here. My parents should know that.

A/N: hey guys! This is my new book that I wrote last year. There may be some triggering scenes in this novel so before any of these chapters I'll put a trigger warning. Anyway I hope you enjoy this story! Lots of love
-daydreamsandwords xxx