The Disclosed Secret

Chapter One ~ A Note

Weather in Devon was unpredictable. One day it was sunny and bright, putting everybody in a good mood. Other days it was cold and rainy, making people even more depressed than the actual fact that they lived in Devon. It was raining today. The last lesson of the Wednesday. History. That was another thing that depressed me. What's the point in learning about stuff that's already happened. Come on, they're dead, there's nothing we can do about it. I rolled my eyes. It was 14:34. In one minute I could be excused to go and see the director of music so that she could monitor my progress with my violin. For the past two years I had been self teaching myself violin and I was approaching Grade 1. Every six months Miss Jones had to check up on my progress. I eyed the clock. 14:35. I raised my hand uncertainly.

"Yes Charlie?" Mrs Burns said warily.

"I have a meeting with Miss Jones" I said, a little tartly.

"Off you go then, and - don't take that smug tone with me, I'm superior to you, not the other way round"

My mouth gaped open and I flounced out of the room, grabbing my violin case. How dare she?! I walked along the corridors, pressing my left index finger on the appropriate biometrics. Using the biometrics was often an issue for me. It was October and inside and out I wore stripy gloves I got from Blackpool illuminations last November. I mentally scolded myself for not putting my fingerless gloves in my bag this morning. So now every time I try to place my ginger on the red beeping plastic, I have to put down everything I'm carrying and frustratedly remove my glove and them reluctantly pull it back on. Something unusual caught my eye in the corner of the corridor. A note. Or a letter maybe. I picked it up with my thick gloves hands. It said in a spidery scrawl:

Things to do:

• Keep Yas safe and happy.

• Help Mum as much as possible (she'll need it).

• Don't let anyone find out.

• Avoid Jon at all costs.

Don't let anyone find out about what? Who is Yas? Who is Jon? I flipped the piece of paper over to see if there were any more clues. There was a name.

Lawrie Johnson.

Lawrie Johnson was the Year Eight misfit. He had just recently moved here from Oxford. He hadn't settle in or made friends yet. Even if he had settled in, I'm pretty sure he would still be friendless. He has a sour and surly personality, with a short temper. He is small with floppy dark hair and icy blue eyes. He doesn't talk to anybody, just snaps at people and if somebody tries to talk to him he will ignore them or walk away. I sometimes wonder whether he has a motive to act so distant or he is just plain ignorant. L just plain ignorant.

I was almost ten minutes late for my violin meeting. I didn't really care though. Questions about Lawrie were ticking around my head like angry stinging wasps.

"Charlie Murphy, thank goodness! You have finally appeared" Miss Jones said sarcastically. Which quite stung because Miss Jones was the only teacher I like and who seemed to understand me. I cleared my throat.

"Sorry Miss, I just got a bit - um - lost?" I said.

"Charlie, a couple of teachers have came up to me and talked to me about your appalling punctuality to lessons"

I gasped. Well, there was the time in English, when I lost my pencil case. And Art, when I had forgotten my goddam pencil and had to find Liz so I could borrow one of hers. And - well, I could see what they meant. But still, it was rude to say so. I twiddled my thumbs and looked at the floor as she checked my composition book, murmuring.

"Oh and Charlie, tie up your hair" she said in a blonde way.

"It is, Miss" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Tie it up properly" she retorted. My tight blonde long curls were scooped into a messy ponytail with golden wisps curling around my double pierced ears. In my first ear piercing was a deep azure sapphire (my birthstone) and in the second was a pale pink pearl. I rolled my eyes and twisted it into a messy French braid.

"Well it all looks good to me Charlie, keep up the excellent work" she said brightly, chugging down the last of her coffee. I smiled feebly and traipsed back to the locker corridor where students were bustling, waiting to go home. And then I saw Lawrie, packing his bag calmly, an emotion he rarely was. Should I hand him his note?