Courtney's Secrets (The Clandestine Series)

Admit Five

The heavy lump in my stomach doubled in size as I plodded to the front door of my house. Lan was on her way to do her driver's license test, and I had no place to go but home.

I pulled out the form my counselor, Mrs. McMillan, gave me after my appointment. She told me I had enough credits to graduate early if I wanted, but I would need to complete two semesters of online English classes. Since I couldn't double up on English classes with a full load right now, I would have to sign up and pay an outside institution for classes. All I needed was Courtney's signature and a credit card. A cautious electricity sparked inside of me as I considered Courtney's reaction.

Hours passed as I waited for her to get home. I snacked on an apple and turned on the television, but I wasn't watching it when I heard the vibration of the garage door opening. There was no way of knowing from day to day what mood she would be in, so I waited skeptically on the couch for her to make herself known.

She called my name in a sweet-as-syrup tone as the door shut behind her. Her eyes fell on me. She froze for a moment, followed by a look of confusion. "What did you do to-" I scooted back on the couch as she came to sit next to me. She didn't seem angry like she was when I had colored my hair the night before. Instead she had a slight smile. She reached to comb her fingers through the top of my scalp and I flinched as I thought she was going to smack me, but she was gentle.

I stiffened. "I had to fix it," I explained. "There were stray hairs everywhere."

She folded her hands in her lap. "Did Kim fix it for you?"

My heart jumped. It always jumped before I lied. If she had known where I went—well, I didn't want to find out how mad she would be. "Yes."

Her eyebrows pulled up with anxiousness. "Did you tell her about..." she couldn't bring herself to say the words but I knew she wanted to know if I had told Kim how my hair had been cut.

"No," I reassured her.

Her eyes closed as she drew in a breath. She laid her hand on mine. "You know, I think I was a bit too harsh last night." She leaned in and kissed my forehead as I sat still. "I want to make it up to you."

My eyes moistened. Her admission to being wrong was surprisingly gratifying, but her apology didn't change how angry I was with her for what she had done. I was expected to forgive and move on. I quickly blotted my eyes with my sleeve, and got mad at myself for crying again. "It's fine," I bluffed.

She smiled wider and wrapped me in a hug. "I want to take you to dinner, and then we'll go shopping."

Shopping. Shopping like we did all the time. Shopping like it was a magic cure. It made her believe everything was okay in our relationship.

She insisted I pick the restaurant, and before I knew it, we were having Italian sodas and raviolis at the Old Spaghetti Factory downtown.

"You know," she said, thoughtfully, "you were a beautiful little baby. You had chubby legs and cheeks. Now look at you—you have no meat on your bones."

I smiled. Every time I tried to find out about my childhood, who my father was, where I was born, she would change the subject, but she had opened the door to the conversation so I went in. "What hospital was I born in?"

Her eyes twinkled under the lights of the crystal chandelier. It took her awhile before she answered, "At the hospital where I worked at the time—Littleton." She took a drink.

This was more than she had ever shared before. "What was pregnancy like?"

"Well, you've heard about pregnancy cravings—pickles with ice cream and peanut butter. That was my go-to snack."