Whispered Secrets by Jay Mirano (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

Andover, Massachusetts 1753

A breath of wind whispers across the countryside, catching the long tendrils of summer grass in its passing embrace. The lilting sound of laughter hangs in the air, undulating like a ripple across the surface of a pond. Two lovers, hands clasped, run across the shimmering meadow, the girl’s vibrant blonde hair snapping like a candle in the breeze.
Their frantic pace slows as they approach the edge of the clearing, their wide strides slackening into tentative steps into the unknown. The boy encircles his arms around the girl’s waist, eyes glittering with a hint of mischief. With a smile she pushes him away.
“What would your mother say if she saw you cosying up to me, Jacques?” Her voice is light with laughter.
He shrugs. “She’s just going to have to learn to deal with it.”
“Oh really? And what about Daphne? According to my sister, your mother has already proclaimed the two of you to be betrothed.”
Jacques snorts, his head cocked. “I don’t want Daphne; I want you

.”
He reaches out for the girl once more, pressing her against the gnarled bark of an ancient oak. His hands find her face, cupping her chin and drawing her ever closer.
“You’re all I’ll ever want, Bridget. I won’t rest until we’re together.”
Bridget melts against his touch, winding her arms around his shoulders and entwining locks of his raven hair in her fingers.
Jacques traces the arc of Bridger’s neck with his fingertip, burying his face in the tender flesh there. He explores the length of her collarbone with tender kisses, coming once more to a rest on her neck.
A scream slices through the still air, tearing the two lovers apart. They eye one another warily, mouths agape in unison. Bridget bunches her white cotton dress in her hands, the hem dusted with dirt and blades of dried grass.
“What was that?”
As if in answer to her question, another scream rings out, long and drawn out. It’s cut off abruptly, and they’re plunged into silence once more.
“I have to go see what’s happening,” Jacques says, his chest rising and falling in short, panicked pants.
“No, wait,” Bridget’s hands curl around his forearm.
“Stay here.”
Bridget shakes her head, gripping his arm harder. “Don’t leave me here.”
“I’ll be back, I promise,” Jacques plants a hasty kiss on her cheek, his eyes searching hers.
Jacques unlaces Bridget’s fingers from his arm and slowly backs away. She reaches for him in vain, her eyebrows knitted with concern.
“Stay here.”
“Wait!” Bridget calls out after him, but it’s too late. Jacques is already tearing across the meadow, his untucked shirt billowing out behind him like a sail caught in the wind.

Chapter I

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and paused to examine myself in the mirror. I let out a sigh, tucking a strand of wayward frizz behind my ear. I tugged self-consciously at my oversized Nirvana t-shirt, fleetingly wondering if I should change into something more girly. Abandoning any sense of style, I decided to go as is. Today wasn’t the day to say au revoir to my tomboy side.
I could hear the clatter of dishes getting put away in the kitchen, my Mom’s subtle way of letting me know breakfast was ready and that she better not have to walk all the way up the stairs just to tell me so. Communication in this household was down to a fine art.
I cast one, last sweep over my bedroom, making sure I’d packed all the necessary textbooks before making my way down the hallway. The smell of slightly over-cooked toast laced the air; cooking wasn’t my Mom’s finest suit. She could get you off murder in a courtroom, but when it came to preparing the evening meal for the family she was a lost cause.
My Mom’s head snapped up as I approached, and her face twisted with a frown. “Sam, I buy you so many nice dresses. Why do you have to wear that?”
I mock glare at her, trying to conceal the smirk that was desperately attempting to break free. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m planning on dying my hair black and getting a tattoo,” I pulled up my sleeve and jabbed at my shoulder. “I’m thinking a massive scorpion battling a dragon right here.”
Mom shook her head, dumping two slices of overly-buttered toast on a plate. “You know, you should consider becoming a comedian.”
I take the toast off her and slide into a nearby barstool. “Dresses are lame, Mom. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking that I’m an actual girl or anything.”
Mom smiled, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and draping it over my shoulders. “You are a girl, Sam.”
I pushed Mom away, my mouth brimming with toast. I glance up at the clock, a feeling of dread descend. “Is that the time! I’m going to be late!”
I jumped to my feet, the barstool screeching as it flew backwards across the tiles. I grabbed my other slice of toast to eat on the bus and ran for the front door. Mom yelled something at me as I fled, but I didn’t hear. Probably the obligatory ‘have a nice day’ that she can’t bear to not say.
I made it to the bus just in time, and shouldered my way through the bedlam that was the morning bus ride and to my seat. I had to duck to avoid a flying apple core that threatened to hit me in the face, before pulling my knees up to my chest and plugging my iPod into my ears. Even at full volume the music did little to drown out the chaos around me. It never ceased to amaze me how swiftly teenagers regressed into complete, total animals.
I had to do even more shouldering past obnoxious farm animals to get to home room, where I made a bee-line for my unofficial official seat in the very back. Ms Jones scowled at me when I failed to remove my iPod, so with over-exaggerated hesitation I put it back in my bag.
The bell let out a shrill squawk to herald the beginning of yet another school day, and the rest of home room flooded in, led by Lacey Milton doing her trademark flounce. Instead of simply sitting in a chair like the rest of the plebs, she insisted on instead sitting on top of a desk and slinging her blonde curls over her shoulder. Ms Jones shot her a disapproving look, but didn’t ask her to move. Ah, to be Teacher’s Pet.
Roll-call dragged on, as did the half an hour that consisted of home room. To be fair, it was mainly muffled chatter among everyone, while the teacher thumbed through a magazine with a disinterest look etched on her face.
Geography passed in much the same way, since it was so near to the end of term and Mr Andrews had just about run out of steam from dealing with the same kids for ten weeks. Every now and then he’d silence the growing cacophony of chatter and tell everyone to get back to study. As always I sat alone, sketching out various depictions of a zombie Apocalypse. Mr Andrews thought I was the most studious student in class; in reality, my geography book was page after page of drawings and doodles.
Finally the bell tolled for lunch, and I made my way out into the hallway, twisting the hem of my shirt between my fingers.
I felt a pair of warm arms wrap around my waist, followed by a firm chin on my shoulder.
“Are you avoiding me, Sam?”
I spun around, electricity pulsating through me. Jake Turner stood before me, a whimsical kind of amusement dancing on his face.
Jake had been my best friend for all intents and purposes for as long as I could remember. He lived on my block, and my mother had always insisted on setting up ‘Play Dates’ with him as a desperate attempt to get me to socialize (I had been awkward and shy even then). It wasn’t until I turned thirteen that I started to see Jake as something more than a friend. For the first time those soulful, blue eyes made something stir deep inside me that I’d never experienced before. Unfortunately for me, Jake showed no signs of feeling the same way. At all.
“Don’t scare me like that!” I cried, slapping him on the chest. “Of course I’m not avoiding you, you jerk.”
“Yeah? Well why haven’t I seen you all day?”
I rolled my eyes, and continued my trek down the hallway. Jake followed after me, and we were soon walking at a steady pace side-by-side.
“We never see each-other on Fridays,” I said, rather matter-of-factly. “You know that; none of our classes are the same.”
“Yeah, that’s what, ‘The Man’ wants you to think, Sam. Your mind is so weak.”
“Oh really? Please, enlighten me and my weak mind.”
“Kindly; ‘The Man’ makes you believe that you have to blindly follow whatever you see printed on your timetable. In reality, you can go to whatever class you like, and see whoever you like.”
I snorted. “And what happens when my teachers realize I’m missing?”
“Who cares! At least you’d be with me.”
“Why don’t you ever disobey, ‘The Man’”- I gestured with my fingers to show the words were in quotation marks - “And come visit me instead?”
He shook his head forlornly. “Sam, Sam, Sam, you are so naïve. Really.”
I hit him hard in the arm, and he made an over-exaggerated wince.
“So, you coming to this party tonight?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Amy’s party? I guess.”
“You guess? What else have you got to do tonight? Sulk in your room?”
I pouted. “Actually, I’ve got some really important, uh...”
“Sulking to do?”
I laughed sarcastically.
“Seriously Sam, come. Don’t bail on me again.”
I bit my lip.
“Please?”
He looked down at me with those big, irresistible blue eyes of his, and I knew he’d won.
“Fine.”

***

It was only 8pm, but there was still that one drunkard passed out on the lawn with a pool of vomit beneath his sweat-laced face.
I groaned inwardly, not wanting to be here at all. But, I’d promised Jake, and a promise was a promise.
I made my way towards the house, tip-toeing around discarded beer cans and trails of toilet paper. A failed attempt to tee-pee the house, I supposed.
I opened the door tentatively, an internal debate raging about whether or not I should text Jake and tell him I’d suddenly come down with a severe case of stomach flu and leave. But there was still that little voice inside me that told me I shouldn’t disappoint him again.
So inside I went, although no-one noticed me. The music was at full-volume, and the front room was a blur of people milling around, laughing and cajoling.
I scanned the room for Jake but found him nowhere.
Typical

, I grumbled to myself, closing the door behind me and weaving through the sea of people to find the drink table. He always does this; begs me to come and then leaves me hanging.

I poured myself a beer, but didn’t plan on drinking it. I’d just carry around the glass and pretend to be a bit tipsy - I never let myself actually get drunk. I