The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (summer reads txt) 📕

is my last year. How about you? How have you been?”

“I’m still trying to finish up high school.”

“Oh, right.” He smirks. “Little did I know you weren’t in college when we met.”

My face flashes hot. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you kidding? I’m the one who should be apologizing. I never should’ve let you go off alone that night.”

“As if I gave you much of a choice.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Is there a reason he’s not saying anything about my juice can disaster at the convenience store? Should I mention it first? Before I can, he pushes a book toward me across the desk.

“I’d like to check this out,” he says.

The cover shows a shrouded figure standing on the fringe of a forest. I blink hard, sure I must be seeing things. But I’m not. The title, Girl Missing, stares up at me in big, bold lettering. Meanwhile, Garret is still smiling. The joke’s on me.

“Why?” My voice shakes. “Did you leave those other books too?”

“Other books?” His eyes go wide.

“On the return rack the other day…”

He takes a step back, holding up his hands as if I’m putting him under arrest. “I’m really sorry, but I have no idea…” His words stop there.

Some guy comes over and stands by Garret’s side. “Hey, man. Is everything okay over here?”

Both he and Garret stare at me, as though I’m the one with the problem. And maybe they’re right, because Katherine comes over too.

“Terra?” she asks. “Do you need some help?”

One of the singles at a nearby table—some guy in a puffy jacket—keeps stapling papers together: staple, staple, staple.

Clobber.

Clank.

Swish.

The noise is grating. My head is pounding. Did I take my medication? I remember spilling a pill onto my palm, over the spot that’s lost its lines. But did I swallow it down? Yes, I think I did.

“Did what?” Katherine asks.

“Terra?”

I open my mouth to speak, spotting a textbook tucked under Garret’s arm, The Art and Science of Forensic Psychology, prompting me to remember. He’s a criminal justice major. We talked all about it. He wants to be a cop.

I look once more at the title he wants to check out. It’s changed now, not Girl Missing but Gil Messing: The Autobiography of a Former ATF agent.

“Can I help you?” Katherine asks him.

“Terra’s been plenty of help already,” Garret says. “Thanks again.” He gives me a wave and turns away, heading upstairs, leaving the book behind.

“What was that?” Katherine asks, her brows raised high.

I go to take a breath, trying to get a grip, but the air is caught in my lungs. “Just an old friend,” I manage to say.

“A friend I wouldn’t go kicking out of my sandbox, if you get what I’m saying.” She keeps on talking—something about a sand pail and shovel.

I’m not really listening.

Katherine nods to my coffee mug, asking if I need another cup. What I really need: a moment to breathe. And so that’s what I do, turning away, closing my eyes, picturing Story Land and the maple syrup packets.

When I open my eyes again, Katherine’s gone. The door to her office is shut.

I sit down and grab the key ring from my bag. Was I wrong about those other titles too? The ones on the return rack?

No, I wasn’t.

Because Katherine saw them too.

Plus, I scanned their barcodes into the computer.

I squeeze the troll charm again and again, making the eyes bulge, hoping the motion will soothe me. Still, my insides race.

In the bathroom, I splash water onto my face. My eyes are swollen from a lack of sleep. I pat them with my dampened fingers. The sensation flashes me back—to my time in the well, the night it rained, my waterlogged skin, the quenching of my thirst …

“It really happened,” I tell my reflection in the mirror, popping one of my meds just to be sure.

My skin has chills, and yet every inch of me feels like it’s sweating. Still, I go back to my desk. My article on research is still up on the computer screen. I start to type, only just noticing.

What is this?

A folded piece of paper sits on my keyboard. It’s not exactly small, about the size of a cocktail napkin. How did I not see it?

How tired must I be?

I peer over my shoulder, toward Katherine’s office. The door is still closed but maybe she came out to leave me a to-do list. I unfold the creases and flip the paper over, feeling a knot form in my gut.

How can this be?

Be logical, Logic says. Remember: The mind plays tricks. Obviously, the eyes do too. Recall the magical rainbow bird that hovered at the top of the well, that brought you a sparerib and lit up the walls like a nightclub … You had the common sense not to tell anyone about that bird. And you know why? Because it sounded like one of those fantastical stories that you and Charley used to make up, freshman year, in the quiet room, to pass the time.

Charley.

Was it a coincidence he disappeared not long after I gave him the mood ring with its power of invisibility? Weeks after his departure, when I brought up his name—to see if anyone knew where he’d gone—none of the other students were able to place him, as if he were just an imaginary friend, like TumTum, the monkey I had in preschool.

“There’s a big difference between reality and fantasy,” Dr. Mary used to tell me time and time again. “But sometimes perspective gets skewed, and the difference can feel quite small.”

Sitting at the computer, I blink hard—once, twice, three full times. But nothing changes.

The reality remains: A paper map of Hayberry Park lies stretched across my keyboard.

I stand from the desk. Blood rushes from my face. Who did this? I look out over the room. People’s heads snap up.

A girl turns from the printer.

Some guy spins around in his chair.

“Terra?” Katherine comes storming out of her office once again. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Her mouth’s parted; her eyes are gaping.

I