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

Dessa continues, finally meeting my gaze. “You thought it was the guy who took you from your bed and put you in the ground.”

When did my aunt’s skin get so blotchy? Why do her eyes look so tired? I study her face, desperate to find even a trace of my mother. But I can’t seem to see one now.

“There was no proof,” she says.

“My hands were proof.” Doesn’t she remember the welts from the chain, the dirt in the tub, the mud in my hair?

“And now you’re seeing things … statues on our back porch.”

“Why don’t we start over?” Dr. Mary says. “Terra, would you like some tea?” She nods at my empty cup.

It’s only then that I realize I’m stirring my spoon inside it.

“I don’t even feel like I know you,” Aunt Dessa says.

“That’s because you don’t,” I tell her.

“All the secrets you’ve been keeping—from yourself, from me…”

Secrets?

“I went through your room. And I saw all of that stuff.” Her lip curls up.

What did she see?

Dr. Mary turns to my aunt. “Tell Terra what specifically bothers you about some of the things in her room.”

Aunt Dessa’s lip coils up farther, bearing her teeth. “I worked so hard … making your room look nice, doing it all over.”

“Be specific,” Dr. Mary orders.

“The knives, the repellents, the baseball bats and bottles of insecticide,” Aunt Dessa says. “I took it all—whatever I felt looked unhealthy…”

I stand from the table. Every inch of me feels on fire. “You took my things. Where did you put them?”

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you need help.” Her eyes throw daggers. “I think you’re a safety risk—to yourself, to others.”

Dr. Mary is speaking now—her lips are moving. I can hear the sound, but I can’t decipher the words. What do they mean?

What is my aunt doing?

I look above her head at the cat clock on the wall. Its shifting eyes move back and forth, back and forth to the ticking sound.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Like a bomb inside my heart.

Dr. Mary says, “What do you think about taking a little break?”

The cat’s tail is broken. It doesn’t move in sync with the eyes.

“Your aunt wanted me to tell you about a new therapeutic program at the hospital,” Dr. Mary says. “We’re really excited about it; it’s cutting edge and has an impressive success rate.”

“New program?” Isn’t that what they said before?

“That’s right,” she says. “And it’s totally voluntary, totally tailored to the individual. Some of the participants do a full day. Others participate in the partial program. And then some do full immersion. So, this would be your choice.”

My choice.

“Your bus, remember?” she chirps.

Right. I nod. I’m driving my own bus. I’m the leader of my own pack and the strongest link in my chain.

“So, what do you say?” Dr. Mary motions to my seat. “Shall we discuss the program options a bit more?”

I shake my head, backing away, bumping into the wall from behind.

“Terra,” my aunt calls once I get out of view.

I pause in front of the mirror, listening to them talking. My aunt wants me to enter the overnight program; she doesn’t think I’m “safe” enough for partial placement. It’s either that or I move in with my grandparents in Florida and enter a day program, after a thorough screening. She’s already contacted them. My grandparents are okay with the plan but not thrilled. There isn’t an extra bedroom in their condo. Plus, Grampa’s heart condition is a major consideration. How much will my presence add to his level of stress?

“I think the immersion program is really the best option,” Aunt Dessa says once again, making it emphatically clear. “I can’t go on like this. It’s affecting my health too. It’s also affecting my work.”

I grab my bag, noticing the door to the study is closed—a rarity at best. I open it up. My things sit in a heap on the floor—my art solvents, my scissors, my carving tools, my troll items. My most recent self-portrait sticks out at the bottom, beneath my mom’s yoga blanket. A bottle of maple syrup has poured over the eyes, stealing my breath.

I take a step closer, noticing the star-studded doorknob amid the rubble, just as I did five years ago. I pull it out. It feels hot, fresh from the flames. I stuff it into my pocket, grab the yoga blanket, and bolt out the door.

NOW

44

Not knowing where else to go, I drive to the library even though my shift doesn’t begin for a few more hours. Tucked away in one of the study carrels on the second floor, I hold the doorknob to my lips, feeling hot bubbling tears well up in my eyes. My phone vibrates at the corner of the desk—again and again.

A text from my aunt.

A reminder to take my meds.

A phone call from my aunt.

A phone call from Dr. Mary.

Felix’s voice plays in my mind’s ear: Just finish high school and get the hell out of there. But where would I go? And what could I do? Somehow, it seems I forgot to have dreams.

I’m not sure how long I sit before my pulse stops racing and mind stops spinning, before I’m finally able to remember that Darwin12 had something to tell me. I grab my phone and log on to Jane, still hoping to find Peyton logged on too. I enter the chat room and scroll downward, searching for her name, unable to find it.

TulipPrincess: Hey, NightTerra. Any Paylee22 sightings yet?

NightTerra: Unfortunately, no.

RainyDayFever: Wait, wasn’t she on here for a second?

TulipPrincess: When???

Darwin12: Hey, NightTerra. Glad to see you. Can you go talk?

NightTerra: Wait, did someone see Paylee22 on here?

Darwin12: I saw her. Can you talk to me now?

JennaIsDead: Guys, don’t leave me hanging! I need your advice!!! What should I tell my stepmom???

A link from Darwin12 pops up on my screen. He wants me to go into a private chat room. I click on it.

Darwin12: Hey.

NightTerra: You heard from Peyton?

Darwin12: Yeah. About an hour ago. She logged on, saw me in the