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

alone by yourself at night, don’t you?” he asks. “Never mind in a salvage yard that isn’t even open to the public.”

I clench my teeth, feeling as though I might seriously combust. I position my finger over the spray trigger and listen for his breath, trying to gauge where he is—over to my right, at least two feet away. I hold the spray bottle outward.

But he grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. The cell phone jumps from my grip. I hear it knock against something hard.

Did it get through to Emergency? I didn’t hear an operator.

I start to turn away and reach into my other pocket, but he grabs that arm too, pressing both wrists together, pinning them at the base of my spine. A loud, popping sound spouts from my shoulder. Still, I try to get away, using my legs, kicking outward, still unable to see.

“So much fight.” His voice is at my neck; it sends shivers down my back.

Something damp and heavy blankets my face. A cold, wet cloth is stuffed into my mouth.

“I admire that so much,” he whispers into my ear. “Such a strong character you are.”

I sidestep, just as I learned in self-defense, so he can’t get a secure footing, then bend at the waist to snap my head back, wanting to knock him down.

But he’s grabbing my neck. His fingers press into my throat.

Did I even move?

Am I still bent forward?

Something hard and heavy compresses the crown of my head. I picture a helmet and do my best to duck. But somehow, I end up facing upward, lying on my back.

Is that the sky? I think it is. I see the moon. The darkness lightens. The moon morphs into a fiery white star that grows bigger with every breath as heat engulfs my skin, as smoke fills my lungs, and as my consciousness goes up in flames.

NOW

49

A phone rings, rousing me awake. I open my eyes. A fuzzy film clouds my vision. I blink hard. My head feels spinny. My eyelids are heavy; I go to rub them, but I’m unable to move my hand. It’s pinned in place.

I open my eyes wider, able to see: pale yellow walls, something black and boxy … I roll forward to sit up. A vinyl seat is angled across from me. Its side is busted open. Cotton stuffing leaks out, onto the floor.

What is this?

Around my wrist.

A zip tie. I’m attached to a metal handrail, about four feet long, that runs parallel to the floor. My other hand is free.

Where is my cell phone? I reach into my pocket, but my cell isn’t there. It’s not in the pocket of my jeans either.

That’s when I remember. It’d jumped from my grip and landed on the ground. I try my other pocket, searching for my spray, my keys, my flashlight …

Empty.

My heart pounds.

A camping lantern casts a soft glow over the space. Piles of junk block the windows: mounds of steel, what appears to be the front end of a car …

I’m inside the bus.

Where is Peyton? I shout out her name.

Meanwhile, a phone continues to ring. The sound is coming from somewhere behind me. I swivel to look, spotting a pay phone propped against the back of the driver’s seat. The phone looks like the one at the park: a big rectangular box, black with silver accents.

I scoot forward on the ground to try to reach it with my free hand, sliding my zip-tied wrist all the way to the right side of the railing.

The receiver remains just a few inches out of reach. I tug on the zip tie. The hard plastic digs into my skin, bites at my wristbone. A cracking sound rips from my shoulder.

I inch out a little more, extending my fingers, holding my breath. Finally, I’m able to knock the receiver off the hook. I snatch it from the floor and place it up to my ear. “Hello?” I answer.

“Hello, Terra.” A male voice. The same one from outside?

“Who is this?”

“Not who, where. Isn’t that the question you should be asking? That is, if you want to find Peyton.”

“Okay, where?”

“Peyton’s in a safe place—for now, anyway. If you look carefully, you’ll see that she left you a note.”

I search around, spotting writing on the wall, behind the handrail. There’s a message scribbled in marker:

Dear Terra,

I’m so sorry I lied, but please don’t give up on me. Your friendship is so much more than I deserve, but I need it now more than ever.

Love always,

Peyton

P.S. You’ll always be like a sister to me.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Did you find your coins?”

What coins?

“At the park,” he says. “The coins in the change return. I hope you took them. You can use those coins to make a phone call or to make a wish, whichever you prefer.”

“Who is this?”

“What is it you want more than anything else in the world?” he asks.

“To find Peyton.” I continue to look around, searching for something I can use to free myself from the rail.

The interior of the bus has been tagged with initials and insignias of all types: stars, quotations, numbers, drawings. They’re all painted across the seats, along the ceiling, and over the walls.

“Be honest,” he says. “I know your character, Terra. You can’t fool me.”

“What do you think I want?”

“No, no, no,” he sings. “It’s not that easy. You have to work a little too.”

It’s only then that it hits me. I struggle to reach a little farther, to push down the lever that hangs up the phone—tearing the skin on my thumb in the process. I just need another inch.

A mix of blood and sweat helps to lubricate my thumb. I use that lubrication to wrench harder and reach farther.

My skin rips more.

The knuckle pops.

But I’m able to touch the lever. I hold it down for three full seconds before reaching for the keypad.

I dial 9-1-1.

The call goes through.

I hear a ring.

“Hello?” someone answers. A female voice.

Blood rushes inside my ears. “Is this