The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

“When I was a kid and things got really bad at school or when Mom and Dad were fighting, I’d empty out all my drawers and arrange everything – underwear, socks, T-shirts, sweaters – in perfect rows. If something was even a fraction out of place I’d start over again. I’d soothe myself into a trance state where the only thing that existed were those stupid pieces of clothing and their uniformity. It was something in my life that I could totally control. I guess it sounds weird for a kid to obsess about something like that.”

I turned to look at him. “Did your parents ever find out?”

He shook his head. “I was a quiet kid and Dad monopolized Mom’s time with work stuff in the evenings. So I was left to my own devices a lot.”

“You were a lonely kid?”

“It was good for my grades. Paid off in the end. I mightn’t have been a prof otherwise.”

I took his face into my hands and kissed him hard on the mouth, then pulled away. His eyes were wide. Liquid. “Can I ask you something, Guy?”

He perked up instantly. “Anything. Fire away.”

My heart lurched. This was the moment. I held my hand against his cheek and took a deep breath. “Do you love your father?”

He turned away from me, then pulled himself up. “I’m not sure I want to talk about that right now,” he said, throwing the socks onto the bed. “Think I need a drink.”

I sat there. Alone. Confused. More conflicted than before.

Things came to a head one Monday in the fall when I left work. A young man in a dark coat was waiting outside the door, leaning against a streetlight.

“Anna,” he called to me.

It was Dane. He still sported traces of the goth look but the long, black overcoat was gone, replaced by the greenish parka and backpack of a student. I rushed over to hug him.

“Great to see you,” I said, stepping back to take a good look at the transformation. He swept the hair back from his face and smiled self-consciously. “Are you taking classes round here?”

“I’m at the College of Art and Design,” he said, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips.

I held onto his arm. “That’s incredible. I’m proud of you.”

He stared down at the sidewalk, grinding his toe into the concrete. “It’s pretty good there. I like it.”

“Everything’s okay?”

He nodded. “Great. My mom’s all crazy about it. She packs me lunch every day.”

He chewed on his lower lip.

“Something’s up, Dane,” I said. “Spit it out.”

He looked at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable under the caked-on eyeliner. “Carla’s gone. Left her auntie’s house. Nobody knows where she is.”

“But she loved it there. She was more settled than she’d ever been.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Everything was going okay, then she made a big mistake. Came up to the city for the weekend. Didn’t get back to her auntie’s place afterwards. That was last week.”

Suddenly the noise of the traffic was a din in my head. The stink of car exhaust made me sick. “You asked around?”

He nodded. “Nobody knows anything. As usual.”

“You go to see Robin?”

He nodded. “Says he’s gonna look into it.”

I reached out and touched his arm. “I know he will. He really liked Carla. Had high hopes for her since she turned her life around. I’ll call him too. But come back here in the next few days and let me know if you hear anything from her.”

I gave him my number then watched him go, his shoulders hunched. That’s when I knew the past would never leave Carla alone. And now she was going the same way as Birdie. It had to be stopped and that meant sacrificing everything I had for the sake of my lost sister. After all, I could never forget what was in the package Tara gave me on that frigid night in Duluth.

43

Dennis called me again the day after I got back from Duluth.

I saw his caller ID and let it ring. How could I answer it when I hadn’t found her? It rang for almost a minute, and I ached to pick it up. But there was nothing to say. When the noise finally stopped, I sat down at the kitchen table, poured myself a half tumbler of rye and placed Birdie’s envelope in front of me. I knocked back the drink, reached out my hand and slit the seal.

The first photographs were similar to those I’d found in Birdie’s apartment. I flicked on the kitchen light to see better, then held them up to the light. Birdie lay on a bed, her frilly little girlie dress hiked up, her bare, skinny legs spread wide, a handwritten sign on the headboard read Birdie 15. Three men stood at the side of the bed staring down at her. Gord’s flushed face was clearly visible next to a shorter blurry-faced man as well as a silver-haired guy with a goatee. Had to be Karrass and Rafferty. The other pictures featured just Gord and Birdie and were far more incriminating. In the pictures, it was like Birdie’s mind was somewhere else – anywhere else – her expression vacant like a doll’s. Smacking the pictures face down on the table I screamed and howled until my voice cracked then I ran to the washroom to throw up.

“Visitors from your old school?” said a voice from behind me. I blinked and realized I’d been standing alone, lost in thought. A statue in the middle of the sidewalk. Gord walked around to face me, smoothing back his hair.

“Looks like you were reminiscing about the good old days. You missing your old job?”

“Oh… no… it’s not like that,” I said, scrambling to separate the past from the present. “That kid graduated this year. He’s come a long way.”

A chilly breeze ruffled my hair. Gord buttoned his overcoat. “I can always smell the fall,” he said, scanning the golden leafed trees. “It’s