Please Don't Tell Part 22

I open my mouth again, but she mimes zipping hers shut.

So I go. Just this once. Just so Levi has an excuse to get out of the house.

As I walk across the playground, I hear her mutter to herself, "Better friends."

And she starts laughing all over again.

The movie's long, boring, a chance for me to doze off, shut down, not think. It's like being in the auditorium-a cool dark place with Levi next to me. It's probably why people go to the movies so much, even though they're expensive and you can watch them all online. It's an excuse to sit in the dark next to somebody nice without worrying about messing it up with words.

When Levi and I walk out, it's dark. He buys us two sodas and we sit by the fountain outside the shopping center.

"I don't remember anything from that movie," I confess.

"Guts everywhere and explosions. That's what I remember about Adam when he was nine, how he loved that s.h.i.+t, how our dad loved that he loved it. Like he was doing manhood right. I cried through those movies." He laughs. "This is how I make girls like me. I tell them about all the times I cried."

"That's the only time you told me about when you cried," I point out.

"Are you asking about other times?"

I shrug, but I am.

"I'll tell you, because I want to pretend you're interested. Let's see. The last Harry Potter book, obviously."

"There's got to be more than that."

"You are interested." He smirks. "I can't think of any. I told you about the movie thing-now you think I'm a crier. But I don't cry. I'm very manly."

Talking to him is so easy. He doesn't expect anything back.

"People never think Asian guys are manly," he says. "Obviously gender stereotyping is bulls.h.i.+t, and so is the gender binary, et cetera. But I'm manly as f.u.c.k. I've gotten into so many manly fights."

"You get along with everybody." Except Ben.

"I don't get along with people who say s.h.i.+t about my mom. And people at my old school liked to say s.h.i.+t about my mom." He rubs his sneaker through a glob of melted ice cream. "Man. Now I brought that up, and you're going to ask. But I don't really want to talk about it. Perils of being somebody who never thinks before he speaks."

I desperately want to know about his mom, why he hasn't gone back to Indiana yet. "I won't ask," I say anyway.

"Cool. I'll change the subject back to crying, then. You know I haven't cried about Adam yet? I thought I was going to at the funeral. I was like, s.h.i.+t yeah, Levi, you're almost there, but then this other girl started bawling and I went into Advice Levi mode."

He digs a coin out of his pocket and flips it into the fountain.

"It's so cliche, isn't it? Me not crying shows how I haven't processed my feelings about Adam. Eventually I'll have a big cry fest and grow as a person, probably in the rain, et cetera."

"It might rain. It's cloudy."

"It's been like this all day. The sky and I are doing an excellent job of repressing our tears." He grins.

I smile back, letting this happen. Don't think about Grace, don't think about the blackmailer, don't think.

How long am I allowed to do this? November said it wasn't cheating.

It feels like cheating.

"That police officer, did you hear if he got fired or not?" he asks. "Where'd you find that video again? Online?"

I stop smiling. "Can we not talk about that?"

"Sorry. Anything you don't want to talk about, I am militantly against talking about."

There's a brief silence.

"There," I say.

"There what?"

"An awkward silence. I was wondering if you'd let one happen."

"Normally I never let one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds slip by me," he says. "People are like, learn to be comfortable with silence. But f.u.c.k that. Silence is awful. Silence was all I got from Adam for years."

"Do you ever think maybe he's not worth all this?"

"Worth has nothing to do with it. Maybe he was an a.s.shole. But he was family, you know?"

I nod. I do know.

"I wanted to find out the stupid things. Like which of us would've been the smart one and the dumb one, or the cool one and the awkward one, or the talkative one and the quiet one. I think I would've been the talkative one, but maybe I'd've switched if he wanted to be. Like, who would I have been in the context of Adam?"

My throat's dry. "I like who you are in the context of you."

"I wonder who I am in the context of you," he says.

"Let's go back to talking about the weather."

"That was too flirty," he admits. "Tell me more about your sister. I like hearing you talk about your sister."

"She's awesome." My chest aches. "She's, like, a genius. She's always on top of everything and nothing can touch her. She's perfect."

"All right, I lied. I'm not that interested in your sister. I just like seeing you smile."

I look away. "I can't tell if you're serious."

"I like to leave open the possibility of it being a joke. That way I don't have to take responsibility for it."

The old Joy would have loved him. Would the old Grace have loved him?

"Joy's Grace sounds pretty cool," he says. "I hope I get to find out what Grace's Grace is like sometime."

He'll never meet her. "Joy's Grace?"

"You know. Grace in the context of Joy."

"Grace is just Grace. There's no secret version."

"Maybe it's different with twins."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you're too used to being in the context of each other," he says. "Most people get the chance to try out lots of different versions of themselves, depending on who they're with, then settle on the version they like best. That's probably why people get married and s.h.i.+t. So they can go on being in the context of that person forever."

"But then that's a lie, isn't it?" I say quietly. "Believing in the way somebody else sees you instead of the way you actually are."

"I don't think there's one real version of a person and everything else is fake," he says. "People have lots of parts."

"I think I just met Philosophical Levi. He was unexpected."

"Not as unexpected as Exposer of Evildoers Joy, let me tell you."

I flinch.

"It's okay. That police officer was a d.i.c.k. People deserved to know." He gently nudges my shoulder. "Sorry. Not talking about it."

But it's too late. The blackmailer's back in my head. I've stolen too much time here. "I . . . told my sister I'd help her with her project tonight."

"You're gonna go have giggly sister talk about the date you had with this cute dude. Don't try to hide it."

I smile painfully.

"Do me a favor, would you? Just, like . . . enjoy hanging out with her tonight. It's special, getting to have time with your family. I always thought I'd have time with Adam someday." He shrugs so casually it hurts.

But he's wrong. I'll always be with Grace. It's him I won't have much time with. He's going to go back to Indiana and forget about his temporary Stanwick friend, and I'll never have to tell Grace that I spent any time with Adam's half brother.

I figured out how to keep her secrets. Now I'm learning how to keep mine.

When I get home, Mom and Dad are in the living room, watching TV. I wait, but neither of them says anything about the fact that I'm home so late. Either they've forgotten to be suspicious of me or they've given up completely.

"Did any mail come for me today?" I ask.

"None." Mom doesn't look away from the TV. "Leftovers in the kitchen for you."

I ignore the plastic-wrapped spaghetti on the counter and go straight to Grace's door.

Come on, Grace. Open your door so I won't have to. Sense me standing here. I reach for the k.n.o.b, and an invisible monster folds each of my fingers back until the snapping is deafening. But I twist it with my mangled hand.

Grace would never lie in bed with her laptop like I do, marinating in crumbs. She's sitting at her desk. She's organized all her books by color since the last time I was in here. It's hermetically clean, vacuum sealed.

"Are you busy?" I ask.

The profile of her face is lit up blue by the computer screen. "I have a lot of work to do."

Does she even realize how much she sounds like Mom?

I sit on the edge of her quilt, the blue-and-green-patterned one she's had forever. It's the only thing in her room left from our childhood, since the lamp broke. She put everything else in boxes or threw them away.

"I don't want to keep secrets from you," I say.

She closes her laptop. "You've never kept a secret from me in your life. You can't even stop yourself from telling me what you got me for Christmas."

"Would you be mad if I was keeping one?"

"I would never be mad at you about anything."

"You're allowed to be mad at me, Grace."

She bends her legs underneath her, balancing on top of her desk chair in a position that looks uncomfortable. "Where are you going with this?"

I have to tell her about the blackmail. She's my sister and she deserves to know. She's my sister and she would never stop loving me.

I don't want to do this without her anymore.

"This is going to sound ridiculous," I manage, and then I steel myself and let it all spill out. The notes, the photos of Princ.i.p.al Eastman, the security video of Officer Roseby . . .

It does sound ridiculous. It's so ridiculous I'm not even afraid.

"And I should have told you sooner," I finish. "I should have told you the second it started. I was scared you'd think . . ."

She's so quiet.

"That the blackmailer is telling the truth," I stammer. "That I really did . . . kill him, and I just don't remember. Even if Preston says I left the party before then. What if I came back?"

"Do you think you did it?" she asks.

I have no idea what her thoughts are, behind that face that looks just like mine. "I've been trying not to ask myself that. If I'm capable of it, I don't want to know. But what if I am, Grace? I wanted to."

It burns a hole in my chest.

"How do you do something like that and live with yourself?" I whisper. "The worst possible thing."

"Him dying was not the worst possible thing."

"That wasn't . . ." I flush.

"I'm sorry." She pulls her hair over her face. "This is so crazy. I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I didn't want to make you worry."

"You should have come to me." She softens. "You should always come to me. There's no way you killed him. Just because you said you wished he was dead. People say things they don't mean. Okay?"

She smiles at me anxiously.