The Secret Keeper

Secrets are stupid. S-T-U-P-I-D stupid. Nothing good ever comes out of a secret. Keeping one, or being told one. You usually feel rotten when you have one, all yucky, eating you up inside. You just have to tell someone.

Or maybe you have some news that involves someone else, someone who doesn’t know. Then you just feel all slimy whenever you walk by them or make eye contact.

Or maybe you know a secret that you weren’t supposed to know. Something concerning you, or your family, or your friends. And every time you’re reminded of whatever you shouldn’t know, you wish you could just melt away.

Yet somehow I’ve become the keeper of secrets. I’m just so good at keeping them. Don’t ask me why, because I can’t tell you- it’s a secret. People always laugh when I say that, but it’s not supposed to be funny.

I’m serious. 

I’m somehow the book of knowledge for the entire sixth grade, not to mention almost the rest of the school. 

Do you have a secret? Great, keep it to yourself. 

That’s what I wish would happen. But as secrets go, the more profound it is, the more you just have to tell somebody. And so, that somebody became me. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know. I was pushed into the role.

One day I overheard a conversation my teacher was having after class with another student. I wasn’t supposed to hear, but I just did. (You can’t tell me that’s never happened to you before, come on.)

When the student left, the teacher called me over. She knew I had heard.

“Now, don’t tell anybody about that. That’s private information, you hear? Good, good, now go on with you.” 

I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyway. Why would I? I mean, I didn’t really care, and it was none of my business. It had no value to me whatsoever, and I wouldn’t gain anything by sharing it.

Still, my friends, waiting for me outside, heard the conversation the teacher had had with me. (Not much of a conversation it was, anyway.)

“Tell us, tell us!” They pleaded, but I shook my head. Why would I tell them? As I said, I didn’t really care. It didn’t bother me. It didn’t involve me. It wasn’t my business. But still, they persisted. I wasn’t going to tell them, so of course, they thought it was something really juicy. 

It wasn’t.

(If you must know, the student had concerns about their grades. That’s as much I will say. This is private information, people.)

Later that day, one of my classmates came up to me.

“Can you keep a secret?”

What a dumb question. Everyone should be able to keep a secret.

“I guess,” I answered. I guess she had heard about what had happened earlier.

“So, my parents don’t know, but…” 

And that was how it started.

I became the secret keeper.

***

“Can you keep a secret?”

These are basically the words that haunt me.

As I said, everyone should be able to keep a secret.

The question now was, would I?

I had to.

I mostly forgot the secrets that were told to me. She likes him, he likes her, I did this, he did that, she was here, I was there. But still, they haunted me. 

I would pass by someone in the halls, and then remember they were being bullied, being left out, being outcast by their “friends”.

Or maybe I saw someone, desperately in love, but knew that the person they liked had someone else in mind.

Or maybe they were liked by so many people, but the relationship that they really wanted was never going to happen.

Or maybe they were being abused at home.

Or maybe they were ditching class.

Or maybe they couldn’t get their grades up, and their parents were disappointed and angry.

Or maybe they were being kept from a secret they had a right to know.

Or they were keeping the secret from the person who had a right to know.

The list goes on and on.

And it never ends.

Almost every person in the school had something to do with a secret.

“Can you keep a secret?” They would ask.

Sure I can. But at this point, do I want to?

No.

***

This was it. That last day of school before spring break. An entire week of no secrets.

Like seriously? How many secrets do people even have? It’s infinite. The students at my school seem to thrive on secrets. 

They thrive on me.

And it doesn’t help that I have my own secrets. It was hard enough keeping them to myself, bottled up inside.

“You must never tell anyone.” My parents told me.

“It could get you in trouble.”

“It could endanger you, and the people around you.” I couldn’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t, and I wouldn’t. It was none of their business. But going to school every day with a burden, a secret weighed heavy in my heart. It was hard. 

Luckily I didn't have anyone else poking or prodding at me to tell. My balloon was already about to burst anyway, I didn’t need peer pressure.

And maybe that’s why I’m so good at keeping secrets. Because I’ve had the practice of keeping my own.

***

I couldn’t take it anymore. Even with the peace of the forest, I was weighed down by the rest of the school, and their horrible, stupid, slimy secrets.

Out by the lake, in the light of the moon, my tears slowly slid down my face. The shadow of my sadness cast upon the water.

It was the last day of my vacation. Tomorrow we drove back home. The next day I was back at school. Back to prison. Back to secrets.

Plip.

Plip.

Plip.

Across the lake, stones skipped the surface.

“Who’s there?” I call out to a shadow near the trees.

The moon’s light filters through the branches as the shadow turns around. It looks like a boy, about my age, but I really can’t tell. His (yeah, I’ll go with “his” for now) hair looks silver in the light, and his eyes shine in the dark as they meet mine. He’s super freakin’ cute.

“Who are you?” I ask, but it’s so quiet I don’t think he can hear me. Slowly, I hear the sound of crunching gravel and sand as he walks towards me, and I can get a better look at him.

Wait, maybe it’s a girl.

I can’t tell anymore.

(I’ll stick with a boy for now.)

“Hello.” He gives me a wave. I notice he’s not wearing any shoes.

“Hi.”

“Who are you?”

“I, uhh…” I don’t know what to say. My cheeks go warm.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” I can tell he’s special. Like, special. Like me.

“I’m The Secret Keeper.” I blurt.

Great.

Just great.

“Well hello, Secret Keeper, I’m Makari. Or The Water Dancer.” He laughs. His laugh is like a chime. He’s literally so cute, what the heck.

“Want to see?”

“See what?”

“See me dance!” Slowly, the water from the lake rises around him, as he twists and turns gracefully. It lifts him up, reflecting the moonlight, and taking my breath away.

“Y- You..?” I can’t seem to get any words out.

“What do you think?” As he lands, and the water empties back into the lake. “The water tells me you have something that weighs you down.” He tilts his head to the side. (The cutest thing I can’t-)

“I guess I do.” I look out across the lake, so calm and peaceful. “I’m not really The Secret Keeper.” It comes out before I can say anything else. Before I change my mind.

“Well, what are you?” I don’t know what to say. He steps closer. What do I do? 

Slowly, I fall to the ground. Here come the tears. Why does it have to happen now?

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” I can feel his hands move in the air around me, dancing my tears away.

That’s not really the problem here. I can’t tell him. I’m not supposed to.

But there’s nothing I can do.

I can feel his hands move in the air around me, dancing my tears away.

Slowly, I look up into his eyes. They’re so close. In the moonlight, they’re a milky blue. They seem to dance like the water does on the lake as it reflects the moon’s rays. I can see so many things in those eyes, but instead, I break my gaze away, casting it across the lake and the trees beyond.

He reaches out and turns my face towards his.

I can read his eyes.

I have to tell him now.

The words come out before I can take them back.

“Can you keep a secret?”