One Tiny Secret

Chapter Eleven

So, last night’s unexpected make-out session has only succeeded in doing one thing: make me more confused about where I stand on one Parker Reed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do have crazy-strong feelings for him, but is it worth tearing down all the walls I’ve built up over the years, only to get hurt again?

Rolling out of bed, trying to push out the Parker thoughts, I look over at Janice’s window. Sadness fills me when I realize it’s officially been seventy-two hours since she was reported missing, and there’s still been no sign of her anywhere. If anything can put a damper on my confused, fuzzy feelings for Parker, it’s knowing I’m possibly responsible for someone’s disappearance. Not just anybody, but a really good friend.

“Dad?” I call out through the cracked open bedroom door, but there’s no response. “Dad?”

Opening the door the rest of the way, I make my way to the stairs and peer over the banister that looks out over the foyer. There’s no movement or sounds coming from the first floor. The house is completely silent.

“Dad?” I ask once more, and when there’s still no response, I head down the stairs.

When I enter the kitchen, I notice a piece of paper on the table and assume it’s a note from my father. Picking it up, I peruse the message. In a nutshell, it tells me to drive straight to school. See you soon is written at the bottom, and I wonder what that means.



As I pull into the senior section of the parking lot at school, I see Mr. Whitman in the teacher’s lot across the way. It dawns on me that I forgot to work on the admissions essay last night, and I proceed to let out a groan of frustration. Throwing the car into park, I step out of the vehicle and make my way over to him, all the while hoping he doesn’t ask me about the essay.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see Janice’s missing persons flyer taped to a light post, flapping in the brisk morning wind. Her solemn eyes meet mine as I gaze at the flyer, which only makes me feel worse about the whole thing.

Shaking out of my slump, I hear Mr. Whitman call out to me. He sends me a wave after I do, causing him to fumble with his briefcase. His smile greets me as I come to stand in front of him.

“Dani, you’re here a little early, aren’t you? Are you that excited for me to read your admissions essay?”

I swear, right of out the gate with the dreaded question. I didn’t even have a chance to bring up another topic for discussion.

“Uh…” I begin, but then pause, mulling over what excuse I’m going to give.

“You didn’t work on it did you?”

“No, sir,” I murmur.

“This is so unlike you.”

“I know. Things have been a little off lately,” I reply in a defeated tone while trying to dodge his disappointed-teacher stare.

“Well, I know what you’ll be doing instead of sipping a latte and chatting with me during your independent study.”

“Computer lab?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“Computer lab,” he responds, gesturing for me to move ahead of him toward the school. He laughs. “Go on, get going. That paper isn’t going to write itself, young lady.”

“Yes, sir,” I sigh, and trudge my way up the sidewalk.

The lab is freezing and smells of electronics. It’s also located in one of the oldest parts of the school. I’m pretty sure the room is this cold in order to keep away the musty stench of the horribly offensive carpet that covers the floor. Even after our school was granted brand-spankin’-new computers, they still did nothing with the space around them. You’d think they’d want to put them somewhere a little less…shitty.

Plopping down in one of the many chairs, I turn on the monitor in front of me and wait for it to boot up. I type in my student ID number and password before hitting the enter key to access the home screen. After opening up a new Word document, I brace my elbows on the table and stare at the blank white page. The flashing little text indicator is oddly hypnotic. Then I realize that it’s actually just mocking me.

“All right, Dani. You can do this,” I say, trying to pep myself up.

Cracking my fingers, I set them to the keys and prepare to type, but nothing happens. And I mean absolutely nothing. My hands just remain stuck in that position. It’s as if my brain and hands aren’t even connected. I don’t know why this essay is giving me such a hard time. I’m usually awesome at bullshitting—aka essay writing—but this one is stumping me. Maybe it’s everything that’s been going on lately that’s clouding my head and effing with my focus.

I release a frustrated whine and pull my hands away from the keyboard to rest on my lap. Gripping the sides of the computer chair, I groan and look around the room for a visual distraction…or creative inspiration, whichever comes first.

A screen pops up on the monitor, bringing my attention back to it. It’s the media player for the computer, but there’s just a black background with a play button slowly pulsing light blue at the center of it. My curiosity gets the better of me and I move the mouse across the desk until the little white arrow is hovering over the word play. When I click the mouse, the video goes full screen.

Right there for everyone to see is me mounted on top of Parker, feeling him up. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize it’s me, since it isn’t in focus at first and looks like it was shot through the office door window. Once the video clears up, though, I shut off the screen.

Shock registers on my face. My stomach drops as I wonder who the hell caught this on tape. Then I remember the knock at the door that interrupted our little session and realize the person who hit the door was taping us the whole time.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text message has come through from an unknown number. The text reads:

I know a secret…

My first reaction is to reply with “Who is this?” or “What do you want?” but instead my fingers type:

F*ck You!

This is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it feels good to tell off the bastard on the other end who’s feeling the need to exploit me. I’m sure I’ll get a quick response, but nothing comes through, even after a few minutes. Maybe I scared the person off.

The computer screen next to me turns on and automatically logs into the home screen. I watch in horror as the same video that played on my computer starts on that monitor, as well.

“What the…?” I mutter under my breath.

I quickly turn off the screen, but once I do, I notice several other computers turn on and log in by themselves. Again, the video begins to play on all of them. I frantically rush over and press the power buttons on every computer that’s turned on, putting an end to the streaming video.

I’m thankful that I’m the only one in the lab and no one else saw this. How in the hell is this person doing this, anyway…and why?

My phone vibrates again. Checking it, I see there’s another message glaring back at me:

I’d be careful what you say to me J

I can almost hear the grin on the other end of the phone. It’s smug and condescending, but at the same time, very serious.

My reply of, What do you want from me? is met with nothing at first. Then a cryptic text comes through.

Such a loaded question…careful it doesn’t backfire.

Feeling like I’m getting nowhere fast, I decide to do the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t—and that’s call Parker. He’s the only one I can turn to right now, and since he’s involved in this, I feel I should tell him.

I dial his number. My finger trembles as I think about what and how I’m going to explain this. Will he believe me? I mean, it does sound crazy that some person is using a video of us making out for reasons unknown.

The phone rings and rings on the other end. It occurs to me that he might still be in class, since he told me he did have an early lab today. The call goes to his voicemail and I smile when I hear his deep voice telling me to leave a message. Shaking off the fuzzies, I hang up and groan to myself, feeling like I’m all alone in this.

I reach over and hesitantly turn on the screen in front of me again. Thankfully, the video is gone. I proceed to do the same thing with the other monitors and have the same result.

When the phone vibrates in my hand, I look down at it and see Parker’s smiling Facebook photo.

The moment I say, “Hey,” Parker replies, “So, couldn’t stop thinking about me, huh?” He laughs into the receiver and I can’t deny the grin he’s brought forth.

I gain my composure and slap on a serious face. “Someone videotaped our little session last night.”

“What?”

“You, me, sucking face last night. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember. I was just confused about the whole recording thing. That’s kind of hot, though. Do you think you can forward me that video?”

“Parker, I’m not fooling around here. Someone recorded us, and is now trying to use it against me. Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask, frustrated with his guy humor.

“Are you sure this person is trying to use it against you, and isn’t just one of your friends playing a joke?”

“I’m positive. I’ve been getting texts from this unknown person ever since the night of the party—and the night my friend went missing…” I trail off, thinking about Janice.

“Wait, your friend went missing? The one you were with that night?”

“Yeah, she’s officially missing today, even though I’ve known since Sunday.”

“Do you think this person who’s texting you has anything to do with your friend?” he asks, and I can hear the concern setting in. I think he believes me now.

“I have no idea. I’m getting really worried about all of this,” I reply. I hear his heavy sigh on the other end, as if he’s contemplating what to say next. I wish he was right here so I could be in his arms.

The bell rings, cutting off Parker before he has a chance to finish consoling me. The damn bell had to go and ruin it. I groan, realizing my independent study is over and I still haven’t written a single word on my essay. Not even my name.

“I have to get to my next class, but we need to talk ASAP. Will you be at the paper meeting today?” I ask, my voice shaking as I retrieve my messenger bag from under the table.

“I agree we need to talk, but I won’t be at the meeting today. Family stuff,” he replies, sounding distracted.

“Guess we’ll just have to talk somewhere else, then. That might be hard, though, since I’ve been grounded for life.” I release a hollow laugh.

“Are you going to be okay until then?” he asks, and I can tell that his full attention is resting on my answer. He really does have his moments of unconditional caring.

“Yeah, I think so. Just a little freaked out by this whole thing. That’s all.”

“And rightfully so. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Okay. Promise?”

“Promise,” he answers, making me feel a little more secure than I was before we talked.