Ripping Off the Band-Aid

The next day at school, I feel frazzled. I didn’t sleep well last night, I’m worried about the “news” Mom mentioned, and to top it all off, I can’t find Tina anywhere. This is pretty much the WORST time possible for someone else to track me down and tell me a secret, but what do you know? I leave the boys’ bathroom (the bathroom, I mean, c’mon, GEEZ!) and a dark-haired, thoughtful looking girl is standing there. I assume she’s just getting a drink at the water fountain, but as I start walking to my locker, I get the distinct sensation that she’s following me. I check behind me. Yep. Definitely following me.

Today is just not the day, and even though I know it’s rude, I stop in my tracks. She stops, too.

“What do you want?!” I say. “Do you want to tell me a secret or something, because if you do, I don’t want to be late to class.”

She blushes. I feel like I’ve probably never seen her before because she is kind of quiet and very petite. Now I feel bad for acting all mean and scary to someone I don’t even know. I guess stress really does bring out the worst in people.

The girl holds out a little Ziploc baggy of what look like homemade chocolate chip cookies. I have to admit, now that I know that there are delicious-looking cookies on the line, I feel a little less annoyed.

“I’m Julian,” I say, holding out my hand.

“Pramila,” she says back, holding out her own. “Everyone says you are a keeper of secrets.” Pramila? Where do I know that name . . . ? Ah, yes! Joe Russo’s crush!

Now, that seems odd to me, because Pramila looks more like someone who would be my friend. She doesn’t look like a Sweet or an aspiring Sweet. I thought those were the only girls anyone liked at Halsey School. I’ve got to give Joe Russo some credit. Maybe he has more depth than I thought . . .

“I’ll make this quick,” Pramila says. “My heart has been taken by someone, but if he were to find out, I would never recover.” She looks away dramatically. I can’t help but crack a tiny smile. I think she and Tina would probably get along.

“Hmmm, let me guess. His name is Joe Russo.”

Pramila’s face goes white. “How—how could you know this?”

“Um, a lucky guess?”

“Well, he can never, never know. Can you make me this promise?”

“Sure,” I say. “And, also, thanks for the cookies!”

Pramila nods at me, still looking very serious, and shuffles away to the library. Okay, well that was interesting. What do you do when two people basically ask you to keep the same secret?

At lunch, I track Tina down. She’s sitting alone, picking at her food like always.

“Oh, hey,” she says sulkily, not even scooting over to make more room for me.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down. “Um, Tina?”

“Julian, why are keeping secrets from me?” She breaks in, staring at me sharply. Woah, that kinda came out of nowhere!

“Well, it’s the honor code thing I told you about.”

“No, I mean YOUR secrets. That’s like the opposite of the honor code.”

“Tina, I don’t want to talk about this right now, okay?”

“Fine!” she says, rolling her eyes. “But I know anyway.”

“You know . . . what?”

“Something about your parents.” She takes a drink of her milk.

“What?! I mean, how could you—I haven’t said.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you at the time,” Tina replies guiltily, “but my mom heard about it through some of your mom’s friends. And also, you think I don’t know how you act?! You’re my best friend! Actually . . . I was kinda worried that you might want different friends. I mean, I keep seeing you talking to all these people, and you NEVER tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Um, that’s not true,” I reply weakly, but of course I know that she’s 100 percent right. “Hey, but wait, if you knew all this time, why didn’t you say anything? You were acting, I dunno . . . totally normal.” It’s true. I felt like the last few months, it’s been the Tina Show with occasional guest star Julian Marcos.

“Well, somebody had to fill those pauses! Geez, Julian! You KNOW how I hate silences!”

“Maybe I just haven’t much felt like talking.” I’m feeling sulky right now, too. “Everybody’s always asking me to listen. Nobody even asks what I’m thinking. Not even you!”

“OR, maybe you like to distract yourself with other people’s problems. Have you ever thought of that, hmmm?” Tina can be kind of a know-it-all sometimes, but then again, sometimes she can be right.

“Tina, I’m so weighed down with secrets right now it’s not even funny.”

She claps me on the shoulder. “Well, then let it go! Stop holding it all in. Also, I seem to remember a time when YOU reminded ME not to avoid things.”

She’s right. There was a time when I practically un-friended Tina just because she wasn’t dealing with one of her problems and it was driving me absolutely crazy.

With Tina’s advice still ringing in my ears, I decide I’m going to deal with this parent thing once and for all. Tonight. I work up some courage in my bedroom before dinner, listening to my “Power” playlist. It’s full of songs that sound brave—lots of strong bass lines and beats. And then I have some classical cello mixed in there just ‘cuz. What can I say? I like surprises. When I take my headphones out of my ears, I can hear my parents’ voices. They don’t sound angry or sad, so I guess that’s something. I don’t even wait for Mom to call me. Instead, I push my shoulders back, open the door, and head to the dining room.

Mom’s humming and it looks like Dad is cooking tonight. He stops and kisses my mom on her forehead.

Well, that doesn’t seem like two people who hate each other, does it?! I get my hopes up for a second that since Dad’s cooking, maybe we’re not having some weirdo vegetable dish today.

“Hey, Julian!” Dad says as he takes a dish out of the oven with his oven mitts. “Think you could set the table?” Whatever’s in that dish doesn’t smell like lasagna or tuna noodle casserole. Dang. “This one’s a new recipe, right, hon?”

“Grated parmesan squash!” Mom sings back.

“Okay, guys, seriously? You’re freaking me out.”

“Why?” Mom asks. Dad sets the glass dish down on two of our potholders.

“Why are you acting so . . . fake?” I ask. I mean, not that I don’t like them being all happy and cheesy, but they do NOT normally act like this. Not at all. Mom scratches her nose, which is a nervous tic she has.

“Hon?” she says to Dad. “We need to tell him.”

My palms start sweating. Here comes the moment of truth. I take some deep breaths. I mean, if there is some scary truth out there, isn’t it probably better to just rip off the Band-Aid? (For the record, it does really hurt to rip off a Band-Aid.) I think of that vision I had when Mom and Dad told me they had to take some time apart. The one where I could see that we all have flaws, and that none of us are perfect. I mean, true, we AREN’T perfect. There’s a spot of mold in the bathroom shower and my Mom loves gross cooked vegetables for every dinner and we don’t have an awesome sound system like the ones I know some Halsey kids have. And sure, I’m probably never going to like watching sports with Dad.

But, overall? I think we’re okay. We’ll stay okay.

“Tell me what?”

Dad breaks into a huge grin. “We’re having another baby,” he says.

For a second, all I hear is the sound of the faucet dripping. That and the sound of the oven humming and a fly that keeps hitting the window above the sink.

I mean, you think it would have figured out that the glass is not a door by now.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” Mom beams. “We’ve been dying to tell you since yesterday!”

“But, won’t I be kinda . . . old compared to him . . .or her?”

Mom and Dad come over and give me a group hug. I squirm and pretend that I don’t really want the hug, but I don’t actually mean it. Honestly, I could probably use a hug. “I think you’ll make a great older brother,” Dad says. My face is all crunched into my mom’s shoulder, but I’m smiling.