8* * *
The Lights in the River
Chapter 1: Secrets
* * *
"Hey, guys, I want to say something!"
Everyone looked up from doing homework, talking to friends, whatever they were doing. Sam Pillar stood at the front of the classroom.
"Mrs. Anderson just told me that next period we're all taking a survey."
"What's it about?" asked Sam's best friend Marty.
"I'm not sure. Something about files, paperwork."
"Is that all?" Sam's girlfriend Leeann Milser said.
He nodded.
Everyone gradually went back to talking.
Leeann watched Sam sit back down next to Marty and of some their friends. Then she looked at her own best friend Tamera Mascara, who sat in the desk next to hers, writing in her notebook. No contest, really.
"Tamera, I'm gonna sit with Sam, wanna come?"
She looked up and rolled her eyes. "No, thanks. Maybe if he wasn't around Marty."
Leeann sighed. She hated it when Tamera acted like this. But she grabbed her bookbag and moved.
Ah, study hall, Tamera wrote; My most hated class of the day. Why is it here, anyway? Don't they know that people never actually study? And I always come in second place to Leeann. Once again, she's over with Sam and Marty.
Her hand shook a little.
This class is so boring; she continued; I bet everyone else adores it. It gives them a chance to show off their friends. Well, me too. At least in regular class, we're quiet, it doesn't stick out as much that I'm friendless. Except in social studies with "cooperative learning". I'm the only one working alone. It used to be just me and Leeann. Until she started dating Sam. Now, it's just me. Alone. And her and Sam together. Makes me wonder if boyfriends are worth the trouble if they make you neglect your friends. How much can Leeann mean to Sam, anyway? It's only been two weeks. But to me, she's all I have left. And now she's gone.
A tear escaped.
Great, now, I'm crying. If Marty sees me, what'll he think?
* * *
"Please print neatly and clearly," Mrs. Anderson droned on as she took five minutes to pass out survey papers. "Don't write in the margin. Only use blue and black pens. Remember to . . ."
Finally, they were ready.
"Okay, begin now."
The first couple questions were easy to Marty. Sex-male. Age-15. Grade- -10. Race-white. Then came the others: first, middle, last name, parent names, siblings.
Not even Sam knew his secret. Of course, he knew his first name-Martin. And he knew his middle name-Alexander. But, strangely enough, he didn't know his last name, where his parents are, anything.
For as long as he can remember, he'd always lived with his Aunt Valerie and Uncle Joel in the same house where people rented out a couple rooms. He'd never known any siblings, but he wasn't too sure that he was an only child. Calling his guardians "aunt" and "uncle" was as natural as it was for other kids to say "mom" and "dad". When he realized that other kids called differently than he did, he wondered why. When he was about seven, he asked. They told him that they'd tell him when he was older. A year later, he asked where his parents were, what his last name was, and why didn't know the answers already. They gave the same answer: "We'll tell you when you're older." Marty hadn't asked since. He knew they meant business.
It wasn't as though he was a neglected child. His aunt and uncle treated him like their own son. They loved him. They were always really close. Even the tenants. They shared their problems. They encouraged him. They were just like a family.
Maybe that's why he let it go. Because he didn't want to spoil that. He was almost afraid to ask. What could be so bad about him knowing his own name or what happened to his own parents?
"Okay, Tamera, please collect the surveys."
He gasped slowly.
What is he gonna write?, Tamera wondered. She remembered hearing about Marty's secrets. He probably didn't even know she knew. Maybe she could sneak a look at his paper as she picked it up. As she got to him, he was just staring at his paper.
"Uh, Marty, I need your paper," she said, choosing her tone of voice carefully.
He handed it to her.
She looked at it. "Where's the rest of your answers?" she blurted out.
After what it seemed like a few seconds, a crowd of people were looking at his paper. "Marty, why'd you leave that blank?" "Marty, what's your last name?"
He took a deep breath and ran as fast as he could. He didn't care where, just not in that classroom.
Tamera stared after him, her mouth hanging open. Why'd I say that, she thought.
"Mrs. Anderson, what's Marty's last name?" asked a guy in the first row.
Tamera drew in a breath.
"Why . . ." she looked through some papers. " . . . I don't know."
Tamera exhaled. Her eyebrows wrinkled. Why did I say that? she thought. I wonder if he's okay.