Deadly Little Secret Read Free

don’t see me making such a big deal out of it.”
    “Last I checked saving someone’s life was a big deal. Plus, it wasn’t just that he touched me; it was the way he touched me.”
    “Oh, right.” Kimmie yawns. “It gave you goose bumps and made your heart go pitter-pat. How could I forget?”
    Instead of trying to make her understand what she clearly doesn’t, I look back at the clock, watching the second hand get closer to twelve, wondering if I’ll have the nerve to actually talk to him.
    I close my eyes, anticipating the bell, and two seconds later it goes off—so loud I feel the vibration inside my gut.
    The hallway fills with kids, people pushing by us, probably annoyed that we’re just standing there, holding up traffic.
    But then I see him.
    He hangs back for a bit, just loitering there, in the doorway of Senora Lynch’s Spanish room, watching the herd go by.
    “What’s he doing?” Kimmie asks.
    I shake my head and continue to watch, hoping to make eye contact, but he doesn’t even look in my direction. Not once.
    It’s several minutes before the traffic in the hallway thins out even a little. And that’s when he finally makes his way to his locker.
    It’s so obvious people notice him. As soon as they spot him, they gawk and exchange looks of sheer buzzery, like this is the biggest thing ever to rock our small-town world.
    “Here’s your chance.” Kimmie nudges me. “It’s either now or never.”
    “It’s now,” I say, my voice shaky.
    I make my way toward him and my face flashes hot. Ben rips a piece of paper from his locker door, tosses it to the ground, and then works his padlock combination, totally ignoring the fact that I’m now standing right beside him.
    “Ben?” I ask, feeling my pulse race. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
    Still, he ignores me.
    “Ben?” I repeat, a little louder this time.
    Finally he peeks out from behind his locker door. “Can I help you?”
    “Do you remember me?”
    He shakes his head and looks away—back into his locker to search for something.
    “Three months ago,” I continue, trying to jog his memory. “In the parking lot, behind the school . . . a car was coming toward me, and you pushed me out of the way.”
    “Sorry,” he mumbles.
    “You saved my life,” I whisper, catching a glimpse of the paper he tossed to the floor—a torn notebook scrap with the word murderer scribbled across it. “The car would’ve hit me otherwise.”
    “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” He slams his locker door shut.
    “It was you ,” I blurt out, as if he couldn’t possibly have forgotten something so significant.
    “Not me,” he insists. “You obviously have me confused with somebody else.”
    I shake my head and focus on his face—on his almond-shaped eyes and the sharpness of his jaw. He runs his fingers through his hair—out of frustration, maybe—and that’s when I see it.
    The scar on his forearm.
    My eyes widen, and my heart beats with new intensity.
    Ben sees that I’ve spotted the scar and lowers his arm, buries his hand in his pocket. “I gotta go,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.
    Throngs of people have collected around us: Davis Miller and his boy-band cohorts, a group of girls on the softball team, a couple of boys on their way to detention, and a bunch of drama rats en route to the theater.
    “I just wanted to say thank you,” I say, deciding to forget them.
    “It wasn’t me,” he says and then turns away.
    Leaving me once again.

 6 
    I want to talk to her. I had the perfect opportunity, but I messed things up. She’s just so perfect—so sweet, so shy, so amazingly hot—that I get all nervous.
    It’s easier to watch her in private, like at the library. I hid behind the stacks, imagining what it’d be like to take her someplace nice. I pictured her sitting in a fancy restaurant, waiting for me to arrive, instead of sitting in the library, cooped up in school.
    I noticed she’d chosen