Dirty Little Secrets

Chapter 1: Dear, Laurence.

“Oh come on,” I said to the airport lady who had just checked through my luggage, “you’re going to take my hair straightener away?”

“You can’t have anything metal on the plane.” Was all she said, and then I saw her shove my straightener into something that looked like her purse. But that couldn’t be possible, who’d be that obvious?

“Lady,” I said, starting to get impatient with her, “can we just be reasonable, here? What on Earth do you think I’m going to do with my hair straightener? Try to jam the power plug into the headphone socket and burn someone’s hand off?”

“You can’t have anything metal on the plane.” She repeated, and then handed me my bag. “Your plane leaves in forty-five minutes. Next, please.”

I stared at her. “Next please,” she repeated.

“Give back my straightener.” I said, tapping my fingers on her little counter impatiently. My lips quirked as her lipgloss rolled off onto the floor, victory.

Why am I making such a big deal about a hair straightener? I’ll tell you why: that hair straightener cost me a few hundred bucks. In cash. It took few moments to straighten and ‘locked in all the nutrients’. Atleast, that is what it said on the back of the box. I was willing to trust it, after all, why would the price tag lie to me?

In practice it proved to be the Porsche of hair straighteners. Perfection. I was not going to let some whiny, underpaid little airport girl – Jenny, so says her tag – get the best of me.

I also had a habit of getting easily angered.

She said, “Next please.”

I pulled a camera out of my leather jacket’s pocket and unzipped her purse.

Snap.

“Hey!” she said, glaring at me.

“If you do not send that back to –” I pulled a pen out of my jeans pocket and an old bus ticket, and wrote down where I lived, “this address. You willbe hearing from me. Smile.”

Snap.

I put my camera back in my pocket, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed off to wait for my plane.

I shouldn’t even be here. I mean, what part of, “No, Mum. I am not moving to Melbourne. Ever.” didn’t she understand?

Obviously none of it. None, of what I had said about moving to a place where it was all business suits and caffeine, instead of sunnies and short-shorts like where I had lived in Perth. Even the inner city of Perth, was more homely then some parts of Melbourne. Who would want to live there, who?

But here I am, sitting at the airport bored out of my mind. Reading, and I kid you not, Better Homes and Gardens. Hmm, bulbs. Mum planted them in our garden once, until I ate one, thinking it was a potato.

A chick over in the souvenir shops is getting hit on by this guy. He looked a little like my cousin, Barry. He turned around, I squinted, hey – hey it was my cousin Barry. He started waving at me, and I pretended I didn’t see him.

It’s no joke, having a cousin that hits on anything human and female. Well, except for his last girlfriend, who pretty much – to me – resembled a turtle. She had this real long neck, and used to spy on my neighbour when he was in the Jacuzzi. Not that I didn’t, of course. But she was totally taken, and I, having only been kissed by a lesbian and this kid at the park once (both which I punched out afterwards), couldn’t help myself.

Man, that boy was fine. Another thing I’ll be missing when I move to Melbourne for a semester.

I pulled out my phone, and looked at the time.

10:15 am.

Still another half hour to go. Britney Spears’ new song piece of me is playing. I never knew the word derriere meant bum. I mean, it sounds more like a brand of milk to me. Oh no, Barry is walking over. He is still waving like a dork.

I pretended to be real into the magazine.

“Hello, Holly,” he said, sounding cheerful, “I was just making sure the koala bear plush toys I delivered last week, got here.”

I’m sure that is all he was doing.

“Barry, a koala is not a bear.” I said, putting the magazine down beside me. “Don’t you remember the song? If everyone called you Tom, and your name was Dick. Perhaps you’d understand why I’m sick, sick, sick –”

“My name is not Dick.” He said, and then looked pointedly at the souvenir lady, “hey, do you think you could get her to give me her number?”

They always want something from you, family. No way he’d have come over if he didn’t, why didn’t I see it before?

“Barry,” I said, taking his hand. He blinked at me and I smiled sweetly, “Go to Hell.”

I looked down at my phone again. I cursed, only five minutes had past.

“Please?” he said, his eyes going all big and his lips all pouty. I suppose he thought he looked irresistible. He looked like my dog when it needed to whiz. “I’ll do anything.”

“Okay,” I said, “convince Mum to take me back home.”

He grimaced, “Well, I’ll try my best?”

My Mum was stubborn, once she made up her mind – it was hard to change. I sighed and acted like it was some kind of a big deal, when really, it wasn’t. “Well OK, I guess I have no choice.”

He squealed in excitement. Sometimes I wonder about him. I walked over to the souvenir lady and plastered a smile on my face, “Hello, you see that guy over there?”

She blushed prettily and nodded her head, “Um, yes?”

“He has the biggest crush on you.” I said. “Could you, I don’t know, give him your number?”

“Oh, um, o-okay.” She stammered, grabbed a pen, and wrote down her number on a receipt a customer had left behind.

Music Box, 19.99

The things people will spend their money on. I walked back over to Barry and handed him the receipt. He paled, and showed it to me.

1800-Get a f’n life retard, I have a boyfriend. Stop giving me plush koalas.

I looked back over to the counter to the girl; she had a small smile on her face. I had misjudged her.

“Well,” he said, looking down at the receipt hopelessly, “thanks for trying. Oh my God, who would buy that?”

“For once, we agree.” I said, and looked down at my watch. Only five more minutes had past, and still twenty to go. I sighed.

My Mum was going to invite some guy over to stay while I’m gone, I knew it. I couldn’t exactly blame her, I mean; I never made it very easy for her to have relationships. But, you know, it’d help if she didn’t choose such retards to have said relationships with.

It appeared my Mum had no kind of common sense at all. In fact, I discovered this at age eight, if not maybe a little before – when she invited this guy with a mullet over to our house. I had never trusted my Mum’s judgement since.

She denied all this when I told her, and said the house would only have her, and my dog, Mr. Moofin’s, as it’s occupants for the whole time while I’m gone.

I didn’t believe her.

I looked down at my phone, fifteen minutes. A little better.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but the flight to Perth is going to be delayed for another half hour or so.”

I swore.

-

It was five o’clock, and after spending an entire flight of this kid kicking at the back of my seat and throwing peanuts at my head – something his mother apologised, profusely – I was ready to get away from people. Especially people like Lorraine, my step-sister, whose first words to me when I got off the plane were, “Hey, what are you supposed to be? A female hells angel?”

Uh no, I didn’t own a motorbike, yet. I told her this, and she just rolled her eyes and grabbed my bag off me, hauling it over her shoulder. I was impressed, that bag contained a lot of camera equipment. She carried it like it was an empty plastic bag. I could see Lorraine had been keeping up her cheerleading group (a group formed by her when she found, outraged, that generally Australian high schools didn’t have them).

The perfect opportunity arose when Paula, my step mum, informed me she was out of tomato sauce. I was out of that house and onto Lorraine’s bike before you could say “Lorraine will do it.” which is what my step mum, at the time, was trying to say.

And now, tomato sauce in hand, I was making my way back again, savouring my last moments of peace.

Well, until...

“Look out!” I cried, grabbing at the handle breaks. The guy didn’t. Look out, I mean. He just turned his head lazily around a bit – and then I came crashing into him, flying over the handlebars of my bike. I squeezed the tomato sauce bottle so hard it squirted all over him.

I sat up, bruised and beaten, and looked at him. My jaw dropped. The guy just had to be gorgeous, didn’t he?

“Aw man,” he groaned holding a hand to his forehead; he looked down at himself and repeated, “Aw, man.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stared at him. He had this dark auburn hair and glasses, and the glasses were what he was searching around the ground for. I picked them up and handed them to him, and then said rudely, “I told you to look out.”

He pulled his glasses on, and said sarcastically, “Oh yes, it’s my fault you nearly run me over with your bike. Perhaps you should, I don’t know, watch where you’re going?”

I regretted giving him back the glasses. Of course, all the cute ones were rude, arrogant jerks.

Picking up the sauce bottle from where it had landed in his lap, I got back on my bike and pedalled off as fast as I could. I had only been in the place for little more then three quarters of an hour and I have already made an enemy. So, as to not bump into him again, I road around the neighbourhood for a while before returning home – or well, my temporary home.

“I’m back,” I said, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans, which had a very cool red dragon embroidered on the side, “I have the tomato sauce – uh, most of it anyway.”

“Oh, good.” Lorraine came out of the kitchen and snatched it out of my hands. “My boyfriend is here now; he’ll carry your bags upstairs.”

She left the room, and called out, “Michael, get off your laptop you nerd and go help my step sister.”

Soon ‘Michael’ came out. It was the guy I had squirted tomato sauce all over.

“Oh, it’s you. You’re unarmed, I see.” He said, and then looked down on all my bags. Oh yeah, Mum had to pay big time for my luggage. I made sure of it. “These all your clothes?”

He didn’t even look surprised, just amused. ‘Michael’ had obviously been spending some time around Lorraine. Which would make sense, actually, him being her boyfriend. But they weren’t all clothes.

“Nope,” I said and snapped open one of the suitcases to demonstrate, “just a few DVD’s from home I brought – you know, in case I got a little bored.”

“In case you got bored,” he echoed, looking down at my collection in amazement. “I’m impressed, how’d you save up for all these?”

“Oh, I work at this store, Vidiot; it pays quite generously – whether you pick the pay, or the DVD’s. Sometimes, just sometimes – I picked DVD’s.” I said, looking down at my collection with a small smile. I looked back up at him sharply, “So, are you going to just stand here or what?”

He rolled his eyes at me. His eyes, I noticed, were filled with so many different colours that it looked like someone had tipped hundreds and thousands into them. He picked up two of my suitcases, and without a word, headed upstairs to my room. Did I mention that my Dad’s house, was you know, practically a mansion? It had four floors.

I did not, by the way, check out his (perfectly contoured) butt as he made his way upstairs either. But if I did, it was a perfectly acceptable curiosity of the opposite sex that any normal female would display when confronted by a fine, fine specimen of the male species. Atleast, that’s what I told myself.

Hearing someone call out from two floors up I made my way up to my room, and found a sweaty palmed Michael who wanted to know where I wanted my bags put. I told him the corner of my room was just fine for the time being. He wasn’t even panting, and I’m no couch potato – well, I am but, I exercise – but I’d still be panting after carrying two heavy suitcases up a few floors. The place needed elevators or something.

The guy was fit. I started to wonder if he had a six-pack beneath his button-up vertical striped, green and black shirt. I soon stopped. I knew from experience this wasn’t any place I wanted to be going. I had heard of, and helped, people who had this kind of stuff happen to them. It never ended well.

I was just going to have to ignore the guy until this insane infatuation wore off.

“Thanks,” I said as he set the suitcases in the corner of my room, like I had told him too, “now how about the others?”

He nodded, and feeling a little guilty for being so rude I added, “Please.”

“Your word is my command, Rodriguez.” he said, and went back downstairs to collect my other three suitcases. I sighed, and went over to my lap top, setting it up and plugging it into the wall so I could use the internet. I wonder if today there will be any interesting confessions. Meaning: stuff that isn’t to do with that guy next door who they havehad a crush on since they were kids.

I logged in, and clicked on my website in favourites. I suppose I should tell you about my website, my website is entitled Dirty Little Secrets inspired by the song, and postsecret. I had people send in confessions, stuff they wanted to get off their chest – at first, that was all it was. Until I decided, hey, maybe I could help these people.

So I did. Do you know what happened? I started getting loads of people asking me about their problems, from all over the world. It had only been a school thing, and my teachers had even linked my page to the school website when they found out it was one of their students running it.

At the time, I thought that was pretty sweet. I mean, I had never had any sort of achievement at my school, ever. On account of the fact at my school they do not give out awards to students who frequently get put in detention. Oops.

But I had no idea, when I was fourteen, what dramas this website was going to cause me in the future. No idea, what problems one little website was going to start for me – what responsibilities, I had been given.

And here I was, still blissfully unaware.

Hello, I am a student at Lakeview high. And I have a problem, a big problem. What I am doing is right, but he didn’t understand that. Did he? He had to go, he knew about my plans. It is his entire fault; he shouldn’t have been snooping around in my room. What else could I have done about it, DLS? I went to you, because I knew you’d understand – you’re just as cynical, and as disappointed, of the population of this world. Of my school. How would you go about blowing up your school? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it before.

Sincerely, Laurence.

I blinked at it, and then reread it for a third time. Was this a joke? I mean, it had to be. Maybe it was Serena, my best friend back home, playing tricks on me. She was the only one who knew about me being the one running this site, and she also knew I was moving to Melbourne, Albert Park.

It had to be Serena, or else just someone with a very, very sick humour.

A voice made me jump and I snapped my laptop screen shut, “I said, do you want these in the corner too?”

“Y-yes,” I said, hoping to God he hadn’t seen anything.

He gave me a weird look, dropped the suitcases in the corner and went back downstairs. Great, now the guy I have a cr – am temporarily infatuated with, thinks I am insane.

Not that I care, mind you. I flipped open my laptop again, and heard another voice calling me, from downstairs. It was Paula, telling me tea was ready.

“Okay, Paula,” I said, when she had called out again, thinking I hadn’t heard her, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She seemed satisfied. I clicked reply, and racked my mind on any idea how to answer a kind of message like that.

Dear, Laurence.

Who are you, and what is it you have against your school? One must think carefully before blowing their school up. Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, changing schools instead?

I pressed send, and then made my way downstairs for tea.

“Honey,” I heard Lorraine say, rubbing Michael’s cheek with a thumb and then kissing it in the same spot, “are you staying for tea?”

And then I was reminded of the fact that Michael, in all his glory – was indeed, taken. Happily so.

Lorraine twisted her head, saw me, and smiled, “Hey Holly, mum made hamburgers. You do like egg in yours, don’t you? I recall you liking egg.”

“Yes, Lorraine,” I said, watching Michael drop his arms from her waist. “I like egg.”

-

A new story, I know, amazing right? I have had this one on my mind forages. I have big plans for this story, big plans. This is a new main character to add to my collection: Holly Rodriguez. Do you like her? I sure do. She’s pretty fun to write.

I am not exactly sure whether Albert Park has any schools in it, but I am inventing one – and it’s right next to the lake there. It’s my Mum and Dad’s anniversary today, and you know what is so sweet? The poem Dad wrote on Mum’s card!

Roses are red,

But I like blue.

Sarsaparilla is sweet,

But not as sweet as you.

I am not entirely sure how the sarsa – whatever it is, is spelt. I’m just guessing. I think it’s some kind of drink, that’s sweet? Anyway, the poem made me ‘aww’ and that’s all that counts.

Love,

God made you extra special.