The Secrets

“What the—What did you do. R*****, what did you do.” Mommy says, running towards him. Towards my crib.

“It was an accident. I swear.” He says, backing towards the wall.

“Just go.” Mommy says. He quickly leaves and mommy runs to my crib. Picks me up in her arms.

Liar. He’s such a liar.

****3 Weeks Later

“He said it was an accident. I haven’t talked to him since then. It’s fine. I forgive him, though.” I hear mommy say. Whoever she’s talking to leaves and she walks into my room.

“Alright. Time for lunch.” Mommy says, picking me up. I smile, then giggle.

“Ha–ppy?” I ask mommy, cocking my head to the right. She doesn’t respond, but instead just smiles and kisses me on the cheek. Then, something tells me no.

“Are you happy?” I question myself in my head.

”No. Not really.” the voice responds. This voice....this voice sounds like mommy’s. Like maman’s. The same thick, French accent and gentle, kind, loving voice. I look up at maman. Notice her eyes. Her pretty, pretty mismatch eyes. I’m happy I have pretty sea blue eyes, sort of like her.

Liar. I look at her and think. She stops walking and looks at me.

“Anghel (ANN•GEL), baby girl, did you say something?” Mommy asks in French. I stare at her. Shake my head no. I didn’t lie. I thought something.

Liar. You’re not happy. I think again.

Baby girl, can you hear me? I hear mommy ask, but her lips don’t move.

Yes, mommy. I think. Mommy closes her eyes, then opens them.

“Let’s go eat lunch, shall we?” Mommy says.

I see she’s pretending that everything’s okay. I don’t care that she is. But I saw something change. Change in her eyes. The colors. Her pupils. They changed color.

They turned gray. An unnatural, cold, icy gray.

She knew. She knew because she can see right through me.

She can do it too.

That’s why she’s not mad.

*********

I smile. She was always like a mother to me. A second mother. She appeared so nice and sweet and innocent, but in reality, the last one is a total lie. She’s not innocent. Not at all. She’s lying. Not to me, but to her family. Her itsy bitsy tiny little family—well that is, compared to ours—in London, England. It actually scares me a little. How she’s able to just lie and deceive people whenever she wants to. Like how she deceived her whole family into thinking she was Avarra Rianne. The famous, smart, creative, and genius Avarra Rianne—now Cyvaira—who found a cure for all types of cancer. Avarra Cyvaira, the same innocent little girl who lived with her “aunt” in Tausse (TOSS), France.

I remember when I was little. About 4 years old, to be exact, she came home. Played games with me. I asked her why people were always calling her Avarra. She responded by saying that was her name. I shook my head no. Avarra is too ugly of a name for maman to pick and I know that that’s not her name. Then I asked her how she always had time to come over here since, from what I know and eavesdropped on, she’s married. Married with a 5-year-old daughter at home in London. She just smiled at me and ruffled my hair. Not thinking anything of it, I giggled in response.

Then there was this girl. She had red hair, hazel eyes, double-ear piercings, and a mixed skin tone and was just about my age—only a year older. We used to play games all the time together. Then, one day, when my older sister left, she left too, probably taken with her by my sister. I didn’t know why, though. Not until 2 years later did I find out why.

Next, 2 years after I found out why the girl left, I got another sibling. A girl. 5 years old with silky black hair, light brown cat-shaped eyes, and olive skin who also had double-ear piercings with yarmanium earrings. Two ear piercings on each ear is just a tradition that runs through my family. Girls always, always, always get two ear piercings on each ear and the earrings are sometimes mostly white and black diamond, gold, emerald, or yarmanium. Yarmanium is sort of like a diamond but yellow. For boys, they too always get two ear piercings on each ear, but the earrings are mostly white and black diamond, maybe even emerald.

“Avarra” always helped me with my homework when I needed it and was just overall a great older sister. That is, when she wasn’t lying to her daughter about this “Avarra” person being her mother.

“Xavien (ZAY•V•N). Hello? Earth to Xavien.” I hear my younger sister, Sage, say.

“It’s Master Chancellor Xavien Ruler of the World to you, ma’am.” I correct, smiling.

“Nah, I prefer to call you Xavien (X•AY•V•N). How does that make you feel, Xavien. Huh?” She smirks.

“Shut up. I hate it when people say that. Substitutes always call me that even though the teachers always leave a pronunciation key next to the names. Like, READ THE WORDS/LETTERS.” I rage.

****NOTE: No hate to substitutes. This is just meant to be funny.

“I know right!” Sage comments.

“I also find it when someone with more than one part of their name name’s said. Like “Oh, Chancellor Xavien, huh? Would you like to be called Chancellor Xavien? Or Chance Xavien? Or Chance? Or Xavien? Or maybe even Chanien (CHAN•E•N) Or Chanxav (CHAN•ZAYV)? Or even Xavier? Or Xav (ZAYV)?“” I joke.

“Are you stupid? You forgot the other half. “Would you like to be called Xavien Chancellor? Or Xavien Chance? Or Xavchan? Or Xavce? Or Iencha? Or Ience? Or Billy?“” Sage jokes back. I laugh.

“Billy, ma’am, even though Billy is nowhere to be found in my name, it’s Billy, ma’am.” I smile.

“Alright, Jacob, let’s get to work.” Sage replies. I laugh again. I promise, half of the subs I’ve had would legit be like that.

“Chance. Work. Do it.” Sage commands. I look down at my homework.

X/50^2/209^90=5

True or False?

If false, correct the right side of the equation to make it true.

“Hey. Xia. Sage. Sister. Best friend. #1 sister. Best person in the world. Wanna do some work?” I ask.

“No thanks, I’m already doing 8th grade honors math.” Sage smiles.

“Well I’m doing honors trigonometry and I’m in 9th grade.” I brag.

“Wow. Congrats. You’re not as dumb as I thought you were.” Sage replies. I roll my eyes. I answer False and cross out 5 and put Unknown down. Probably wrong, but I don’t care. I open my math folder and put my paper away. Then, I lay down and relax.

****Ravamara

“Yeah, it was huge.” Yavara comments.

“I’m thirsty.” Relvin states.

“Drink your spit.” Verlynn replies.

“I don’t have any. It evaporated.” Relvin responds.

“Well that’s too bad.” Verlynn says back.

“I need a break.” Relvin comments.

“From who?” Yavara questions.

“From all of you.” Relvin answers.

“That’s too bad.” Verlynn says back again. I sit on the floor, texting my friend Esmond (EZ•MUND). Out of the corner of my eye, I look at mother. She sits Indian style with her laptop on her legs and makeup still on even though she came back from work before we were back from school. It’s 6:30. We get back by 4:00.

“Mother, what’re you doing?” I ask.

“Making money to pay your school fees, that’s what I’m doing. How about you, Ravamara? What’re you doing on your phone? Raising our phone bill?” Mother asks, raising an eyebrow, her piercing blue eyes staring into the depths of my soul. Blue is mother’s real eye color, but she wears hazel contacts. I shift around on the floor, her stare making me feel uncomfortable. I turn off my phone. She returns her gaze back to her laptop.

“So....oh! Ravamara, what ever happened to that friend of yours?” Yavara asks.

“Oh! Jamal? He dropped out of honors math.” I answer.

“That sucks.” Yavara comments.

“Eh, I guess. Some new kid came though. A freshman.” I reply.

“A freshman? Doing Intermediate math? What does he look like?” Yavara asks, now really interested.

“Black hair, blue eyes, sort of your skin tone, maybe a bit lighter.” I respond. Mother’s left ear twitches—a quick motion I barely managed to catch.

“And what’s his name?” Mother asks, biting her right pointer finger.

“Why are you suddenly so interested?” I ask in response.

“You must’ve not heard me the first time. What’s his name.” Mother says more sternly, playing with her ear and now staring into my soul again.

“I-I heard it was something like Morlon or Gordon or something....” I answer.

“Wasn’t it like Jordan?” Ross, a friend of mine, asks.

“Yeah! Jordan! That’s what it was!” I agree eagerly. Mother raises an eyebrow. She continues typing whatever she was typing before. Then, her phone starts buzzing. Mother answers the call and puts it on speaker.

“You calling me is disturbing me. What do you want.” Mother says rudely.

“I completely forgot. Two weeks ago your mother called and told me she was coming to London for a meeting. When I asked her when was she coming she said “In two weeks”, so don’t be surprised when you get a little “visit”.” I hear Relvin’s mother say.

“Oh, that’s just great. Just fantastic. Did she tell you a time?” Mother states sarcastically.

“9:00AM. So she arrived this morning. It’s just about 6:40 and 7:00 seems too soon...too unnatural. So maybe like 8:30? 7:30? Nah, too early for someone who’s usually nocturnal on the first day after traveling. What time do you usually go to bed?” I hear Relvin’s mother ask. Mother starts chuckling.

“Like 2:30.” Mother responds.

“Don’t you wake up by like 4:00?” she asks.

“Did you just call me to lecture me on how I should get more sleep?” Mother asks, getting irritated.

“Yeah, actually, partially. So then maybe she’ll come about 2:30 to disturb your sleep.” she says. Mother sighs.

“I’m sorry, there was too much noise. Was that a sigh of tiredness or was that a sigh of “someone save me”?” she questions.

“Both.” Mother answers.

“Since you’re not gonna sleep anyway.....” she starts.

“No. Type it yourself.” Mother replies.

“But—” Relvin’s mother starts.

“Nooooope. I said N.O.” Mother says again.

“Fine. I’ll just get Airika to do it.” she states.

“Can’t do that either.” Mother responds, typing something.

“Why?” she questions.

“Because I already have her typing a 45,000 word paper on what I have to do.” Mother explains, smiling.

“Which is over.....?” she questions again.

“How having a diet consisting of both acidic and alkaline foods and drinks would be avoid way to prevent stomach pain.” Mother answers.

“How would you fit a one-sentence answer into an 1000-sentence one?” she asks.

“I don’t know but I have a serious problem I need to find a way to fix and it takes brainpower, an actual IQ, and concentration, which I seem to lose talking to you, so bye.” Mother states.

“Your existence pains my eyes.” she replies. Mother hangs up.

“Dang it, I wanted you to tell my mom I have basketball practice soon.” Relvin complains.

“What does this look like to you? A game of Chinese telephone? If you want to tell your mother something, use your phone. She didn’t buy you one and choose to raise her phone bill just because it was fun.” Mother replies rudely.

“You hurt my feelings.” Relvin says.

“Boohoo. Your life hurt everyone’s feelings.” Mother says in French.

“Ouch, low blow, mother.” I reply.

“I’m tired. I’m gonna go take a shower.” Mother states, getting her stuff and leaving. It’s quiet for a bit after she left. Then, Yavara speaks up.

“Why do you think she was suddenly interested?” Yavara asks.

“I don’t know why she would be so interested in a new high school student.” Relvin comments, trying to think.

“Maybe she knows him somehow?” Ross asks.

“Knows him....no. Their ages are too far apart for them to know each other.” I say, shooting down the idea. I know this is wrong, but it’s just too unbelievable.

“Could be siblings, maybe.” Ross suggests. I start to think. Same icy blue eyes, same weird light caramel skin....no, skin color can change any time. Grandpa has dark brown hair and I’m 100% sure Jordan’s hair is black. Black as night. Mother has red hair, though. In order for Varvel’s hair to be brown while mother’s be red, grandma has to have red hair. Or mother could’ve.....no, that’s too complicated and Varvel said he never adopted any children. So....it’s either Jordan’s hair could’ve gotten darker....no, wouldn’t him washing his hair make it lighter because of the chemicals? Varvel has a full head of light brown hair and, besides, I’m a hair dye expert. If Varvel was dying his hair, it’d be more likely he’d dye it his NATURAL hair color than some other one, also his hair didn’t have the signs of being dyed. At least the signs I usually see. And there’s no way his hair got that light of a brown by chemicals. Like, what’re you doing? Pouring bleach on your head? I wouldn’t find it regular for some teen to dye their hair an ordinary color, either. That’s kinda pointless to me.

“Something’s just not right with that theory, Ross. It could be right if someone was dying their hair. And I doubt that Jordan’d dye his hair black. His hair looks natural. So does my mother’s, so I don’t understand how that could be right.” I state.

“Let’s just drop it. My brain hurts.” Relvin comments.

“Yeah. So, Yavara, how was your first day of school?” I ask.

“Alright.” she responds.

“Meaning....” I ask.

“Meaning Jordan is literally in every single class I have except math.” Yavara says.

“Wait, really?” I question.

“Yeah.” she replies.

“Cool!” I say, excited.

We talk and talk and talk until Gevora orders some pizza for us. Then we eat and talk and eat and talk and eat and talk until we all call it a night and Relvin and Ross go home. I take a shower and then head to bed. All the while I’m trying to go to sleep, I think about what mother said.

I’ve already introduced you to the real world, I’m not going to introduce you to another.

I also remember another conversation I have with mother.

“What do you qualify as “the real world”?”

“Reality. Real life. If you haven’t been able to see the world both in all its beauty and flaws, you’ve yet to reach the “real world”.”

“And what about me? Or Verlynn? Or Yavara?”

“You? Not quite. Verlynn? She couldn’t be further. She’s stuck in her own Sherlock Holmes fantasy that she calls “life”. It’s concerning. Really, really concerning. Yavara? No. She still acts like a child. Pretending and trying to act like everything’s great and fine. She doesn’t even know who she is. Maybe then she’ll be in the real world.”

“What about you?”

“No.”

“And when will someone reach the real world if everything else is perfect?”

“Depends. Once you stop pretending and you know who you are and so does everyone else, then you have somewhat reached the real world. If everyone is faking and isn’t themselves, then why would we call it the real world? Once you’ve found that out, you’re probably just about halfway.”

“So why haven’t you reached the real world yet?”

Mother looked at me, smiled.

“Simply because I haven’t stopped faking. I haven’t stopped pretending to be someone else.”

“Goodnight, mother.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” she said. She kissed me on the cheek and whispered something into my ear. Something I couldn’t understand. It was French. I don’t know French very well, though.

“Promets-moi de ne pas prétendre être quelqu’un d’autre? Promets-moi que tu ne seras pas comme moi?”

Then, she disappeared into her bedroom.

I wish I could find out what she said, but I don’t know French very well. It’s not like I can spell it, either. Promets-moi de ne pas prétendre être quelqu’un d’autre? Promets-moi que tu ne seras pas comme moi? What does that mean?

“”Promise me not to pretend to be someone else? Promise me that you will not be like me?” what does it even mean?” I think aloud. I gasp. I just....translated it. Without thinking. How did I? But I don’t know French? It’s almost as if I’ve heard someone speak French around me before and I learned it. Learned it and forgot it. How....? I sigh and decide to table this for later. Right now, I need sleep.