"The Secret's Out," by Ava Meltzer

I take my front row seat in Mr. Frey’s class just as the late bell rings. Everyone settles into their seats and pulls out their English binders. 

“The assignment I will give today is worth 30 percent of your final grade.”The room falls silent and everyone shifts their attention to Mr. Frey.

“You will have to create a three to five minute presentation on something in your life that shaped who you are today .”I slowly raise my hand. “Yes Margo,” Mr. Frey calls on me

“Is this in groups or individually?” I quietly ask

“Individually.”

The whispers of people pairing up go silent, replaced by an awkward silence. I'm a horrible speaker, I stutter and get nervous so how am I supposed to do this? Mr. Frey starts passing out the planning sheets, it's so quiet you can hear his shoes squeak and every paper drop on a desk in front of a student staring down.

 “Ninth grade is hard enough.” I think to myself. “What kind of lunatic teacher makes an already self-conscious, awkward, teenager stand up in front of a room of otherwise strangers, and speak on something so deeply personal?” 

The bell rings and everyone slowly slips out of class with the weight of the assignment on their shoulders. Kate catches up to me in the hallway at my locker and she doesn’t even have to say anything because the look on her face speaks volumes.

 “So.” She coughs a little and pauses. “What are you going to write about?” she asks with a nervous giggle. 

I laugh through my nose at the question. You know the laugh I am talking about. The kind that isn't a laugh. The kind that is a “are you kidding me” kind of exhale.

 “Kate,” I say as I slam my locker door shut and turn on my heel, “I literally have zero idea how to speak about it for 3-5 minutes in English class. And you're the only one that knows what IT is. What about you? Is this assignment throwing you over the edge as much as it is for me?” 

That’s a silly question. I know it’s not. Kate Murphy is the perfect example of what every freshman sets out to be. If there was a movie called “How to be Excellent in everything you ever do” my friend Kate Murphy would be the star. And she would win the Oscar for her perfect performance of this perfect character that was perfectly based on her perfection. And Kate is so perfect at being perfect, you can’t even hate her for being so perfect. She is next to me still and she puts her hand on my shoulder as we make our way out of the building and head towards the Uptown 1 train. 

“It’s okay Margo”, she says with such sincerity that I know whatever she says next will make me emotional. “I will help you say whatever it is you want to say, or need to say, or…” And this is the part I cringe at because I know what is coming next. “Whatever you want to not say, I can help you not say it too.”

Kate knows all too well what has shaped me. She knows that what has shaped me is still shaping me today. To be honest, sometimes I hope it continues to shape me and other days I am so exhausted I think about when it will stop shaping me and become something that has happened to me and not happening to me. As we head down the escalator into the subway station, I start to think about saying the quiet, scary part out loud to my English class. I think about how to put a marker on the posterboard and draw my biggest fear and make it come to life on paper. Come to life. Ha. That’s a funny way to put it. Because in reality, nothing is coming to life. Life is coming to an end. And how exactly do I say that to a room of teenagers who’s biggest problem is what Brandy Melville tank to buy or what party to go to this weekend? How do I stand up in front of a room of people I am just getting to know and tell them that the person that I have known for my whole life, the person who gave me life, the person who is my whole life, is losing the battle with hers?

When we step off the train at 72nd Street, it feels like Kate and I have been speaking for the past 25 minutes when really my mind has just been racing the entire time and what I thought were words to my best friend, was just my mind running through all the ways my presentation will be judged. Are these kids going to think I am a weirdo because I come to school everyday and act like everything is fine? Are they going to treat me better or worse than they already do once they know what is going on at home? What if when the presentation is over, and the secret is out, Mr. Frey thinks that I didn’t do a good job and I fail? Like, as if explaining to everyone that my mother has been dying every day for the past 2 years isn’t bad enough. A failing grade on top of that? 

I mumble goodbye to Kate as she heads uptown 2 blocks and I walk west. When I approach my apartment door, I take a deep breath like I always do and prepare myself for what is inside. Or for what won’t be inside. Because for the past 2 years, I made my dad promise me that if anything happened, that he would tell me here, at home, face to face, even if it was hours past. Actually, it was Mom’s idea. She said that this is our bubble and if anything were to burst, we should be in the space we feel the safest in. I turn the doorknob and instantly I know that today is the same as it has always been. I hear the beeping from the machines and the music that tries to drown out the beeps as soon as I walk in. 

“Hi honey,” my mom calls. I drop my backpack down and head over to her to start the same conversation we have everyday. Except today, I will have to mention the assignment. Except today, I will have to tell my mom that I have to tell my English class what has shaped me, and that watching her go from the strongest person I know to me having to help her out of bed sometimes is going to be narrowed down to 3-5 minutes and graded.

 “Hey mom, how are you doing today?” I barely listen to her fake response. 

She will never tell me how she actually feels.

 “I have a big assignment due soon, so I am going to get started on it. I'll be in my room if you need me.”

I shut the door behind me and turn on my laptop. This is where I will begin. My fingers hover over the keyboard and as if I am waking up from a bad dream, I shake my head, clinch my eyes open and closed, and begin to type. I type the truth. I type what has been holding me back from feeling like a normal person for the first 6 months of high school. I start to feel my shoulders inch away from my ears. I have probably been shrugging them off for years and haven’t known it.

 “Ok Mr. Frey” I say aloud to myself, “you wanted to know what shaped me? Well, you asked for it? You are going to get it.”

I start seeing words on the screen, words that scare me, words that I’ve never spoken to anyone before. How do I say this out loud? How do I stand in a class, in front of a room of perfect girls and tell them this? Tell them that my mom is dying, and there is no way I can help her. Two years ago, my mom got diagnosed with cancer. My life shattered into a million pieces. You know that feeling after an argument where the room feels silent and cold, well my house felt like that for two weeks. My dad couldn't talk, and I tried to do everything I could for my mom, but in true honesty, there was nothing I could do, or my dad. I missed school for three weeks when we found out, rumors were going around of the craziest things. I couldn't even leave my bed, the thought of your best friend and mom being gone and having to go through this makes me sick. 

The next day at school, Mr. Frey tells us that the presentations will begin tomorrow. Great. The bell finally rings after Mr. Frey talks about nonsense for 40 minutes, I walk toward the back to wait for Kate to finish packing up. Lunch is next and we always eat together. Kate is sort of my only friend, but she’s so popular and has so many other options, I still don't know why she hangs out with me. Kate’s that girl for me. Everyone has one person they want to be, Kate is her. She's tall, about 5’5, skinny, and has perfect long blond hair. Her family is perfect. I go to her house at least once a week and I’ve never heard her parents argue or her yell at her little brother Harry. Kate is the only person who knows about my mom, but I didn't tell her. My mom and Kate’s mom, Tina, have been best friends since college. Kate is literally like a sister to me, so maybe that's why she still hangs out with me. 

We walk across the street from school into Starbucks to eat lunch. We drop out stuff at a table and go up to the counter to order, Kate gets her usual strawberry acai and plain bagel with lots of cream cheese, I get a chai with vanilla and a chocolate croissant. We get our food and drinks and go back to the table, Kate pulls out her computer and starts typing.

“What are you working on?” I asked her.

“Mr. Frey's project” She replies.

“Oh, I didn't start it yet,” I lied. While we sip our drinks I can’t stop thinking about the words that spilled out of me for this project. They came out almost as fast and as smoothly as my vanilla chai would if I tipped the cup. For a few seconds I think about tipping my cup over and watching the tea spill across the table, but that would just be a waste of 6 dollars. Instead, I ask Kate what she is writing about. 

“Oh, I don’t know yet. I have a few ideas but nothing seems to be sticking out to me.” 

“Great,” I think to myself. Am I the only one who has something at this point of their lives that can be defined as shaping? Does that make me even more weird that this project, as hard as the topic is, can come easy to me when other 15 year olds may be struggling for topics?  I fidget in my seat and start to suggest ideas for Kate to write about “What about the time you got that solo in dance class and you perfected your split for the end? Remember how much time you took to make it look like you had known how to do that forever, even though Miss Mia sprung it on you like a week before the recital? Or you could tell everyone about your first summer at Camp Greenwood when you got Color War captain when no one had ever gotten Color War Captain their first summer in the history of the camp? Or the time when”…I pause. I pause because my voice sounds angry. I sound resentful. I sound like I am talking about someone that I can’t stand, not my best friend. Kate stares at me. I know she noticed. I know she heard it. You can cut the tension in the air with the plastic knife Starbucks gives in those little baggies. I clear my throat. “Anyway, you have a lot of options, Kate. I am sure whatever you come up with will be amazing.”

The deadline for my project is in 2 days. Mr Frey let us pick a day of the week to present. I didn’t want to present on Friday. That feels like setting fire to an already burning building. Fridays are hard. Sometimes weekends are alright. Other times, they are just long. I choose Wednesday because it’s typically everyone’s hardest day. Today when I get to class, the presenters for today’s names are on the board staring at me like sets of eyes. All the presentations are typical. They are supposed to be shaping, but instead these moments for these kids I barely know feel like a cool breeze compared to my tornado. A big football win. An ice skating fall that ends in a disqualifying score. Bad grades and then studying. But I pretend to be interested. I pretend to be moved by these stories that are so small. “That’s mean”, I think to myself. “Their lives aren’t mine, it’s not fair to judge them. God knows I do not want them to judge me.” The bell rings and my presentation is one more class time away. 

The next day of English class rolls around again and I take my same seat, take out my same pen, open my same notebook to take the same notes. Today’s list is all girls that would probably consider me a friend. They are all girls I should probably consider friends too. But in reality, I don’t really, and I know they feel the same about me. I see the way they look at me when they really just want to get close to Kate. I know the thoughts that go through their minds when she heads off with me in the afternoons rather than them. They can’t understand. Sometimes, I don’t either if I am being honest. 

Rae Preston goes first today. I am only half listening when she starts to talk but suddenly I am jolted into attention when I hear the word “sick.” “I sometimes wish she was in the hospital rather than home. I mean, it’s my life too.” My eyes must be bulging out of my head. My face must be beat red. Is Rae’s mom sick too? I can’t believe I have been so selfish that I didn’t know that. She must have mentioned it, I think. I am wracking my brain for moments between us. It doesn’t come to me. She sits down and even though I do not turn to look at her, I tell myself that tomorrow, after my presentation, we will feel closer. 

“Wow Rae”, says Mr. Frey. “Thank you for sharing that with us. I can’t imagine what you are going through but I am sure that story resonates with someone here.”

Next on the list is Shelby Hassan. She is so small that sometimes I forget she is in ninth grade. I sit up a little straighter in my chair and decide that today’s presentations matter. I will make sure I am ready to listen today. I nod at Shelby and she begins to speak. “Everyday when I come home from school, I am unsure of what I will walk into. Or what I won’t walk into. My mom is dying. She is hooked up to all these machines and every day that I come home and she is there, I sort of wish she wasn’t. I just want this nightmare to be over. That may sound like I am a bad person, but my mom being sick for 2 years has shaped me into this person that I sometimes don’t want to be.” 

I am frozen. I don’t dare look at anyone. I can feel the heat coming off of my face, off of my whole body. I can feel sets of eyes staring at the back of my head. But only one set of eyes comes flooding into my mind. Kate. I see Mr. Frey shifted in his seat out of the corner of my eye. He can’t be that naive to think that another girl in the class has the same story as Rae can he?

Another presenter. Another one of Kate’s followers. Same story. This time, the focus is on bravery. “Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror and cannot believe how brave I am. Other times, I have to remind myself. But I make sure I do. Because I am brave. I know I am. And I want you all to know that I am brave too.”

So this is what Kate thinks of me. This is what years of being forced to hang out with me because of our mother’s friendship has made her do. How could I have been so blind? She has always been prettier than me, more popular than me, more adored, better at everything. Obviously she wouldn’t actually care about me or be my friend. It is at this moment that I turn in my seat. I see her. Sitting there. She doesn’t exactly look at me but she doesn’t exactly look away either. She looks empty. Hollow. Like an empty Starbucks cup with only a few droplets left. But she looks settled. Like she won a competition but has to be humble about it. And then it hits me. Like a calm after a storm. Every time we spoke, well every time I spoke. I never told her not to tell anyone. I didn't think I had to. 

When the bell rings this time I do not rush out of the classroom. I pack my things slowly. I stand and face her because I know she is still there. “Those stories today were so brave. They really made me appreciate what I have and how lucky I am. And Margo, now you know. You are not alone. You don’t have to be scared anymore. See how many people are dealing with the things you are? You can talk about them with these people. You don’t always have to unload on me. Isn’t that such a relief?”. My mouth is dry when I go to speak but I force myself to get the words out.

 “You had no right Kate. Those aren’t their stories, those are mine. And you gave them away like you were allowed to. How could you? And after all this time?” 

“I thought you would be relieved. I thought you would be happy that other people had stories like this so you wouldn’t be the only one. Don’t you see Margo? I helped you. I made your story not that big of a deal. Now no one will think you are weird for living your life when your mom is dying.”

 I purse my lips together and give her one single nod. Now I am the one who walks away and leaves her in a cool breeze that I hope feels like a tornado to her. 

I wake up in a sweat as my alarm goes off. I slept the kind of sleep that feels like you were running for hours. If today wasn’t Wednesday, I would have slept more and been late to school. But today is the day. The day that I share what has shaped me. And I can’t be late. Not today. Not for this. This is too big not to be ready for. 

My name is first on the board when I walk into English class. “Good”, I think to myself. I can make sure that everyone is fresh and ready for what I am about to share. When Mr. Frey calls the class to attention, I am already getting up from my seat. He doesn’t have to call my name. I am there in the front of the room before he can finally quiet the class down. Rae, Shelby, and Kate slip into their seats like they are about to have dinner. They don’t seem eager to listen to my story, but I know by the time I am finished, they will be eager to get out. I am not carrying a single thing. No laptop with my story on it. No paper to hold in front of me while I speak. My voice is shaky as I begin what has shaped me. But I make sure I start over loud and strong.

 “Some of you have had some really interesting and intense things happen to you in your life that have shaped you into the person you are today. I thought I knew what the thing was in my life that has shaped me too. Actually, I was sure I knew. Until now. So, I am not going to talk about what I thought it was that shaped me. That thing has made me who I am today and that person is brave, and strong, and unapologetic and really really pissed. And that is the person that is standing in front of you today to let you know that the moment that has shaped me is right now. Because the moment that shapes you isn’t something that happens to you. It is how you react to something that happens. Or happened. Or can happen. And I am here to show you that the hardest part of being shaped is knowing that you are forever changed. I know that right now, I have changed. And I am not going back.”