genevieve and the band of misfits

five ➳ the secrets we attempt to keep

Secrets aren't exactly my forte.

In third grade, this one girl had whispered, "I like like that gross boy over there," and – literally a split second after she'd told me – I skipped around the school, shouting about how Jenny Chamberland like liked Bartholomew Ushkowitz.

Jenny hasn't spoken to me since.

Fortunately, I hoped and prayed that Ethan hadn't heard of that entire situation, and that he chose to trust me because some small part of him thought that I wouldn't hop about town, running my mouth to anyone who would bother listening.

I've learned from that whole Chamberland/Ushkowitz incident, thank you very much.

Of course, I certainly wouldn't enjoy having to share a room with Tate on an almost daily basis. Despite his rather insightful opinion, he was still an asshat, and asshats don't deserve the time of day.

I'd watched a few shows – and read tons of online fiction – about stuff like this, and there's always something in common; the boy in denial doesn't seem to understand that love involves sacrifice, and if you can't find a compromise, you're both going to come crashing down in a fury of flames.

Thankfully, I'd never been very fond of tricky relationships.

Unless, of course, they were on tv shows, or depicted in books. That, my friends, is a totally different ballgame.

My phone vibrated, and I sighed, hurriedly answering the phone.

"So I talked to him," she said, "or, at least, attempted to, and he's pretty oblivious to whatever's going on with Tate. Either that, or he's lying through his teeth. How'd things go on your end?"

"Tate bailed before I could even get a word out," I grunted, flopping onto my bed, my eyes fixed on the white ceiling. "Clearly, he isn't up to talk to me, or he's just acting like a douche."

Ming chuckled, and I lifted my arm above me, stretching my fingers, staring at the baby blue colour I'd painted my nails. It looked really pretty, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

"It takes a lot to act that disgruntled on a daily basis," she remarked, earning a light laugh from me. "Anyway, I think we have to address the fact that we only have four members, and we need six more in approximately five days. How on Earth are we gonna muster up that many people?"

I frowned, glaring at the ceiling, wondering why it constantly failed to provide me with even a ghost of an idea to potentially solve all my problems. Or, at least, the most important ones.

Suddenly, I sprang out of bed, heading towards my desk.

"Ming, I think I have a plan."

And we all know that stringing those words together never breeds anything good.

➳ ➳ ➳

Every single time I strolled into school, an overwhelming sense of fear would swallow me whole.

It's not that I mean for it to happen, it just kinda does. Out of nowhere, I'd become a nervous wreck, constantly wondering whether I have the right to comment on how sucky these people are, when I could actually be equally suckish as a person, you know?

And then, by the time I lay my eyes on Ming, or simply look around me and see all this hatred being spread like butter, the fear vanishes.

I'd like to think it's because I'm one of the few individuals refusing to spread any more shitty vibes, and that I'm actually trying to make a difference. I'm trying to help.