“Is this high school?” he finally asked. “Do you think I give a shit about teenage girl gossip?”

I worked my mouth to the side, thinking. I knew my deepest, darkest secret, but if I told him, it would ruin everything, ruin the lie I’d built my survival on.

I wish I’d waited. I wish…he’d let me wait. I wish he’d called me back afterward. I wish I hadn’t been so weak to wish for him to call me back.

So I searched in my heart for the only other color of ink staining it.

“I have a good one,” I said after a minute.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” I smiled, ignoring his sarcasm. “When my mom died, I wasn’t sad, I was relieved. I’ve never told anyone that because, well…” I picked at my cuticle. “I loved her,” I added. “I just wasn’t sad when she died.”

Grayson folded his arms, giving me nothing. I quickly looked away. God, what was wrong with me? Do. Not. Look. A. Crowne. In. The. Eye.

Did I need to tattoo it?

I shifted with insecurity.

He walked by me, heading to a desk. A second later, a green pen and notebook flew at me, faster than the papers had.

“Write them down,” he said.

I hesitated.

I didn’t want to have to stare at the words, like looking yourself in the mirror after you’ve done something horrible.

He pushed the contract to me with his shoe. “If you’d like to reconsider.”

I quickly scribbled the words inside the notebook. Eyes on the floor, I handed the notebook up to him, but he pushed it back to me.

“Hold it up, by your face.”

I hesitated again, then held it up. Green ink bled through the back of the page.

“Smile,” he said.

“Smile?” I allowed myself to look up, to see he had his phone out.

I did as he said, and he snapped a photo of me.

Fear at Grayson having photographic evidence of one of my deepest secrets nearly eclipsed everything, so I almost didn’t hear the door crreak behind us as my next biggest nightmare approached.

“Mr. Grayson,” a firm, weathered voice called out. One I knew very well. The voice that had told me bedtime stories and taught me poetry.

“Over here, Woodsy,” he said, but his eyes were still on me.

Woodsy, as in, Woodson Hale, my uncle.

Oh my God, oh my God.

Shit, shit, where do I hide? Where do I go? How do I get out of this?

“I have to go,” I blurted. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Grayson tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Do you not realize what you just did?”

My heart lurched into my throat. I could hear my uncle advancing through the bedroom, his soft footfalls like a mouse leaving footprints in dust.

“You have proof of one of my darkest secrets…”