Page 20 of Wicked Little Secret

Miss Oliver

My lips twitch in much the same manner as the other day when she’d delivered the peppermint mocha to my classroom.

…and just like the other day, I can’t bring myself to discard the crumpled note. Instead I set it back down, completely unfurled, on top of my dresser drawers, and then move onto changing into real clothes.

Something without stretch.

Twenty-six minutes, forty-eight seconds into the art festival, Theo does what Theo does best. She spots an old friend from her Castlebury U days and chases them down like a dog fetching its newest toy.

“Emma!” she yells. “Emma… it’s me, Theo!”

Without the slightest second thought, she’s off. Theo shoulders her way through the crowd of curious passersby, on a spontaneous quest to find the girl named Emma. I hang back, both hands tucked into the pockets of my pants, and watch my baby sister disappear like some magic trick.

After thirty-eight years of sharing the earth with her, it’s no surprise at all.

Theodora Adler was always one of the more popular girls at school. Around the neighborhood.In our family.

Then there was her dark, scowling, brooding olderbrother that kept his nose in a book and couldn’t make pleasant conversation if his life depended on it.

I’d taken pride in that fact. I still do, so many years later.

Which is why, as I set off at a casual stroll down the center lane of the crowded art festival, I’m fine being alone.

Others browse on the arm of their partner or in the middle of animated chatter with their closest friend. Families wander by pushing strollers where drowsy toddlers nod off.

Everyone everywhere needs someone.

But not me.

Because I’m a proud lone wolf who gave up on the concept of real love many years ago.

That’s what my family never understood. The students at school and colleagues at work.Veronica.

She thought it was personal that I was distant and aloof. In reality, she simply didn’t understand the inner workings of the man she claimed she loved enough to marry. Breaking things off with her is the smartest decision I’ve made in years.

A quality paint job can always fix the scratch marks on my BMW XI. A small price to pay to be rid of Veronica’s curse for good.

My parents weren’t happy about the breakup—they hoped our relationship would finally lead to giving them grandchildren—but I couldn’t care less. They can make as many snide comments as they want.

Veronica and I are over for good.

The autumnal wind blows through the art festival in a cool wave. Leaves scatter across the ground, crunching under many pairs of wandering feet. If not for the baseball cap I’ve put on, my hair would look as much of a tousled mess as the people around me.

But while festival goers seem indifferent to the blustery weather, the artists who have put their work on display guard their pieces with their lives.

As I pass through, quietly observing as much as I’m judging, a painter rushes to keep her watercolor canvas from flying off its easel. Never mind that her work is unremarkable—her brush strokes are amateur and uneven and fruit bowls are always derivative. Poor girl, she loses the battle against the wind as her uninspired fruit bowl crashes to the ground and the canvas bends in half, smeared by mud.

The next section of artists happens to be my least favorite type of art that exists: pop art.

I walk through the lazy displays of technicolor vectors and feel like I’d rather gouge my eyes out than look at anymore.

How long is socially acceptable to hang around before leaving the person you came with? Should I even care when Theo’s probably forgotten all about me?

Iwasher ride, but she’s always been a people person. Maybe this Emma she wanted to talk with so badly can give her a ride home.

I’m on the verge of about-facing in the direction of my car when I hear my name in the distance.

“Professor Adler?!”

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