Three big words are written across the poster.

What’s Normal Anyway?

And to the side is a painting of a person with half her face covered with a mask. I thought about writing more words to explain what I mean, that secrets chain us and that we’re all the same underneath those masks we wear. But I decided I wanted everyone to come to their own conclusions.

While Alex, Jen, and Mr. Harkins watch, I walk up to the poster with a permanent marker and write, I slept with men for money, and then I hand two more markers to Alex and Jen, hoping they’ll take my lead.

Jen walks up to the poster and writes, I didn’t want to have sex with him. He made me do it.

Tears fill my eyes at her honesty. Anyone could have written that note, so not everyone will know it was her, but it doesn’t matter. When she turns around with a light in her eyes I haven’t seen before, I know she’s free of it.

The bell rings, and right away bodies fill the lobby. Alex looks around for a second and then steps forward, in front of the kids now, stopping to watch before they enter the cafeteria. She writes, My father used to hit me. Now he’s in prison and I’m glad.

Everyone stops. More kids fill the lobby and stop to look.

Alex shrugs and hands the marker to someone else. “What’s your secret?” she asks the freshman boy. I want to hug her, for more than one reason.

Jen hands her marker to someone else, and I do the same.

“What’s your secret?” I ask.

Soon the lobby is packed. A few kids move past the crowd and head into the cafeteria, but most of them don’t. Maybe partially because the spectators are blocking the path for the rest. No one else steps forward to expose themselves.

Then I see Elizabeth, Eric, and the rest of their not-so-nice friends. Brandon smirks at us, our three secrets sitting there alone, exposed, in front of everyone.

Then Marissa steps forward. She practically rips a marker from the freshman I gave mine to and walks up to the poster.

She writes, I had a sex tape and Anna helped me destroy it.

I almost laugh out loud. Alex actually does.

Already the whispers are spreading, but Marissa is free of it. She walks right up to me and throws her arms around me.

“Whore!” someone coughs.

Marissa looks up. “Dick!” she coughs back, then winks at me and steps beside Alex to watch as more kids write their secrets on the walls.

Now more kids are walking up to the poster, hesitantly at first, but soon people are fighting for their chance to write something.

My parents hate me, one kid writes.

My dad is gay, a senior girl writes.

I make myself throw up.

I gave my virginity to a boy whose name I don’t know.

I’m still a virgin.

Secrets cover the board quickly, but just as quickly people head back into the cafeteria and back to their normal lives.

Alex picks up one of the fallen markers and walks back over to the poster. I thought she was done telling secrets. She writes, I wish I were more like Anna.

I blink. Me? Why would she want to be like me?

Alex smirks and hands the marker back to me. “You’re stronger than you think,” she says, and I want to say the same back to her, but she’s already walking back into the cafeteria with everyone else.

There are only a handful of people left. They’re reading the poster full of so many secrets, so many I doubt anyone will remember whose was whose.

Jackson walks over, and I watch him pick up a marker off the floor.

He finds a place in the corner of the poster and writes, Heroin killed my mom, but then he scoots a few feet over and finds another place right in the middle, underneath the word “normal,” and writes, My heart belongs to Anna.

I don’t know what to say. He smiles and crosses the room with big steps and wraps his arms around me. And then, in front of everyone, he gives me a kiss that feels like everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I’ll ever need.

I decide that this is my new favorite moment. No matter what happens between us, this will be the moment I remember forever.

Chapter Forty

Sometimes being interviewed is a chance to stop playing games. It’s just you, them, and the truth.

My palms sweat as I shift in the metal chair.

The room is quiet. Just me and a gray-haired woman in a blazer, sitting at her desk as she flips through my portfolio.

Why doesn’t she speak? Say something! I want to scream at her.

“You’ve had quite a life, Miss Rodriguez,” the woman says, monotone. I can’t tell if this is good or bad. She knows about my past. Will this mean she won’t want me in her school?

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

She finally looks up, and I see a tiny spark of life in her brown eyes. “Will you tell me about it?”

I swallow. “I was a teenage prostitute,” I say. It still sounds so strange to say, to admit out loud, but it’s no secret anymore.

She looks down at one of my paintings. One I keep in my portfolio just because I know how many people find it interesting. It’s of a girl sitting on the curb in a dark city, her arms curled around her legs, dark hair covering her face. She’s hiding, even from the view of the painting.

She flips the page to another, one I like much better than the street picture.

It’s a girl’s face, screaming while the world whizzes by around her. Everything is blurry except the girl.

“Tell me about this.”

“That’s always how I felt before and after my time on the streets. Like I was screaming for help, but no one would stop to help me. Like no one cared.”

“But you got out of that life.”

“Yes, ma’am. There are hopeful pictures in there, too. I use both the light and the dark of my past as inspiration.”

She nods. “You have quite a perspective, that’s for sure.” She pauses. “Tell me why you want to go to my school.”

My heart hammers, head pounds.

“Art is my outlet. It’s the way to express myself, the way I communicate with the world. I want to go to your school because I feel you can teach me the skills I need. Make me better. There’s nothing else I want more than to be an artist.”

The woman smiles. She actually smiles. I wasn’t sure she was capable for a second.

“Anna, it takes a lot more than skill to be an artist.” She folds her hands in front of her. “That being said, I’m hopeful that you have what it takes. I’d love an opportunity to see what else you have in you.”

My heart stops. “Does that mean I’m in?”

“I can’t make that call alone. It has to be decided by a committee. But they listen to my recommendations.” She chuckles. “So while I can’t guarantee anything, I’d be very surprised if we don’t see you this summer.”

She stands, and I stand, and she shakes my hand.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Good luck, Anna. You’ll hear from us soon.”

My head’s spinning, and I walk slowly toward the door. Once it’s shut behind me, I turn to my mother and Jackson, who are sitting on a bench outside the room, waiting for me.

They both jump up and hug me. It’s just a summer art school. Even if I get in, it probably won’t mean that much in the long run, but to me, it means everything. It’s a step toward a new future.

“I knew they’d love you,” Jackson says as we leave the building side by side, my mother behind us, smiling.

“I don’t have a yes yet. I won’t find out for sure for a few more weeks.”

“They’re crazy if they don’t let you in.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, but you’re always optimistic. I’m a realist.”

“A realist who was totally wrong.”

I shrug. “They’ll just hate me once I start taking classes,” I say, but I can’t hide my huge grin.

“Probably,” he says.

I punch him in the arm, and he laughs.