How come I am the one who ends up with the big family secret? I am clearly the least suited person in the world to be entrusted with a big big secret, yet here I am, the one with this big steaming turd of a secret dumped in my lap. Thanks a fucking bunch.
I blame Pascalle for her stupidity in telling me. You’d think, after all these years and all the times in the past where she’s spilled the beans and I have; (a) tortured her and (b) profited from it, that she would know better. But clearly not, as the giant turd in my lap will testify.
I have suspected for some time that Pascalle has the brain of a goldfish, and I now know this to be true. She has clearly forgotten all those times when she begged me not to tell Mum when I caught her sneaking out to root some boy, yet – strangely – Mum would always be waiting for her when she snuck in. She has clearly forgotten the incident where the photos I found of her and Corinna Balani pashing on a dare and which I swore I would never show to anyone, somehow strangely ended up on notice-boards all over Shadbolt High.
Pascalle, obviously, is an idiot who has forgotten that the ‘Wests never dob’ rule applies only to our dealings with the police and other authority figures. Within the walls of West-world if you have knowledge of a secret, then it is your right to use that secret to gain something over your rival/sister/bother/other family member. Pascalle, therefore, deserves everything she gets for kindly sharing her big secret with me.
If I tell, that is.
Normally, the good thing about secrets ending up in your lap is that there is a way to profit from them.
But with this secret, I’m not seeing where the profit is in it.
Not yet, anyway.