For as long as she could remember, Lydia kept secrets and each secret had it's own box. All the times she forged her parents name on school permission slips were kept in tiny boxes. The times she skipped school were put in slightly bigger boxes. The time she skipped school to go on a date with someone her parents didn't approve of went in a bigger box than the others.

It was managable for a time, but she found as she grew older, the secrets got bigger. The first time she got drunk went into a box the size of a chest. The time a guy touched her inappropriately at a party went into a box as tall as her. (A box twice as big and marked with an X was where she kept her feelings about the incident a secret from herself.)

She didn't just keep her own secrets; she kept everyone's. All the conversations followed by the words, "Please don't tell anyone." were stacked neatly amoung her own (even after the original owner stopped keeping the secret). There were boxes for the conversations she didn't mean to overhear and the things she pretended not to know.

The secret boxes became so many that she could barely see through them. When she tried to get to the other side, all she could do is reach one hand through. She sometimes wondered if she had become a secret herself, trapped inside the boxes of secrets.