Saving Zoe Page 9

  Abby puts her hand on her hip and shakes her head. "Did you even listen to your list? Nice, funny, smart, super

  smart even! Oh lucky day for me! But did you say hot? No. Gorgeous? Niente. Cute? Not so much. That's a really

  bad sign, Jenay. A really bad sign." She narrows her eyes.

  But no way is Jenay giving up. "But that's the thing, he is cute. Seriously, I swear. And the only reason I didn't

  mention it first is because I know you're not at all shallow or superficial. I know for a fact that you would never, ever

  base your opinion on looks alone." She looks at each of us, smiling triumphantly, knowing there's no way for Abby to

  argue with that.

  Abby just stands there, squinting at Jenay as she mulls it over. "What's his name?" she asks, as though that

  will somehow reveal which way to go.

  "Jax. Jax Brannigan."

  "Jacks? Like plural? Like there's two of him?" Abby says, her eyes going wide, as her head moves back and

  forth, indicating an immediate, "no way in hell" decision. "Jacks the nice, funny, super incredibly smart, two-headed

  history buff?"

  "Jax with an x. And you can't hold his name against him since it's not like he named himself," Jenay says,

  rolling her eyes, clearly frustrated with all of the obstacles Abby insists on throwing onto the otherwise well-marked

  path of love.

  "What would you name yourself?" I ask, suddenly interested in this conversation, but probably only because as

  far as weird names go, I'm the undisputed queen. "I mean, if you could have any name, what would you pick?"

  Abby laughs. "Well, when I was seven I wanted to be named Candy. So my dad started calling me Junior Mint,

  and my mom started calling me Abba Zabba and Aaron started calling me Twizzler, until I begged them all to please

  just stop and call me Abby again."

  Jenay smiles. "I always wanted a cute name. You know, one that ended in an I or E sound." She shrugs. "But

  as it turns out, Jenay's a family name. So I'll probably be expected to pass it down someday too. You?"

  Abby and Jenay both look at me, obviously curious how you could possibly ever top a name like Echo. And

  even though the years from kindergarten through fifth grade were the worst, with all the boys chasing me around,

  going, "Echooooo! Echoooo!" I guess I never really thought about changing it, never once thought about being

  anyone else—until now. I look at Abby and Jenay and just shrug.

  "Well, I gotta get home and babysit. Call me if you guys get bored and want to come over. And Abby, think

  about it. Please, I'm begging you. I promise you will not be disappointed," Jenay says, turning down her street as

  Abby and I head for ours.

  "Are you and Parker going?" she asks, gazing at me briefly, then down at the ground.

  "Where? The party?"! look at her. "I don't know, I guess."

  "Do you think I should go?" She gazes at me, her face set and serious, like she wants me to be serious too.

  "Sure, if that's what you want." I shrug.

  "I mean with Jax?"

  "Again, up to you," I say, not feeling nearly as gung ho on the possibility of love like the ever optimistic and

  happy Jenay.

  "Listen," Abby says, stopping in front of my driveway and gazing at me. "I don't mean to sound strange or

  anything, so I hope you don't take it that way, but...what's it like having a boyfriend? I mean, is it weird?" She

  scrunches up her nose and looks at me.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, gazing down at the hole in the toe of my black Converse sneaker, thinking how I

  need to either get a new pair or find a new look.

  "Well, Jenay acts like it's so great, I mean, she even wrote 'Ms. Jenay Williams' on her notebook the other

  day. Seriously. And when she saw that I saw she turned bright red and scribbled over it. But like, while she always

  acts so love happy, you...well you're like the exact opposite. You're like some big-time reluctant girlfriend, who can't

  quite figure out how you got there." She laughs at the end of that, but only to soften the blow.

  I take a deep breath and stare at the crack in my driveway, surprised to learn I wasn't putting on near as good

  a show as I thought. Though I guess it's hard to fool Abby. I mean, she knows me too well. "Truth?" I finally say,

  looking right at her. "Just between us?"

  She nods, waiting.

  "It is weird. And to be honest, I really don't know how I got here. It just kind of happened, and before I knew it, I

  was in." I shrug.

  "But weird how?" she asks, narrowing her eyes, obviously wanting to follow and understand. "I mean, what's it

  like? Do you talk on the phone all night? Are you going to have sex?"

  I think about Parker, how cute he is, how nice he is, and I shrug. Honestly, I have no idea what he sees in me,

  no idea what he's even doing with me. But one thing's for sure, he's not the one who makes it so weird. That blame

  lies entirely with me.

  I look back at Abby, then quickly glance away. Then I take a deep breath and say, "Honestly? Sometimes when

  he calls I purposely let it go into voice mail, because I feel so awkward, and nervous, and stupid, and guilty. And up

  until now we've only kissed or made out or whatever. But nothing more. I'm just not ready for more, and it's not like

  he pushes it, either. And it's like, even though I'm fully aware of how practically everything about him is really amazing

  and great, and even though I keep reminding myself of how lucky I am that he likes me, it's almost as though my

  heart refuses to cooperate with my head, like it's blocked out all of that chatter and refuses to listen. Does that make

  any sense?" I ask, wondering if she thinks I'm a total freak now that I've confided all that.

  But she just looks at me and shakes her head. "You know what the sad thing is?" she says, still looking at me.

  "I think I can relate to your version a whole lot better than Jenay's." She laughs.

  I laugh too. Then I head up the driveway, following along the thin, jagged crack 'til I reach the front porch.

  "You wanna study later?" Abby calls out.

  I reach for my keys and unlock the door. "Sounds good," I say, before closing it firmly behind me.

  The moment I'm inside I bolt for my room, drop to my knees, and shove my hand under the mattress, wanting nothing

  more than to lie on my bed and get between the pages of Zoë's diary.

  Only it's not there.

  So I push my hand farther, delving deeper into the tight space where my mattress meets my box spring. And

  when it's still not there, I dive headfirst into full-blown panic attack.

  Grabbing the pillows, sheets, blanket, and duvet, and throwing them all to the ground, I lift the mattress all the

  way up 'til the side is pointing at the ceiling, the top is resting haphazardly against my nightstand, and the entire left

  side wobbles like it's gonna crash through the french doors or something, as my eyes scan the space quickly, but

  not finding a thing. So then I drag it off completely, pulling it to the floor and flipping it over, thinking maybe the cobalt

  book got stuck to the stitching, but again, nothing.

  I sink to the ground, a sweaty, panting, heart-racing mess. And as I unravel the sheet from my leg, my mind is

  in turmoil, wondering where the hell it could be, and even worse, who could've found it.

  And when I finally gaze down, I notice how the sheet wrapped around my leg is not the same one I woke up with

  this morning. Since I know for a fact that when I left for school, I left behind an unmade bed with pink striped sheets.

  And these are cream with blue stars.
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  And then I remember Mariska. Our cleaning lady. The one who comes on the fifteenth of every the month. The

  fifteenth, just like today.

  So I pick myself up and head for my dresser, Mariska's drop spot for orphaned items. And wouldn't you know,

  right there, smack dab in the middle, is Zoë's diary, cover shiny and blue, pages seemingly undisturbed.

  Then I fix my bed, change my clothes, and begin where I left off.

  ...Seriously, he even told me about how he had to deal with his mom when his dad got shipped off to federal

  prison, how needy and weak she was, and how at just ten years old he was practically forced to grow up overnight.

  I'd always heard his family was mega, filthy rich, and supposedly had several more houses even bigger than the

  one he lives in now. And of course I'd heard all the crazy stories about his dad, but there were always so many

  rumors, so many insane legends—he killed a man, he robbed a bank, he embezzled a bunch of money, he was in the

  mob—that I just didn't know what to believe. So I didn't believe anything.

  But I guess in the end, those stories were like a gazillion times more exciting than the true and boring fact of

  how his dad is just another greedy, rich bastard who wanted to be even richer.

  Anyway, his mom ditched his dad, actually served him divorce papers during his first month in jail. Said there

  was no way she was living single for ten years minus time off for good behavior. So whenever Marc wanted to go see

  him, he had to get a ride with his uncle Mike (his dad's brother). And they'd both have to endure a full-body cavity

  search before they were allowed inside.

  Only Marc didn't really say that part about the cavity search. He says that's how it is for hard-core criminals, not

  wealthy nonviolent types like his dad. Apparently all they had to do was sign in and go look for his dad—who, by the

  way, was allowed to wear clean pressed khakis instead of an orange jumpsuit. And then they all sat around at these

  plastic tables and chairs, eating vending-machine snacks and talking face to face (as opposed to being separated by

  a sheet of bulletproof glass and having to use a phone).

  Whatever. My version's way better, way more dramatic. And I even told him he could show me a picture and I'd

  still choose to believe my story over his.

  So he goes, "Oh yeah, and you're not allowed to take pictures either/'

  So I go, "See ? In my version, they let you do that."

  Anyway, I guess his mom became a major pill-popping heavy drinker, although she may have been one even

  before all that I mean, it's kind of unclear but it really sounds like it And oh yeah, now she's apparently married to

  husband number three, and each one has been even more rich (and more messed up) than the one before.

  So I went, 7s that why you drive that old Camaro, cuz you hate money?"

  But he just laughed and said, 7 drive an old Camaro cuz I like old cars. What, would you like me better if I drove

  a Porsche?"

  And then I—damn, I can't believe I said this (!) but then I go, 7 can't imagine liking you any more than I already

  do"!!!! Seriously! I could die! And I thought I would! I mean it just slipped out before I could stop it.

  But he just looked at me all serious and said, 7 liked you from the very first moment I saw you."

  Which is kind of like you had me at hello" but better, because it's real, and spontaneous, and not from a movie.

  So then I laughed, because, please, the first time he saw me goes all the way back to fifth grade. Right before

  his mom started sending him away to all of those private schools.

  But when I reminded him of that, he just said, 7 know."

  Sometimes when I'm reading Zoë's diary I need to take little breaks. I mean, part of me is anxious to move forward,

  and just burn through the pages as fast as I can. But the other part feels a little overwhelmed, like all of my senses

  are completely filled up, and I just really need to set it down, close my eyes, and try to regroup.

  Though I guess I regrouped for too long, because the next thing I know, the sun is set, my room is dark, and

  Zoë's diary is gone.

  "Who's there?" I sit up frantically, rubbing my eyes. "What are you doing?" I ask, making an unsuccessful

  swipe for the book.

  "What's this?" Abby asks, flipping through the pages, her eyes on the lookout for something good. "Are you

  holding out on me? Is this some kind of love journal, where you write down all of your heartfelt feelings for Parker?"

  She laughs, playing her version of keep-away.

  I just look at her, forcing myself to take slow deep breaths, forcing myself to stay calm. "Abby, please. I'm

  serious. I really need that back," I say, struggling for patience as she scans the pages, though luckily without really

  reading. "Come on, Abby, please," I beg. "It used to be Zoë's."

  I feel bad when it works. When I see her face go from gleeful to grave the second she hears my sister's name.

  But I had to get it back, and it's not like she left me with any other choice.

  Tm sorry," she says, shutting the book and handing it to me. ''Honestly, I didn't know." She bites down on her

  bottom lip, her eyes wide and sad.

  "It's okay," I say, sliding it back under my bed while giving her the "good sport" shrug. "Let's go study

  downstairs."

  Eighteen

  July 4

  Fireworks! In the air, on the ground, vibrating all around

  Exploding in a profusion of color and sound

  We lay on the soft wet grass, staring up at a sky so lit

  A moment so perfect—/ closed my eyes to save it—

  Then later, quiet, peaceful, just him and me

  Two hearts reaching for infinity.

  Carly was pissed I didn't go to her party—assumed it was because of her being all happy and hooked up with

  Stephen. Please, I could give a shit about all that. I mean, seriously. Whatever. I tried to tell her I'd already made

  plans, but it just made it worse. She got all hostile and hurt and accused me of ditching her for Marc!

  'You've totally changed since you hooked up with him! You've ditched everyone else just so you can be with

  him," she yelled.

  I just held the phone and rolled my eyes, because no way was I getting sucked into her self-righteous

  not-so-mellow-drama.

  So then she goes, 'Everyone's talking about it, and I'm only telling you this because you're my best friend and I

  love you like a sister."

  "Oh, is that why you stole my boyfriend?" I asked, which I know was stupid since it's not like I care. I guess I just

  couldn't stand to listen to her stupid, fake, best-friends-forever-and-ever-and-ever bullshit speech, especially since it's

  no longer true.

  So she goes. "You were over Stephen and you know it I can't believe you're acting like such a bitch, over a

  guy!"

  But I didn't say anything. Seriously, I refused to get sucked in any further.

  So then she goes, "Seriously, Zoë, I'm worried about you. Everyone's worried about you. I mean, how well do

  you even know him? 'Cause lye heard some pretty scary stories about his private school years. Why do you think he

  had to enroll in public again? It's because he had no choice, nobody else would take him. Honestly, I think that whole

  quiet and mysterious act is totally played. Because the truth is, he's just weird. And I know you know what everyone

  says about his family, right? I mean, they're bad news. It's like, he shows up at parties, but then barely even talks to

  anyone. He's got all that money but he drives that old, beater c
ar. He's like some rich-ass grease monkey, and his

  mom is like a total pharm-hound boozaholic, not to mention she's been married like a zillion times, not to mention how

  his dad's supposed to get out of jail anytime now and Marc will probably go live with him—a convicted felon! A former

  prisoner! I mean, have you even thought about any of this?"

  I know I shouldn't have let her get to me, I know I should've just ignored it, but I couldn't just let all that go. So I

  said, "You don't know what you're talking about. Everything you just said is all rumors and bullshit! None of it's true!

  And if you were my friend then you would believe me, not judge me, and stand by me no matter what!"

  But she just goes, "Sorry Zoë, but I just can't do that."

  So I go, "Then you know what, Carly? I guess you're not really my friend."

  When I hung up I felt pretty bad, I mean, we really did used to be best friends. But then I used to think I had a lot

  of friends. I used to think everyone loved me and cared about me, and only wanted the best for me. So it feels pretty

  bad to know they're all talking shit about me instead.

  But still, if I'm forced to choose, and apparently I am, then I choose Marc. And it's not like I owe Carly or anyone

  else an explanation for that.

  Because if you're gonna make someone choose, then you shouldn't be surprised when they don't choose you.

  July 7

  Almost got caught taking a catnap at work today. Big time, serious close call. Normally I'm way more careful

  about stuff like that—/ even set the alarm on the computer for ten minutes before the appt ends. But I guess I just

  didn't hear it go off, cuz the next thing I knew Doctor Freud was standing over me, fingers scraping against his graying

  old scraggle chin, going, "Zoë? Are you okay?"

  Luckily, I was slumped so far down my face was practically in my lap, so without even flinching I just opened my

  eyes, reached down, and grabbed the pen that had fallen on the ground. Then I looked up at him and smiled and said,

  'Yeah, I was just looking for this." Then I held up that blue ballpoint, like it was solid evidence of a hard day's work.

  And even though I don't really think he bought it, he still just nodded, and then headed for the can. And by the time he

  got back his next appt was already there.