“Lexi! Lex!” Tyler yelled as soon as we entered, and one of the guys directed him to the pool. A girl was doing flips from the diving board, to cheers and whistles from a group of admirers. She sauntered over to us, her tiny yellow bikini fit to perfection. A dozen earrings hung off one ear and also adorned her nose. Tattoos ran the lengths of both her arms. Of course. He had a girlfriend. And she was magnificent.
“Hey.” She, this Lexi girl, looked me over with scrutiny.
“Could you find something for her? Something more . . . appropriate?” Tyler rubbed his neck, apparently feeling the awkwardness as much as I did. Heeeeey, this girl looks like she’s ready for a junior high swim meet . . . but she came to the lingerie swim prom . . .
Lexi laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me back into the apartment. She led me down a hall and into a gorgeous room. Posters were plastered on the walls, and paper stars and Christmas lights hung haphazardly among them. The effect was a technicolor glow on every conceivable surface. Opening a tall side dresser, I peeked over her shoulder as she rustled through an entire drawer—drawer!—of swimsuits.
“Hmmmm . . .” She held up a few pieces to me, frowning at my chest.
“You might be a different size, but I think this should work.” She slammed a turquoise and gold mash of swimsuit into my hand and motioned me to the bathroom. Peeling off my goggles, cap, and huge shirt, I squinted in disbelief at the tiny triangles of fabric I was supposed to be entirely clothed in.
“I’m Tyler’s sister, by the way.” She spoke through the door, and I exhaled in relief. “. . . So are you his girlfriend?”
I froze as the question echoed against the elegant fixtures. “Uh, no. I’m Zoe. I just work at the coffee shop downstairs.”
I slid the bottom on and then struggled to tie the top. Finally, it seemed like every string was at least tied to another, and I warily looked into the mirror. Gasping in horror, I crossed my arms, trying to cover myself. Was I missing part of the suit somewhere? The middle? The back? The sides?
“Uhh, Lexi? Do you have anything more . . . conservative?” My underwear covered more than this spiderweb clothing. I peered out the door, unsure.
“Woah! Zoe! What are you talking about? You look great!” She adjusted a few of the strings, untying and then tying them again.
“See, it forms a pattern in the front.” I looked down and nodded, relieved that at least there was the illusion of more coverage now.
“I have a cover-up if you’re not comfortable.” She held out a completely see-through golden mesh dress and we both erupted in laughter at the irony.
“It’s ridiculous!” I gasped, holding it up to the bathroom light.
Lexi wiped tears from her eyes. “There are matching shoes too!”
We’d started up cackling again when there was a loud knock at the door.
It was Tyler. He glanced to his sister and then at me. We were winded from laughing, and I didn’t think to stop smiling. Hugely. Genuinely. Without a care in the world. Standing there in what could only generously be termed swimwear.
His mouth dropped open and he dropped the glass he’d been holding, shattering it on the tile floor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jazz Hands
LEXI SCREAMED.
“Get out! She’s not ready yet!” And she pushed the door closed again.
My laughter quickly ceased. “Oh, man, Tyler just saw me seminaked . . .” I could barely process it. Did I just say that out loud? And even more important . . .
Was he in favor or opposed? I didn’t have the worst figure in the world, but I was pasty white like uncooked dough.
Lexi snorted and slapped my shoulder. “Zoe! You’re wearing a very normal swimsuit! You’re not naked in the slightest!”
Her laughter was contagious and I joined in some more.
Once we quieted down, she found me a more opaque black cover-up and smeared gloss on my lips and mascara on my lashes. She undid my twin utilitarian braids and fishtail-braided one long one with a murmur of “Oh my, so much hair.” And then, biting her lip, she evaluated her handiwork and nodded.
“You’re done,” she proclaimed.
Deep pulses of some kind of drum music suddenly started shaking things in her room.
“Oh good, music! Let’s dance!” Squealing, Lexi rushed down the hall, dragging me behind her. We grew closer to the source of the vibrations.
Dance? Dance?!?! Oh no. No, no, no, no. No. So much, no. Dancing I could do, sure—like a proper waltz and things. Even the Macarena I’d practiced for hours. But move my body strangely to beats of foreign music, all while trying to look sexy and cool and totally fine with it? Nooooo. That did not happen. Give me a Glee-like chorus line perhaps, or a High School Musical burst of singing, even Shirley Temple tap-dancing with curls bouncing and jazz hands, but at least tell me the steps!
Lexi—my rock, my sort of friend, my accomplice in making fun of gaudy swimwear—deserted me immediately. And I was left to watch as a dozen boys and girls pushed furniture around and writhed and jumped and laughed and danced. Oh, how they danced. Some danced while yelling things to each other; others, couples, danced sensually off to the side as if they were the only two people in the room. And still others were showing off genuinely awesome moves as small circles formed around them to watch.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening! I wished I had a contract for what Tyler had originally said when inviting me. I feel like I remember “a couple of friends” and “hanging out by the pool.” Stick to the script, people! No dancing!
Tyler was among the circles watching his friends spin and contort strangely on the floor. Huge applause went up every so often, but I couldn’t figure out what part of the performance elicited it. I joined shyly, thinking that I could at least clap for the dancers.
Tyler raised his eyes to mine and made his way to me in the mess of people. In the background some guys had started a fire in the fireplace and it crackled and popped cheerfully, smelling like coziness.
“Hey, Home School! Pretty great, huh?”
I nodded over the music.
“Wanna dance?” he yelled practically into my ear, and I shook my head fiercely and nonverbally got across that I was a horrible dancer.
“You’re cute,” he said, looking me up and down.
Ah! No take-backs! I felt like yelling. He said it! Tyler said I was cute!
He took hold of my hand and started leading me away. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Anything but dancing. I followed him to the elevator, where he stopped.
“Wanna get ice with me?”
My running smile at the thought of being alone with him froze. Great, he’s on drugs! I really know how to pick ’em.
“What’s . . . ice, exactly?” I returned cautiously, hearing my mom’s words in my head and trying to think of a reason why I needed to go home.
He laughed. “You know, frozen water that makes drinks cold?” He grabbed my hand again—I could get used to that—and we jumped on the elevator together. Relief flooded my body. Ice I could do. I was like a pro at ice.
“You know, Zoe . . .” He angled me against the shiny metal wall. “I’m not a bad guy . . .” I felt the coolness of the elevator seep through my lacy cover-up, making me shiver. Bringing his hands up to my face, he cupped it like a large bowl of soup. Then, as he leaned in with those perfect lips that smelled slightly of alcohol, suddenly I knew: he’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me but I don’t want him to. Not like this.
I wanted . . . well, everything, you know? All of it. The fairy tale. The prince, the rescue, the love, the wandering, the finding, the protecting, the ending, and then the kiss. I knew it was from reading too many happily-ever-after books or watching The Princess Bride too often (heck, even Star Wars had cliché love stories), but that’s how I felt.
My skin crawled as he got closer.
“Sorry . . .” I murmured, and turned away so he came in contact with my cheek instead.
“It’s not that I—I mean,
I really do—” I stumbled to explain, feeling I owed him that at least.
Tyler looked at me, his eyes trying to say something. He looked sick. Like, really sick. Oh no, what if he’s one of those hot guys with super-low self-esteem (do those exist?), and I’ve just crushed his spirit forever?
And then the elevator doors dinged open, and Tyler—this gorgeous man of mystery, my knight in shining armor, my Prince Charming—threw up on my feet.
CHAPTER FIVE
Puke Toes
I INSTANTLY LEARNED that there is nothing more disgusting than throw-up on bare feet. More exactly, between your toes. I’d imagine that if it were on your hands, you might scream and run to a sink, shaking it off wildly as you go. If it was on your body, you’d go to the shower, ripping off the offending clothing along the way. But your feet, and slightly sprayed up your legs? Try using those to walk now, making acrid steps and literally embodying the word “squelch” as you searched for a place with water to get clean in. Running? Not so much. More like a back-of-the-heel hobble.
But there was nowhere to wash my feet, and now Tyler was curled up in the elevator, whispering things about the Cubs’ Curse.
Should I go home? But where would I leave him?
“It was the goat, Zoe. The goat that cursed us,” he slurred, going from smooth talker about to kiss me to . . . this mess.
Oh, Tyler. I’d wanted you to be so much more. Placing my pool cover-up over his shivering, bundled form, I stroked his perfect hair a couple of times.
The coffee shop. It was bound to be closed now, but sometimes Frank or Lucy stayed late to count money. Hobbling over to the glass doors, I pounded on them until—yes!—Frank rounded the corner inside, looking confused.
He unclicked the lock.
“Um. I have puke on my toes.”
He nodded somberly, like that was to be expected, and dragged Tyler in.
Frank carried me to the bathroom (I was not about to mess up the very floors he’d just cleaned), and I used him as a brace to wash one foot and then the other. His head was turned away the whole time; he was probably disgusted at the trails of semiliquid puke runoff I was creating.
“Sheesh, Zoe! Where are your clothes? I can’t even look at you!” He coughed and glanced up at me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.
I sighed.
“I know. I look horrible.” I slathered the pink liquid soap and washed my legs as high as I could. Finally. Puke smell gone!
“Horrible?” He laughed. “Uh, no. You look insanely gorgeous. That’s the—er, problem.”
Insanely gorgeous? I’d never been called more than “cute,” and that was only an hour ago! I immediately reddened in self-consciousness. Here I was in some scanty bathing suit, washing my legs with . . . Frank. Who called me gorgeous. Hmmm. Not how I had imagined the night going.
Extricating my leg awkwardly from the height of the sink, I fell back against him. Pausing to catch our balance, I was suddenly very much aware of his hands on my bare side, and against my back. His mustache twitched in a smile and he righted me, letting go.
“Got it?” he said softly.
“Mm-hm,” I agreed, feeling dizzy. And I couldn’t help looking up at him, biting my lip. Frank? I’d never really noticed before, but his brown eyes seemed to see inside me. They were intense and . . . real. More real than I’d ever seen, somehow. It must be a Minnesota thing. And, strangely, I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.
“Hey, you,” he whispered, sliding his hands around me again, this time by choice instead of merely catching my fall. It felt . . . empowering to be wanted in that second. To be owned by his palms at my waist. All thoughts of Tyler, passed out in the shop beyond, faded.
“Hi . . .” I managed to croak from some ball of pure nervousness deep inside.
What was going on? Was it a full moon? Was he a vampire to bend me to such wiles? Wait. Werewolf. He had the hair for it. We held the half hug, half touch for a minute (actually a fairly long time if no words are spoken). His hand provided the only action, fingers slowly pacing up and down my side, as if in indecisiveness.
“So . . .” he started.
“So . . .” I repeated. It seemed pretty apparent that we both excelled at small talk.
“Did you know that your mom calls me every day?” He smiled, and we finally had a track. Yes. Mom being crazy. I could talk about that for hours. If I could only focus on something besides my side being touched in such a tingly way . . . How is it that conversations always became impossible the instant there was mutual attraction?
“Oh she does, huh? Do you gab?” I twirled my hair with one finger and jutted out my hip in an impression of those girls I’d seen with Tyler.
He laughed.
“Nah. She’s just checking that you got to work okay.” He leaned in until I could feel his breath on my cheek. His hand finally settled, making a decision.
“Zoe . . .” And then he cut himself off with a low cough and pulled back.
I sighed as his hands left my side, my back, all in reverse of their delicious closeness. My arms were cold and lonely where his touch had been, and then I realized the purpose of men: those tiny moments when your arms weren’t cold anymore.
Frank rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“What am I doing . . . You’re like seventeen, right?” he muttered, looking away from me. No, no, beautiful eyes, don’t leave me! I’d only just started to notice them!
“Nineteen. But, um. Yeah.” Should I go home?
“Okay. Nineteen. So we’re still in the bathroom then, huh?”
“It would appear that we are.” I tried to be enthralled by the paper towel dispenser and to not think about my lack of clothes or how much I wished he’d throw caution and whatever else to the wind and kiss me.
Where do we go from here? And then the fire alarm went off.
CHAPTER SIX
Zoe, Zoe, Let Down Your Hair
DO YOU THINK it’s a drill?” My voice wavered with nervousness. In all the years we’d lived in the tower there had never been one.
“We should go,” Frank said.
People were already filling up the atrium of the first floor, but reluctant to go outside into the night. Some even banged on the storefront glass and indicated we should open the shop for the event.
A trashy-sounding song suddenly burst from Tyler’s phone, and we didn’t think much of it until it came again and again. Finally I went to answer it, slipping it from his hunched-over breast pocket and feeling a little sleazy at having a passed-out-drunk . . . Date? Friend? Acquaintance?
“Hello?” I answered.
“Tyler? Zoe? You guys have to help us! There—there’s a fire, and—” It was Lexi. I heard screaming in the background and someone else yelling. The phone clicked off.
My face must have told the story, because Frank instantly grabbed my hand and we took off running. We fought past the ever-growing throngs of people and caught an elevator as it emptied out.
“Let’s see how far we can get.” Frank pushed the penthouse button and I entered the code. The tomblike silence felt strange after all the people in the lobby, and I still felt the ghost of Lexi’s call haunting me.
“Do you think we—” My eyes started to water. If Lexi was hurt, my first girlfriend in maybe ever, I’d . . .
“Zoe. You stay in the elevator when we get there.” Frank lightly put an arm in front of me like I was about to jump out of a moving vehicle then and there.
“No way, I—”
“Zoe. Seriously. You have to stay safe. Your mom couldn’t handle it if . . .” He squeezed my arm reassuringly.
The doors opened, and we smelled smoke immediately. Frank took off his shirt and bunched it up over his face. Stepping out, he pressed the lobby button for me. But the doors didn’t close. There was a slight beep, and then the elevator lights faded to black, powering off.
“You’ll have to take the stairs!” he shouted through his makeshift mask, and then ran into the large ap
artment.
Why had I not noticed before how hot Frank is shirtless? Tyler had been nice looking if skinny in that emo new-age way, but Frank was built like a man . . . like a . . . a woodsman.
Okay. Now is not the time, Zoe.
I followed after Frank once he was inside, not heeding his commands (he was sweet, but come on, I was going to help).
The apartment was in flames. Truly. I’d never seen something burn like this. Like a bonfire, but inside, consuming millions of dollars’ worth of paintings and electronics and couches and rugs. It had started in the fireplace; I dimly remembered the happy little fire from the party, but now it was a vengeful monster. Flames licked over everything in sight, spreading downward through the floor as much as horizontally. Oh no—the floor . . . I felt the boards creak below me and I tread cautiously.
“Lexi?” I called. The place looked deserted; that at least was a good sign. “Frank?”
No response to either. There was a gaping hole where the fire was eating away at the kitchen, and I was drawn with morbid fascination to look.
“Zoe? Help!” The voice was faint, but I could tell it was Lexi’s. I crawled on my hands and knees to stay lower than the billowing smoke; my lungs burned already. I peered down into the hole in the floor. She was trapped against some kind of framework—the supports between levels.
“Zoe! Thank God! I’ve broken my leg or something!” she yelled up to me, her knee twisted at an unnatural angle.
“Zoe!” Frank found me then, pulling a large guy’s body behind him.
“I found him in one of the rooms! Let’s get out of here!” he yelled through his shirt, grabbing my arm.
“Not yet! My friend is trapped down here!”
The fire around us hit a gas line or something and there was this huge boom, like a mini–atom bomb explosion. Frank threw himself over me an instant before we were yanked back in the pressure wave. We slammed against the wall, leaving dents. Screaming. So much screaming. Why wouldn’t somebody stop screaming? Then I realized it was me and I stopped, shaking.
Once Upon Now Page 5
