Sophomore Year Is Greek to Me

by Meredith Zeitlin

  “I don’t know,” I tell her now, fiddling with one of the grapes brought over, as always, by the scary lady. “I’m nervous I’ll do something that will make him stop liking me before he even gets to really, really like me.”

  “You know you sound insane, right? I mean, what could you possibly do?” Lilena adds another packet of calorie-free sweetener to her coffee. Her wrists are so thin poking out of her long-sleeved shirt that it hurts to look at them. But I try not to think about it.

  “Say something. Or not say something. Or, I don’t know, be inscrutable or laconic or overtly flirtatious or . . . something!”

  “I don’t know what ‘laconic’ means. Does it mean crazy? Because that’s how you sound right now,” Lilena asks, grinning crookedly at me, her poor, totally smitten friend.

  I sigh. “It means quiet or not talkative.”

  She bursts out laughing. “I don’t think that’s ever going to be your problem, Zona!”

  I throw a grape at her and the owner starts banging pans together for no reason. “I just don’t want to mess it up. It’s so perfect right now,” I groan hopelessly.

  “But you’ve only hung out one time. Well, like one and a half, I guess. He’s just a guy. I mean, are you always like this about guys?”

  I think about that for a second. “No, actually.” I sip my coffee. “I guess maybe it’s because Alex is the first guy who’s ever been someone I might actually . . . date. All the other guys I’ve liked have been . . . unreachable. You know what I mean?”

  Lilena looks thoughtful. “Well, just see what happens. See if you even really like him that much—get to know him better.”

  “You’re right. I know you are. That’s what I’d tell myself if I weren’t, you know, me. I know in the rational part of my mind that I’m being ridiculous. We hung out once. That’s nothing. But, I don’t know, I just can’t stop myself!”

  “Well, it’s always easier to see something from the outside,” she says comfortingly.

  “Have you dated anyone at GIS?” I ask.

  “Nah,” she says, looking away. I know she’s going to change the subject back to me like she always does.

  “What about at your old school?” I try again, hoping she’ll open up, even a little bit.

  “Nope. I was only there for a year, and the guys were so lame . . . This Alex situation is good, though. Maybe someday I’ll meet a cute boy on a train platform and you can give me advice.”

  I think about giving her some advice—some real advice—but I bite my tongue, remembering Ashley and Betony. Better to leave it alone. “Well, technically we met in the library,” I remind her. “So, what are you doing for spring break?”

  “Probably nothing. We’re supposed to go to one of the islands, but I’m sure it’ll get canceled. I’ll probably ask if I can go visit my friend in Switzerland—we lived there before Chicago—and my mom will say yes, but then change her mind because of security risks. So . . . nothing.”

  “Want to go to Crete and pretend to be me?” I ask, only half joking.

  “Have you talked to your cousin yet? About what the family knows and stuff?” Lilena asks.

  “No, she’s been so busy. I didn’t want to ask her in a text,” I reply. “Thanks, by the way, for changing the subject in the cab the other night. It’s not that I want to keep it a big mysterious secret, it’s just . . .”

  “Private. I totally get it. Ashley and Bet can be pushy, but it’s not mean-spirited. They just like to know what’s going on, you know?”

  “Oh, totally,” I assure her. “Anyway, I don’t know when I’m going to be able to talk to Yiota—really talk, I mean. It may have to be on the boat ride there!”

  “Well, I bet she’ll have good guy advice for you, too,” Lilena says, grinning. “Or maybe she’ll know a cure for boy-craziness. Like a lobotomy.”

  “Hey!” I laugh, tossing another grape at her. It hits her in the forehead, and she lobs one back at me. We start laughing like lunatics, and the proprietress is not pleased. I have a feeling we just lost our grape privileges. Oops.

  Breaking: Teen Reacts To Attention From New Crush

  The week since Zona Lowell’s and Alex Loushas’s meet-cute in a Metro station has been, to quote Ms. Lowell, “completely nuts.”

  Due to the extraordinary amount of homework the sophomore student has received, she has been unable to do anything but sleep, eat, study . . . and exchange text messages with Mr. Loushas, 16. Even time to update Ms. Lowell’s best friend, Hilary Bauer, has been unattainable.

  Despite fears that he would act like a total douchebag in the aftermath of their spontaneous date/kiss, Mr. Loushas has proven to be quite a gentleman. Witnesses report that he “waved and smiled at [Zona] in the cafeteria on Monday, in front of all his friends. Plus he came over to [her] after he finished eating and said hi to [her] friends. It was just . . . easy.”

  On Wednesday Mr. Loushas was reported to have walked Ms. Lowell to her train after school, where playful arguing about the state of journalism ensued, plus more kissing.

  Ms. Lowell remarked that she was “so swept up in the moment that I [sic] didn’t even think to be shy or embarrassed because other people were around. It was really amazing. He is such a good kisser!”

  No actual plans to hang out have been made as of this printing, but Ms. Lowell (when not driving herself insane) remains hopeful.

  Filed, 3:42 p.m., Athens.

  25

  Wednesday night around ten P.M., my time, I finally get Hilary on Skype to tell her about my birthday and The Kiss and everything that’s happened since, and I can barely get the words out fast enough.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe he did that! Why, Giorgos, why?!” she says, giggling. “But this Alex sounds very promising . . .”

  “I’m making myself bonkers, though, Hil. I can’t calm down and just see what happens.”

  “Well, that’s because you’re a type A overachiever. We know this,” she says seriously, then smiles. “Honestly, though—I’m so jealous. Forget the cute guy part—I’d just like to be able to go out in the city and not feel like a dumb little kid all the time.” She groans, shaking her head. “I tried to go out in the East Village last weekend with Sara and Keri and we got completely shut down. It was pathetic. I mean, Matty has been going to all these cool places, and I know he’s with Scott and his friends and it’s not really my scene, but . . . I miss him. I wish he’d invite me even once, you know?” She picks up a sketch pad and starts doodling with a gel pen; I feel bad that she’s upset, but I can’t help but smile at the familiarity of seeing her distractedly drawing while she talks.

  “I just feel like, you know, it’s great that he’s hanging out with this guy, or dating him, or whatever,” she goes on, “but I’m still here, and I’m not dating anyone, and I just feel like I’m less important now. Everything is about Scott, and Scott’s friends, and doing gay stuff with them. And yeah, I have other things to do, but I feel like he doesn’t think I’m as cool anymore or something.”

  I pull the laptop closer to me, wishing I could actually be in the same room—on the same continent—as Hil and give her a reassuring hug. “I totally get it. And of course he cares. But it’s his first crush, you know? On someone who might actually like him back, I mean. He’s excited.” As I say the words, I realize how well I understand them. “You know how hard it’s been for him. And he knows we think it’s kind of a bad idea because of the age thing. I think he really wants this experience. I would be hurt, too, I’m not saying I wouldn’t. I just—”

  “At least if you were here I wouldn’t feel completely ditched. We’d still be together.”

  “Well, maybe you need to hang out with some other people for a while. Let Matt notice you’re not so available, either.”

  Hilary half laughs. “It sounds like we’re talking about some guy I’m dating instead of Matty.”r />
  “Nah. He’s too short for you.” I sigh with relief when she smiles at my lame joke. “Honestly, I think he needs this right now. And even though you’re pissed, I know you’re happy for him.”

  Hilary sighs. “I know. I am happy. I just . . . I feel lonely and I hate sounding so jealous and bitter. But I am a little bit. I’d like to have some guy to gush about, too, you know?”

  “Yeah.” My phone buzzes with a text; I glance down and see it’s from Alex.

  “Do you have to go?” she asks. I shove the phone under my books.

  “No, it’s nothing,” I say quickly. Inside, of course, I’m aching to look and see what he wrote. Is it something cute? Something about homework? A text he meant to send to someone else? But I don’t want Hilary to think I’m ditching her for a guy, too. “I, um . . . well, yeah, I think Matt just needs to have this for a bit. You have lots of friends you can hang out with til the novelty of Scott wears off. And lots to do—how’s the paper? Have you been painting? Tell me—”

  Hilary looks away from the computer in the direction of her door, then back. “It’s my mom. She got home from work early for once and wants to eat with me. It’s a miracle. Anyway, I have to go. Love you. E-mail me later, okay?”

  And then the screen goes blank.

  I snatch my phone, and when I read Alex’s text I can’t wipe a silly grin off my face. It’s not anything particularly brilliant, but it’s from him and it’s about a private joke from the night we went out. And I’ve never gotten texts like this from a guy before.

  I write back—an artfully composed message, of course. I haven’t spent so much time or care writing anything since I got to Greece. Who am I becoming?

  I go back to studying for a while, and then check on Dad, who is elbow-deep in notes as usual. Then I call Lilena.

  “It’s been over an hour. Why hasn’t he texted back?” I blurt as soon as she picks up.

  “Oh, no, you don’t—I’m not having this conversation again. Did you do the Chemistry homework yet?”

  “But—”

  “Chemistry,” Lilena says firmly. “Let’s go over the take-home quiz.”

  So we do, though I’m distracted the entire time. I hope Lilena meets a guy she likes soon, I think, so I can refuse to indulge her when she’s losing it. Fair is fair.

  But it’s fun, even with my crazy panicking—especially when I get another text from Alex in the middle of explaining my answer to a tricky question about chemical bonds. Because there is a boy, and I like him, and he seems to like me.

  And I want him to kiss me again.

  26

  My flight to Greece in December, my first day at GIS . . . they both appeared on the calendar before I was even close to ready. And now, again, I feel unprepared.

  Spring break is here—two whole weeks of it—and for the first time in my life, I’m wishing for less vacation and more school.

  And not just because of Alex, by the way. He hasn’t become a boyfriend or anything, but he is definitely a something. Not a defined something, but there has been some more kissing, which is fine by me.

  Studying for exams over break is going to be awful, and being away from Dad is, too. I’ll miss my new friends, especially Lilena; Yiota told me that Wi-Fi can be spotty on Crete, so I might not get to talk to Hil or Matty much, either. But nothing is as daunting as the real crux of the Easter plans: meeting my mom’s entire family.

  Dad has refused to budge an inch on his position and is forcing me to go. Without him. Specifically to a tiny village high on a hill outside of a bigger town called Heraklion, where the Marousopoulou clan has lived for generations.

  Yiota and I finally snatched an hour for lunch one weekend before the trip, and she gave me a general rundown of who I’m going to be meeting and what it’ll be like, but I honestly haven’t taken in the details as well as I—Zona the person or Zona the reporter, for that matter—should have.

  First of all, who can remember the names of seven thousand cousins she’s never even seen? And second, I can’t stop thinking about my childhood and growing up without a big family, and there’s this dark cloud of fear and anger that is swarming around everything.

  Of course, I’m trying to keep an open mind. (Sort of.)

  • • •

  There are a few ways to get to Crete from Athens. A quick hour-long plane ride straight to Heraklion Airport is one of them, but I’ve been told I absolutely must experience the overnight ferry (which I feel seasick just hearing about). Apparently it’s an all-night party where no one sleeps in the berths they paid for—they just stay up drinking and playing music and gossiping. So that’s the plan.

  Overnight Ferry Party Ideal Venue For Asking Hard Questions

  Zona Lowell, 16, embarked today on a journey unlike any she’d ever attempted: waiting for her on the isle of Crete was her family, none of whom she’d ever met or even spoken to.

  Accompanied by her cousin, the young woman responsible for this reunion, Ms. Lowell felt she needed some questions answered before she could press onward.

  Yiota Marousopoulou, 20, did not hesitate to offer up said answers, though in some cases they were incomplete ones. “The truth is, we did not ever talk about Hélenè when I grew up,” she explained. “When I asked my mother about her, she didn’t want my father and my uncles to know. When we talk about it again, I think they have always known that she was gone when there were no more letters. But they didn’t want to believe it was true, so they didn’t try to find out. You understand?”

  Ms. Marousopoulou continued, explaining that her grandfather was a very strict man and refused to let her grandmother open Hélenè’s letters. After he died, it was too late—there was “no Internet then, and the older people didn’t speak English very much. And they were angry, and they had to blame someone. And so time passed, and they just . . . pretended. And hoped.”

  Ms. Lowell now had some answers, but just as many new questions. We will do our best to cover the story as it continues to unfold.

  Filed, 10:38 p.m., somewhere out at sea.

  When we get off the ferry, all the passengers start heading for their cars or the bus station a few blocks away. The dock is long and covered with stray cats. Before I have a chance to suggest rescuing them all, Yiota’s cell phone rings. She looks around and then points excitedly. “Over there!” she exclaims, and then she’s off, wending through the huge crowd of people, dragging her bag.

  Beside an old, pale blue car stands a couple in their late fifties holding hands; she’s wearing a shapeless patterned shirtdress and he’s in a black ribbed tank top and olive-green pants. He has a bushy black beard and lots of bushy black hair—both on his head and his shoulders. The woman has one pair of glasses on her face and a second hanging from a chain around her neck, and a huge, gleaming smile. Yiota practically leaps into her arms, the man folds himself around Yiota and the woman, and they have a giant group hug.

  I stand nearby, a bit embarrassed—the Lowells aren’t big on PDAs—but everyone around me is hugging, too, and no one seems the least bit uncomfortable about the displays of affection. Even the men are hugging and kissing one another hello.

  Finally the woman spots me and exclaims, “Éla! Zona, let me see you!” She holds me at arm’s length, and I can see her eyes are wet with tears. “Oh, you look just like Hélenè.” She kisses me on both cheeks. She turns to the man, who is piling things in the car. “Greekgreekgreekgreekgreek Hélenè, nay?” She looks back at me, beaming. “Just like her, I can’t believe it.”

  “Yes, yes, okay,” the man mumbles. Yiota tugs on his arm and says something in Greek. He stands up and faces me. “We go now.”

  “Baba!” Yiota hisses. She turns to me. “Zona, these are my parents, your thia and thios, yes? Angela and Labis. He was your mother’s brother, okay?”

  “Um, kalimera,” I say. Labis looks less than thrilled to ma
ke my acquaintance. I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, wondering if I should say something else as the silence drags on.

  “Ay, Zona, it is a blessing, a blessing to have you here, and for Easter! Come, come here!” exclaims Angela, sweeping me into her arms again. She kisses me on both cheeks and squeezes my shoulders. “Just like your mother. Ay, come on, girls, get in the car before Labis leaves us here, eh?”

  My uncle—my thios—is already in the car. We slide inside and Yiota leans over to me and whispers, “He is the oldest brother, I think I told you. Still a little angry, after all this time . . . but don’t worry. He is wonderful when you know him, I promise. And my mother, she knew your mother well—my parents were married very young and Hélenè was a girl still.”

  I smile at Yiota, but the truth is my insides are churning. Is this what my spring break is going to be like? Winning over these people I don’t know, convincing them not to be mad at me because of what my mom did almost seventeen years ago? Because I can think of a lot more fun things I could be doing instead, like chopping down trees for firewood or pulling a dogsled through the snow.

  I resolve to be strong. After all, I’ve only just arrived.

  We drive up a hill that seems to go on forever, and the road is right on the edge of a cliff, which is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Yiota and her mother are talking a mile a minute in Greek, so I zone out and take in the scenery.

  It’s absolutely incredible. Everything is vivid green and purple and yellow, and the road we’re on is so high above the ground, it’s almost like we’re in a plane. There are groves of silvery-green trees in dozens of neat rows down below, and just miles and miles of fields. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much empty space before. Here and there are little pockets of houses tucked into the side of the mountain, all white with delicate roofs the color of terra-cotta pots, but for the most part it’s open land.