by Ruth Houston
"What?!" I said. "Why not?"
"You should make love instead."
"You – I – m-make l–" I spluttered.
Tristan was laughing.
"If that's the best advice you can give me, I'm going to go hunting for a new shrink, Trist, I have the yellow pages right next to me," I warned.
"You really should. Not the part about getting a new shrink. I can't believe you guys haven't gotten together yet!"
"It's kind of hard when we have so many things not resolved yet," I said.
"Do you still like him though?"
I thought about the question. Who could make me smile without even trying? Who could brighten my day with one of his handsome grins, one of those easy chuckles, a good-natured comment, a smirk that would have looked horrible and arrogant on anyone else but looked sexy on him? Who knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do in every situation? Who was the only person in this universe who seemed to simply get me on a deeper level than I thought possible? Who seemed to know what I was feeling, thinking, wondering about all the time? And I said, with a sigh, "Do you really want me to answer that?"
I could hear a smile in Tristan's voice. "No. No, I suppose I don't. It's enough that you realize it yourself."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Look," he said, "Just think about it. Why is Zack so mad at you?"
"Because he thinks I was lying to him."
"Not quite. It's less of the fact that he thinks you're lying than it is what he thinks you were lying about."
He allowed me time to digest this. "What, about Gavin?" I said incredulously.
"Uh, yeah," he said. "About Gavin. He thinks you're going out with him."
"Okay, back up," I said. "He's mad at me because he thinks I was lying to him."
"No, I just corrected you about this. He's mad because he thinks you lied to him, but most of his anger is because he thinks you were lying about going out with Gavin. Come on, Winter, think about it. Put two and two together!"
"Okay, okay," I mumbled half-heartedly, trying hard to understand what he wanted me to understand.
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Tristan sounded like he was edging onto being exasperated. "He's jealous."
I smiled slightly and started to speak.
"Don't," Tristan said, and there was something in his tone of voice that made me stop and my smile disappear. "I'm being serious. Trust me on this one. He's jealous."
"Because he thinks I like Gavin? I don't get it."
"You wouldn't," he muttered.
"Oh, come on Tristan, don't be mad," I said, shocked.
"I'm not mad, I just think you should stop disregarding Zack's feelings!" he retorted. This was the first time ever that he had gotten this close to being upset with me, and the surprise of it floored me. "Listen to me! You're not listening."
"I am now!" I said. That string that held on to my own temper, already having gone through a day of stress, was by now dangerously taut. I took a deep breath, but my next words came out colder than I had meant them to anyway. "You want me to listen, so talk."
"Good," he said shortly. "Zack's jealous. Why? Because he likes you, Winter. I can tell you're about to say something, but don't."
I closed my mouth indignantly. Screw telepathic self-proclaimed love shrinks.
"He likes you," said Tristan. "Don't you get it?" He sounded weary all of a sudden. "Is it that hard to understand?"
"No it's not," I said tartly. "Of course he likes me. We're –" I halted for a split second, "– friends." Why had I stopped like that?
"The hell you're friends!" He sounded so annoyed I physically recoiled, even though he was a couple hundred miles away. "You tell that to my face sometime, Winter. You won't be able to do it. You shouldn't be able to do it. God, just – you're so blind sometimes! You really need to open your eyes and see what's in front of you. I can try to talk you to it, but I can't do it for you. You never say anything about it but I know you always feel like you're looking for something, searching for something in this life. You are so smart. Smart people, brilliant people like you get bored easily, and brains and boredom do not mix well. And you're bored with your life right now, I know you are, don't deny it."
I couldn't, because I realized he was right.
He plowed on. "You're searching and searching, quietly, always on the look out, but you never tell anyone – in fact, you probably don't even realize it yourself; this is probably the first time anyone including yourself has ever verbalized any of this – and now you're faced with what you're looking for and you turn away? You're completely blind to it. You've finally found it – you've finally found him – you've finally got a chance at something better than passing your classes with flying colors that you don't give a crap about, something better than winning all those tennis matches when in reality tennis is just a game to you, always has been, always will be, something better than your current black and white life, something that could bring color and interest and endless happiness, and you're not willing to accept it. You won't even let him in, because to you it's not even feasible that he likes you. I know you're not trying to shit yourself on purpose or anything, you're not in denial. The problem is that you can't see it. You're the happiest you've been in months. I can hear it in your voice when we talk on the phone. That period of time that Zack was gone – I swear to god, I'd never seen you so discontented before. You were distracted, you were scattered, you were messy, rebellious and distant. And now Zack's back, you've got it all together again. Don't try to tell me there isn't a connection."
I couldn't think of anything to say. What are you supposed to say to something like that? I was completely overwhelmed. I was being hit over the head, repeatedly, with these unpleasant truths. It was hard to absorb all at once. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling another headache starting somewhere deep in the back of my head.
He was right. Of course he was right. He was right about the searching. And he was right about how I hadn't even realized any of this. And he was right about being blind. Fuck. It makes me very resentful when people are always right. And being always right runs in the family if you're a Westley. It's probably a miracle I haven't killed any of them up to this point.
"You still there, Win? Haven't hung up on me yet, have you?" Tristan asked cautiously. "Look, I didn't mean to get all worked up. I'm sorry."
"No, don't be," I said vaguely, still processing his whole speech. My mind was working overtime. "Don't be sorry, you don't have anything to be sorry for."
I would have bet my mom's wedding ring at the risk of her disowning me that Tristan was grinning wryly. "That's my girl," he said.
"No, Katherine's your girl," I said, still rather absentmindedly.
He chuckled. "That's right."
"You love her, don't you?" I said with sudden clarity.
"Yes, I do," he replied quietly. "I'm in love with her too."
I nodded to myself. "Is there a difference?"
"Yes," he murmured.
"I don't suppose you're going to explain. Man, I hate shrinks," I grumbled.
"Not this one."
"Definitely this one," I retorted with a grin. "Specifically this one."
"I can live with that," he laughed. "I better go, Win, my roommate just got back and he wants to use the phone."
"Okay, I'll talk to you later then." I couldn't quite bring myself to thank him for the insight, though it was right on the tip of my tongue and I knew it was the right thing to do. My good grace does have its limits, sadly, and getting a serious talking down is one of them. That seemed okay with Tristan though.
"Later, Win."
"Bye, Tristan."
I hung up, feeling strangely lighter than I had all day.
xxxxx
On Friday morning I woke up very suddenly. I lay in my bed in the early morning darkness, blinking to clear my eyes. There was a hard ball of dread settled somewhere low in my stomach, but along with it I recognize
d an all-consuming determination that would help me face the day.
I realized once I got to school that that determination would be hard pressed to do its job well.
Zack was good at avoiding people. As resolute as I was in my pursuit to talk to him, he seemed even more unwavering in his quest to ignore me. We had Calculus together first period, which was not a good class in which to get his attention. He was sitting in a row behind me too, so I couldn't even throw something at the back of his head. He stalked out of the classroom as soon as the dismissal bell rang, cool and calm, regal and emanating that don't-get-near-me-or-I'll-rip-off-your-head-and-don't-think-I-won't-do-it-either confidence that comes with being royally pissed off. So that was a no go as well.
Groaning in my head, I dragged myself up to go to my next class. Not a very promising start to the day, but then again, when in the history of the universe had a Plan A ever worked? Nope, the tried and true way to go was with your dependable Plan B.
Unfortunately for me, my oh-so-brilliant Plan B was not so brilliant after all. I had wanted to corner Zack by his locker during brunch, but he never showed up. I had even gotten out of History class early by concocting a lie about making up a quiz, and I hovered by his locker until the warning bell rang. All to no avail.
Lunch presented even less results than brunch had, as he performed a disappearing act that would have made even the best magician proud. I finally realized sometime during my afternoon AP Chem class that the best way to catch him would have to be during cross country. If there was one thing he wouldn't disappear from, it was cross country practice. I would have to arrive at tennis practice late and face the wrath of Burling, but I could deal with that.
Without even changing into tennis gear first, I ran to the track right after Chem. The cross country team always did their warm up out here before heading into the hills. I did a nervous little jig at the entrance of the track, monitoring the faces of the entering athletes closely. A couple of them I was acquaintances with, and I gave them short nods when they greeted me.
Yes – finally. I spotted Zack when he was twenty feet off and moved towards him purposefully, meeting him halfway. I caught his arm with a firm grip and steered him away from the track, nearly dragging him in an about face.
"Winter, get off, I have practice, and so do you," he said angrily, wrenching his arm free. I caught it again.
"No, you're not going anywhere until we talk," I said stubbornly.
"I have nothing to say to you. Not now, not ever," he said fiercely. "Get off!" He jerked his out of my grasp again. "Stop it!" he growled when I grabbed him again. The beautiful thing about this situation was that I knew he would never hit me or handle me roughly, so I was able to ignore this demand, and yanked him by his arm and shirt into the parking lot, pushing him none too gently so that he lost his balance.
"Sit," I commanded him, pointing down at the curb of a median.
"No!" he bellowed. "Are you crazy? I already told you, we have nothing to talk about! Just leave me alone and let me go to practice, for Christ's sakes!" He gave me a look of deepest disgust. "What, have you come to gloat or something?"
"Come on Zack, you know me better than that."
"Do I?" he asked maliciously.
Okay. Now that hurt. Bastard.
"I'd never gloat about anything as horrible as this! There isn't even anything to gloat about, which you would have realized by now if you'd just listen to me! Just hear me out, will you?" I was this close to really yelling at him. A day of thwarted attempts to talk to him had made me beyond irritable, but I tried my best to rein in my temper. It would do neither of us any good if we ended up screaming each other's heads off.
"No," he said, defiant. "I'm going to practice."
He moved around to my right but I backed up hastily and blocked his way. He moved to the left but I stopped him there too.
"Get out of my way!" he snarled.
I took a deep breath to calm myself. "Zack, please," I said softly, doing something my pride usually did not allow me to do – I pleaded with him. I tried to make eye contact but I couldn't because he wouldn't look at me. "Please just listen to what I have to say, will you? Give me a chance, please. I gave you a chance to explain yourself when you came back from Italy. Let me have the opportunity too. Please."
He finally raised his eyes to mine, but I saw at once that my pleading had been no good. He was unbelievably angry. Reasoning with him at this stage was useless.
"No," he repeated in a low voice, looking away again. "Now get out of my way. I don't want to see you."
"You can cover your eyes, if you like, or I can blindfold you, if it's really that distressing," I said dryly. I could have sworn I saw his lips curl at the corners imperceptibly in a small smile, but then again it could have been a smirk. I grabbed the front of his shirt. "I promise you, I am not going out with Gavin. I never have, am not, and do not plan on doing so in the future either," I said steadily. "Ever," I added for good measure. "We. Are. Just. Friends. Gavin and I, that is," I clarified.
He met my gaze again, and I knew he didn't believe a single word of what I was saying. He was too far gone at the moment, too angry. I realized I had handled this all wrong, and that upset me even further. A furious Zack was an irrational Zack, and in retrospect, my best bet at that moment probably would have been to let him go and approach him some other time, but I was desperate, and determined to get him to listen right then.
And then Zack did the worst possible thing for both of us: he glared at me.
It was a deadly combination: it had been the harshness in his voice, the god forsaken stubbornness in his eyes, the excruciating sting of injustice, and it finally forced my rage to rise again with incredible speed. I punched him as hard as I could.
To Zack's credit, he took it without uttering a sound. He didn't even stumble backwards, just stood there, brought a hand to his jaw, working it gingerly with his eyes closed. I was as taken aback by my actions as he was, and I stared at him, mouth slightly open in horror, wanting very badly to say something – needing very badly to say something – but, as is often in the case at critical points in life, my body abandoned me to the dogs, and my voice would not work. Zack turned away abruptly and started walking towards his car.
I could do nothing except watch him walk away from me, straight backed, head still held high. There was such a strong feeling of surrealism that I felt as if I were stuck in the time between two seconds, stuck in an empty space in-between that wasn't really existent; I wasn't really there, I hadn't really just punched Zack, he wasn't really getting into his car off in the distance with the calmness and grace that he always possessed, even after getting decked, that calmness that I suddenly wanted to banish, because he should have been standing here in front of me still, screaming at me, glaring at me wrathfully, or something, because this – this walking away – this was much worse than any words or any look he could have given me.
And with that strong burst of emotion, the world came slamming back into focus with a very unpleasant and very sudden crash.
Way to go, Einstein. Way to go. So much for holding on to your temper.
"God damn it!" I swore with feeling, the curse ripped from my very soul. I sat down on the median because my legs couldn't hold me up any longer. I looked at my hands in my lap and saw that they were shaking. The knuckles on my right hand were red and throbbing.
"Screw you, Winter," I said to myself miserably. "You really are a bitch."
I curled up into a wretched little ball right there in the middle of the school parking lot and buried my head in my arms, hating the world, hating Zack's stubbornness, and hating myself above all.
Chapter 35: Our Evil Overlord
-Winter-
Top 10 People Who Hate Winter Bruin:
10. The lady who works the Shiseido counter at Macy's. Every time my mom buys their products, she sees me and immediately goes into a sour mood, glaring at me between smiling sweetly at my mom. Oh, how that Shiseido lady
hates me.
9. My freshman English teacher, Mr. Brooks. I think he resented the fact that my arguments were better than his.
8. Old Mrs. Dickens and her dog, my former neighbors. I'm not sure who hated me more, Mrs. Dickens, a widow whose late husband fought in the Vietnam War, or good ol' Serge, that damned three-legged dog. It's a toss up between getting told I'm an ungrateful juvenile delinquent who should join the army and therefore bring us closer to world peace (yeah, I don't get it either), or being growled at and nearly attacked every time I tried to get into my own house. My own fricken house! Stupid dog.
7. Fiona Bruin (a.k.a. my mother dearest).
6. Coach Burling – he told me last week that I was bad for team morale and even worse for feelings of team unity because I cut practice – but only like twice a season when I'm truly having a horrible day or something. Yeesh. Just because he doesn't have a life doesn't mean his "girls" don't.
5. Zack's dad. Don't remember his first name, don't really care. Nasty man. Beautiful wife though.
4. The female population of Branner High…er, that's about 600 people.
3. Larissa Kretcher and her posse – they're not included in #4 because they can't possibly be human. They're like…aliens from the show Mutant X or something; they're that creepy.
2. Gavin Pennington…this has to be one of the saddest.
1. Zackary Crowne, probably tied only with myself.
Yeah, I had a lot of time on my hands that afternoon to think. So what? If you were as depressed as I was you would have come up with a morose list like that too. Crap, that doesn't come out to ten people that hate me, it comes out to 610 plus an old three-legged dog. How utterly encouraging.
So there I was, sitting on a median in Branner High School's student parking lot, all by my lonesome, making up stupid lists in my head, looking pathetic, when the cross country team finished practice. Obviously Zack was not among them, as he had driven off in a squeal of tires, but the current #2 person who hated me was.
By the time I saw him it was too late to run away – he had already plopped himself down next to me, a sweaty mess of long limbs and flopping brown hair.
