“Yes—I mean, no! I mean, I don’t know,” Apple said. She didn’t want to be put into the position of tattling on Happy again. Why did all their conversations have to center on Happy? “Can we talk about something else than Club Rox? The mere thought of it is making me feel sick,” Apple moaned, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“Sure,” said Zen, sounding tense. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Let’s talk about television,” she said. “That will get my mind off my pounding head. Did you see the latest episode of Minors in Malibu? I love that show. What is your favorite show?” It was a lame question, she knew, but she didn’t want to think anymore about Happy, or the kiss, or what finding out about her friend’s kiss had made Apple herself do.
“Actually, I don’t watch television,” Zen said.
Apple was astonished. She had never met anyone who didn’t watch television, or at least not who actually admitted to never watching television.
“You don’t watch television? How can you not watch television?” asked Apple, dropping the clothes that were in her arms on the table in shock.
“Well, I watch football and basketball and occasionally car racing, but that’s about it, really. I don’t watch anything else,” he said, with an apologetic shrug.
“Really?” asked Apple, still amazed. “You don’t watch any other television—not even Minors in Malibu?”
“Minors in what?” Zen asked, perplexed.
“You’ve never even heard of Minors in Malibu? It’s only like the top-rated drama Tuesday nights at nine!” Apple exclaimed. “It’s only my all-time favorite show!”
“Nope. Never heard of it,” Zen said.
“Well, I guess it is more of a girl thing,” Apple said.
“I guess so,” Zen answered.
What else didn’t she know about her soulmate? Obviously, they would never be cuddling up on the couch watching Minors in Malibu, Apple thought dejectedly.
“Well, what about books?” Apple asked. “Do you like to read?”
“You know, car magazines,” Zen answered. He pulled one out of his knapsack and started to flip through the pages, then stopped and pointed to a page. “Check out this engine.”
Apple didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t care about cars. She barely liked to be in them. She would walk everywhere if she could. She wasn’t even excited to be taking driving lessons soon.
“Well, what’s your favorite school subject?” Apple asked, feeling pathetic. It was the same way she felt when people talked about the weather. You only talked about school out of school when you had nothing else to talk about. She just wanted—needed—something to talk about with Zen that had nothing to do with Happy.
“Science,” he said.
“Really,” Apple said. Science was her least favorite subject. She hated science.
“Really,” he said, smiling at her. Oh, God, why does he have to have such a nice smile? she thought. Why does he have to have that dimple? It instantly brought on a wave of sadness. She remembered why she had fallen in love with him two years earlier. So what if Zen didn’t watch television and if his favorite subject was science? He had a great smile and a good heart, and he was sweet.
“Can I ask you one more thing about last night?” Zen asked. “And about Happy?”
“Sure,” Apple said, adding under her breath, “As if I could stop you.”
How did they get here? Apple wondered to herself. She always thought Zen wasn’t a talker, but now all he seemed to want to do was talk. And not just talk, but talk about Happy.
“Did Happy seem to be having a good time?” he asked.
“Happy always has a good time,” Apple answered, leaning back in her chair.
“Oh,” Zen said, lowering his eyes back to his car magazine.
“You know what I mean. She’s a free spirit.” She knew what Zen was trying to get at.
“Right,” he said.
“You know, I hate to do this to you. But I think I have to leave,” Apple said, standing up suddenly. “I think what I need more than anything right now is to go home and take a nap.”
“Yeah, I understand,” said Zen. “Go home and drink a lot of water. That should make you feel better. Plus, you covered for me on that first day. I can handle it from here.”
“Thanks, Zen. Bye,” Apple said.
It took Apple forty-five minutes to walk the fifteen-minute walk home. She knew that eventually she would feel better, if she drank enough water and got some sleep. Well, at least physically. But would she feel better mentally and emotionally?
pple noticed two things as soon as she walked into Cactus High on Monday morning. First she noticed that there were signs posted on walls everywhere for the annual Valentine Ball. The Valentine Ball was the most important social night at Cactus High. Only upper-grade students were invited to the Valentine Ball.
Ever since fifth grade, Apple had heard the stories. Girls ended up crying in the bathroom because someone else showed up in the same dress, couples broke up on the dance floor and then got together with other people the same night, students snuck in alcohol, and something was always stolen from the school. Happy’s older sister, Sailor, had said that at her first Valentine Ball, three students got so drunk they passed out, had to be raced to the hospital, and were suspended. That, and Stella, one of the seventh-grade teachers, who had signed up to help chaperone, was caught being felt up by Grant, a music teacher. Mr. Kelly showed off his break-dancing skills, which was the joke of the rest of the school year.
The second thing Apple noticed was Happy and Zen, talking very close together by their lockers. They were so close, they must have been whispering.
Apple wondered if they were arguing about something and if Zen had told her what Apple had said at the country club. Happy had called Apple three times over the weekend, but Apple couldn’t get herself to call her back. She told herself that it was because she was hungover. But Apple knew she just couldn’t stand to listen to Happy talk about Zen. Apple stared at them. It didn’t really seem like they were arguing, she thought. In fact, it seemed the exact opposite, like Zen was whispering sweet nothings in Happy’s ear and Happy was eating it up. They were so close their shoulders were touching, and Apple swore she could see Zen bend in toward Happy’s head to inhale her hair.
Apple headed to the spiral staircase, praying that Happy wouldn’t see her. It didn’t work.
“Hey, Apple,” she heard Happy call out. “What’s going on? Where have you been? I tried calling you at home, on your cell. Are you hiding from me?”
Happy seemed like she was in extremely good spirits. She caught up and put her arm though Apple’s.
“No, sorry,” Apple said. “Friday night killed me. I was pretty much a zombie the entire weekend.”
“You are such a lightweight,” Happy said, laughing. “Now, can you believe all this?” she continued, waving her arms in the air.
“All what?” Apple asked.
“The Valentine Ball!” Happy said to her. “Can you believe it’s finally here? And that we get to go! I’m so excited! Remember what Sailor told us about it? Oh, and we’ll definitely have to go to Gossip. We should make a plan. Are you in?”
“Absolutely,” Apple said, happy to agree with Happy.
“Sailor says that the only thing worse than going to the Valentine Ball would be not going to the Valentine Ball,” Happy continued.
“I understand that logic,” Apple said, laughing in relief.
Clearly, Happy was not angry with her. She had not found out about what she had told Zen about her. It felt good to laugh with her best friend. It felt like it had been weeks since Apple had laughed at all.
“Got to go to class,” Happy called out, just as Zen and Hopper walked up to them. “See you guys later!”
Apple noticed that she gave Zen a wink. Hopper followed her. Now Apple was standing there alone with Zen. She felt her heart beat. He looked liked he had something on his mind—he was biting the ins
ide of his cheek, and seemed concerned.
“Is something wrong, Zen? You seem, I don’t know, a little down or something. Is everything okay?” Apple asked, putting her hand on his arm.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Zen asked. “Are you good at keeping secrets?”
“Um, my friends call me the Sponge, just because I’m so good at keeping secrets,” Apple told him, giving his arm a little squeeze to reassure him.
She suddenly felt brave. “Well, you know how you told me that Happy came to meet you guys at Club Rox after our date?” Zen began.
“Yeah?”
“Well, it really bothered me at the time,” Zen said.
“I could tell,” Apple said.
“It was that obvious, huh?” he asked.
“Kind of,” she answered.
“Well, I didn’t realize why it bothered me until I got home,” Zen said, running a hand through his hair.
“You were jealous,” Apple said. “You thought she was out having a great time without you, and you got jealous.”
“Hey! I guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree. I guess you really are Dr. Bee Bee Berg’s daughter,” Zen said, sounding surprised, looking at her. “It took me hours to figure out what I was feeling. I guess you have your mother’s intuition.”
Apple rolled her eyes. “Well, I think pretty much anyone in the world could have figured that out,” she said. “It’s not rocket science or anything.”
“Really? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Yes, I was jealous. But then I thought, why should I be jealous? I mean, she did agree to go on a date with me. We instant message each other almost nightly, or talk on the phone,” Zen said, perking up. “She must like me at least enough not to tell me to bugger off.”
“You guys talk that often?” Apple asked.
“Yeah. She didn’t tell you?”
“Anyway. Go on,” she said, with a bit of a wave.
“Well, I thought instead of just sitting back, I should really show her that I do like her. I shouldn’t just sit back and be jealous. I should do something with that jealousy. So I’ve decided to step up my game,” he told Apple.
“Step up your game. What do you mean exactly?” Apple asked. “And why are you telling me all this?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Happy told me you were a really good listener. I guess it has something to do with knowing you’re the daughter of a relationship expert. I feel like I can talk to you,” Zen said, wiping his forehead. “I usually don’t talk like this. It’s not easy for me.”
“I wouldn’t call my mother an expert about relationships. She’s just a talk-show host,” muttered Apple. God, Zen looked good. He was wearing a plain gray T-shirt and jeans. Even when he obviously didn’t try, he looked good.
“From what I understand from Happy, she’s much more than that,” Zen said.
“Anyway, what were you going to say?” Apple asked. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to raves about her mother right now.
“Well, it’s pretty clear that Happy can get any guy she wants. I mean, you already told me about the lifeguard. So, I guess I’m just saying, so what if she likes to go out and have a good time—I can be the one to show her a good time. Or at least I can try. And, yes, she does seem to be hot and cold with me, but I like a challenge. Hey, I’m a guy. What guy doesn’t like a challenge?” Zen said, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.
“So what you’re saying is that you’re ready to compete. You have your game face on,” Apple asked, deliberately using a sports term she’s heard her father use before.
“Exactly. So thanks for letting me know about Club Rox. And please, don’t tell Happy I said this to you. I’m going to ask her to the dance. Wait, of course you won’t. The Sponge, right?”
“I won’t. I promise,” Apple said. She slyly added, “But are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking surprised. “You think I shouldn’t ask her?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that the posters just went up today. If you ask her today, she might think you’re like, I don’t know, obsessed, or overly eager, or desperate. My mother always says to my Crazy Aunt Hazel that people can smell when you’re desperate. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Hmm. Well, I guess that’s something to think about,” Zen said, sounding unsure.
“Well, my mother is the expert,” Apple said cheerfully.
“Thanks for being such a good listener,” Zen said. “I’m glad I can talk to you about this. And I’ll think about what you said.”
Zen walked down the hall to class. Apple walked out the front doors. Like Hazel, she felt she needed a mental health day. There was no way she could face sitting in a classroom all day knowing that Zen had his own plan, like she had her Plan Z. On her way home, she replayed their conversation. On the one hand, Zen obviously felt comfortable talking to her, which was a good thing. But on the other hand, he seemed to be even more obsessed with Happy now, even after she had tried to talk him out of asking her to the dance.
Apple put the earplugs to her iPod in her ears and blasted the music so she could forget her conversation. She had already given bad advice to Happy, and now she was giving idiotic advice to Zen. And he had said he was going to consider it!
She was also, much to her dismay, curious to see if Happy had written to her mother again. It was becoming an addiction, and not in a good way, thought Apple, as she let herself in the house. She slammed the door loudly, threw down her backpack, took off her iPod, and started up the stairs.
“Apple? Is that you? What are you doing home?” came a voice from somewhere upstairs.
“Mom?” asked Apple.
“Yes, dear. Who else would be up here?” her mother answered.
Apple hadn’t planned on her mother being home at this hour, and she was disappointed. She had been anticipating going to her mother’s office and finding out if there was another e-mail from Happy.
“I was listening to my iPod. I didn’t hear anything,” she told her mother, from where she still stood on the stairway.
“What are you doing home?” her mother asked. “Come up here.”
Apple walked slowly up the rest of the stairs to her mother’s office. Her legs felt heavy.
“Oh, you know, I wasn’t feeling well and, well, I have a headache,” Apple said. “And I think I may have a fever.”
Her mother looked at her strangely. Apple knew her mother was contemplating whether she was lying. “I was just coming up because I saw the light on,” Apple tried to explain. “Then I was going to go back down to lie down.”
“Did you want to talk to me about something?” her mother asked, giving her a Dr. Bee Bee Berg look. It was a look that said, “You can tell me anything and I’ll understand.”
Apple didn’t know how to respond. It had been so long since she had opened up to her mother, or to anyone for that matter. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. She realized that she did want to confess everything that she had done, and what had been happening, but she was still angry with her mother for having read her personal diary.
“Oh, no,” Apple said. “Like I said, I just saw the light on and was coming up to turn it off. What are you doing here all by yourself, anyway? Where’s Guy?” Apple asked, scanning the room.
“Oh, I thought I was old enough to try to learn to log on myself. And guess what?” her mother asked, looking proud.
“What?” Apple asked.
“I figured it out! Well, there seem to be a few things I’m not understanding about this computer. But I’ve managed to log on and answer a few of the viewers’ e-mails all by myself,” her mother said, giddily. “I’m a modern woman!”
“That’s great, Mom,” Apple said, feeling her heart sink. There was no way her mother was computer-literate enough to see that Apple had sent out some e-mails, was there?
“Sit with me,” her mother said, patting a spare chair beside her. “I feel like I don’t ev
er see you anymore. I feel like we never have a chance to talk.”
“Well, I don’t have anything to talk about. Nothing new. Just school,” Apple said, sitting upright on the edge of the chair.
“Well, Apple. Maybe you can help me out, then, with a little problem I seem to be having. I just received this e-mail from your friend Happy. I feel badly for her, because for some reason she thinks that I told her she should act emotionally unavailable to get a guy to really like her. Do girls your age really think that way? Do they really think that they must act all aloof to get a boy to notice them? And why would I ever tell that to any woman, let alone Happy?”
“I don’t know,” Apple said, gulping and pretending to pick a piece of lint of her pants.
“Well, it’s an awful way to think. Playing games never got anyone very far, like I wrote in my book, Stop the Games! Because games always end. Or they never end, and you’re in a crappy relationship for years,” Dr. Bee Bee Berg said. She turned to her daughter. “You know that, right, Apple?”
“Yes, I know, Mom,” she said.
“Good,” Dr. Bee Bee Berg said. She looked back to the screen and shook her head. “I just don’t understand how Happy could think that I would ever say something like that.”
“What else did Happy write?” Apple asked.
“She seems to like a boy—one her age, mind you,” Apple’s mother said pointedly. God, her mother still thought she was in love with Mr. Kelly, her math teacher. She wasn’t going to let Apple forget it. “And she was somehow under the impression that games were a good way to proceed,” her mother finished.
“Well, what did you tell her?” Apple asked. “Did you write back?”
“You know, Apple, it gives me such joy when you’re interested in my work. It really does,” her mother gushed. “I honestly thought that you never cared about my work—or at least that you haven’t for ages.”
“Mom, just tell me what advice you gave her,” Apple said.
“Well, I set her straight, of course,” her mother answered firmly.
“You did?” Apple felt her heart sink. She tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother.
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