* * *
Wait.
Wait.
Fuck.
Wait.
No.
That’s not … is he?
He is …
His eyes …
They’re drifting. Down me. Down my body. My bare shoulders. My exposed stomach. My naked legs.
That look … He doesn’t know about Art, does he? No.
That look … He’s having thoughts about me he’s never had. That’s why I misread it. I’ve never seen it before. Barely seen it on anyone.
It’s this fucking skirt and halter top. I feel like a fraud. But Cam likes it. Cam likes it a lot. I could dress like this. For him. I could? Yeah, I could. For him.
* * *
“I’m sorry…” Cam says after an eternity of all four of us just standing there in silence.
“It’s okay.” It is? It is. Fuck it.
“I’m glad Art’s been such a good friend to you when I’ve been such a shitty friend.” That definitely confirms Cam has no idea that I just spent an hour in the shower half-naked with my “good friend” Art. Good. Cam can never know that. I want him to look at me the way he’s looking right now and that would be fucking impossible if he knew about my kiss with Art.
I look toward Art, hoping he can read my brain like usual and knows never to mention any of what happened. But when I see him, it’s even worse than I feared. He’s wobbling, like I just shot an arrow through his chest, and there are tears threatening in his eyes and, listen, someone’s going to see those tears when they fall. Cam will see those tears and know. But Cam can’t take his eyes off me—really, Cam, all it took was a fucking skirt?—but I can’t judge it now, I want it too much to judge it. And it’s Abigail who’s the problem because her fury is unfreezing itself:
“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DRESSED IN MY CLOTHES, ZEE?”
I search for some bullshit answer but I can’t find anything and it’s all going to blow up in my face but then Art says, “Her mom’s boyfriend kicked her out and she got stuck outside in the rain and needed a place to shower. She didn’t have any clothes, so I borrowed the first thing I saw.” Almost scary how fast he came up with that half-a-lie.
“I TOLD YOU NEVER TO GO THROUGH MY THINGS, ART!”
Cam breaks from staring at me, turns to Abigail. “Abigail, babe, calm down. Art was just helping her out.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, baby! You’re being the worst boyfriend ever today, and I hate you! So leave! Go! I hate you!”
“Just calm—”
And then Abigail unhinges and unleashes: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Cam counters, “FINE, I’M LEAVING!” and it’s manly to yell like that. Right? Caveman shit. It’s hot. It is. I think. And then Cam calms, turns to me, “Hey, Zee…”
My whole existence holds its breath.
“… it’s Monday on Monday … I mean, do you think Monday we can … do our pizza night?”
The girly girl who’s somewhere deep inside me twirls and giggles and crap but the me on the outside is motionless. Motionless except for a tiny nod. Cam nods, smirks the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen, then leaves.
Once he’s gone, Abigail throws her batshit-crazy venom back on me: “Take off my clothes and get out of my house.”
I’m twice her size, but I’m pretty sure she could kill me right now if she tried. Before I have a chance to even blink, Art says, with his larger-than-life charm, “Abigail, I love you like a sister, ha, but you clearly didn’t take your Don’t Be Crazy medicine today, so why don’t you double the dose and get some sleep.”
She’s ready to fight him, but Art’s an expert at handling her, grabbing both her hands at the wrist as she tries to swing at him and then guiding her out his door, locking it fast behind her. She kicks it hard twice, yells again, but then goes silent.
* * *
“Thank you,” I start before Art turns back to me. Maybe I can explain? Maybe he’ll understand? But the tears he hid from Cam and Abigail are bursting free all at once. He tries to hold himself together, but that seems to only tear him apart all the more:
“Oh, Zee, my love, I love you, I love you so much, I love you so much I don’t know how to breathe normally around you … but you don’t love me, even after our kiss, you don’t love me … you still love him…”
“I … I’ll go.”
“No, you know you have nowhere to go. Let me be the friend I promised to be to you. Stay here. By morning, I’ll let the dream of Zee and Art be just a dream.”
He turns to leave, pauses, turns back. “But you should lock the door behind me because Abigail really is crazier than I’ve ever seen her. Ha. Bye, my love.”
And then he leaves for good.
art
I’m shaking and can barely breathe and my heart is in six million pieces at the bottom of my empty soul, but at least I stayed my brilliant self while experiencing this cosmic pain, right?
After writing down what I could remember of my wrenching good-bye speech on the notepad my mother keeps by her nightstand, I realize I could just sleep in here. Sort of gross to sleep in my parents’ bed but they haven’t used it in months. Maybe they’ll never use it again. Thinking about that makes my parents splitting feel real.
If I couldn’t make Zee fall in love with me with a kiss, maybe I won’t be able to get my parents back together either. And if everything I dream doesn’t come true, why should I dream at all?
* * *
Ha, I’m hilarious. Of course everything I dream will come true.
But maybe the problem is my dreams should be smaller?
That’s even more hilarious.
The problem, clearly, is my dreams aren’t big enough.
ZEE
I almost chase down Art after he leaves. But I don’t know what I could say. Nothing. I could say nothing to make things right. Then I think I should leave. Sleep in my car, maybe? Or get a hotel. But I have almost no money, and if this fight with Michael is going to drag out, I need to preserve whatever cash I can.
So I stay in Art’s room. Get out of that skirt and halter top, into sweatpants and a T-shirt. I go to bed in his brother’s bed first because I think I’ll be more comfortable but it smells like unshowered dude. So I move to Art’s bed, which I know will smell like that lotion. I sleep and sleep well despite everything.
* * *
Sleep so well I don’t wake up until Art is nudging me in the morning, which is better than Abigail strangling me after I forgot to lock the door. He’s already dressed and dressed way too nicely for seven thirty or whatever hell time it is. He is also fucking smiling and has those beams of joy flying off of him as if he didn’t give me the most dramatic, heartbroken speech last night.
“Hey, Zee,” he whispers, “we should try to get out of here before Crazy Abigail wakes from her slumber and starts asking questions we don’t want to answer.”
I nod. I mean, he’s right, but why is he doing me favors?
“Here,” he says, handing me a folded stack of clothes. “These are a couple pairs of jeans and sweatshirts of mine I never wear anymore and you’d look amazing in them and would probably prefer them over anything Abigail has.”
“Yeah…”
“And I washed your workout stuff too.” He lays those next to me.
“Didn’t you sleep?”
“No, I’ve decided I’ve wasted too much of my life sleeping already, so I’m not going to do it again until I’m twenty-four and a half.”
* * *
I get dressed in his stuff and it’s fucking weird how well it fits me. Far, far better than Abigail’s stuff. And much more my style. But girls and boys shouldn’t be able to wear each other’s stuff and it’s another reason I should want Cam and not him, right?
Once I’m ready, Art leads me downstairs to the kitchen, starts the coffee, and lays out a bagel for his dad (who’s still passed out on the couch), and then we head outside to my truck. I’m thinking this is his brave good-bye after his messy o
ne last night. Since this might be the last time the kid ever talks to me, I say, “Thanks, Art, you really are fucking awesome. And I’m sorry…”
“Zee, no sorries and no good-byes. I told you I’d be no drama, did I not? I did and then last night I kissed you when I promised myself I wouldn’t. But today is a new day, and I’m going to be an even better friend for you than ever. And we’ll start by me taking you to breakfast.”
I don’t quite believe him, but I want to believe him. And I’m fucking hungry.
* * *
We go to Roth’s Diner and share the lumberjack special of blueberry pancakes and eggs. After we’ve settled in, most of the food eaten, Art starts:
“First, you should know I’ll never tell anyone we kissed in the shower. And I can assure you Cam doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he thinks I’m gay and if you do like boys you would never like a boy like me anyway.” His stoic exterior shakes for a moment, but he regains it fast and continues, “But Abigail, despite being insane, has got a sixth sense for secret drama, so I’ll have to throw her off the scent.”
“Why are you being so good to me after everything that happened?”
“We can talk about that later. More pressing is what happens next. If I know anything about human nature—and, Zee, you at this point should know I know everything about human nature, ha—Cam is going to get back into your life in a big way, which is going to make Abigail more needy and unbearable, and then he’ll break up with her and you’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
I want this to be true and hate that I do, so I say nothing.
“But you’ll need to begin some subtle preparations for this moment.”
“Like what?”
“You saw how he looked at you in the skirt and top last night?”
Yep.
“Of course you did. Boys like Cam need a little boost to their imagination and showing off a little skin can go a long way. Showing what you showed last night can hypnotize a boy like Cam until you’re both dead.”
“I fucking hated wearing that—”
“I know, Zee, and you won’t have to wear something that blunt. That’s for girls like Abigail who have to overdo it on the ‘Get Sex Right Here!’ neon lights.”
Art is telling me everything I always wanted to hear.
“But you will need to leave the baggy cargo pants and hoodies behind, at least for the first few times you see Cam. Like for your pizza with him tomorrow night.”
I know he’s right, but I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pull that off. But, like always, Art already knows what I’m thinking:
“Don’t worry, I’ll help. I know exactly how to add a pinch of feminine that will still be you but you in a way that will make it easier for Cam to appreciate.” He starts rattling off some examples, but my brain drifts the moment anyone talks clothes and shit. What I start thinking is this doesn’t seem right. I kissed this kid last night. Kissed him and it was a great kiss and he loves me. Yeah, in his Art way but it’s love and how can I just let him help me get together with Cam all the while this must be some weird torture for him? “Zee…”
“Yeah?” I snap back to the present.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Worry about what?” I ask.
“Me.”
“Art…”
“Shhh…” He takes a sip of his tea. “On to less important things, like where you’re going to live.”
art
Personally, I thought my performance at breakfast was brilliant. Of course it was. Yes, every time I’d look at Zee, I’d see her lips and want to kiss her and then my heart would break yet again, and then I’d die because you can’t live with a shattered heart but then I would come back to life because I’m magical.
* * *
My big strategy for finding Zee a place to live was to basically guilt my mother into letting Zee and me move in with her. And after last night, I was more sure than ever that Cam was going to dump Abigail for Zee. It might not be safe under the same roof with my sister.
With the exception of a few texts, and a few digital cash transfers from her, I had not spoken to my mom since she moved out. I didn’t miss her, but I was annoyed she didn’t at least pretend to miss me. Since I had no idea where her new apartment was, I knew I’d have to spring this move-in plan on her at work. Zee didn’t have much choice but to join me since (1) she had nowhere else to go and (2) she was my only ride to the dealership in Hoffman Estates.
I drag her inside with me too, since I want to show her off to my mom even if I am showing off a girl who doesn’t (yet!) love me. We snake past the cars in the showroom and then through the labyrinth of offices. Hers is at the very back, and I love my strategy of surprising her at work right up until I see her sitting at her desk …
… getting a neck massage from her sales manager. Stephen something. He is at least ten years younger than her. I’m going to throw up.
Zee whispers, “Art, we should go.” Not a chance.
“Mother,” I start as I step into her office. Stephen looks up, eyes wide in panic, then mumbles something about paperwork as he races out. Once he’s gone, dear ol’ Mom sits up tall in her chair as if she has nothing to be mortified about.
“Art … you should have…”
“Called? And missed this? Not for the world. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your suicidal husband how horrible you are. But my friend Zee and I need to stay at your apartment and thank you in advance for giving me the keys and the address.” I’m so good at being vengeful.
But my mother doesn’t respond, just looks at me like she knows she’s an even worse person than I thought she was one minute ago because, oh-my-god, she doesn’t have an apartment, does she?
“You moved in with … Ugh. OH-MY-GOD, MOM, YOU’RE THE WORST PERSON EVER BORN!” And she doesn’t say anything still, which is fine because I’ve got so much anger I could yell all day (maybe Abigail and I are related after all), but Zee pulls me back and I don’t fight her (much) as she drags me outside to her truck. She drives us out of there right away, but once we are far enough that I can’t run back and make a bigger scene, she parks and we just sit there in the silence until my head has stopped spewing boiling-hot oil.
“So…” I start, “… movie?”
She tries to smile.
“Come on, that was funny.”
“Art, let’s talk about it. That must have been hard to see.”
“Oh, please. I knew she was a terrible mother and now I know she’s a terrible person too. Her not having an actual apartment does make it harder to move into.” I laugh because I always laugh when my life somehow gets even worse than I already thought it was.
“Can we please talk about it?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling I’m over talking about it.”
Zee can’t help but laugh now.
“I’m fucking hilarious.”
“You never swear.”
“It’s that kind of day, darling. It’s that kind of day.”
* * *
We go find a Starbucks and I slurp down sugared coffee until I feel like I could throw my mother over the Sears Tower. Oh, wait, it’s the Willis Tower now because this world is stupid and inconsistent and annoying! Ugh, I’m so gross right now.
Zee doesn’t say much because she could go weeks without talking, and I’m not talking much because I want to blame Zee for my mother sleeping with another man and blame her for being unloved and alone when we should be planning our takeover of the world as Zert! I even hate that stupid name Zert now, and because I want Zee to suffer even four point two percent as much as me, I say:
“You should just call Cam and tell him you’ll wear skirts and halter tops all the time if you can move in with him.”
She can’t look at me because she knows I’m a big jerk but she’s trying to be the better person and I hate her thinkin
g she can be the better person so I get up and go outside and I just SCREAM until I throw up every ounce of my grande butterscotch frappuccino all over the sidewalk. I’m about to collapse to the ground when Zee hooks her arm under mine and pulls me back to her truck.
She opens the flatbed, hoists me up, hops up beside me, and wipes my mouth with her sleeve. Technically, she’s cleaning the puke off my mouth with my sweatshirt, but it’s the thought that counts. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay.”
“I have like six hundred dollars in my bank account from work, plus another two hundred in cash from tips. I could get you a hotel room for a week. Maybe you can get your money from Michael by then?”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“After what I just said, you can extort me for years and I won’t mind.”
She ignores me and says, like it’s not the biggest deal ever, “I saw my dad yesterday.…”
And I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel even more selfish and gross. “Could you move in with him?”
“I asked him why he abandoned my mom and me and he said that he wanted me aborted.”
Oh-my-god, I laugh. HOW COULD I LAUGH? “I didn’t mean to laugh, I just … we … the two of us have had just a really, really dramatic two days and I couldn’t help it.”
“I laughed too when he told me. Not for that reason, but … I don’t know. I laughed in his face and left.”
“And has he called?”
“No. I don’t expect him to.”
“Would you want him to?”
“I didn’t … now, I don’t know.”
“When you say ‘I don’t know,’ it usually means yes.”
She thinks, then, “You’re probably right. It’s fucking annoying how well you know me.”
“Text him.”
“No.”
“I’ll text him.”
“No.”
“Give me your phone.”
The Handsome Girl & Her Beautiful Boy Page 12
