by Cyn Balog
You are the sexiest girl I’ve ever known.
He was thinking of me too. Yes, beautifully, tragically, we owned each other.
I’m not sure why that wasn’t enough for me.
The following week, I walked into lunch and sat alone at my table. Z and I had gone back to pretending we were just casual friends in public. It was so hard, seeing him and knowing about the other night, but he played it off well. When no one was watching, he’d glance at me and mouth, “You look so sexy” or “You’re driving me crazy over there.” Funny, he never looked like he was being driven crazy. He was good at keeping his emotions in check, about holding what we had close to his heart. So I followed his cue and did my best to proceed like it was business as usual.
And then, as I was about to take a bite of my sandwich, something crazy happened.
Parker slid her tray onto my table and sat down across from me. “Can I sit here?” she asked.
Parker and I had been talking more. She’d continued being civil to me, even friendly. As she plopped into the seat, I remembered that Rachel was out sick. But that didn’t mean Parker had to sit with me. She had plenty of other friends to sit with. Needless to say, I was a little suspicious.
“Why do you eat here all alone?” she asked, picking a cucumber out of her salad.
She asked as if it was a conscious choice. As if I preferred my own company. I shrugged as she dipped a crouton in a small cup of salad dressing.
“Why don’t you eat with Z?”
“All they do is talk baseball,” I said, even though he’d never asked. Hanging out with the jocks would definitely make me a sore thumb though, so I’d never minded.
She nodded. “Anyway, Rachel and I were going to go shopping after school for dresses for the dance. But since she’s sick, do you want to come with me? I’ll drive you back in time to catch the late bus.”
Dresses for the dance. I hadn’t even thought about that. There’d been a fall dance every year, but you and I never went, Andrew. We’re just not dance people. I couldn’t believe she’d think I was. “I’m probably not going,” I said.
“Really? I just assumed you were. With Z,” she said, surprised.
I shook my head, but I was flattered that she saw Z and I could be a couple. “We’re not…” I began, but stopped.
I thought of the way she looked at him. The doe eyes she always threw his way. This was Code Red. She was sitting here trying to get information about Z because she wanted to go to the dance with him. That was why she was asking me to go shopping. It definitely wasn’t for my fashion sense. She wanted to weasel her way between Z and me, and with her big boobs and her shiny hair, she had a pretty good chance of doing just that.
“You mean, you’re not together?” she asked, finishing my original sentence.
“No,” I said. “Of course we’re together. We’re just not really dance people.”
It wasn’t the most convincing lie ever told. Sure, Andrew, you may not have been a dance person, but gregarious, fun-loving Z was, in every sense of the word. She wrinkled her nose. “Oh. I thought Z said he was going.”
I swallowed. He was going to the dance? With whom? I hadn’t expected he’d ask me with you in the picture, Andrew. I hadn’t wanted him to, of course, because I had you. Was his girlfriend from Arizona coming in for it? My face began to burn. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
“Then you should come with me. Shopping. Just look around. See what’s out there.”
“Uh…OK. When is the dance again?”
“The Saturday after the play. Come on. I’ll have you back before the late bus leaves.”
So that was how I ended up cruising out of St. Ann’s parking lot in Parker Cole’s red VW on the way to the Bangor Mall. I watched her, wondering what her game was, and whether I was a pawn in it.
The Bangor Mall isn’t anything to write home about. Before this year, I’d been there maybe twice. Since September though, I’d been there twice more with my mother to buy new clothes to fit my newer, trimmer shape. There are only about three stores young people can shop in, and Parker and I went to Charlotte Russe. Browsing the racks, I came across the sexiest teal-blue dress I’d ever seen. “You need that,” Parker said, inspecting it.
“I don’t have the boobs.”
“Try it on anyway.”
So I did. And when I came out of the dressing room, the salesladies whistled. Parker gave me an approving “wow.” And when I looked into the mirror, I knew what all the hysteria was about. I looked older and off the charts sexy. The dress was a halter, with a completely bare back and a short skirt that stopped mid-thigh. I’d never worn anything so bare—even my bathing suits seemed to cover more. But I’d been practicing my posture, and my new exercise routine had given me tone in places I’d needed it.
As I gazed into the mirror, I lost myself in thought. Instead of being a faceless nobody who was ignored, I was a showstopper. In this dress, I looked like someone worthy of Z.
And then I hated myself because I didn’t have the money to buy it. It’s not like I carry hundred-dollar bills to school with me, and I don’t own a credit card. But Parker had her dad’s. She was checking out her own emerald-green gown, which was lovely but still nowhere near as hot as mine, and said, “Don’t worry. Just pay me back. What are friends for?”
Friends. She considered me her friend. Of course, Parker was the type to throw the word around loosely, since she had so many of them. I thought of that old saying about keeping friends close and enemies closer. I still wasn’t sure exactly what camp she fell into, or which one I wanted her to fall into.
“Z is not going to be able to take his eyes off you in that,” she said as she pumped the accelerator.
I imagined him drooling when he caught sight of me. That is, until I realized that I wasn’t even going to the dance with him. Up until two hours ago, I hadn’t even planned on going myself. And now—now I knew what I needed to do. I needed to get Z to ask me. I figured I’d tell you that Z and I were going together. As friends, of course. Because he’d asked me. Just as friends.
You see, right, Andrew? It had to be done…if nothing else, to save Z from her.
As I was solidifying the plan in my mind, my phone dinged. I pulled it out and read another text from Z. I need to touch you again.
I trembled from head to toe at the thought, and Parker whistled. “Whoa, you’ve got it bad.”
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Who are you texting? You look like a lovesick puppy.”
“It’s just Z. He sends me texts.” I was proud of the volume of messages I’d received from him. When I went back and reread them, they showed the progression of our friendship.
“Dirty ones? Are you sexting?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me you’re sending naked pictures of yourself to any guy.”
“No, it’s just…” I smiled some more. I couldn’t explain our texting without blushing. So when she stopped at a light, I showed her the screen, thumbing through the hundreds of texts he’d sent me, all of which I’d saved. Some of them were private, some a little dirty, some slightly embarrassing. I’d never delete one. Never, ever. In fact, whenever I was feeling lonely, I’d read through them, analyzing every word and wondering what he was thinking as he’d typed them. And I guess part of me was excited to show someone, anyone, how much he wanted me. How irresistible he found me.
She smiled. “Oh my God. Did he actually say What are you wearing right now?”
I shrugged. “He’s not the most creative.”
She thumbed through the rest of the messages. “He definitely has a texting addiction. Either that or he’s just addicted to you.”
“Maybe.” I smiled coyly, not realizing that this seemingly innocent conversation would destroy everything.
Chapter 28
An autopsy found
no evidence of fatal injury, illness, or disease. The 40-mg ampule dose of succinylcholine was administered intramuscularly to the victim, possibly causing prolonged apnea, and was considered to be the minimum lethal dose.
—Coroner’s report
I had foolish dreams all night. Z showing up on my doorstep and, like a cartoon character, fainting into a puddle of his own drool at my beauty. Me, leaving a line of dazed men in my wake as Z led me to the dance floor. Everyone in the gymnasium talking about me: “Can you believe that was the girl we used to call a nobody?” and electing me queen of the dance, even though my name was never on the ballot. In my dream it was just assumed that I should get the tiara, considering how drop-dead gorgeous I’d become.
And then I woke up. And by that, I mean really woke up, in the worst and most jarring way possible.
I’d convinced myself that going to the dance with Z was inevitable. It was meant to be. He’d ask me. Or I’d ask him. It didn’t matter if we went as friends or as more. We’d been together more than enough for people to start considering us to be a package deal.
So believe it or not, when I walked into Reese’s class, I was going to do something I never, ever would have considered only two months before. I was going to smile and say, “Hey, let’s go to the dance together.” I felt confident, excited.
Weird for me, right, Andrew?
I threw down my bag, slid into my seat, and turned to Z.
I expected him to look up with that brilliant smile of his and say, “Hey, Precious.”
But he didn’t even look at me.
I cleared my throat. I took out my pencil and tapped it on the edge of my desk. I coughed. Loudly.
And then a sour feeling began to creep in, one I remembered well from my pre-Z days. Those years of isolation. He was the one who broke that mold and changed all that. Desperation surged through me at his silence. If I had to go back to being the outcast again…
No. That wasn’t happening.
He was probably just having a bad day. I reached into my bag, grabbed a pack of gum, and leaned across the aisle. “Juicy Fruit?” I asked.
But he didn’t look up. “No,” he mumbled.
At that moment, I realized I hadn’t gotten a gift in my locker in weeks. Weeks. With everything else that was happening between us, I hadn’t missed them. But now I did. Achingly.
The desperation came again, but this time it rooted itself in the pit of my stomach. I needed to say something to make things right between us. As my mind was racing through the possibilities, Reese walked in. Great. Now it would be forty-five minutes before I could talk to him. Forty-five of the longest minutes of my life, no doubt. The need inside me caught fire until I felt like I was being roasted from the inside out. I was a pressure cooker. Everyone around me was going through the normal motions of the day, while I squirmed in my seat on the verge of bursting.
In fact, I did. I jumped to my feet and shouted in a strong voice I’d never used in class, “Mrs. Reese! I’m going to faint.”
Reese stopped writing on the board and whirled around, her eyes wide. An outburst wasn’t expected from the old Victoria, but I wasn’t that Victoria anymore, was I? I was no longer a little mouse. I was Lady Macbeth. And Lady Macbeth made things happen.
Reese held out the hall pass to me and motioned to Z. “Show your Lady to the nurse, if you would be so kind.”
Without a word, Z slid from his desk and sauntered up to the front in his slow, easy way, holding his cell phone in his hand. From the way he moved, it didn’t look like he was angry or hurt or devastated like I was. I knew something was wrong, but I was so scared that I could barely put one foot in front of the other. When we stepped out of the classroom, he started to walk a few steps ahead of me, all business. No typical Z sauntering. No sly grin.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
He dug his hands deep into his pockets and turned to me, giving me this narrow-eyed, What the hell is your problem? expression, as if there was something very wrong with me. At that moment, I felt very wrong. More wrong than I had in my life. “Nothing,” he snapped.
We walked a little further, and all I could think about was the number of times he’d pulled me to him for a secret kiss in this hallway or reached under my skirt, his fingers trailing up my thigh as he gave me his innocent altar-boy look. The thought of that never happening again terrified me in a way nothing ever had.
That couldn’t happen. I knew I would die first.
The door to the nurse’s office came into view all too quickly. I stopped. “No, tell me.”
The disgust didn’t leave his face. “Are you sick, or what?”
Sick? He looked down at me like I was gross, diseased. I suddenly remembered the excuse I’d manufactured to get us alone. “Um, no. I made that up.”
He rolled his eyes and reversed direction so quickly that you would have thought he lived for Reese’s class, Andrew. “I’ve got to get back,” he said.
I clamped my hand on his. I hadn’t meant for my hand to be so quivery and slick with sweat against his bare skin. He looked at it as if I had seven fingers. He didn’t shake me off, but the way he stared at my hand was enough. I slowly stepped away. “Look, you need to tell me.”
His face brightened. It was as if the curtain had gone up and he’d gotten into his character. The Z character that I knew so well and loved so much. He smiled at me. And for a second, I thought, Yes, we’ll be back to the way things were by the time we’re back in English.
Instead, vile words floated through that pleasant smile of his. “You told.”
“Wh-what?”
“Did you show Parker our texts, or not?”
My stomach dropped. Of course. Of course she would tell. Parker Cole never met a secret she didn’t want to share with the world.
I opened my mouth to speak, to do damage control, but he silenced me. “I’d thought those were just between us.”
“They were,” I started, but I couldn’t backpedal out of this. I’d screwed up royally and betrayed him. You are the only person I trust. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… I’m sorry. I won’t ever do it again.”
“Again?” He let out a snort. I was trembling, and he just stared at me, calm and nonchalant. I felt like a toddler being berated by her mother. “You did it before. You told Parker and Rachel how my mother had me when she was thirteen and ditched me. You know I didn’t want anyone to know that. Why did you?”
Oh hell, I had. All this time, he’d known I’d told them, and he never said anything. The way he’d held me, the way he’d kissed me and whispered my name and groaned with need as he entered me, completing me, completing us… Never again. It was over. We were over.
And I would never be whole again.
In that heartbeat, my life went from perfect to meaningless. “I only meant to defend you,” I whispered.
“Right, and showing Parker our private texts is the perfect way to do that.”
“No. I did that because—” I broke off, my eyes flooding with tears, much to my embarrassment. I told myself I’d never be that person again. The one who cared, the only one who cared.
Of course he wouldn’t understand how hard it was to be the outcast. He watched me cry for a moment, really sob, then waved his hand in the air. “Forget it. It’s over and done with.”
I looked up. I thought maybe he’d forgive me, and we could move on.
But he hadn’t said he’d forgiven me.
He’d only said it was over.
I swallowed and wiped my eyes. I gestured to a poster for the Fall Dance. “Are you going to this thing?”
He nodded. “You know me, I’m a dancing machine.”
I cleared my throat. “Are you going with your girlfriend from Arizona?”
He shook his head. “We broke up a while ago. I asked Parker last night.”
I gagged.
He asked her? “What? But…what about …?”
He put a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “I figured you were going with your fabulously talented boyfriend. Right?”
The smile he gave me… I can’t explain it. Wholesomely wicked? Sweetly vile? As if he knew exactly how he was twisting my insides, and worse than that, he didn’t care. He walked back to Reese’s classroom, leaving me staring after him with all the walls crumbling around me.
Chapter 29
Murder has rocked the small town of Duchess, Maine to its core. Named for an exiled aristocrat who found refuge there in the early 1800s, the town is secluded and small, home to roughly 1,500 people. It’s a place where everyone is a neighbor and people aren’t afraid to let their children walk alone to the community park. Nestled among the tall pines, Duchess has been largely insulated from the troubles of everyday America. That is, until one cold autumn night.
—From a primetime news special, Death in Duchess, air date unknown
I took the maximum dose of my anxiety medication that night. Little good it did. It didn’t even make me drowsy enough to sleep. Instead, I lay in bed, thinking about the Zahir. The more the character in the story tried to get rid of the coin, the more he became bound to it. The man realized he was in too deep and tried to save himself, but all that did was make him more the coin’s slave, until he was so completely tied to it that it consumed him.
Was I Z’s slave? Was I bound to him? If he left, would the pain lessen, or would it grow and fester like an open sore until it consumed me completely? Would I die fifty years from now, thinking of him and only him?
Yes.
No. No, I needed to get hold of myself. Move on. I was never his, and he was never mine. I’d always known that. I had someone else. I had you, Andrew. And you and I—Andrew, we belonged. Not Z and me. That was an illusion, a fantasy that had come to an end.
If our relationship was truly, truly coming to an end, that was how it was meant to be.
I told myself that sweet little lie until I drifted off to sleep.
