by Mary Strand
So, instead, I gave him a bright, asexual, don’t-even-think-I’m-interested smile. “Not your fault.”
“No, it was.” Slouched in his chair, he ran a hand through his longish hair. “Chelsea thought I wanted you, and she can be a little insecure.”
Not to put too fine a point on it, but Drew had wanted me. The way Cat used to want Drew. The way I maybe, possibly, wanted Zach.
Who probably didn’t want me. I mean, not really.
I almost told Drew he’d dodged a bullet by getting rid of Chelsea, but this didn’t seem like the perfect moment.
So I opted for something more innocuous. “Hey, did you make it out of the party without getting busted?”
Just like that, his face went from sad to sheepish. “As it turns out, Kirk’s house has this little room in the basement with a secret panel. Just like in the movies, you know?”
I laughed. “I’m surprised Kirk didn’t use it. How many of you hid in there? And for how long?”
“Forever.” He shuddered. “Jeremy and Zach weren’t drinking, so they could walk out the front door, but Michael and I used it. And as many girls as we could squeeze in. You know, just to do them a favor.”
He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. So much for missing Chelsea.
Then he looked at me a little more intensely. “So, uh, you and Zach?”
I blinked. Everyone knew everything in this school.
Except, too often, the truth.
“After the Jeep got wrecked, I needed a ride home.” When Drew flinched, I just shrugged. “So Zach gave me one.”
“Are you two—”
“Good morning, class.” As Ms. Ciccarelli strode into the room, looking like she’d just drunk fifteen cups of coffee, all conversation screeched to a halt.
Right that moment, I liked that about her.
Drew kept giving me these questioning looks, though, and maybe sneaking a peek or five down my shirt. So much for missing Chelsea.
He didn’t ask about Zach again, though, not even at lunch, when my old table suddenly had plenty of spare room. Cat and Jeremy sat at one end of it, holding hands. That didn’t take long. But before I could pat myself on the back for my good deed, Lauren walked by, head high and totally blowing me off.
Even though she hadn’t gotten busted when the police spotted the drugs in the Jeep.
Even though it wasn’t my fault that she had to call Zach’s mom for a ride home.
“Lauren?” As I called her, a couple of girls at my table made faces as if she was beneath them. Maybe even beneath me, if such a thing was possible. “Hey. Lauren. Wait up.”
She walked even faster, disappearing around a corner before I could grab my lunch tray and follow her.
“I hear she’s pissed about you and Zach.” Kirk, next to me, leaned close and rumbled the words in my ear, which might’ve been sexy a week ago. Definitely a month ago. But it wasn’t now, not even remotely. Weird. “But you’re not actually going out with him. Am I right?”
“You’re right.” Unfortunately.
“Sorry about your Jeep, by the way.” Kirk shook his head. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d almost think he cared. But I did, and he didn’t. “Amber never did think. You know?”
She’d probably sold her soul to go out with Kirk, the coolest guy in school. Hadn’t she been thinking then?
I didn’t ask him.
I also didn’t ask if Amber was, by any chance, currently rotting in jail. Had she and Chelsea turned eighteen yet, locking them into adult-court rules? A girl could dream.
But I must’ve dreamed so vividly that I missed whatever Kirk said next. Until he repeated himself, his mouth pressed even harder against my ear.
“You? Me? Friday?” It seriously felt like a wet centipede crawling around my earlobe. Ick. “Or sooner? Like tonight?”
The smile I gave him was apologetic. The rest of me wasn’t. Not even remotely.
“I have a guitar lesson tonight.” And, Jazz willing, any other night Kirk wanted to go out with me. “But I’m mostly busy with gymnastics. Tryouts are next week.”
“So you’re really doing it. Guitar and gymnastics?” Kirk stared at me, hard, as if he actually wanted to look into my soul or at least read my mind. Good luck with that. “Or you just don’t want to go out with me?”
Wow. Those words had probably never come out of Kirk’s mouth. Not in this lifetime.
I batted my eyelashes at him, mostly for the benefit of the small crowd we’d drawn. “What girl wouldn’t?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. You?”
I always had. I mean, Kirk was cool, despite the silly sunglasses he wore when he played in the band, despite helping Tess humiliate Cat last spring, and despite putting up with a snake like Amber for so long. Despite everything.
But did I still want him? No.
Maybe I wanted something more than the coolest guy in school. Maybe I’d like a guy who was honest and decent and, for better or worse, didn’t fall for my bullshit.
Unfortunately.
Lauren arrived late for Accounting class, so late I’d long since figured she wasn’t coming.
After handing Ms. Frey a tardy slip, she headed for a desk on the far side of the room from where I sat.
“Lauren?” Ms. Frey cleared her throat when Lauren didn’t stop. “Your assigned seat is on the other side of the room.”
Lauren sat down anyway. “I need a new desk. The, uh, feng shui over there isn’t working for me.”
A few girls laughed, half of the room started murmuring, and a dozen kids stared at me. No one had accused me of pinning my own drug crimes on Amber and Chelsea, though, so this was pretty mild compared to what I’d geared up for today.
Okay, so my standards have slipped.
A lot.
“Nice try, Lauren, but you can either sit at your usual desk or you can go to Mr. Paymar’s office. Your choice.”
“You call that a choice?” Lauren stood up and grabbed her books. “I’ll go see Mr. Paymar.”
Ms. Frey frowned but didn’t say a word. Unlike everyone else in the room, she also didn’t slide a curious glance at me.
The door slammed hard behind Lauren.
Five minutes later, Mr. Paymar opened it, then escorted a sullen Lauren inside. He smiled at Ms. Frey. “I believe you’re missing one of your students?”
“As luck would have it, yes.” Ms. Frey pointed to Lauren’s usual desk next to mine.
After a mulish glare in my direction, Lauren sulked all the way to her desk. She dragged it sideways, making a harsh scraping sound against the floor, until it was a foot or so farther away from me.
Ms. Frey didn’t say a word.
And Mr. Paymar didn’t budge from his position at the door.
Finally, when the air was so thick with tension that I could’ve choked on it, Ms. Frey nodded at Mr. Paymar, who left. As if nothing had happened, she then explained the instructions for today’s pop quiz on balancing a checkbook.
I aced the quiz, but I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d ever ace the concept of being friends with other girls without them inevitably hating me for stealing their guys. Even when I didn’t steal their guys. In Zach’s case, I definitely hadn’t.
Or if I had, I wish he’d at least let me know.
After the final bell rang, I walked out of school with Cat. According to Dad, we’d be lucky if the Jeep got fixed by the end of the week, so we had to walk back and forth to school until then.
But we’d be walking together. Talking again. Friends again. Almost like old times, despite a few awkward silences, but in some ways better. Equal. Not just my sidekick and me.
“Uh, Cat? Give you a ride?”
So maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to get back together with Jeremy.
I shooed her away, though, shaking my head when Jeremy belatedly offered me a ride, too. “I’m good. You guys go.”
I watched them stroll hand in hand over to Jeremy’s car, which was old and ugly and d
idn’t look like it could actually make it the mile to our house. I mean, not that they’d care if it did. Cat looked thrilled, Jeremy even more so.
I was happy for them. Mostly.
Hitching my backpack higher on my shoulders, I headed toward home. Head down. Lost in thought.
A block from school, an engine rumbled, followed by a horn honking. Startled, I almost tripped. When I saw the bright-orange VW Beetle, I almost tripped again.
So much for the sense of balance a gymnast needs. Maybe I should find a different sport. Checkers?
“Hey.”
I walked over to Zach’s car but didn’t open the door, let alone climb inside. “Hey yourself.”
Leaning toward me, Zach pushed open the door.
I still didn’t get in.
He sat back in his seat, his hands drumming a beat on the steering wheel. “I heard about Kirk’s girlfriend. And Drew’s.” He didn’t grin as much as I had when I heard the news. “I also figured your Jeep might still be a mess and wondered if you needed a ride home.”
I bit down so hard on my confusion, I tasted blood. What was with Zach? Did he have a hero complex? A martyr complex? A pissed-off girlfriend named Lauren?
I inched closer but still didn’t get in. “Don’t tell me. You’re afraid I’ll run home and get even faster?”
“Busted.”
We just stared at each other, not laughing or grinning or batting our eyelashes at each other. In my case, also not necessarily breathing.
I blinked first. “So what’s up, really? Lauren spent all day wishing I were dead, and all I can figure is that it has something to do with you.”
I swallowed hard, mildly shocked that I’d said it, but my days of stealing guys from other girls—accidentally or not—were over. Especially when the guys in question always wanted me for something other than holding hands and talking.
Which, let’s face it, they all did.
Zach’s eyes searched mine, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t find anything. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“If you answer my question first.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe.”
“Like I already told you, I’m just friends with Lauren.”
I snorted. “Does Lauren know?”
“According to my mom, no.”
Zach wasn’t looking at me anymore. The stack of CDs on the front passenger seat of his VW claimed all of his attention. Not that he was moving the CDs to the back seat, like he had Friday night. No, he rummaged through the pile until he grabbed a CD, opened the case, and popped the disc in the CD player before punching a few buttons.
Hearing the opening to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”—ever since reform school, not my favorite song by Green Day—I almost laughed.
But I didn’t. “Is that supposed to be about me? Or you? Oh, wait. Since I’m on foot, I guess I’m the one walking alone.”
He slid me a grin and patted the passenger seat. The piled-high-with-CDs passenger seat. “But you don’t have to.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“Fine.” He grabbed a handful of CDs and dumped them in the back seat, then another. And another. When the last ones hit the floor behind him, he met my exasperated gaze. “I’m not going out with Lauren, and never have. But we’ve been close since we were toddlers, so I watch out for her. Maybe she took that the wrong way.” He gritted his teeth. “According to my mom.”
The death glares I’d gotten from Lauren all day would definitely agree. “And?”
“And?” He tapped a beat on the steering wheel in time to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” which was still playing. It was a long song. And sad. Today, it put me on edge. “I take care of my friends, and Lauren’s a friend. So are you. And, yeah, I don’t want you getting any faster.”
I was probably too fast for him already, in more ways than one, if he believed all the rumors. But he said he didn’t believe them.
Hard to believe.
I sighed. “What do you want?”
Another few beats on the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield. Really, he should’ve been a drummer.
Finally, he looked at me. “I’d like to go out with you. I’d like to kiss you again, for longer than a millisecond but not so long that your dad dumps my dead body in one of those ditches you’re so fond of. And I’d love it if you got in my car before the entire student body of Woodbury High School drives by.”
“You’re pretty demanding. Needy, even.” I climbed into the passenger seat anyway.
“So I’m told. But usually by my mom.”
He eased away from the curb, cautiously, unlike every other guy I knew. And unlike me.
Trying to picture us together, I laughed, but it caught in my throat when I pictured Lauren today. All day today. “What about Lauren?”
“Swear to God, I’ve never even kissed her.” He made a half-hearted slash across his chest. His legs might be so long and skinny that I felt demoralized every time I compared them to mine, but his chest was nice. Okay, his legs were, too. “I didn’t even kiss her in eighth grade when she claimed she was the only girl in middle school who’d never been kissed.”
I grinned, remembering those days. Lauren must’ve had even more guts in eighth grade than I did, which said something. When I opened my mouth to say just that, though, Zach pulled to the curb in the middle of nowhere and turned to me. “I also didn’t kiss her Friday night, when I got home after dropping you off. She was waiting up for me. On my front steps.”
I frowned. “Did she ask you to?”
“Yep.”
Had she already heard about Zach and me? Wait. There hadn’t been anything to know!
“And . . . you said no?”
“Worse.” One corner of his mouth twisted. “Since Lauren and I have been friends since forever, I told her I maybe kinda liked you.”
He hadn’t even told me that. I mean, not really.
I held up a hand. “Let me guess. It didn’t go over too well.”
Based on all the death glares today? Understatement.
“Like I said. My mom told me I was a complete idiot.”
“For telling Lauren? Or for not kissing her?”
He laughed, surprising me. It also didn’t make me wildly eager to meet his mom. I mean, as if I would. Guys didn’t tend to bring me home to meet their moms. After I shoved them off me, I was usually lucky if they brought me to my house.
Come to think of it, Zach and I were still parked on a random street somewhere in the middle of Woodbury. Thank God I’d worn shoes I could walk in today. Or, if I needed to, run.
Zach stopped laughing. Surprising me more than a little, he grabbed my hand.
“My mom just said I needed to be clear with Lauren. Oh, and to quit mumbling Lydia-Lydia-Lydia all the time and ask you out already.”
Maybe I would like his mom.
“So.” My brain shorted out, making me forget whatever I was going to say. Or ask. And hopefully not beg. The fact that Zach was playing with my fingers might’ve had something to do with it. “Do you—”
“Will you go out with me?” Zach’s eyes met mine, and I was lost. In a good way, I think, but I’d felt like this only twice before, and let’s just say it hadn’t ended well either time. “I was going to suggest Russo’s, but it kinda sucked the last time we were there.”
“No kidding.” And he’d given Lauren a ride home. “But you don’t want to go to a movie?”
In my experience, which was vast and mostly awful, guys always wanted to go to a movie on their first so-called date with me. And sit in the back row. And make out during the previews. And try for a home run not long after that.
Zach frowned. “We can’t talk in a movie. You don’t want to talk?”
My breath caught. I wasn’t sure I could talk, so I nodded. “Russo’s would be great.”
“Tonight? Or are you busy with guitar or gymnastics or trying to avoid getting dumped into ditches by creepy bass players?”
“Tonight?�
�� I squeezed his hand, which was still holding mine, and sent up a little prayer of thanks that I hadn’t booked a last-minute guitar lesson with Jazz. “If you’re the creepy bass player in question, I’m totally free.”
We sealed it with a kiss. It lasted way longer than a millisecond but not so long that my dad showed up and dumped Zach into a ditch. Or the cops arrived. Or my mom found out and starting shrieking in my ear.
So, yeah. As kisses went, it was pretty perfect.
Chapter 21
“My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter Eleven
Four weeks, three days, and exactly zero movie dates with Zach later, I took an even wilder than planned flip off the top bar of the uneven parallels and—miraculously—earned a roar from the crowd when I stuck my landing.
I was still wiping chalk off my taped hands, most of it onto my leotard, when ear-splitting squeals warned me that my mom had broken loose from my dad’s promised chokehold on her and was running in my direction.
Grinning, I shook a finger at my dad, who still sat halfway up the bleachers. Probably out of a sense of self-preservation.
Smart guy. Unreliable but smart.
“Lydia! That was so perfect! Amazing! Incredible!”
Not even remotely, but I was happy anyway. I’d earned a spot on the gymnastics team, despite a few bitchy girls who’d whined to Coach Burns about me—and who lost their spots on the team as a result.
And I could play a decent D chord now. Most of the time.
And Zach really was starting a band with me, Jeremy, Michael, and Heather. And maybe even my sister Mary, whenever she came home on breaks from MIT.
And Zach and I were together, really together, even though our so-called dates mostly consisted of playing music, holding hands and smooching and not much else, and arguing over whether he could “read my mind” like the Killers sang or whether he just happened to make a lot of lucky guesses.
He made a lot of lucky guesses.
Like right now. He guessed really, really accurately that he should drag my dad down from the bleachers before my mom had a high-pitched coronary right in front of all of my gymnastics teammates.
