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57
“Simple, normal food, that’s my only request.” I grin as I sit the rest of the way up. “At Burberry Prep, the food’s good-amazing, actually-but sometimes I can’t even pronounce it.” Dad laughs and whips out his cell.
“Pizza it is then.” He moves into the living room to make the call, and I check my phone again.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.
I’ve got messages from Lizzie, Miranda, Zack … and Creed.
Miranda misses you so muFh, she won’t stop talking about you. It’s annoying as hell. I smile and try to figure out how I’m supposed to respond back. Part of me wants to ask about January, if he’s really going to go back to treating me like garbage. Same with Tristan and Zayd. They’ve been sort of … nice? And those kisses … I’d just assumed that for their portion of the agreement, they’d simply leave me alone. Not the case. If anything, I’ve been getting more attention from the three of them.
Tell her I’m having pizza with Dad and thinking about her, is my response. An instant later, Are you thinking about me, too?
My heart hammers in my chest, but I’m not ready to respond to that message, so I turn my screen off again, change out of my uniform, and join Dad in the living room for pizza. He worked late the day before, and then basically left right after to come pick me up, so he’s asleep before our movie even ends. I cover him with a blanket, turn the volume on the TV to a whisper, and then grab a jacket.
Zack’s waiting outside when I step onto the porch.
He’s got on a black jacket, dark blue jeans, and a beanie. It’s surprisingly cold out here, even for December, and when we exhale, little clouds puff into the darkness.
There’s his orange McLaren sitting next to Dad’s truck, and worth as much as this entire trailer park. It’s a nicer car than I remember Zack’s family having before. He glances over his shoulder in the direction of my gaze and shrugs his shoulders.
“Grandpa unblocked both my and Dad’s trust funds,” he says, and then shrugs again. “I guess he wrote us back into the will, too, but there are all these stupid fucking stipulations. I’m trying to enjoy the money while I have it.”
“Your grandpa cut you guys off?” I ask. I hadn’t known that. Would probably explain why I hadn’t realized he was quite so wealthy before. I
mean, he’s part of the Infinity Club, so he has to be a lot more loaded than I originally thought. All of a sudden, I feel tired.
“Yep.” Zack moves over to the driver’s side door and opens it. His dark eyes lift to mine. “Get in,” he says, and after a split-second’s hesitation, I do.
We drive to some weird little twenty-four hour diner on the coast. It smells like seafood in there, and all the tables are covered in sticky plastic, but when our orders come out, I swear it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in years.
“This clam chowder is …” There aren’t even any words. Zack just stares at me with those dark, unreadable eyes of his, and I have to wonder how he even managed to stumble on a dive like this in the first place. Imagining any of the Idols sitting in here is damn near impossible. Even Miranda would be hesitant to walk in.
“My dad owns half the fishing vessels on this dock.” He points out the window behind me, and I turn. “He’d own them all if the town didn’t hate him so much.” Zack leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He’s finished his fish and chips, and I’ve barely eaten half my bowl of chowder.
Even though Trini Bay is close to Cruz Bay, it’s always functioned on its own set of rules, more like a small town than the pseudo-suburb of a city. There are Buy LoFal signs all over the diner. That explains why they don’t want anything to do with the Brooks family.
“How’s life at Coventry Prep?” I ask, when I can’t decide how to respond to his statement. He shrugs, his arm muscles bunching with the movement. My eyes lock on and can’t seem to pull away. He was by no means skinny in eighth grade, but … he definitely went through a maturity boost over the summer.
“It’s fine.” Just that. His dark eyes bore into mine, and I feel my cheeks heating. Zack and I are a world apart, and we have so much history, but I like hanging out with him. “OnFe she finds out what you did, that girl you killed
…” Tristan’s words ring in my head, but I push them away. I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I don’t care to. I’m sure whatever aFtually
happened isn’t as grisly as he’s making it out to be. Clearly, Zack didn’t kill anyone or he’d be sitting in jail.
Right?
My phone lights up, and I glance over, seeing another text from Creed.
Is that a no? he asks, and I glance at his previous message: Are you thinking about me, too?
I tuck my lower lip under my teeth and tap out a message. Maybe. Why?
My heart thunders and I tuck the phone into my coat pocket, too nervous to read whatever he responds with. After break, things might go back to being bad at school. He might start bullying me again. Nothing’s changed, right? Not even a glorious dance under silver sparkle streamers and crystal chandeliers can fix the injustices in the world.
“Is that one of the Idol guys?” Zack asks finally, and I look up from my food. He’s just staring at me, that darkness making his face unreadable.
“Yeah, why?” There’s an imperceptible tightening around Zack’s mouth. “Because they’re pieces of shit, all three of them. And this is coming from
someone who knows he’s an asshole.” We stare at each other, and my cheeks heat.
“They warned me away from you, too, you know,” I start, cutting a potato into pieces with my spoon. “According to them, you’re even worse.” Zack doesn’t say anything, and we sit in silence for a while. “If it makes you feel better, they’ve been so cruel to me, I don’t think we could ever be friends.”
Not friends, but … didn’t Zayd’s kiss burn on the danFe floor? What about Creed’s hands on your waist last night? And Tristan … I try hard not to think about Tristan.
Exhaling, I banish the thoughts and try asking about football instead. That does the trick. Zack tells me about his team, their brutal practice sessions, how much he likes his coach. It’s the longest and most continual conversation we’ve ever had.
After we’re done eating, he takes me for a walk down the pier, and along the small stretch of beach next to the restaurant, pausing to pick up an intact sand dollar. He grabs my hand in one of his huge ones, uncurls my fingers, and then places it on my palm. When he curls my hand back over it, my heart races and I feel so lightheaded that I have to sit down in the sand for a moment. He sits beside me, and we watch the moonlight or sunlight reflect off the gentle waves.
“For all the things I did to you in middle school,” he says, exhaling, “I’m sorry.”
There’s a long stretch of silence because I don’t know what to say. Even after we started dating, he never apologized, and we never talked about it.
Zack doesn’t move, just sits there, staring at the water. I look from him to the ocean and back again.
When he reaches over, puts an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him, I don’t resist.
The rest of the week is spent decorating for Christmas. Dad’s helpless without me around, so I’ve got my work cut out for me, pulling cardboard boxes full of lights and ornaments from the luggage compartment on the bottom of the first train car.
We hang white lights outside, red and green ones inside, and drag a Christmas tree home from the lot up the street. Neither of us is religious, but we’ve got a ceramic nativity scene that Mom left when she moved out, and that goes in its usual spot on a shelf in the living room. Compared to the pictures Miranda keeps sending me from Paris, it’s not much, but it feels homey, familiar, and safe. That’s all I really need right now.
Since Dad has to work everyday of my vacation save the weekends and Christmas Day itself, I have a lot of free time on my hands to lie back on my bed and text. I’ve got an interesting back and forth going on with Creed, and, surprisingly, messages from Zayd and Tristan as well.
Zayd’s a great texter. Honestly, we’re having conversations now that make me feel like we’re friends. Almost. But then I close my eyes and I remember him telling me he’d pay my price, and my stomach twists into knots. Tristan, on the other hand, is as dark and intimidating over text as he is in person. Our conversation centers mainly on the project we’re doing for chemistry and not much else. At least his zeal for schoolwork matches my own, so there’s that.
I’ve completely forgotten about my mother coming over until I open the door on Christmas Day and find her standing on the porch in an expensive
white fur coat, diamond earrings, and strained smile. Every single cell in me vibrates with emotion, and I can’t seem to stop thinking about the lingerie she got me for my birthday. Snag yourself a riFh one, Marnye, you’ll be glad you did. Look how that turned out for me! My throat goes dry, and my stomach turns to ice.