Alyson ël - Saving Zoë

“Have you ever done this before?” he whispers, pulling me close.

I squint into the dark space before me, trying to make out the blondishness of his hair, the bluishness of his eyes, and the overall cuteness of his face that’s kept him solidly in the number two position, directly beneath Chess, on the “cutest boys in school” list we’ve been keeping since fourth grade. But all I can make out is the vague outline of his head, and I wonder if he’s asking if I’ve ever been in this closet before, or if I’ve ever kissed a guy before. Because to be honest, that wasn’t exactly clear. But still, I guess the answer to both of those questions is pretty much the same, no and no. So that’s what I tell him.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, his voice filled with so much sweetness and concern that I’m shocked. Because honestly, I thought he’d be in full grope mode by now. “I mean, you’re so nice. And I like you. So I don’t want to push or anything.”

I’d give anything to see his face right now, because this is not at all the cocky, loud, overconfident Parker from the lunch table, the one I assumed I’d be wrestling with. And the truth is, whether he actually kisses me or not really doesn’t matter. I mean, I feel pretty neutral about the whole thing. I’m more surprised by the fact of how he even wants to kiss me. And how he’s being so nice. And how he just said he likes me!

And I know I probably shouldn’t waste this opportunity since things like this never happen to me, and because of that, this could be my one and only shot at a normal adolescent experience. But still, I can’t help but ask, “Did you just say you like me?” I know it’s lame and insecure, but I need a little clarification, ’cause to be honest, this is pretty hard to believe.

“Yeah. I think you’re really cute, and nice, and stuff. Always have. You just never seemed very interested,” he says.

I know I should probably be satisfied with that, and just shut up and let him kiss me already, but I really need to get to the bottom of this. So I go, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He laughs. “But it’s like, you and Jenay and Abby were always so tight that I guess I was too shy to try to break in.”

“You’re shy?” I say, unable to keep my disbelief in check.

“Yeah, but I’m working on it,” he says, pulling me even closer. “So, is it okay? Can I kiss you now?”

I kind of wish he hadn’t asked, ’cause it makes me feel really awkward to give him permission. But still, I guess it’s better than never being asked, and possibly never being kissed. So I just nod and go, “Urn, okay.”

So he does. He leans in and kisses me. First he does it with his mouth closed. Then with it slightly open. And at one point he even slips his tongue in for a little bit. Then he pulls away, and says, “Was that okay?”

I nod. But then I remember how dark it is, which means he probably couldn’t see that, so I clear my throat and say, “Urn, yeah, it was nice.”

And that’s when he does it again.

By the time I get home, the house is mostly dark. And as I tiptoe upstairs and peek into their room, I’m surprised to find my parents already asleep. I mean, normally, well, I guess normally I don’t go to parties, but still, for the last year, every time I left the house unchaperoned, I always returned to blazing lights, a flickering TV, and at least one, if not both, of my parents staying up late, playing night sentinel.

But maybe this is a good sign. Maybe things are finally looking up. Maybe my parents’ paranoid period is coming to an end. Or maybe, this is just the result of my mom’s addiction to happy pills, and my dad’s utter exhaustion.

I change out of my clothes and slip into my pink-and-white striped pajamas, then I pad into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face of what little makeup I bothered to wear. And as I peer at my reflection, I lean closer to the mirror, noticing how my lips are all red and swollen, and my cheeks all flushed and tender, and I watch them grow even redder when I realize it’s because of Parker.

I guess I just never imagined something like that would happen to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I planned to join a nunnery, or take a vow of celibacy, or anything crazy like that. Heck, I even assumed I’d get married someday, giving birth to the requisite number of kids. But all of that seemed so distant and far away. Like it was just one more thing on life’s big “To Do” list. Just stuff that grownups did, like subscribing to a newspaper or paying bills.

I guess I never thought about the whole attracting part of it. And how I might feel about someone. And how they might feel about me.

And it’s not like I’m hideous or anything. I mean, I’m pretty much your basic, ail-American, standard issue girl. But still, it’s not like I’m fun and sparkly like Jenay. And I’m certainly not amazing like Zoë. So I guess that’s why it’s

hard for me to make sense of that kiss. And how afterward, Parker stuck by me for the rest of the night.

When I wake up soaked in sweat at 3:06 A.M., feeling panicky, with my face all wet and my throat all tight and sore as though I’ve been sobbing in my sleep, I force myself to just lay there, slowly breathing in and out as I count, starting at one hundred and working my way down, just like that shrink suggested that time I accidentally told him about my dreams.

But even after counting, even after changing out of my damp pajamas and into clean dry ones, even after drinking a glass of water and assuring myself that there’s absolutely no reason to panic, I still can’t seem to relax enough to fall back to sleep. And then I make it even worse when I start thinking about my party, and how everything’s changing so fast in a way I once anticipated, only now that it’s happening, I’m no longer so sure.

i mean, my parents didn’t wait up, and a boy actually wanted to kiss me. And even though at the beginning of the night those two things would’ve sounded amazingly cool, now at o dark thirty, they no longer do.

Because, let’s face it, there’s comfort in being cautious. And there’s peace in the predictable.

But now, if everything’s going to be different, if everything’s going to be filled with possibility and opportunity, how will I know if I’m ready? How will I know how to deal?

And it’s not like Zoë ever worried about these things. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” she’d say. And God knows she doled out her fair share of apologies. But still, nothing ever fazed her. Nothing ever tripped her up. She just moved through life at lightning speed, expecting nothing but cooperation, approval, laughter, and fun.

Zoë was street smart and naive.

She was thoughtful yet reckless.

She was sexy but innocent.

She was a walking dichotomy.

And I want to be just like her.

I climb out of bed, grab my backpack, and retrieve the cobalt blue book that Marc gave me. Then I switch on my reading light, slip back between the sheets, and with totally shaking hands, turn to the first page, shivering when I see her familiar, round, loopy scrawl, and read:

This is Zoë’s diary. And you should NOT be reading it!

I knew she was right. But I also knew she had something to teach me. So I ignored the warning, and turned the page.

June 14 (finally!)

I don’t know why they call it the last day of school, when really it’s the first day of freedom. Cuz the second that minimum day bell rings at 12:20 P.M., there’s not a teacher, principal, or school administrator w/in 50 miles that can touch me — and that includes YOU, Coach Warner, you disgusting old pig. You think I don’t notice when you look down my top? Next year I’m gonna stick a tiny mirror down there so you can see your own ugly reflection staring back at you!!!

As usual, classes were a joke — everyone just ignoring the teachers, running around, signing yearbooks, and promising to hook up sometime during the hot days ahead. All I could do was nod and smile and go through the motions, because the whole entire time I was thinking about ditching Stephen so I can hook up with Marc.

I know he’s into me.

I’m never wrong about these things.

June 15

Didn’t make it downstairs ’til after 11, still feeling drunk from last night. Walked right into the edge of the kitchen table and had to grab the corner to steady myself. Thank G nobody noticed. Dad had his nose buried in a pile of papers (as usual), Mom was outside working in her overachiever garden wearing her big old hat, SPF 75, wraparound sunglasses, gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt — like she’s allergic to the sun or something. Only Echo sniffed the air as I passed, flashed me a knowing look, but didn’t say a word as I headed for the coffeemaker. Didn’t even get to the second sip before Carly called, wanting to bitch me out for ditching Stephen and trying to hook up with Marc behind his back.

So I reminded her that I’m her BFF, NOT Stephen. I’m the one who covered for her that time when she said she was at my house but was really out with H, not to mention the gazillion other favors I’ve done for her over the last 5 years. Not to mention that Marc was already gone by the time I finally made it outside, so no damage done, right?

But even after I reminded her of all that she still has the nerve to go, “Yeah, but still.”

I mean, I love Carly, really I do. But this holier than thou crap has got to stop.

Maybe she should get together with Stephen if she cares so much about his stupid feelings.

June 16

I’m psychic! Just call me Claire Voyant Because the very last line I wrote in my very last entry came true. That’s right, Carly hooked up with Stephen. And I’m not even that mad about it. Really. I barely even care. Well, other than the fact that she went behind my back. But really, as far as I’m concerned she can have him because I am sooooo over him. I’m sick of how his life revolves around sports and those stupid instant replays he insists on watching over and over and over again. I’m sick of the way he eats with his mouth open, all those chucked up particles tossing from side to side as he laughs out loud at his own lame-ass jokes. But mostly I’m sick of the way he bicep peeks during sex. It’s like he gets more excited watching the way they bulge out than by seeing me naked beneath him. And if I sound like some bitter old hausfrau who got married too young, and stayed married too long, well, then, whose fault is that? He stole a year of my life, robbed me of time I’ll never get back.

Not to mention how it’s been totally obvious from the start how Carly’s been crushing on him, since day one. It’s like she’s been waiting this entire time for me to dump him. Even the six months she was with H, she was just passing time. So if she wants him that bad, she can have him. I hope they’re very happy together, really I do.

I just think she could’ve waited ’til I’d actually broken up with him first I just think she could’ve waited ’til things were official. Not to mention how she could have at least pretended to look guilty when I walked in on them.

But instead she just looked up and said, “Well you said you were gonna leave him.”

Which, of course, made Stephen gawk at me in shock. But I just kept right on looking at her. Shaking my head as I used her words right back at her, saying, “Yeah, but still.”

Then I went back downstairs and ended up smoking some really powerful shit with Kevin and Kristin who are so freaking in love they’ll probably get married or something. I mean it’s just so weird how they’ve been together since eighth grade, and how they never ever think about what they could be missing.

I’m always thinking about what I’m missing.

Even when I’m happy with what I have.

Anyway, we just hung in the backyard, looking at the stars ’til we were cold and hungry and misted with dew.

And everything felt so vast, and unlimited, and extremely close to perfect

But now I have to figure out a way to fill up the summer before my parents decide that for me. So, good luck to me!

I stifle a yawn, and close Zoë’s diary, sliding it under my mattress for safekeeping. Not one thing I read surprised me. Seriously, not the drugs, not the sex, not even that whole big drama with Carly. Though I’d always been kind of curious why she stopped coming over so much. I guess I just assumed it had something to do with Marc. But then Zoë’s life had always been dramatic, and mysterious, and far more adventurous than mine. And even though I like Carly, I know it had to be a pretty tough gig to be my sister’s best friend. I mean, Zoë was just one of those people who the clouds always cleared for, the sun always shined on, and the stars came out for.