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 dance 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 rich 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.
