Saving Zoë

Twenty-one

I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like, I thought I knew what it was like to be in love — the first time with Bryan Boxer, back in seventh grade, for one crazy, completely awkward week, and then again freshman year, when I first hooked up with Stephen (when I was young and impressionable and didn’t know any better). But now I know I was wrong.

Dead Smacking Wrong. THIS is love.

Marc is Love.

Me + Marc = love.

I know it sounds crazy since I’m only sixteen, but I just can’t help but believe that we were made to be together. I mean it. I love everything about him. There’s nothing that annoys me or gets on my nerves (a total miracle, I know). And whenever we’re apart for more than a few hours, I feel this major aching loss, like I’m weak and incomplete, until we’re finally back together again.

Okay, I just reread that last part and totally cringed. And to be honest, I’m thinking I should probably just scribble it out and pretend I never wrote it. I mean, WEAK and INCOMPLETE? Get a freaking life already! I know. But still, I’m just gonna leave it there, cuz the truth is, it’s how I really feel. And even though I can’t imagine ever not feeling this way, I still want to write it all down — the good, the bad, and the completely embarrassing — so that I can read it again someday, when we’re both old and gray, swinging in a hammock and listening to our iPods — or whatever old people will do in the future.

Anyway, Marc’s been sneaking into my room practically every night for the last week, but now with Echo coming backsoon, we’re gonna have to find another way. I mean, she probably wouldn’t care if he tiptoed past her bed, since she’s a pretty deep sleeper and it’s not like she’s ever busted me before, but I’m still not one hundred percent positive I even want her to know. I just don’t think it’s such a good idea to involve her in this. So I guess I’ll just have to think a little harder, and find another way.

Yesterday I snuck him into work, and stashed him under my desk. It’s a HUGE wood desk, so trust me, he fit. And we totally made out during one of the fifty-minute sessions. And then right before our time was up he kissed me good-bye and said, 7 better get out of here before the goateed wonder catches us.”

And as I sat back in my chair, I readjusted my skirt and said, “You gonna go look at that Camaro? The one you told me about?”

And he just nodded and went for the door.

Then right before he walked out I went, “Hey, how’d you know he has a goatee?” And when I looked at him, I noticed he had the weirdest expression on his face, but then just like that it was gone.

And he goes, “You told me.”

And then he left.

But the thing is, I don’t remember telling him that, since I never really talk about my job to anyone other than my parents who insist on a weekly report so they can make sure I’m working hard as opposed to humiliating them in front of a colleague.

But I guess I must’ve told him, because how else would he know?

Marc picked me up from work today in his same old Camaro, saying that in person, the one he was gonna buy was just not up to his standards. Whatever. I mean, to me it’s just some old beater car that takes up most of his free time, and I just don’t get the attraction. But as long as he’s willing to drive me to work and back, I guess I can’t really complain. Not to mention how it spares me from having to beg for my own car, since my parents are pretty much not cooperating and refusing to hear my pleas.

Speaking of parents, I have to say that it’s kind of weird how I’ve never met his mom. Not to mention how I’ve never even been to his house! I mean he’s here all the time, and even though my parents definitely don’t know about him spending the night and stuff, at least I’ve introduced them! Though I did try to keep it all casual and act like he was just a friend.

I’m still not sure why I did that, and I could tell Marc was kind of hurt. Even though he didn’t really say anything other than, “Why’d you call me your friend?”

But I just said, “Cuz you are my friend. And believe me, it’s not like they need to know all the details.”

So we just left it at that, but still, I could tell he was bothered.

I guess there’s just so many crazy, mean rumors about his family that I didn’t want my parents to get all freaked or anything. I mean, I LOVE HIM, I really, really do. But that doesn’t mean they’ll understand.

Echo’s back. Which means I’ve barely had time to see Marc since I’ve been working all day, and I’ve yet to figure a way to get him into my room without getting caught. And because of that, we had our first fight.

And I know how most people keep journals specifically for moments like this, but it drags me down so bad, I don’t feel like writing about it, much less thinking about it. I guess that’s why I didn’t write for a few days, but we’re better now, so I’m back.

But if I’m gonna be honest (and if I can’t be honest here, then where?) then I have to say that it’s just not the same as it was before. Now it’s different, altered. Like when you scrape your knee and you get a scar, but then the scar fades so much that no one can see it but you. But you know where it is. Cuz you remember what caused it. And no matter how hard you try, you can never forget how bad it hurt when it first happened.

Well, that’s how it is with us. From the outside, everything looks the same, but on the inside, it’s all different. And what makes it even worse is that it was all my fault to begin with.

It’s just, sometimes Marc gets so detached and quiet that it makes me all needy. And then needy turns to whiny. And then, well, I started nagging him about not having enough time together (which is totally crazy, I know) but I was just hoping that would make him invite me over, even if his mom is half out of the bag all the time. I mean, he lives in a mansion, so it’s not like she’ll even notice.

But he didn’t invite me. He didn’t say anything. So then, of course, I started accusing him of not wanting to be with me (I know, pathetic, insecure, lame, etc). Until he goes, “Zoë, I’m 16. What do you want from me?”

And I went, “NOTHING!” Which obviously was a lie. So then I said, “Do you realize that not once have you invited me to your house?”

And he closed his eyes and shook his head, which only egged me on more.

So I go, I’m serious. You’ve met my parents so why can’t I meet yours?” Which I know is not exactly fair since that time when I first introduced them I didn’t really cop to our relationship, instead I pretended we were study buddies.

But then he looked right at me and said, “Trust me, you so don’t want to come to my house.”

And I said. “You don’t know what I want”

So then he shook his head and said, Tine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I lay in bed, with Zoë’s journal facedown on my chest, watching the red message light on my cell phone flash on and off in my now darkened room. I know it’s either Abby, Jenay, Parker, or Teresa. But it doesn’t matter. My phone’s been ringing off and on practically since I got home, but not once did I consider answering it.

I know my friends are probably just worried, and I know the least I can do is let them know I’m okay so I close the diary and pick up the phone, wondering just exactly where to start making amends.

But there’s only one message, and when I hear it, I realize it’s not really a message, just a bunch of music. And just as I’m about to delete it, thinking for sure it’s a mistake, I remember the song from Marc’s car, the one that was playing as he drove away.

And I lay there with the phone pressed tight to my ear, playing it over and over again, until I finally fall asleep.