Saving Zoë

Twenty-seven

When he stops at the corner, I throw the door open and hit the ground running. Sprinting across the frozen lawn with my shoes still in hand, my toes turning blue, my breath coming fast and quick, ’til I finally reach my room where I grab Zoë’s diary and flop on the bed, desperate for answers, and knowing she’s the only one who can provide them, the only one who can explain what Marc really meant when he said, “I can’t go hurting you too.”

Only three more days til Dr. Freud goes on vacation!

Which means only three more days ’til I go on vacation too! But it’s not like we’re going together (gag). It’s just that there’s no work for me to do when he’s gone.

Anyway, I can’t freaking wait! I feel like I’m finally getting my summer back. And all I plan to do for those three blissful weeks is sleep, hang out with Paula during the day, and Marc every night.

We’ve been getting along so much better over the last few days, which makes me feel really bad about freaking out like that over his mom and stuff. I mean, it’s not like he actually dragged me there, or even wanted me to go. It’s more like I pushed and pushed ’til he finally gave up and gave in. And because of that, now I have to live with the consequences, along with the memory of her nasty little “Where’d you find this one?” comment. Like I’m just one more slut he dragged home.

Marc swears that’s just her typical passive-aggressive game. So I looked that up in one of Dr. Freud’s books, and it seems like the right diagnosis to me. He also said she’s all freaked out about getting old, and about her fading looks and saggy chin (okay, he didn’t really say that part about her chin, that was pure me!), so she pretty much hates

anyone younger and prettier than her. Which is basically like half the population, but whatever.

So, Carly keeps begging me to go meet this guy she’s been messaging back and forth on her Web page. But I’m like, “No freaking way. Forget it. Not to mention, hello, what about Stephen?”

And she goes, 7 am so over Stephen! Why didn’t you warn me about that bleep gazing bullshit?”

And I go, “Believe me, I did.”

Anyway at first I said a definite no. But then, by the time I left I changed it to maybe. But I told her not to tell him I was coming too, because then he might get the wrong idea and try to bring a friend. And not only am I not going to cheat on Marc, but it will be a lot safer if it’s two against one. I mean, just in case it comes to that.

So she goes, “What do you see in him anyway? I mean, besides the gorgeous, hot, bad boy sexy stuff. Is it the money?”

But I just shrugged. Because even though she finally figured out the whole ugly truth about Stephen, that doesn’t mean she can even begin to understand a guy like Marc. So I go, “He’s just different from everyone else. He’s not one size fits all.”

And she just shook her head and looked at me and said, “I’ll say.”

Okay, so we’re meeting Mr. Internet tonight at seven. And I’ve lied to just about everyone I know to pull it off. My parents think I’m going out with Carly (which I am, just not to where I said we were going), her parents think she’s going out with me (ditto), but not a soul knows anything more. Not even Paula knows the truth, cuz I know she’d just totally freak. Actually, they’d all freak.

Though I do feel really bad about lying to Marc and telling him I’m staying home to hang out with Echo for a change. I mean, I know that’s actually really really really seriously bad karma, since I’ve been meaning to spend more time with her, and now I supposedly am, only it’s a lie.

But I swear, if this guy turns out to be totally cool and not some Dateline Special Internet predator freak, then I’ll take the kid out for shopping and lunch. Really. Scout’s honor.

Okay, so at first Carly and I were totally amazed that the guy turned out to look a lot like his picture, which was actually pretty cute. But what wasn’t so amazing is that apparently the picture was taken like, over ten years ago. Because up close and in person he looks a lot more like thirty than twenty like he said on his page.

Anyway, you should’ve seen his face when he saw Carly and me walking toward him. His eyes went all wide and he got this big grin, like he just won the lottery or something. So we totally hung out and talked for a while, then Carly told him we wanted to party and asked him to go buy us some beer since we’re underage and can’t score it ourselves.

Well, it was pretty obvious that the whole “underage” bit got him major excited. So the second he returned and set the package down, Carly grabbed the bag and said, “Adios, loser!”

And then we totally took off!

Seriously, we just started walking away, but all casual, not like rushing or anything, which actually made him pretty mad, to say the least. So he yelled at us to come back, but I turned and went, “If you take one more step toward us I’m calling the cops and reporting you for the pervert you know that you are. “And I held up my cell phone like I was just about to do it.

You should’ve seen his face! He just stood there, totally stunned. But still, he totally backed down. He just looked at us all sad and said, “Well, can I at least have the wine back? That’s an expensive bottle.”

But Carly goes, “No, because you’re a pervert! Which means you don’t deserve any wine.”

Then we took our stash over to Paula’s, where we hung in the Jacuzzi, and told her the story over and over, and each time it just got better.

Today was a short day since Dr. Freud had a flight to catch, so we said aloha then I waited outside for Marc.

Only he didn’t show.

So then I called him and went, “Where are you?”

And he said, “Home.”

“Well you’re supposed to be here,” I told him.

But he pretended he didn’t know what I was talking about, which is totally ridiculous since I told him twice this morning and even left a message at lunch.

But he just goes, “Didn’t get it.”

“Well you’re getting it now. So hurry up and come get me,” I said, my patience running big-time thin.

And then, I still can’t believe this, he goes, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? I thought you said you were home?” I was completely fuming and no longer trying to hide it. 7 mean, it’s like a hundred degrees out here and I’m melting,” I tell him.

But he just gives me a bunch of bull about how busy he is, which is total crap since it’s not like he has a job or chores or anything. And when I asked him just what exactly he was busy with he totally ignored me! He just went, “Sorry, I can’t get you, but I’ll definitely see you tonight though, okay?”

I felt like throwing my phone at the building I was so mad. But I didn’t. Instead, I just sucked it up and went straight to Carly’s. And by the time I got there I was still so pissed I ended up telling her the whole ugly story, which is something that I never, ever do. Mostly because once you tell your friends the bad stuff, that’s all they seem to remember.

But still, it felt so much better just to get it off my chest. Not to mention how she was totally sympathetic and only a little bit judgmental. And then she grabbed her laptop and tried to find me a new boyfriend on the Internet, which I took as a joke, even though I think she was partly serious.

Then we clicked over to my page so I could upload some more pictures we took of us pretending to French-kiss each other. Then we made fun of all the perverts who messaged me, telling me how I looked totally cool and laid back and asking me if I wanted to maybe hang out and chill — please.

But I still hooked up later with Marc, and even though

I was still pretty mad, I decided to just let it go because my vacation just started and I was determined to be happy and have fun. Plus, I hate to stay angry and carry grudges and stuff.

But still, every time I asked him where he was, he just changed the subject and moved on to something else.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake up my mom is standing over me and staring down at me. “Echo, are you feeling all right?” she asks, leaning toward me brushing her palm across my forehead, fever sweeping.

Physically, I’m fine. But emotionally, I’m a wreck. All I can think about is Marc, and the words he said right before driving me home. I mean, what exactly happened between my sister and him? And what was he hiding in his pocket that day? So far, I’ve yet to read a single thing in Zoë’s diary that could even begin to explain.

Not to mention how there’s no way I can face Abby and Jenay. Not after yesterday’s emotional tirade.

So I decide to do something I haven’t done since I was hell-bent on avoiding the presidential fitness test back in sixth grade — I fake sick.

I’m feeling kinda lousy,” I say, squinting at her as I conjure up images of hot furnaces, burning matches, the scorching desert heat, and the bowels of hell — method acting for raising my temperature.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, sliding onto the edge of my bed and readjusting the covers in a way that brings her hand dangerously close to the partially exposed diary.

I shift my body, flopping the covers over it, trying to make it appear as though I’m sickly and distressed, when

really I just need to keep that little blue book far out of her reach.

Tm nauseous,” I say, allowing myself a mental high five for the stroke of sudden genius. I mean, that’s one that can never be disproved, since it’s only felt by its host.

“Anything else?” she asks, her face growing worried and stained with concern.

Jeez, she wants more? What is this? “Um, yeah, I think I also feel a headache coming on, probably nothing major, but then again, it just started. I’m also a little weak, but that’s probably just the fatigue,” I mumble, rearranging my face to resemble someone who’s fighting burgeoning, yet intolerable pain.

“Sounds like the flu. There’s a bug going around,” she says, smoothing her skirt as she stands. “I’ll call the school and tell them you won’t be there today.”

“Do you think you can call Abby too? And tell her I won’t be meeting them on the corner?” I ask, even though I doubt they’re expecting me, not after my outburst.

“Of course,” my mother says. “But I’m worried about leaving you here all alone, feeling this way.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right. Really,” I say, hoping I haven’t gone too far, praying she won’t try to use this as an excuse to call in sick too.