Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

Zach shook his head and took a step toward him. “I don’t mean that. I mean …” He pointed at Jimmy’s chaps. “That. That has to be the worst Butch Cassidy costume I’ve ever seen.” Zach laughed, and the tension dissolved, along with Emily’s hopes for a rescue. Though really, who could she blame but herself? She’d had a perfect opportunity to expose her tormentors, and she’d blown it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’re M.L. Martin?” Ember gaped at the back of Marissa’s head. She never would have believed this girl was capable of taking such incredible photos. And if she had, she’d have bet good money Marissa would have used her full name on the credits. Of course, it did explain why she couldn’t shoot the football games. Wouldn’t want to interfere with her cheerleading ambitions.

  Marissa shrugged and pointed at her monitor. “Which do you like better? The shot with Mr. Monroe’s profile or the one where he’s facing the camera?”

  Ember searched for a flaw in either shot, but both were good. Really good. Damn it. Marissa, a.k.a. M.L., was probably incapable of taking a bad photo. “Where did you learn to take pictures like this?”

  “My aunt’s a photographer. She bought me my first camera when I was six.” Marissa glanced up from her screen. “Stop picking at your face.”

  Ember dropped her hand to her side. Her stitches itched. They didn’t look as bad as she’d feared, but between them and the bruise that had bloomed around her left eye, she felt hideous. Especially standing there next to Marissa. Her memory had returned halfway through the weekend. She’d thought about faking it for a few days so she wouldn’t have to go to school looking like a roller derby queen, but she couldn’t bear to worry her mom any more.

  “There she is. Our newest linebacker.” Charles appeared in the Bulletin’s office doorway. His smile disappeared as he neared them. “Whoa. Does it hurt?”

  Ember shook her head and turned away. She shouldn’t have come. She’d wanted to go straight home after school, but Tricia was trying out for the middle school production of Annie, so her mom wouldn’t be there for another hour. And she still wouldn’t let them ride the bus—something about a movie she’d seen one time where a killer kidnapped a kid from a bus stop.

  Charles circled around her and tilted her chin up so he could examine her face. “That was an intense hit. You have officially been tackled harder and sustained more injuries than I have all year. In fact, all four years I’ve played.”

  How humiliating. Ember forced a smile. “Well, thank you for saving the camera. Very heroic.”

  “No problem.” Charles either didn’t catch the sarcasm in her voice or chose to ignore it. “You got some killer shots.”

  “Especially those last few.” Marissa said it so sweetly, Ember couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or making fun of her. Marissa pulled the photos of the receiver up onto the screen and pointed to the last shot. “I particularly love this one. Right before he mows you down.”

  “That’s Deon Jackson,” Charles said. “He felt horrible about hitting you.”

  “I know. He came up to me today during lunch and apologized. He must have said ‘I’m sorry’ a thousand times. Even gave me this.” Emily pointed to a plastic daisy sticking out of her backpack.

  “He gave you that? For real?” Charles looked surprised. And maybe a little jealous?

  Ember plucked the daisy and stuck it into her hair. “Yes, for real. Very cute.” She left it to him to wonder whether she was talking about Deon or the daisy.

  Charles reached up. Ember thought for a moment he was going to grab the flower, but instead he gently brushed the edge of her bruise. She winced but didn’t pull back.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “When I assigned you to the game, I had no idea—”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Ember waved him away. “It’s not that big a deal. The doctor said I’ll heal up in a few days. Like it never happened.”

  A mixture of relief and admiration registered in Charles’s eyes. “You’re tough, you know that?”

  Ember shrugged. Sometimes the line between weak and tough was as hazy as the horizon on a hot summer day. Did going topless in a video and messing around with half the football team make her weak or tough? How about moving fifteen hundred miles from home to escape her identity? How about the fact that she wanted to break into tears right now at the concern in Charles’s eyes?

  “Any assignments for me this week?” Marissa interrupted their moment. Ember had almost forgotten she was there.

  Charles blinked and turned toward her, as though he’d forgotten as well. “Good question, and yes, I do have assignments. For both of you.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a tablet. “Ember, do you think you’d be okay to cover the game again? If not, I’d understand.” He looked at Marissa. “We all would.”

  “Oh, definitely,” Marissa chimed in. “Not everyone is cut out for that type of thing.”

  Ember’s eyes narrowed. Was she trying to imply the accident was somehow her fault or that she was a wimp? “No problem,” she said. “I’d love to shoot the game.”

  “Great.” Charles tapped the tablet. “The good news is this week’s story will be about much more than just a football game.”

  Ember sat up. “More?” Like a real news story?

  “Yes,” Charles said. “This is homecoming weekend, so we’ll need photos of the king and queen, the court, the floats … you get the idea.”

  Homecoming? Ember stifled a sigh. Not exactly what she’d had in mind.

  “Your schedule will be a little different. The game is on Saturday instead of Friday night. There’ll be a parade in the morning, the game in the afternoon, and the dance at night.”

  Homecoming dance? Ugh. Ember hadn’t thought about how awkward dances might be at a new school.

  Charles turned toward Marissa. “I need you to take some shots in the computer lab. I’m investigating a story on a possible breach of the school’s online security codes.” He waved his hand at both of them. “Not a word about that to anyone.”

  Ember nodded and grinned. It would be a lot easier to get a cool shot of a float than of a bunch of computers.

  Marissa glared, as though she knew what Ember was thinking. “Sounds serious,” she said, her eyes fixed on Ember. “As in, front-page serious.”

  Ember met her gaze. So Marissa, a.k.a. M.L., wanted to compete? Fantastic. May the best shot win.

  CHAPTER TEN

  For the fourth night in a row, Ember stared at her Twitter page, empty except for her avatar—a sepia-toned photo of Annie Oakley she’d copied off Wikipedia. She’d created the account, but she hadn’t followed anyone, nor had she composed a single Tweet. She knew as soon as she followed Zach, as soon as he saw her username, he’d follow back. But then what? What would she say? Could she explain everything to him? And could she trust herself to stop at “I’m safe,” without spilling her location?

  She wished she could tell him everything. About her new hair color. About the silos and the manure smell, about Claire and Marissa, about the hit she took at the game, and about the stitches. But of course, she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him any of that.

  Ember went to Zach’s profile page. She could at least let him know she was thinking about him. Zach was the only person on earth who knew her—really knew her—and loved her anyway. Here she was surrounded by people who didn’t know the first thing about her, not even her real name. Even her mom and sister couldn’t begin to understand all she’d been through for the past year. No one could but Zach.

  As she hovered over his “follow” button, Ember noticed a new tweet, twelve minutes old.

  @surfgurrl FTW with 120 pts at Zippies.

  Ember read it again. She squeezed her eyes shut. Zippies was their arcade. Actually, it was the only arcade on the boardwalk, but Ember thought of it as Zach’s and hers. Zippies was where he’d taken her on their first pseudo-date. Zippies was where he’d won her a huge stuffed pink flamingo playing the ring toss and taught her how to get past Le
vel Nineteen on Totem Destroyer.

  So who was this surfgurrl? Ember’s hand shook as she clicked on the name. She knew what she’d find, but somehow it still hurt, a punch to the gut. It was her. The girl from the photo. Pretty, blond, tan, and very surf-girl like.

  Ember felt as though a huge wave was pushing her down, pressing her under, sending her flailing and tumbling out of control. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. It was as though her lungs, her chest, her heart were being crushed.

  Zach had been her lifeboat for the past seven months. How could he abandon her so quickly? How could he meet some chick at a party and three days later take her to Zippies for … skee-ball, probably. One hundred twenty points had to be skee-ball. Ember had always sucked at it, but Zach loved to play. And of course surfgurrl would be a natural. Finally, he’d met someone who could surf and play skee-ball. She could probably catch a baseball, too. No doubt they had tons in common and looked adorable together and … had he kissed her yet?

  Ember closed her eyes again and tried not to think about that. But now it was all she could think about. She lay down on her bed, and the stress of the past month—the night of the bonfire, the death threat, her fight with Zach, the deputies showing up in her living room, the move—it all came out in a torrent of tears. She cried until she had soaked her pillow, and then she lay still, with the exception of an occasional soft hiccup-sob, for what seemed like hours.

  Finally, she got up and returned to her computer. She couldn’t let the wave keep her down. She needed to recover her bearings and find the light. The surface was never more than a few feet away. Surely if Zach knew she was out here, thinking of him, he’d realize how much he missed her, how much he loved her. One Tweet and he’d leave surfgurrl behind like backwash on the shore. Ember had waited too long already. She needed to make the move, and make it now. She returned to Zach’s page and clicked “follow.”

  ***

  “Stop. Please.” Ember turned and glared at her sister sitting in the back seat of the car. “If you sing that song one more time, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll kick your you-know-what.”

  Tricia grinned and continued belting out the lyrics to “Tomorrow.”

  Ember reached back to pinch her leg, but Tricia fended her off. She’d gotten the part of one of the orphans in Annie and hadn’t stopped smiling—or singing—since.

  “You’ll have to wear rags, you know. And smudgy makeup. Not exactly glamorous.”

  Tricia merely increased her volume.

  Ember gave up. She put in her earbuds, cranked up her iPod, and sang John Mayer as loudly as she could.

  “All right, enough.” Her mother reached over and pulled out one of the earbuds. “Both of you. No more singing.”

  Ember shot Tricia a gloating smile. Finally, some quiet. She checked her Twitter account on her phone for the millionth time that morning. It would be an hour later back in Jersey. Surely he’d seen her follow by now?

  At last, her account showed she had one follower. She held her breath as she clicked it. It had to be Zach.

  It was. Over the next ten minutes she refreshed a hundred times, but nothing else came up. No Tweets. No direct messages. Nothing but the follow.

  She stared out at the fields passing by. Why didn’t he DM her? Was he still angry? Maybe he wanted to apologize but didn’t know how. Or maybe he was so wrapped up in surfgurrl that he didn’t even care.

  “Who are you texting over there?”

  Her mom would kill her if she knew she was on Twitter, but Ember fought the urge to cover up her screen. No way she could see it from that angle. “Nobody. A girl from one of my classes.”

  “The one we met? Clara?”

  Ember winced at the wisp of hope in her mom’s voice. “It’s Claire. And no. Just someone who had a question about an assignment. It’s nothing.”

  They rode in silence until they arrived at the school. As Ember climbed out of the car, Tricia grinned at her and began singing again.

  Ember slammed the door. Screw tomorrow. Zach had better contact her today.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two months earlier

  Emily pulled one foot up onto the board, then the other. She positioned them directly across the center, just as Zach had taught her. She tried to loosen her grip and stand, but she couldn’t. Her fingers refused to let go.

  Whap! The wave upended the board and her with it. The roar of the surf filled her ears and then disappeared as she plunged into a silent darkness. She tumbled for a moment, helpless and disoriented. The scrape of sand against her knees and the amused stare of a snot-nosed boy standing ankle-deep as she surfaced made her humiliation complete.

  She turned to retrieve her board and caught sight of Zach riding a wave, much bigger than the one that had humbled her. She marveled as he weaved up and down and around. So beautiful.

  “You almost had that one,” he shouted as they paddled back out together. “If you could get up a little more quickly …”

  Emily forced a smile. Timing wasn’t the problem. Fear was. She tried again and again, always with the same result. She’d manage to get her feet on the board and her butt in the air, but her fingers would cling to the edges like a starfish to the rocks. Wave after wave knocked her down and swept her onto shore, until at last Zach suggested they dry off and head to the boardwalk for some ice cream.

  Emily ran for her towel before he could change his mind. She pulled a pair of jean shorts on over her swimsuit, slipped into her flip-flops, and twisted her hair into a knot at the top of her head. “Big Moo or the Dairy Dome?”

  “Big Moo.” Zach kissed her forehead. “Because I like watching you try to eat their super-sized waffle cones without getting ice cream on your nose.”

  Emily watched as he toweled himself off, first his hair and face, then his arms and chest, and finally his six-pack stomach. They’d been dating for five months, ever since that night he’d swept her away from Jimmy and Brad at the Shoot ’Em Up, but she still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t trust it. What did he see in her? He knew what everyone at school said. Didn’t he care? He could have any girl he wanted, but when she’d pointed that out to him a few weeks ago, he’d shrugged and said, “I want you.”

  Why?

  ***

  Emily’s phone buzzed as she took her first bite of mint chip ice cream. Her sister Trina, texting two simple words.

  Trina: It’s here.

  Emily swallowed a squeal and replied.

  Emily: Can you bring it to the Big Moo?

  She savored the rest of her cone. Wait until Zach saw the photo. He’d be so impressed. She hadn’t told him about the contest, because she’d been certain something would go wrong, that the judges would realize they’d made a terrible mistake and would take back the award. But now it was official. The magazine had finally arrived, with her shot on the cover.

  “Why do you keep smiling?” Zach grabbed a napkin and wiped his chin. When she continued smiling, he wiped his nose and cheeks, then his chin again. “Seriously, what?”

  “Can’t a girl smile for no reason?”

  “Maybe, but that smile says you’re hiding something.”

  She laughed. He knew her so well. He knew her and liked her anyway. Why couldn’t she accept that? “You’ll find out soon enough. I have something to show you.”

  Zach leaned forward on his stool and kissed her. “Can’t wait to see it.” He kissed her again, his lips cool from the ice cream and tasting of black cherries. “Do you want another lesson tomorrow? You looked like you were having a good time out there.”

  Emily pulled back and studied his eyes. He was serious. Maybe he didn’t know her so well after all. She shook her head. “Sorry. I have to work a double shift tomorrow.”

  Zach nodded and gave her a teasing smile. “Don’t forget your piece.”

  Emily never dressed up at the Shoot ’Em Up any more. That was another thing Jimmy d’Angelo had ruined for her. But she still strapped the revolver to her leg with
a garter. It was silly, really. Carrying a fake gun offered her about as much protection as carrying her camera—maybe less, because at least with her camera she could capture an image of her attacker as evidence—but she felt somehow safer with the cold, hard metal pressed up against her thigh. Zach called her Emmie Oakley, Little Sure Shot of the Jersey Shore. And she did have good aim. Beat him every time at the arcade shooting games.

  “I could drop by to see you at lunchtime,” he offered. “We could grab some pizza.”

  “Sounds perfect. I should be able to take a break at—” She stopped and grinned at the sight of her sister rushing through the door, waving a magazine in the air. “Wow, it really is here.”

  Trina stopped at their table and held the magazine up alongside her face. “I’m famous!”

  Emily grabbed it, her hands shaking. The shot looked amazing. And there, in the lower right-hand corner, her name: “Teen Photo Contest Winner: Emily Slovkowski.” She showed Zach. “I’m famous!”

  Zach’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Whoa. When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Emily shrugged. “I guess I didn’t believe it myself until now. I mean, it’s kind of a big deal, right?”

  “Yes, it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal.” Zach grabbed the issue and turned to the people sitting at the next table, an older couple about her mom’s age. “Check this out. My girlfriend took this. That’s her sister, right there.” He pointed to Emily and Trina.

  “Stop. They don’t care.” Emily reached for the magazine, but the woman had already taken it.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  One of the Big Moo counter workers, who was wiping down a nearby table, came over to look. “Is that you?” he asked Trina. He turned to another customer. “Check this out.”