As Aunt Jane and David washed dishes, Zoe slipped up to her room to call her mom. She sprawled across her bed and unbuttoned her jeans, which were squeezing into her stomach. She was going to ask it short and simple: Who’s my father? She was almost sixteen. She deserved to know.
Zoe had talked to her mom earlier that day. They’d made a plan to meet in Sun Valley for Christmas. Sierra was going to take her skiing.
It was late in Paris but not the middle of the night. For a second Zoe wondered if her mom would be drinking, if her words would be slurred. That had happened before, back when she used to drink.
Before she could chicken out, she hit Mom. The phone rang and rang that monotone European beep. When she got her mom’s voice mail, she cleared her throat and then said, “Hey, Mom. It’s me. I’m just calling because, well, I had some questions about who my father is. I know it’s . . . I don’t know . . . I’m ready to talk about it. Thanks.”
DECEMBER
JAKE
“WANT TO THROW a football?” Jake asked his dad as he flopped next to him on the couch.
It was warm out, about sixty degrees. Jake had already taken a ten-mile bike ride, but he still had energy to burn.
“Now?” Jake’s dad usually drank a few beers and watched soccer on Sunday afternoons.
“Yeah . . . sure. It’s really nice out.”
Jake’s dad switched off the TV, dropped his empty bottle in the recycling bin, and went upstairs to change. When he came down, Jake was in the front yard, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a football under his arm.
“Should we run to the park?” Jake asked. The weather was pumping him up.
“A run and football?” His dad laughed as he leaned over to tie his sneaker. “You want to kill me? Why don’t you run and I’ll meet you at the park?”
“That’s okay. Walking is fine.”
There were tons of people in Mount Olive Park. Women working out, kids scooting, guys shooting hoops. If it weren’t for the bare trees and the Christmas decorations, it would feel like September.
Jake and his dad tossed the football, stepping farther apart with every pass. Jake still threw a tight spiral, and he was fast. When he received the ball, he charged past his dad, planting it firmly on a patch of brown grass.
“Touchdown!” a voice yelled.
Jake spun around. Teddy was watching them from the path.
“Theodore!” Jake’s dad shouted. That was what he used to call him when they’d been younger. It was an inside joke.
“It’s Teddy,” Jake hissed to his dad, because they weren’t younger, and he and Teddy weren’t on inside-joke terms anymore.
“Teddy,” Jake’s dad said, waving him over. “Join us for a little football. It’s been too long.”
“Dad,” Jake whispered. His face was hot, and he wanted to disappear. Or maybe not. Maybe he hoped Teddy would come over. Or maybe not. Maybe that would be too much.
“Hey, Mr. Rodriguez,” Teddy said, tossing down his water bottle and jogging across the grass. “It’s Ted now.”
Ted? He scooped up the ball and spiraled it hard into Jake’s arms. Jake caught it, stumbling slightly, and chucked it to his dad. His arms were wobbly, so it was a pathetic throw. He was trying not to look at Teddy’s—Ted’s—legs in his slippery blue shorts. He had hair on his legs now, and muscles that bulged out from his calves.
“Jake!” Ted received a ball from Jake’s dad and then threw it to Jake. “What kind of throw was that?”
Jake caught it and spiraled it back to Ted. This one was a hard throw, and Ted had to run to get it. Yes! Jake was grinning so hard, his cheeks hurt.
“Not bad,” Ted said. “Maybe you haven’t lost it, after all.”
They both cracked up and, just like that, everything changed. Jake and Ted and Jake’s dad were laughing and shouting and working up a sweat. A few other dads came over and they started playing touch football, except it quickly descended into light tackle. Jake and Ted were good together, passing down the field, dodging the old guys.
The dads were getting their butts kicked, so they split Jake and Ted onto opposite teams. It was dusk, and the ball had become harder to see. On one long throw, Jake somehow caught it. He was weaving through the pack when Ted tackled him. They tumbled onto the ground, their bodies mashed together.
The earth was hard and moist and smelled like rotting leaves. Jake and Ted lay there, tangled around each other. Jake could feel Ted’s bare arms and legs against his, and he could hear him panting. Ted pressed his hips into Jake, and Jake pressed back. When they did that, groin to groin, it felt like electricity zapping between their bodies. For a few seconds neither of them could move.
“All okay?” Jake’s dad called from across the lawn.
Ted and Jake both leaped up. They brushed off their knees and shook out their arms.
“I better go,” Ted said. “See you at school.”
Jake nodded. He wasn’t sure he could talk.
“Thanks, Mr. Rodriguez!” Ted called out to Jake’s dad.
Ted walked across the field and grabbed his water bottle. Jake watched him go. The thing was, Jake knew that Ted wouldn’t see him at school. He would look right through him like he didn’t exist.
JANUARY
WHITNEY
“MOM? DAD?” WHITNEY called weakly. It was two in the morning. Her chest was hurting so badly, she could hardly talk.
“Mom? Dad?” she called again. “Can you come in here?”
Whitney felt achy and hot and trapped in this limbo between sleep and awake. She’d had a cough for the past week. She thought it was getting better, but then, last night, she and Zach had gotten into a fight on the phone and she’d crawled into bed feeling like crap.
“Whit?” Alicia asked, pushing her door open. “Did you just call for Mom and Dad? Do you realize Dad lives in Chicago now?”
“I don’t feel so good.” Whitney started to cough. It was a deep hacking cough that sent shocks of pain through her chest.
Alicia touched Whitney’s forehead. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I’m getting Mom,” Alicia said, and then she left the room.
Whitney was trembling all over. She heard her mom and Alicia talking and then, seconds later, her mom burst in. She lay her hand on Whitney’s cheek and called to Alicia, “Go heat up the car. And call the emergency room. Tell them we’re on our way.”
GREGOR
“SO WHAT’S THE deal for Saturday afternoon?” Dinky said as soon as Gregor answered his phone. “Want to get a bunch of people together?”
Gregor hit speaker and lay on his floor, looking out the window. It was only nine, but the sky was black. “What about bowling? They have great wings at the bowling alley.”
“Or ice-skating,” Dinky said. “Hey, did you see that thing about Whitney Montaine? Ice-skating would be cool. I’d probably fall all over my ass. Or bowling. I love wings.”
“What thing?” Gregor asked, sitting up.
“Hang on, is Whitney the WM you had the marching band spell? I never thought about that until now, but—”
“What thing about Whitney?”
“The guidance counselor sent an email to all the sophomores. Didn’t you see it? She’s in the hospital with pneumonia. They didn’t say she was going to die, but—”
Gregor meant to say good-bye, but his finger just hit end. Dinky called back, but Gregor didn’t answer. With trembling hands, he opened his email and there it was, from two hours ago.
Dear Sophomore Class,
As some of you know, your fellow student, Whitney Montaine, is in University Hospital with acute pneumonia. It’s a critical situation, and the doctors are . . .
Gregor wiped away the tears, but more kept coming. No one, not even his dad, could understand how he felt about Whitney. And now she was sick, and there was nothing he could do.
If he could do something, he knew exactly what it was. The other day, his mom had dragged him to Card ’n’ Candle, and he’d s
een a teddy bear that made him think of Whitney. It was small and red and said Coup de Couer on the belly. Gregor wasn’t positive but he thought that meant “falling in love” in French.
What the hell. He was going to get it for her. If it wasn’t snowing, he’d bike downtown after school tomorrow, buy the bear, and drop it off at the hospital. He didn’t have to sign his name on the card. He just wanted her to have it.
FEBRUARY
ZOE
THERE WAS SOMETHING about being in Sun Valley with the altitude and the insanely blue skies that made Zoe feel like a different person. Back in Hankinson the skies had been soupy gray for months. No one there even knew she could snowboard.
Zoe’s mom was finally back from France, and they were spending Presidents’ Day weekend skiing with this boy Mac and his parents. Mac’s parents were movie producers who were friends with Sierra, and they often rented ski chalets near each other. Mac was short and broad, built like a bulldog. Back in California, Zoe and Mac used to fool around when they were bored at their parents’ parties. Not much, just groping. Mac was more into weed than anything. He was the kind of guy who smoked before school.
“I have something,” Mac said to her.
They were on his bed. Zoe’s long underwear was bunched around her ankles, but her panties were still on and she was fully clothed up top. They’d been snowboarding all morning and had gone to his place to heat up a pizza. After lunch Mac brought her to his room to roll a joint, but they ended up in bed.
“You mean you have a”—Zoe chewed at her thumbnail—“a condom?”
“Yeah,” Mac said, kissing her. His breath smelled like pepperoni.
As he crossed the room to his dresser, she could see his boner poking out from his long underwear. Zoe looked away. She was still a virgin and hadn’t thought she’d be having sex anytime soon. She hadn’t even kissed anyone in Hankinson yet. Then again, it was another world here. She was a different Zoe.
“Here goes nothing.” Mac sat on the end of the bed and tore the wrapper open.
Zoe tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. “I’m not sure I . . . uh . . .” She paused. Oh god. What was she even doing here?
“You don’t want to?” Mac asked.
Zoe shook her head. She wriggled her long underwear back over her panties.
“That’s cool,” Mac said, chucking the condom into the trash. “Want to just smoke?”
Zoe shook her head. “But you can.”
Mac reached for his joint. Zoe pulled the blanket around her chin. Maybe she wasn’t a different Zoe here. Maybe there was just one Zoe. Sometimes it all felt so confusing.
Later that night, as Zoe and Sierra soaked in the hot tub, Zoe studied her mom, her blond curls matted against her face, her lids half closed. Did her mom have any idea she’d almost lost her virginity today?
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” her mom said. “Remember what you asked me over the phone a few months ago?”
Zoe swirled her fingers in the steaming water. “Not really.”
“Over Thanksgiving,” Sierra said. “You left me a message.”
Zoe suddenly felt woozy. “You mean about my father?”
“I’ve thought long and hard about this. You should understand that there are reasons I can’t tell you much.”
“Even a name is okay,” Zoe said quietly. She was faint from the heat, but she didn’t want to move in case it made her mom stop talking.
“Let’s just say . . . it was while I was filming One Precious,” her mom said. “Please keep this between you and me. It would be a PR nightmare if it got out.”
Zoe rested her head on the edge of the tub. It was so surreal that one person’s PR nightmare was another person’s entire existence.
APRIL
MIA
LAST PERIOD ALL the sophomores were herded to their homerooms for a nationwide standardized math exam. Most everyone groaned, except Mia and a few others. Mia loved filling in those tidy bubbles with a number-two pencil. It was her version of Zen.
When the test was over, Mia was so energized that she ditched the school bus and walked home. It was over three miles, but the air was soft, and tulips were poking through the wet earth. As she walked she listened to music and thought about math. It sounded dorky, but when she was taking that standardized test or sitting in calculus, her brain was at peace instead of whirring in overdrive like it was most of the time.
Mia passed a shuttered pizza delivery store and eyed herself in the reflection. She’d finally stopped growing at almost six feet, and her hair was past her shoulders. It was streaked with green and purple. She was wearing her Doc Martens, short denim shorts, and fishnet tights. Her boobs—both her boobs—were now a satisfying size C. As she crossed onto a quiet street, she took off her sweater and tied it around her waist, the sun toasting her shoulders.
But then something caught her eye.
A scuffed van was idling at a stop sign. It was just sitting there, engine on. As she passed the van, she tugged off her headphones, clenching them in her fist.
A man with mirrored sunglasses was alone in the driver’s seat. He grinned at Mia in this hungry way like he was going to eat her up. Mia hurried through the crosswalk, but then she heard the van behind her. Her legs went weak. She was too scared to take out her phone and call 911. Anyway, it wasn’t like 911 could prevent her from being dragged into the van.
Panicked, she broke into a sprint, her heavy boots thudding against the concrete. She ran until she reached a house at the end of the block with a sprinkler arching across the lawn. As she rang the doorbell, her lungs burned and she could barely breathe. The van was at a stop sign thirty feet behind her.
Please be home, Mia thought as she jabbed the doorbell. Please save me from this creepy abductor guy.
Miraculously, the door opened, and there was Jake Rodriguez. Mia rarely saw him in school. All she knew about him was that he was gay and he mostly hung around the art room, oil paint splattered on his jeans.
“What’s up, Mia?” Jake asked. He was wearing a white T-shirt and plaid shorts, and he was barefoot.
Mia’s legs were trembling. She clutched the doorframe so she wouldn’t collapse.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked.
Mia gestured to the van. Now it was driving slowly past them along the street. Jake raised his eyebrows like, Yeah, that does look a little weird.
Mia thought about blurting out, I was the one who slipped the Captain Underpants book in your locker. Maybe it was a stupid gift, but please, please stay with me until the van is out of sight. Instead she started crying.
Jake stepped onto the porch and wrapped his arms around her. Mia tried to relax, but it was hard. She’d never been hugged by a guy before.
“Want a ride home?” Jake asked, pulling back. “My mom is here. She can probably drive you.”
Mia wiped her nose with her hand. “Yeah . . . if that’s okay.”
Jake disappeared for a minute and then came back with his mom. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, her hair in a loose ponytail.
“Are you okay?” she asked, touching Mia’s arm. “Did something happen?”
Mia bit her lip. “No, I’m fine,” she said quietly. The man in the van suddenly seemed far away, like maybe she’d imagined it, like maybe he wasn’t even a real threat.
As they walked to the car, Jake asked for Mia’s number. He pulled out his phone and added her to his contacts. No boy had ever asked for her number. Maybe this was the start of something new. Maybe something good could come from something bad.
MAY
WHITNEY
WHITNEY WAS GOING to be late for tennis, but she had something to deal with first. At least it was a home match. She could change into her outfit in two minutes and just miss warm-ups. The tennis coach was a laid-back Canadian guy who didn’t even take attendance.
The thing was, Whitney had to find someone who could beat Zach for junior class treasurer. Stupid Zach, who cheated on her when
she was in the hospital with pneumonia! Thank god Autumn told her so she could dump Zach before she looked like a total idiot.
But Whitney was not going to let him cruise through another student council election and feel all studly and popular when he was a cheating jerk. She had to get revenge.
She’d considered running against him. She could beat him easily, except then it would be too obvious. Everyone would think she was hurt. Which she was. But the important thing was not letting it show.
“Jake!” Whitney shouted. She’d just come out of the guidance counselor’s office where she’d gotten a petition to run for treasurer. And there was Jake Rodriguez walking down the hall toward her.
“Hey, Whitney,” Jake said. “What’s up?”
Whitney smiled at Jake. He was perfect. He was cute and friendly and people said he was a great artist. Also, he was gay, which would totally help. The girls all thought he was hot, and the guys weren’t threatened that he was going to steal their girlfriends.
“Maybe this is crazy,” Whitney said, “but do you want to run for treasurer for our class next year?”
“Uh.” Jake shifted his sketchbook from one arm to the other. “Why?”
“Well . . .” Whitney paused. She and Jake had never really hung out. She should text him sometime. “I think you’d be good for it.”
“I ran for student council last year and sort of . . . lost,” Jake said.
“Really?” Whitney had no idea! If she’d known, she would have voted for him.
Jake looked down at his sneakers.
“Seriously, I’ll make it happen for you,” Whitney said. “I’ll get all the signatures. Don’t worry. You’ll totally win.”
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