I drag myself out of bed. When I go upstairs, I see the countertops covered in boxes, and the chain mail weighs heavier on my shoulders.
I’m in the middle of maneuvering my way around boxes to make a cup of ramen when Zeb comes out of the bathroom. He takes one look at me and says, “Whoa.”
I’m rocking the cave-woman look in my baggy sweats and oversize T-shirt, hunched over, ponytail askew with half my hair falling out of it.
“I don’t feel good,” I say defensively, not bothering to point out his own bedheaded bouffant.
He puts his hands up. “Sorry.”
I pour boiling water into my Styrofoam cup of noodles and weigh down the paper lid with a fork. “Want one?” I ask.
“For breakfast? Nah. I had toast.” Despite his jab against my breakfast-food choice, he grabs a bag of off-brand barbecue chips.
The glasses are packed, so I pour us both paper cups of orange juice and we sit at the table. I have to push back two boxes so I can actually see my brother’s face.
I peel back the paper lid on my noodles as Zeb talks.
“Mom says the neighbors are helping us move tomorrow since Dad has to work a double shift.”
I don’t respond because I know a tirade against our parents will ensue, especially my dad. He can’t take a couple of hours off?
“It might be kind of fun living in an apartment, right?” Zeb asks. “It has a pool.”
I nearly choke as I force myself to say, “Right.”
I proceed to stuff my face so I don’t have to lie to Zeb anymore. Likewise, he shoves in handfuls of chips as his eyes glaze over in thought. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I don’t have the energy to ask.
Instead, I open the family laptop so I can work on my presentation. I have to pretend I’m a news reporter, using a real news article from a Central American country of my choice, and talk for three minutes. I chose one about the Panama Canal, and I already did my research and written portion at school. Now I search for images of the canal to go along with my visual presentation. Then I type up my verbal part and go over it several times. I’m allowed to use notes, but I want to memorize as much as I can.
I barely finish in time, and there’s not even a minute to spare for a shower. I change real quick, yank a brush through my hair, yell “Bye!” to Zebby, and race to school.
Chapter Eight
A buzz of excitement fills the air at Peakton, knowing we have the next week off from school, but I can’t bring myself to fully share the enthusiasm. Tomorrow I’m moving from the house I love. The only house I’ve ever known. And why? Because my parents, who I know love each other, cannot get their shiz together and make up.
I check in at the office and race to Spanish, skidding in right before the bell. I’m actually kind of excited for my presentation. Nerd alert.
As I begin presenting my project, Mrs. Hernandez watches me with her head cocked, a look of proud wonder on her face that she often reserves for me. Over the years, she’s given me more compliments and one-on-one time than any other teacher.
I’m so tuned in to my project that my three minutes fly by. The smile on my face feels foreign when everyone claps.
Mrs. Hernandez waves me over, and I notice for the first time there’s someone standing at her desk. It’s that Joel guy from English, the possible drug dealer who sleeps through class. I vaguely remember him coming in during my presentation.
“Zae, ¡excelente!” Mrs. Hernandez says. “And now you are being called to the guidance department.”
I look at Joel with the pass in his hand. Wow, he’s actually awake, and his hood is back. He’s got light-brown, almost blond, buzzed hair and small onyx earrings. He doesn’t look at me, just turns to go, and I follow.
He doesn’t talk as we walk, and normally I’d fill the silence, but when I left my Spanish room, the gloom descended on me again, so I stay quiet. He leads me to the guidance wing, to Mrs. Crowley’s room, and leaves me.
The older woman smiles and pulls off her glasses. “Ah, Zae Monroe, come in.”
She motions to the seat across from her desk, so I sit. A dramatic pause happens while she looks at me, and my eyes wander to the motivational posters on her walls.
Walk the Talk.
Dare to Soar.
“Your mom called and explained everything that’s going on at home.” Oh, great. Her voice is calm and soothing, but I am not soothed. I’m immediately uneasy. She pauses like she’s expecting a reaction, so I give a stiff nod.
“No matter how common divorce is, it’s never easy—”
“They’re not divorcing,” I quickly say. “Just, like, a temporary separation.”
I know how naïve I sound. And I see the pity in her eyes, like I’m a being a fool, which makes me want to scream and bolt from her presence.
“Well, you never know,” she says. “These things are delicate, and difficult on everyone involved. Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Zae?”
“No.” I should have probably pretended to think about it instead of blurting out my response, because she gives me that pitying look again and I want to rail. Then I make things worse with the most famous lie in history: “Everything is fine.”
She lets out a thoughtful hum. I wonder what her face would look like if I brought my fists down and pounded on her desk.
“Sometimes when things are hard, I find it’s best to look ahead. To plan. To keep my mind busy. What are your plans after high school? Will you be applying to colleges this fall? If so, perhaps you can begin looking now. Researching. Filling out paperwork. It could be therapeutic.”
Uuuugh. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I know that’s crazy since it’s the end of my junior year, but it’s one of those questions that makes me really anxious. Kenzie wants to go to James Madison, like her mom, to become a biology teacher. Lin already has a stack of applications for places she can study business and finance. Monica is big into marketing, publicity, and communications. They’re all so sure of themselves. College bound.
The only things that interest me are languages, so when people ask what I want to be, I say a Spanish teacher so they’ll leave me alone about it. But I really don’t love the idea of standing in front of a classroom every day. In fact, I want high school to be the end of my classroom days, even as a student. I’ve never told anyone that. Am I a total loser for not wanting to go to college?
I want to travel and learn even more languages. I’ve looked into being a professional translator, but most places are looking for advanced degrees for certification. I thought about being a travel YouTuber, showing people the world and other cultures through interaction, but that obviously takes money to start up. I keep telling myself I have time to figure it out, but it’s moments like this that I feel the walls closing in.
“Okay, yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that.” I force a smile and her eyes narrow like she’s consulting her inner lie detector.
I must pass because she says, “Please come to me any time if you need to talk.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Look at my manners.
I stand and head for the door before she can say anything else. When I get outside, Joel is sitting in a chair with his hood up, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed. I walk past and barely hear when he says, “Nice presentation.”
I turn in surprise. He’s not even looking at me—his eyes are still closed.
“Me?” I ask dumbly.
He grins and cracks one eye open. “Sí.” Ah, he’s talking about my Spanish class.
I snort. So random. “Thanks.”
He closes both eyes again, so I leave, shaking my head. I should’ve asked him if there were any Capri Sun poems today. Though he’d probably been sleeping.
When I get home, I find Zebby on the couch where I left him. I plop down beside him, and we zone out mindlessly in front of the television until Mom gets home. She sets down her huge purse.
“Zeb, you didn’t answer any of my calls today. I’ve been worried sick!
” She walks in and crosses her arms, her eyebrows scrunched up at my brother, and he looks at me.
Oh, yeah—crap. “I forgot to leave my phone with him,” I admit.
We don’t have a landline. For a second I feel bad, knowing she worried and he didn’t have a way to call anyone, but in the end I only shrug at her gaping face, because he’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Her mouth gets tight.
“What?” I ask, annoyed that she’s freaking out. “Nothing happened. Maybe it’s time to get him a phone.” I know I’m being disrespectful, and I brace myself against her verbal comeback, or even a slap, but she looks almost scared of me.
“Maybe you should watch your mouth before you lose your phone again.” The threat is as weak as her voice, and for a second I feel power over her—a power I never wanted to have, and yet, all the anger living inside me is eating it up like candy.
Still, I don’t want to lose my phone over spring break, even for a day, so I snarl “Sorry,” in a way that shows I’m not sorry at all. She shakes her head and lets out a sigh as she turns away. God, I feel gross about what I can get away with lately, but another part of me screams that I deserve to have an attitude against the people who are turning my life upside down.
I feel dirty right then, inside and out. I stand up and stomp toward the bathroom to shower. As I pass the kitchen, I see Mom pulling out all the ingredients for taco soup, my favorite, and my stomach sours with guilt.
Our last night in the house is the saddest night of my life. All the beds have been taken apart, and they lean against the walls in the front hall. Zebby and I share an air mattress in my empty room with our sleeping bags on top. We eat popcorn and play with flashlights. He wants to hear a spooky story, so I look one up on my phone, and it’s so cheesy that we end up laughing hysterically. It’s the kind of laughter that stems from stress, when it’s not really funny but you can’t help yourself. You can’t stop. It’s either laugh or cry, and we’re so tired of crying.
But after Zeb falls to sleep, in the quiet of my empty room with its barren walls, I do cry.
Spring Break
Chapter Nine
Brutal, seething anger. It’s all I feel as I stand in the cramped apartment on my first day of spring break, wondering how it got to be this bad. We had a yard sale this morning and took the leftover stuff to Goodwill since we can’t afford a storage unit. Now we’re down to the bare minimum in every sense of the word.
I keep my earbuds in, music blaring, as I unpack stuff in my and Zebby’s room, ripping open boxes with aggression. Mom said we could sell my full-size bed from the old house and get a bunk bed instead, but Zeb offered to sleep on the couch at night to let me have the bedroom to myself, which is really solid of him. The bedroom will be where his clothes and few belongings are stored. There isn’t room for both our dressers, so we’re using storage bins that slide under the bed.
This whole thing blows.
My heart leaps when my phone buzzes against my thigh.
Kenzie. U sure u can’t come 2nite?
Jack Rinehart’s party. I’m not in the mood to be sociable.
I text her back. I’m sure. Sorry, sweets. Have fun.
She sends a crying face.
When I take my earbuds out to go to the bathroom, I hear Mom and Zebby talking in her room.
“Why can’t I help him move, too?” Zeb asks.
“He’s got it under control, honey.”
“Okay, fine. But when can I see him?”
“Maybe next weekend?”
“A whole week?”
“He needs to get settled in, baby.” There’s a plea in Mom’s voice, like she wishes this whole thing would go away. She’s always been a strong yet sensitive woman. I know she has to be hurting, but I still can’t help but be angry with her. She let this happen.
Zeb stomps out of the room with a scowl and I duck in to the bathroom doorway before he has a chance to bowl me over.
At ten thirty that night I get another text while I’m mindlessly scrolling videos. This time from Monica.
OMG. Major drama. John broke up w Lin. Now she’s wasted & making a scene.
Oh, crap. Poor Lin. Granted, we’ve all been waiting for this to happen, but still.
I call Monica and it’s loud when she answers.
“Seriously, Zae. I wish you were here.” Her voice sounds thick.
“You need to drag her away,” I tell Monica. “Get her out of there.”
“I want to, but we’ve all been drinking. John was supposed to be our ride home!”
Double crap. My girls need me.
“I’ll come get you guys.”
“Oh, thank God!” Monica sighs into the phone. “I freaking love you.”
I redo my curls into a ponytail, making it higher and cuter, switch out my oversize T-shirt for a fitted black one, and pull on my snuggest jeans. I slip my toes into sparkly flip-flops, despite the chill in the night air, wishing there was time to do my makeup, but there isn’t.
I grab my tote purse and run to tell Mom where I’m going. She probably won’t like it, but she’s always given me a lot of freedom, and now I have her guilt on my side. I lift my hand to knock on her door and hear her voice on the other side—a low, emotional murmur. I press my ear to the door.
“—not going to lie for you anymore, Xander. Hurry up and tell them or I will!”
Tell us what? My chest tightens. I knock twice and open the door before she answers. She hangs up, and we stare at each other. Her eyes are bloodshot and she looks older, crumpled in the middle of the bed.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“What’s going on with Dad?”
She blinks, an innocent look plastered on her face.
My voice softens. “Tell me the truth. Please, Mom.”
A war of indecision battles in her eyes.
“I really want him to tell you himself,” she says.
It feels like a stampede of horses is thundering through my chest.
“Just tell me.”
She swallows hard. As each word is torn from her mouth, it seems to pain her. “Your dad . . . he’s not moving in with a regular roommate.”
Different scenarios tumble end over end through my imagination, landing on the most terrible option.
“He’s moving in with a woman?”
I wait for her to scoff and tell me “Of course not!” but she doesn’t. Instead her chin dips in a small nod.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Like . . . a girlfriend?”
Again with a slow, small nod. My stomach is clenched by an evil fist.
Dad has been cheating. I lose respect for the man I’ve always admired in that moment and it’s a horrible, disgusting feeling, as if something once precious has shown its true nature and turned to rust. Dad is no better than Wylie. Is no man capable of being loyal to the woman he supposedly loves?
“Honey, please,” she says. “Don’t be angry with him.”
What? “How can you stick up for him?” I hiss, trying not to yell.
Mom shuts her eyes. “It’s . . . complicated. But he loves you and Zeb.”
Yeah. Sure feels like it. All the vivacious color in my life has turned gray and ugly in a matter of days. I feel dizzy as I stand there.
“Don’t tell Zebby,” Mom begs.
I can’t think straight. I stumble a step backward into the door. “I have to go pick up my friends from a party and take them home. Their ride bailed.”
This seems to surprise her. “You shouldn’t drive right now. You’re upset, and it’s late. They can call their parents.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “If it wasn’t for the move today, I would’ve been with them anyway.”
She sets her jaw. “Be careful, Zae. Do you have your pepper spray?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t stay out late. Take them home and come right back.”
I don’t answer. Turning, I rush down the hall. Zeb is passed out on the couch in front of the flickering TV, fully clothed. T
hat was fast. Then again, it has been a long day. I shut the television off and pull the blanket from his old bed up around him. He snuggles down.
Something changes inside me as I leave our apartment—the bland, tiny box that will never be home. I feel the protective coating of my childhood innocence shed away, leaving me painfully exposed. Agony flares from every nerve ending, burning my eyes.
This is not just a break for my parents. They won’t be getting back together after some therapeutic time apart. Dad is with someone else—living with her. And nothing will ever be the same.
Chapter Ten
The drive to Jack’s house takes only ten minutes. My body shakes the entire way. I park across the street and make sure my eyes are dry and lipstick applied before I climb out, on a mission to find Lin and rescue her from pain and humiliation. Caused by a boy, of course.
I walk with purpose up the long driveway toward the house that’s thumping with life. I think about all the boys who’ve hurt me and my friends over the years. The boys who are looking for casual hookups with no plans of getting to know us. The boys who couldn’t care less if they hurt us, as long as they get what they want, moving on the moment they get bored. The boys who will be just like my dad someday.
Stupid, selfish creatures. Each one of them needs to be taught a lesson. They deserve to be treated the way they treat us. Used.
I burst into Jack’s house with vengeance in my heart. People yell my name and I raise my chin in mock nods, but my radar is poised to find my friends. Lo and behold, all three of them are shoved into the tiny hall bathroom where a line of grouchy girls waits. I knock and yell for them to open up. My heart clenches at the sight of Lin’s puffy red eyes, reminiscent of my mother’s. I hold out my hand and when she takes it, I pull her from the bathroom.
She digs her heels in. “I’m not leaving!”
Oh, boy. It’s her drunk voice. “Okay, fine, but let’s at least get some fresh air.” I pull her to the back deck. The four of us huddle in a corner and I squeeze her tight while she cries, leaning into me drunkenly.
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