by Michelle Lee
Great, I'm stuck.
I can't help but peer at him through the curtain of hair I've created between us. Between the parted strands of hair, I take in his profile. He really is beautiful—a beautiful jerk. But, so far, he seems nice. I mean, he did, after all, bend down and pick up my notebook for me. If he was a jerk, he wouldn't do that, right? Maybe they are just rumors after all. Maybe Evan Harris is just a nice guy—a beautifully-looking, nice guy.
I let out a sigh.
"You okay?"
I turn my attention to him, and his vibrant eyes mirror—concern?
"Um, I'm fine. Sorry."
He leans over our table, his face coming closer to me. I hold my breath. He hands me my syllabus and leans in further. "You, know you don't have to keep saying that." His warm breath fans across my neck, tickling my ear.
"Sor-I mean, okay."
"Good. I'm Evan, by the way." His face pulls away, and a crooked smile draws the corner of his mouth up.
"Zoey." I barely get my name passed the lump in my throat.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He quirks an eyebrow at me.
"Zoey. I like it. Well, Zoey, it looks like you're stuck with me." My eyes widen.
"Don't worry, I'm not a slacker. I won't let you do all the work." His smile grows, and it puts me at ease.
I smile back. "Good. I would hate to be stuck with a slacker."
Or a jerk.
Evan smiles and nods his head. He then turns his attention back to Mr. Williams who has started to go over the syllabus. I do the same, and I can't help but think that – just maybe – Erica might be wrong.
Chapter 7
High School Sophomore Year/middle of second quarter…
Apparently, Felicia Simpson got sick and threw up in the classroom—all over the classroom, actually. So, needless to say, the janitor is inside cleaning up the biohazard, while we wait in the hall. Mr. Williams isn't too pleased to say the least. Erica and Gabbie are talking about some new movie they are going to go see this weekend on their double date. I'm trying to pay attention, but I can't seem to. I am only feigning interest, nodding my head every so often and smiling, pretending to know what they are talking about.
"So, what about you, Zoey. Do you want to come out with us?" Gabbie asks, her eyes showing nothing but mischief.
"What?" I am paying attention now.
"I asked if you wanted to come to the movies with us. I'm sure we could set you up with somebody," Gabbie informs me.
I give Erica my "What the fuck" look. She doesn't rescue me; instead, she smiles and stifles a giggle.
"Um, no, I have to work on my English paper."
"Oh, come on, it will be fun." She nudges my side.
"No, thanks. Maybe some other time."
Truth is, no one holds my interest, and the thought of going on a blind date scares the shit out of me. One time, in Michigan, my friend, Claire set me up on a blind date with one of her boyfriend's friends. She couldn't tell me much about him except he was a nice guy. The whole night I had to hear about his Star Wars obsession. He even tried to show me his light saber—an actual light saber used in the movie. Plus he had to use his inhaler about a half a dozen times. I was ready to kill Claire after that. So, I decided right then and there to never, ever go on a blind date again.
"I'll hold you to it," Gabbie teases as the janitor finally says we can go back into the classroom.
Erica smiles at me, and then her eyes look over my shoulder and her smile widens. Before I can turn to see what she is smiling at, an arm wraps around my shoulders from behind, and I feel hard muscles against my back.
Evan.
"Come on, partner," Evan's warm breath tickles my ear.
My insides turn to mush as Evan pulls me into the classroom. I feel my lips curl up into a huge smile. Erica stares at me with a questioning look on her face. I smile wider. Erica and I have spent many nights talking about my crush on Evan. She seems to think I should act upon it, but I never, ever could. I know Evan just doesn't see me that way. As much as I want him to, I know he doesn't, even though moments like this give me hope. Evan stops dragging me, and we find our way to our seats while the rest of the students start to find theirs. I begin to take out my notebook and index cards, and when I look up, Evan is staring at me intently.
"What?" All I can think is there is something gross stuck in my hair, or I have something smeared across my face.
Erica would have told me, right? Shit!
I immediately set my notebook and index cards down, and my hands start smoothing out my hair in search of something. Evan smiles and shakes his head, looking away from me. "Nothing." I stare at him, completely dumbfounded.
What the hell was that all about?
"All right, everybody, we don't have much time left of class, so take out your index cards and continue working," Mr. Williams instructs the class.
Mr. Williams gave us the fun assignment of drawing animals from each phylum, along with the correct scientific name and definition. Most of the class isn't too thrilled with the mundane task, calling it bullshit, busy work. Not me; I love to draw, and of course I get creative with my depictions, adding background scenery and whatnot. Call me an over-achiever, I guess. I grab my trusty drawing pencil and begin drawing my next animal from the phylum—Arthropoda. I begin with a basic drawing of a spider and then begin adding details, turning something minimal—consisting of eight legs and a body, into a wolf spider.
"What the hell?" Evan whispers beside me.
"What?" I turn my attention from my notecard to him.
"What do you mean what? Zoey, I didn't know…seriously…a wolf spider…great…just great…mine looks like complete shit compared…" he rambles.
I love it when Evan's flustered instead of me. I peer over the table to get a closer look at what he's drawing. He quickly wraps his arms protectively around his work.
"Come on, Evan. It can't be that bad."
"Says Van Gogh," he teases, covering his work even more.
I reach over and start to pry his arms away. As soon as I touch him, I feel that all too familiar surge of electricity and my body hums.
He's just a friend. He's just your friend. Nothing more, never will be.
I push the way it feels as I touch him aside and continue to pull at his arms, trying desperately to get a peek at his masterpiece.
"I don't think so, Zoey. No way. You'll just make fun of my lack of art skills."
"Evan, I swear I won't. Just show it to me, please?" I give him my best pouty puppy dog look.
I tug a little more, and slowly but surely, he relinquishes and his arms pull away. He grabs the index card and thrusts it towards me. "Here, just don't…just don't laugh. We can't all draw as well as you."
"I won't. I promise." I take the index card from him and look at it.
And look at it.
And look at it.
"Just give it back," he demands, his hand reaching for the card.
I pull it back out of his reach, "Nope, I don't think so. Your…um…spider …it's…um…very…very cute." A small giggle escapes my mouth.
Evan tears the index card from my hand and sits back in his chair pouting.
God, he is so gorgeous when he pouts.
Get it together, Zoey. He's just your friend. He sees you only as his friend.
I might have to invest in one of those subliminal tapes that have that mantra playing on loop while I sleep…Evan is your friend, Evan thinks of you as a friend, only a friend, you're lucky he's your friend…blah, blah, blah. I take a deep breath, steady myself, and reach out and touch his shoulder. My hand tingles.
"Evan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Look, let me see it again, and I promise I won't…" I offer.
"Laugh?" He quirks an eyebrow.
I cross my heart as a peace offering.
After deliberating for like a second, Evans hands over his rendition of a spider. I stare at it, and the longer I do, I fall in love with it. I fall in l
ove with it because, first, Evan drew it, second, it is really cute, and third, it just proves that Evan is, well, Evan—not some perfect guy—he has imperfections, like the inability to draw.
I wonder if…
"Zoey, you can keep it if you want." He nudges me with his shoulder.
How did he…
"Evan, it's for your assignment—I couldn't." As much as I really want it, just to have a piece of him with me always, I couldn't.
"Zoey, seriously, if you want it, take it. I can easily draw another one. I mean, it might take me days, but the look on your face right now, I want you to keep it. So keep it. No biggie." He shrugs his shoulders and nudges me again encouraging me to keep the drawing.
"Keep it," he insists.
"Well, if you think you can make another one so easily…Fine, I'm keeping it."
He nods and I do a little happy dance in my head.
"Oh, and Evan, I think your spider is really cute."
And I think you're really cute too. Beyond cute actually, beautiful even.
"Now that you've said that, you can definitely keep it. I need to draw a more manly spider."
He grabs another index card and begins drawing another spider. I stare at the one I have in my hands a little while longer and then slide it into my folder, knowing that as soon as I get home, it's going on my bulletin board in my room. The two of us continue working on our drawings until the bell rings, signaling the end of class. Damn bell. I always want to disarm that bell. Biology is never long enough. I always want more—more time with Evan. It's never enough.
****
With my tray in hand, I navigate my way through the small, crowded cafeteria. A streak of almost jet black hair becomes my guide to my table—our table.
I can remember the first day of school. I was so panicked when it came time for lunch because I had no idea who I was going to sit with. The option of sitting alone didn't sit so well, churning my stomach. Those who sat alone at lunch were usually the social outcasts—I didn't want to be perceived as a social outcast. I can recall fidgeting with my tray in hand, my eyes scouring the room for a familiar face, when I spotted him—Evan.
My eyes zero in on him while my heartbeat quickens its pace, and my breathing hitches when he notices me staring at him. I instantly feel my skin break out in a cold sweat, having been caught. His lips twitch and pull into a dazzling smile. I feel my skin heat up. Then, like a dream, he waves me over. On instinct, I turn around to make sure it is really me he was calling over. I look to my left, and then my right, and I am alone. My gaze turns back to him, and Evan is shaking his head, his smile growing more beautiful. I hesitantly, start to make my way to him—my fingers turning white as I grip my tray, holding on for dear life. When I reach his table, I recognize a few more faces, and an empty seat beside Evan. Little did I know, on that day I met my lunchtime family.
"Hi, Zoey." Gabbie smiles at me as I take my seat—a seat that's been mine since that first day.
"Hey, Gabbie," I return, carefully setting my tray down.
My little lunchtime family consists of Gabbie, Ty, Chelsea, Jason, Amber, myself and Evan. Several conversations carry on at once, and I try to take part in all of them, but it's not easy. Evan leans in to me. "I'm gonna go grab a cookie, you want one?" His warm breath tickles my ear, and my body starts to tingle.
"No, thanks," I manage to answer as he scoots his chair back and makes his way to the lunch line.
Chelsea abandons her chair and takes Evan's. "So, you and Evan, huh?"
"What?" I whip my head around, confusion and embarrassment probably marring my features.
"I mean, you guys have a thing, don't you?" Chelsea pries.
"A thing?" Could she know? Does she know about my crush? Am I that obvious?
Oh my God. If Chelsea notices, maybe Evan does too.
My body heats up.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"I mean, you guys are sort of dating, aren't you?" Chelsea continues her line of embarrassing questioning.
I start to choke, and instantly all eyes are one me. I raise my hand, and I manage to get out an "I'm good." After my spaz attack, I answer Chelsea's question. "Evan and I are just friends. We are not dating. Just friends."
Chelsea scoots closer. "Really, 'cause I thought…" Chelsea begins, but I immediately interrupt her.
"You thought wrong, Chelsea. We're just friends—nothing more. Why would you think…"
Now, it's Chelsea's turn to cut me off. "I just thought…I don't know…you guys seem close, like really close…like couples close. I didn't want to…if you guys were something…more…" Her words fade.
"Chelsea, do you…um…like Evan or something?" As I ask her, I feel my heart sink.
She blushes. "A little. Maybe. I don't know. Evan just seems…" Chelsea gets that dreamy look in her eyes—a look I am all too familiar with.
Shit.
My heart sinks even further. "Chelsea, we're just friends."
"Who's just friends?" Evans voice cuts through our private conversation.
"Um…" I utter, unsure what else to say and turn to Chelsea for help.
"Just girl talk; no boys allowed," Chelsea offers.
Evan looks to me for further information. "Yep, girl talk," I confirm, my skin blazing.
Evan shrugs and sits in Chelsea's abandoned seat. I let out a deep sigh of relief.
"Nice save, huh? Anyway, if you guys are just friends, then you won't mind if I…if I see if Evan's interested in me? You know, maybe ask him out or something?" Chelsea's voice is filled with hope. I think my heart just left the building.
Hopeful? Chelsea doesn't need to feel hopeful. She's beautiful, and smart, and funny. Evan will definitely go out with her. No hope needed. What do I do, though? Do I lie and tell her no, I seriously doubt he'd be interested at all—ever. Or, do I push aside my feelings for Evan, since there's absolutely no hope for anything more, and tell her to go for it? Right now, I totally hate my life.
"We're just friends, Chelsea. If you wanna ask him out, then ask him out." I try to be indifferent.
"If you're sure. I see the way you look…"
"We're just friends," I defend.
I don't want Chelsea or anyone else, other than Erica, to know about my crush—especially Evan. It would ruin everything. I take a deep breath as my heart runs away. "I'm sure, Chelsea."
She just nods her head, not pushing any further. I have just lost my appetite, and I push my tray away. I look up, and Evan is staring at me, his eyes full of nothing but concern. He's always concerned. I offer my best "I'm okay" smile, hoping he believes it. His features soften slightly. Then his eyes flicker to Chelsea, and that's when I see it. The unspoken words between them, ultimately between us. Evan and I will always be just friends. My heart loses its way in the rain that now pelts against the cafeteria windows.
Forever only friends.
Chapter 8
A couple of weeks or so after Halloween…
It is about the hundredth time I've looked at the text message—Can't wait to see you Friday.
My heart flutters slightly just reading it. Griffin and I have been texting and occasionally talking on the phone ever since we met at Geoffrey and Patrick's Halloween party. I honestly didn't think I would hear from him. I mean, how many times do you meet a guy at some party, have a connection—or so you think—give him your number, only to never hear from him again—ever. But Griffin isn't that guy. He did call and text and ask me out for Friday. I am going out with Griffin on Friday. Friday. Two days away. Two days.
Right now I am on my way to have lunch with Evan, and little does he know that we are going to have "the talk." The talk about his overprotectiveness. In high school and college, it was endearing for a while and at times necessary. But this isn't high school or college anymore. I am no longer shy, awkward, clumsy, unsure-of-herself Zoey. I am comfortable in my own skin and with who I've become. Sure, that old Zoey rears her ugly head once in a while, but this me controls her—a far cry
from the old me. Evan needs to see that I am not that girl he saved or comforted over and over. He needs to see me for the person I am now. Hopefully, this conversation at lunch will change all that.
I make my way to the hostess stand at the little bistro—our bistro. "Good afternoon. Welcome to Café One O Three," the very nice hostess announces.
"Hi, I'm meeting someone. He's about this tall, hair looks like…" I begin my hand still lingering in the air above me as she interrupts.
She leans in so no one else can hear her. "Looks like he just had sex and rolled out of bed. Oh, he's here. I'll take you right to him," she finishes and pulls away from me, her eyes filled with what can only be described as want and lust. Evan has that effect on women.
"Um…yeah…thanks." I never know what to say when some girl, woman—or man for that matter—drools over Evan. You think I would be used to it by now.
To me, he's just my Evan, even though a very long time ago, I was the one drooling. I shake my head and follow "Miss All-Too-Eager" through the restaurant. I instantly spot his hair before even seeing him, and the butterflies start to attack my stomach.
You can do this, Zoey. Be firm. You are a woman—the woman. You are not in high school anymore, and Evan doesn't need to keep rescuing you.
My little pep talk does next to nothing to deter the butterflies and their constant attack. Evan looks up and sees me approaching, his mouth quirking up into a playful smile. I take a seat across from him, still battling the butterflies.
"Your server will be right with you," Miss All-Too-Eager tells Evan, totally ignoring me. I just roll my eyes and shake my head.
"What?" Evan questions, his eyebrows scrunched together and his lips twisted to the side.
"Just typical," I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.
"Zoey, I can't help it if every woman finds me attractive, present company excluded, of course. I'm just working with what God gave me. So, not my fault," he responds, waggling his eyebrows.
Does he not know I always thought of him as beautiful? Figures.