When Zoey Fell Too Far

by Sparling,Amy

  “So what’s next?” I say. On stage the first band has finished, and they’re removing their equipment so the next band can set up.

  “Next we get you some magic juice!” Dana says, with this hint of evil excitement in her eyes.

  “You mean beer.”

  She nods. “I’ve never seen you drink before. This should be fun.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, like you’re some fancy drinker.”

  She shrugs. “I’ve drank more than you.”

  “And how exactly are we going to get alcohol?” I ask, holding up my wrists, x’s out. “This kind of prohibits us from walking up to the bartender and ordering anything but a water.”

  Her eyes light up like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. “That’s the fun part,” she says, leaning in closer like she’s telling me a secret. “You find a guy with no x’s on his hands and get him to buy you a drink.”

  “Oh, okay.” I nod. “That actually makes sense.”

  Ugh, only a prude wouldn’t have thought of that idea herself. I reach in my pocket and pull out the twenty bucks in five dollar bills I brought with me. “How much does a beer cost?”

  Dana folds her arms across her chest. The action makes her boobs pop up and out and I want to tell her that she really does have nice boobs and should stop complaining about them, but the look she’s giving me says it’s not a time for weird observations like that. “Zoey. You are completely helpless. You’re not going to ask a guy to buy you a drink with your own money!”

  I don’t really like where this is going, but I say it anyway. “So, I’m using his money?”

  “You’re not using anything, Zoey. You’re going to find a cute guy and flirt with him and he’ll be begging to buy you a drink.”

  “And how is that not using a guy?” I ask. On stage, another band is setting up their equipment and they seem to have some fans in a group of girls who are squealing and freaking out right up at the front of the crowd. One glance at the band tells me why. They’re all super attractive, in that grungy, skinny-jeans wearing kind of way.

  I glance back at Dana, realizing she never answered my question. She’s skimming the crowd, her eyes narrowed. “First of all, you have to find a guy you’re interested in. There’s some cute guys over there by that table,” she says, nodding in their direction.

  I shake my head. “No way am I so pathetic that I have to make you pick a guy for me. I’m going to do this myself.”

  Dana gives me this little impressed look and then steps back to let me have a good view of all the people who came out to see a bunch of crappy bands play. After a few minutes of crowd staring, I don’t really see anyone. Sure, there are cute guys, but they’re either already talking to girls, or they’re standing in such a huge group of friends that I’d be too scared to talk to one of them.

  “Time’s a tickin’,” Dana says, pointing to her bare wrist as if it had a watch on it. “Remember that shell you wanted to break out of? It won’t happen if you don’t just move.” She gives me a gentle shove on my back and I stumble forward, then turn around to glare at her for almost making me fall.

  She holds up her cell phone, which has Devin’s smiling mug on it because he’s calling her. “I’m gonna take this call, and when I’m done, you better have a man and a beer, missy.”

  She gives me this serious look and then turns back to the mirrored alcove to answer the call, leaving me all alone in this crowd of people.

  I venture forward, walking the perimeter of the room, looking for someone, anyone, who is old enough to buy beer and who is vaguely cute enough to flirt with. The next band is already playing their songs, which are a lot better than the first band’s, and after five minutes I’m still empty handed.

  I don’t really even want a beer; I just want to prove to myself that I can do it. So I take a deep breath of the smoke-filled air, and keep looking.

  Then I see it.

  I see him. Tall, dark hair that’s shaved on the sides, broad shoulders and a black hoodie. Sure, Jonah’s not twenty-one and old enough to buy alcohol, but if anyone knows how to score some anyway, it’ll be him. My heart does this little leap and I walk faster, twisting between people and dodging plastic cups of beer.

  When I get right up behind him, I can’t help but grin as I tap him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

  He turns around.

  And he is definitely not Jonah.

  “Hey,” the not-Jonah says. He has a square jaw and stubble and little wrinkles on the corners of his eyes and I’d peg him to be at least twenty-five. His lips are full, a little pouty, and they curve up into a smile. “Do I know you?”

  I shake my head, so startled that this isn’t Jonah, and realizing like an idiot how badly I’d hoped it was Jonah, and now I can’t form words. I shake myself a little. “No, uh, I just wanted to say hi anyway.”

  I bite the bottom of my lip then try to smile. That could be considered flirting, right?

  Not-Jonah extends a hand, one without an X drawn on top of it, and says, “I’m Theo.”

  Or maybe he says Leo. I’m not sure because it’s louder than a freaking fire alarm in here.

  I shake his hand, and bat my eyelashes and try to come up with something else to do that’s also flirty. Now I’m wondering why I never bothered to take flirting lessons online or something before I started out on this quest tonight. I am completely unprepared.

  “Zoey,” I say. His grin widens, and yeah, he’s kind of cute, which makes my insides twist up into knots and yet somehow, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about how Jonah is cuter than this Theo/Leo guy.

  Not that it matters, of course.

  “So,” he says while his eyes roam down my body. “Can I buy you a drink.”

  I flush a deep and embarrassing red. It’s happening, I can’t believe it’s happening. “Yes,” I say. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter 11

  On Monday, I’m back at Mom’s house. Since the atmosphere in our little duplex is so much different, it almost feels like my wild night out with Dana happened in some parallel universe. Even during school today, I kept having to remind myself that it did happen.

  Let’s take inventory:

  I went out with Dana to night club.

  I flirted with a guy.

  I drank my first beer.

  I drank my first beer that a random guy bought me.

  I stayed out until midnight and Dad didn’t even care.

  My flirting skills have increased exponentially.

  Okay, it’s not like my skills were that great to begin with, so even though they’ve improved a lot since the night at The Moonlight, I’m probably still not going to win an award for my flirting technique any time soon. Still, it’s progress.

  Oh, and by the way, that beer? It was gross. Tasted like stale cat piss, if that kind of thing was bottled, chilled and served in a plastic cup. Drinking is definitely on my list of things to do, but getting drunk is not. The very idea terrifies me. I don’t like being artificially out of my mind.

  When I was thirteen I had to get a small surgery on my finger to remove a cyst. They put me on some kind of drug that made me loopy and relaxed and it was the worst thing ever. I laughed, giggled, and apparently told jokes to the nurses. Everyone thought it was hilarious, but it was not my finest hour.

  I imagine getting drunk will be a lot like that, and I’m just not all about making a fool of myself. But my night of fun with Dana helped me scratch off a lot of things on my list, metaphorically of course. I’m not actually crossing anything out until I’ve done it so many times that no one thinks I’m a prude.

  Mom calls me into the living room and I abandon my half-finished history homework to see what she wants. She’s still in her work scrubs, sitting on the couch watching some prime time drama show she DVRs.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Not much. I got a hundred dollar tip today,” she says, gesturing to the space on the floor in front of her.

  “Nice,” I sa
y, then I go sit down in front of the coffee table. Mom begins to rub my shoulders, a habit she does almost every time we’re hanging out. She rubs people’s muscles for a living and then comes home and does it, too. It’s like she can’t sit still unless her hands are massaging something. (But I’m not complaining.)

  “Anything new going on at school?” she asks.

  I shrug and watch the weirdness on the television. Mom’s show is really, really bad. “Not really. Just the same old crap.”

  “This was a long week. I missed you a ton, kiddo. I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me too,” I say, even though it’s not exactly true. I spend half of my life with each of my parents so I don’t really have a favorite. I suspect Mom and Dad secretly each hope that my favorite house is their house, so sometimes I let them think that.

  Mom’s thumbs dig into my shoulders, her expert talent finding a knot and then eliminating it. I close my eyes and wonder why I have so much tension in my shoulders right now. School isn’t too hard right now, so it’s probably all of the stress I’m having in dealing with this prude business.

  “I was thinking we could go out for Chinese,” Mom says a little while later, when I’ve nearly fallen asleep under her magic fingers. “You hungry? I can change clothes real fast and then we can go.”

  I’m about to say sure, that sounds great. Then it hits me. Only prudes go out to dinner with their moms. The last thing I need is Alex Blackwood, or some other asshole from school seeing me out with my mom so soon after being put on the list. I’d probably get mocked even worse if anyone saw that.

  “How about I get take out?” I say. “We could rent a movie and just stay in and relax.”

  Mom nods slowly, like she’s starting to like my idea more with each second that passes. “We could do that. I’ll let you pick the movie.”

  Crisis avoided, I think as I smile and write down Mom’s Chinese food order.

  ***

  After dinner, when Mom’s asleep and won’t be walking into my room, (trust me, I checked to make sure she’s really asleep) I open my closet and stare at all of my boring clothes. Dana and I have spent extensive time talking about how to dress sexier and less like a prude over the past week. It all comes down to tight pants and low cut shirts, the second of which is totally not allowed at school. But there are other ways to look hot within the confines of the high school.

  I bust out my makeup, turn on the little makeup mirror I rescued from the trash bin when Mom didn’t want it anymore, and get to work.

  Soon, I look kind of hot. My smoky eyes aren’t as great as Dana’s, but they’re okay. My lips are red and bold, my foundation flawless.

  I change into my good bra, the one with the weird shaped elastic band that promises to lift and separate, and put on a tank top over that. It makes my boobs look great and the cleavage is in abundance. Too bad no one from school can see me now.

  My cell phone lights up as if it’s delivering a message from fate. It’s really just Dana sending me some funny cat photo, but it sparks an idea. The school can’t see me looking hot as hell when I’m here in my bedroom, but the internet sees everything.

  Using the lighting from my makeup mirror, I lean forward, press my boobs together but in this way that doesn’t look like I’m forcing it, and then pucker my lips, parting them a little. I run my hand through my hair and then let it flow loosely around my shoulders. The whole thing is staged as hell, but aren’t all selfies?

  I snap a photo and post it to Instagram and Facebook with the caption: Bored after a long day.

  It’s a pretty pathetic caption, but after all the work I just put into my makeup, I don’t have any energy for anything else.

  Within seconds, I have a ton of likes, way more than usual. Though I have five hundred followers, most of them people from school, I never really post anything worth liking.

  But now the likes are flowing in, even as I lay in bed an hour later unable to sleep because of all this attention.

  And then the comments start.

  Chris Garcia: Damn shorty, you’re lookin’ hot

  Adrian Jones: sexy

  Jenny Saeed: your makeup is so cute!

  I grin as I set my phone on the nightstand and pull the sheets up to my chin. Who’s the prude now? It’s certainly not me.

  Chapter 12

  Mom does a double take in morning, nearly spilling her coffee on herself as she pours it into a mug. “Um, Zoey?”

  I wince and then back up. I was so close to getting to my sweater that’s hanging on the coat rack near the front door. So close.

  But of course she saw me in my low cut and extra tight camisole. “Yeah?” I say all casual like I have no idea why she’d be stopping me.

  “You forgot your shirt.”

  “Ha ha,” I say, as I start walking toward the coat rack. “I just forgot my sweater.”

  “You’re seriously wearing that?” Mom says, peering at me over her coffee cup. Mom spends her days in scrubs and her nights in pajamas, so it’s not like she’s an expert on sexy dressing, but I can tell she’s not amused.

  I shrug. “I planned to wear my sweater all day, so it’s not a big deal.”

  Mom lifts an eyebrow. Her feelings are etched plainly across her face—she wants to tell me to put more clothes on but she realizes I’m kind of too old to boss around now. “Well, whatever you think is best,” she says after a few moments of contemplation.

  At school, none of the students take a second look at me and my fabulous assets. I guess only moms notice when their prudish daughters suddenly start dressing sexier. But let’s be honest, I’m not even sure wearing a super sexy shirt that can only be seen a few inches because I’m wearing a button up sweater over it is considered sexy.

  Still, I stand tall and straight, hoping to snag some guy’s attention with my cleavage, but it doesn’t seem to work until I’m in second period. Mrs. Abbey is absent today and our sub puts on a movie about a deaf family and then sits in the teacher’s chair playing on her phone. It’s the kind of perfect school day that only happens once in a blue moon. We all do our own thing since there’s no real school work to do.

  Me? I’m looking for someone to flirt with and Dana seems to know this, because she busies herself by texting Devin instead of sneaking over to sit next to me.

  I sit in the last row of chairs because Mrs. Abbey gave us a seating chart on the first day of school and that’s where I ended up. Dana is a few rows up and to the left, sitting behind this Asian girl who is super quiet but an excellent signer even though she’s only had one year of sign language class and we’ve all had three.

  I glance around the classroom and find everyone absorbed in their own stuff. Some guys are leaned over one cell phone, grossly absorbed in whatever they’re looking at. Some girls up front genuinely seem interested in the video even though I saw it in my freshman year sign language class so it’s hard to pay attention. It’s too bad they don’t make more movies about deaf culture because then we’d have something else to watch. Then the rest of everyone is either playing on their phones, doing homework, or staring off into space.

  Kyle Ybarra sits in front of me, and he’s one of those staring-off-into-space guys. He’s not much of a talker, and even though we had the same kindergarten class and a few others together over the years, I don’t know much about him. But he sits right in front of me so he’s an easy target.

  I cringe at the very idea of calling a guy a target, like I’m some hunter and he’s a deer. Is this what I’ve become now?

  Still, I lean forward, making sure the boobs are on display, and tap Kyle on the shoulder. He jumps a little and turns around, his eyebrows lifted in confusion like he can’t possibly know why I’d want to talk to him when I’ve never talked to him in the past.

  Suddenly, I don’t know why I want to talk to him either.

  Oh yeah, the flirting.

  “Hey,” I say with a smile. It worked on that Theo/Leo guy at the club, so maybe it’ll work here.
r />   “Hey?” he says, the confusion remaining. Ugh, this is not going well.

  I smile bigger and lean forward a little. Now his eyes dip to my boobs just for a second. He blushes, then looks back up at my eyes. “What’s up?”

  But he doesn’t say it in this sexy way. He says it like he’s never been more annoyed in his life.

  Abort!

  I sit back down and shrug casually while I try to think of an excuse. In the corner of the room, Kris Edgemont gets up to throw something in the trash, stopping when he sees my boobs. I look back at Kyle.

  “I thought I saw a spider on your shoulder, but, it was just a shadow.”

  Kyle’s eyebrows pull together and he looks down at his shoulder. “Okay,” he says, turning back around.

  Well that didn’t go so well.

  I roll my eyes and lean back in my desk, staring at my cell phone and notebook, the only two things I bring to this class.

  The scent of a little too much cologne hits me and I look up, seeing Kris Edgemont standing over me, his crotch exactly eye level. (I really don’t know why I’m thinking that, but yeah.)

  “What’s up Caplan?” Kris says, sliding backwards into the empty desk to my right.

  “Just enjoying this magnificent school approved movie,” I say, nodding toward the screen at the front of the room.

  Kris is tall and a little stocky, but it seems like it’s mostly muscle. He wears designer clothes and always has, because I’m guessing his parents are rich. He has short brown hair, a square-ish jaw, and the bluest eyes ever. He’s totally hot in that jock way. And it’s because he’s also a jock that Kris and I aren’t friends. We’re not enemies or anything, but he hangs with a totally different crowd than I do.

  They call his crowd the popular crowd.

  Kris is either blatantly staring at my boobs or he doesn’t realize it, but I can tell and it makes me feel equal parts excited to have his attention, and a little creeped out. I mean yeah, I wanted to use my boobs to flirt, but now that it’s working, I just feel . . . less, somehow.