Solving Zoe

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Solving Zoe Page 10

by Barbara Dee


  “I think you do know, Zoe. I think you know a lot of things, but then you tell yourself, ‘Whoops, never mind, maybe not.’ Because you’re afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Lucas said. “That’s not the kind of thing I know how to solve.”

  Suddenly he stood up. Then he pulled his embarrassing overcoat across his skinny chest and walked away, his floppy hair whipping in the freezing wind.

  “Zoe? Where were you? You’ve got like a million messages,” called Malcolm from the living room.

  Zoe tossed her backpack onto the sofa. “You mean phone messages?”

  “Yeah.” He was playing Final Fantasy Something, pounding on the controller with his thumbs.

  “From who?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, staring at the screen. “It sounded like a few different voices. But every time they just said, ‘Zoe, we know it’s you,’ and hung up.”

  “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, and by the way, Owen called, asking for Mom or Dad. I said they’d fled to Argentina.”

  “You did?”

  “Duh. Of course not.” He saved his game, then shut the TV off. “What’s going on, Zo?”

  “Nothing.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “All right. Everything,” Zoe admitted. “But I’m too tired to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”

  She went to her bedroom, where Izzy was sleeping again, even though it was almost time for supper. Her sister’s computer was on, so Zoe opened her own e-mail account. There was one message, but it wasn’t from Isaac.

  HEY, LIZARD GIRL. WE KNOW

  IT'S YOU SO DON’T DENY IT. IF IT

  HAPPENS AGAIN, YOU’LL BE SORRY.

  WE’RE WATCHING YOU, AND WE

  DON’T BLINK EITHER!!!

  She hit the delete button. She knew she should be using Dad’s computer, but under the circumstances she didn’t think she could wait for him to get home from work. So she quickly typed:

  Dear Mr. Wakefield,

  Iguana #3 was sick, so I brought her to the vet. Don’t ask me about squash chunks because I didn’t count. I’ll tell you what the vet says as soon as I hear anything.

  Very truly yours,

  Zoe Bennett

  P.S. The gallery guy says there isn’t any wall now. When are you coming back?

  P.P.S. I called her Ruby. She needed a name.

  19

  Sometime on Saturday, Owen must have called, because on Sunday morning everyone in the Bennett family launched into Be Nice to Zoe mode.

  At breakfast Mom made pancakes. This was a big deal because she was definitely not a morning person; as a general rule, it took her two cups of coffee before she could even pour herself a bowl of cereal. But there she was when Zoe walked into the kitchen on Sunday morning, standing at the stove, making Zoe’s favorite breakfast.

  “It’ll be just a minute, sweetheart,” she said brightly. “One more stack to go.”

  Zoe watched her expertly flip the pancakes on the griddle. “Thanks, Mom, but you really didn’t have to.”

  “I know, but I wanted to. Sometimes everybody needs a little extra treat,” she said, which just made Zoe’s stomach knot up.

  Then Malcolm and Isadora walked into the kitchen.

  “Pancakes,” Malcolm exclaimed enthusiastically. “Can I have some, or are they all just for Zoe?”

  “Zoe first,” Isadora told him. “You can have the leftovers.”

  Isadora smiled at Zoe. It wasn’t the old radiant look-at-me-I’m-so-gorgeous smile, but it was pretty close. Isadora was really a very, very good actress.

  Mom stacked the pancakes on a platter they usually used at Thanksgiving. “Set the table, please,” she ordered. “And someone wake up Spencer.”

  “Not necessary,” said Malcolm. “He’s been up since five o’clock, barking like a puppy. He says if he can’t have a dog, he’ll be one.”

  “Wow,” said Mom, laughing. “That child’s coping skills are amazing.”

  “Yes, they are, Mom. But mine aren’t.”

  Now Dad was in the kitchen, standing in front of the Thanksgiving platter. “Pancakes? All for me?”

  “Zoe first,” said Mom. “Then Malcolm, then you.”

  “What about you, Iz?” Dad asked. He poured himself some coffee.

  “Oh, I’m off pancakes. I’ve been eating way too much junk food lately. Not that pancakes are junk,” she added, as if she needed to apologize to Zoe.

  Soon Spencer came crashing through the door and they all settled down to a loud, happy, sticky breakfast. Even Isadora forgot about her whole wheat toast and helped herself to a couple of pancakes. But Zoe could barely eat. The breakfast and all the cheery supportiveness obviously meant that everyone thought she was about to get kicked out of school. And sure enough, after all the pancakes were gone, and all the syrupy dishes were dumped into the dishwasher, Mom poured herself a third cup of coffee and said casually, “Zoe? Can Dad and I have a word with you for a minute?”

  “Okay,” said Zoe, sinking back into her chair.

  “We had a quick phone call from Owen last night. He asked us to stop by tomorrow morning before school. Do you know what it’s about?”

  “Probably.”

  They looked at her gravely.

  “I know I haven’t been working very hard,” she said quickly. “I will work, though. I’ve just been kind of distracted lately.”

  “With what?” Dad asked. “You don’t mean the lizard-sitting, do you?”

  “Of course not!” Zoe said. “And by the way, Dad. Do you know when Isaac’s getting back? One of the iguanas is sick and all these people keep calling. I’ve sent him e-mails—”

  “You have? When?”

  “On Friday. And the other day. On Izzy’s computer.”

  Dad shook his head. “Zoe, we had an arrangement for all that. You were supposed to use my computer.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t because you weren’t home.” Before he could answer, Zoe added, “I just needed to give him some urgent phone messages. I won’t do it again.”

  Dad held up his hand like a crossing guard. “That’s okay. But never mind about Isaac right now. Let’s concentrate on you, Zozo.” He gave Mom some invisible signal. “We were actually sort of wondering about The Zoe and Dara Show.”

  “You were? What about it?”

  “Zoe,” Mom said delicately, “is everything okay between you and Dara?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. She’s never over here anymore. We don’t hear you on the phone. And you haven’t been mentioning her.”

  “She’s fine, Mom. Just incredibly busy. She’s in the musical. It meets every day after school—”

  “We know the rehearsal schedule, sweetheart. We’ve been through it every year with Izzy.” Mom took a sip of her coffee. “So there’s nothing else troubling you? Nothing that if we knew about, we could help explain to Owen tomorrow? Because you know our job is to be your advocates. That means—”

  “I know what it means,” Zoe broke in. “And I haven’t done anything wrong, so there’s really nothing to explain.” She definitely wasn’t ready to go into the whole story about demented Lucas. She pushed a straying curl out of her face.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other. Dad shrugged.

  “All right, then, ladies,” he said, standing up and stretching. “I’m off to the coal mines.”

  “You’re going to work today?” Zoe asked. “But it’s Sunday!”

  “I know. Not my idea of a good time either. But I just have a couple of minor details to finish, and yet another Enchanted Forest will be complete.” He kissed the top of Zoe’s head. “And then Monday I start on Lizard World.”

  Early Monday morning Zoe walked to school with her mother and father. By now they’d given up on the Be Nice to Zoe mode and were just quiet and serious, which was a whole lot easier to take. When they were a block from Hubbard, Mom
looked at her watch.

  “God, I could really use another coffee,” she said to Dad. “Do you think there’s time to run into that Starbucks?”

  “Sure,” said Dad. “We’re supposed to be in Owen’s office in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll meet you there,” said Zoe quickly. She ran the last block to school, even though it made no sense to be in such a hurry.

  First she went to her locker to dump her backpack. As soon as she opened the door, she spotted a sealed white envelope on the bottom of the locker. Her heart pounding, she ripped it along the edge.

  Dear Zoe,

  I thought about it and I think you’re right. Maybe I was trying to get you in trouble because I’m so mad at you. You could possibly have a one-in-a-billion gift for cryptanalysis and you don’t even care. But whatever. If you want to be like everybody else, or PRETEND to be like everybody else, that’s your business. Anyway, sorry. I won’t write those (as you put it) “weirdo notes” anymore.

  Lucas

  She stared at the letter. Then she read it two more times, and grinned. The code part reminded her of that folded-up note he’d given her that time in the cafeteria, and she refused to know what it meant. But the rest of it was amazingly perfect, like a Get Out of Jail Free card in Monopoly. All she had to do was go upstairs, show this letter to Owen, and then be on her way to homeroom. And if doing that got Lucas in trouble, it wouldn’t be her fault. Because wasn’t she also a victim of the whole anonymous note business? Of course she was!

  She slammed her locker door and slipped the letter into her hoodie pocket. Then she ran up the central staircase to Owen’s office, taking two steps at a time.

  But just before she got to the second-floor landing, she slowed way down.

  What exactly would Owen do, she wondered, if she showed him the letter? Probably kick Lucas out instead of her. Which wouldn’t be so tragic, really. Lucas could just pack his suitcase and rejoin his parents in some underground temple. The whole world has been his classroom— isn’t that what Signe had said? He was used to that; it would feel normal to him. He’d probably even be grateful to get out of this place.

  But what if Lucas wanted to go to an actual school for once? It was almost October; if he got kicked out of Hubbard, it would be too late to find him some other weirdo school for sixth grade. And she couldn’t imagine him in a regular bells-and-red-pens kind of school, where the kids would probably beat him up just for wearing that horrible tweed overcoat. And then as soon as he started showing off about hieroglyphics and gargoyles…. She didn’t even want to think about that.

  The truth was, Lucas needed to be at Hubbard, where there were other weirdo kids, and where at least Signe could keep an eye on him. If anyone didn’t belong here, it was Zoe, not Lucas. Besides, Dara wasn’t even talking to her, so why should she want to stay? And with all the doodling and the missing assignments, Owen had already made up his mind about her anyway. He was just waiting to kick her out, obviously. So what good would it do to get Lucas kicked out too?

  By now she was on the third floor, in front of Owen’s office. She stepped into the little waiting area, where Mom and Dad were sitting on the tiny sofa. Mom was thoughtfully sipping her paper cup of Starbucks. When she looked up and noticed Zoe, she patted the seat next to her for Zoe to sit down.

  “You ready, sweetheart?” she asked quietly.

  Zoe nodded.

  “We’ll be right there with you,” Dad said.

  “I know.”

  Mom picked up a copy of The Hubbard News from the tadpole-shaped coffee table. “Oh, listen to this,” she said brightly. “Remember Izzy’s friend Abigail who graduated two years ago? She just had her debut at Carnegie Hall.”

  “Cool,” said Dad. He drummed his fingers.

  It suddenly occurred to Zoe that her parents were nervous. Well, sure they are, she told herself. It’s not like Isadora or Malcolm ever got them called into someone’s office. For a strange millisecond she actually felt sorry for them. But then she told herself, No. This is my disaster, not theirs.

  All at once Owen burst into the waiting area. “Good to see you guys,” he said warmly, shaking hands with Zoe’s parents. Then he ushered them into his office, where there were three metal office chairs pulled up alertly to his desk.

  20

  “So how’s Isadora?” Owen asked sympathetically. “I heard she didn’t get the lead in the musical this time around. What a shock.”

  “Izzy’s fine,” Dad said. “A little disappointed, but that’s part of the learning process.”

  “Yes, it is. Absolutely! I’m a strong believer in exposing our kids to failure. Otherwise, they never truly appreciate success. And there’s no doubt Isadora will have a very successful future onstage. If she wants it, of course. Do you know what her plans are post-Hubbard?”

  “Not at the moment,” Mom replied pointedly. “Right now we’re thinking about Zoe.”

  Owen leaned back in his leather chair and smiled. “All right, then. Zoe. I have to tell you folks, I’m very glad we’re having this chat. To put it bluntly, we haven’t been seeing a whole lot from Zoe academically, and now I’m hearing some troubling reports from the other kids. Anything you’re ready to share with us, Zoe?”

  She shook her head. She could feel the corners of Lucas’s letter in her hoodie pocket.

  “So you’re not willing to talk about the anonymous notes?”

  “There’s nothing to say about them,” Zoe said flatly. “They kind of speak for themselves.”

  “You think so? I know at least a few students who find them fairly cryptic. Some reference to a blinking gecko?”

  Dad looked at her sharply.

  “I think the note said geckoes don’t blink,” Zoe said. “And I’m not even sure if that’s true, frankly.”

  “Neither am I. I confess I’m a complete herpetological ignoramus.” Owen smiled briefly. “And you don’t know who wrote the notes?”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  He studied her face. She tucked her hair behind her ears and waited, her heart pounding.

  Finally he leaned forward. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been having some good, long conversations with your teachers these past few days, and we’re all wondering what would be best for you, Zoe. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

  “Not really.”

  “Ah, but you should. You may remember that one of Lorna’s core beliefs was: ‘Every student should actively chart her own educational journey. The teacher provides the compass, but the student creates the map.’ Do you know what that means?”

  “I think so,” Zoe said. “It means don’t be a puppet.”

  “Right. Exactly. So we really do need your input, Zoe. Maybe things will come into better focus if you take some time off for contemplation. We were considering ten days.”

  “Ten days?” Mom cried. “You mean you’re suspending Zoe for two weeks of school? On the basis of some ugly, unsubstantiated rumors by two girls who’ve always been extremely nasty to her?”

  Zoe stared at her mother. How much did Mom know, anyway?

  “We’re not calling this a suspension,” Owen said calmly. “It’s really more productive to think of it as time to reflect, evaluate, possibly explore some options.” He brought his fingertips together as if his hands were holding an invisible crystal ball. “The notes aren’t the only issue. It’s really the whole picture. And this picture is not what we typically see in a Hubbard student.”

  “So the problem is I look weird?” Zoe asked softly.

  “I actually don’t find that funny, Zoe,” Owen replied. “But if humor helps you process all this, I understand.”

  And then he stood up. Mom and Dad stayed behind to have another word with him, and Zoe went to her locker to get her backpack. By now it was almost time for homeroom, and kids were beginning to bang through the hallways, greeting one another ecstatically, as if they hadn’t been at school in weeks. A few were gathered in front of someone’s locker
, chattering excitedly and pointing to something taped to the door.

  It was Lucas’s locker, she realized with a jolt. Pulling her purple hood over her hair so that it almost covered her face, Zoe stood behind the other kids, squinting over their shoulders. The sign was written in a familiar, almost-too-perfect handwriting:

  ATTENTION:

  I WROTE THE NOTES, SO DON’T

  BLAME ZOE. SHE’S TOTALLY NORMAL.

  SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

  Lucas Joplin

  Zoe groaned. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Thanks, Lucas, she thought. That was really, really brave. And now you’re in gigantic trouble with everyone, just like me.

  What an incredibly stupid thing to do.

  21

  The whole walk home from Hubbard, Mom and Dad barely said a word. But when they were back in the apartment, and Zoe was lying on her bottom bunk staring up at Isadora’s bedsprings, she could hear them whispering in the kitchen. She couldn’t make out what they were saying (and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to), but her ears kept straining to catch the words. They all seemed to have S’s: “School.” “Suspicion.” “Decision.”

  Finally, Mom came into her bedroom and sat on her bed.

  “Well, that wasn’t much fun, was it,” she said gently. “Tell me what you’re thinking, baby.”

  “I’m thinking, Okay, so now what?”

  “You don’t want to go to Hubbard anymore?”

  “Owen doesn’t want me there. It’s not like I have any choice.”

  “Oh, Zoe, of course you do,” Mom said. “Not just yours; the school has to decide too. But Owen really needs to hear what you’re thinking. In a way, that’s what all this is about.” She stroked Zoe’s arm thoughtfully. Then she added, “And you know, baby, it’s completely fine if you don’t want to go back. Hubbard’s a great place, but it’s not for everybody.”

  “I know, I know, Mom! Everybody keeps saying it all the time!”

  “And? So, do you want to go back?”

 

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