by S. M. Parker
“More like who.” I pop the top of my soda, trace its metal rim with my finger. “Gregg, who.”
“Slice? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. At least, I think.” I hesitate. It’s unsettling spilling my private bits, even to someone I trust as much as Lizzie. But what choice do I have? “He kissed me. On Saturday. At Waxman’s.”
“He kissed you?” Lizzie practically yells. “That’s why you two were acting so weird. Zee, oh my god! It’s about time.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“You cannot be shocked. He’s been in love with you since junior high.”
“He has not.”
“Zee, I’m a reporter. I get paid to notice these things.”
“You’re the editor of the school newspaper. No one pays you.”
She waves off the technicality. “Slice loves you. Everyone knows that. And you guys would be incredible together, an unstoppable force of hockey on the ice and field.” She ghosts her hand along an imagined, overenlarged headline. “Hockey Couple Zee and Slice, Twice as Nice.” She frowns, considering. “Okay, needs some work.”
“I think there’s a bigger problem than your headline.” I swallow hard. Gregg is strong and kind and all the things any sane girl would want in a boyfriend, but he’s practically family. “I just can’t like Gregg like that, you know—I don’t like him like him.”
“You’re not interested in being swept off your feet by one of the most popular guys in school?”
“It’s too weird, Lizzie. He’s like my brother. You know, if I had a brother.”
Lizzie steals a sip of my soda and contemplates. “Yeah, okay, I get that.”
“Why would he do this? It’s beyond bizarre. I mean, our families have been friends forever.” My face rushes with heat.
“Complicated.”
“Right? And now he’s avoiding me. Even moved his seat to the front of French class. Told Mrs. Sarter some bullshit excuse about not being able to see the board. But he never misses a puck flying at him at breakneck speed. Doesn’t need glasses for that.”
“Ouch. What are you gonna do?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“You have to talk to him. Drive to his house. Confront him. You guys can get past this. I’ll even go with you if you want.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. This will all blow over, Zee. And this could be a good thing.” She pops a mint.
“How do you figure?”
“It’s probably healthy that you’re dealing with a little boy drama instead of the relationship chaos imploding over at chez Doyle.”
“I can assure you that getting kissed by Gregg does not feel healthy.”
“Okay, maybe the Slice thing is bizarre, but it’ll make for a great story when we’re years away from this crap town.”
Just as she says it we look at each other, realizing maybe clearly for the first time that we won’t be together next fall. This is the part of limbo that we don’t talk about, how our individual futures don’t include each other. It physically hurts to imagine my life without Lizzie, but I never imagined my life without Gregg, and yet here it is, my life, with Gregg conspicuously absent.
Lizzie clears her throat and nods at the space behind me. I turn, my heart quickening, expecting—hoping—to see Gregg. The sun hangs directly behind the approaching silhouette but even after one short week, I know his shape, the rolling lope of his stride. Alec looks haloed in the brightness as he moves closer. I raise my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes as he peers down at me.
“Hello, Zephyr actually.”
“Hey.” I don’t have to see the smirk plastered across Lizzie’s face to know it’s there.
Alec reaches to shake Lizzie’s hand. “I’m Alec. Residential new kid.”
“Lizzie. Smartest girl in school.”
“Always a good person to know.” Alec points to the building across the courtyard. “I was on my way to meet Coach. Thought I’d say hi. Do you guys always eat out here?”
“When the weather’s nice,” Lizzie says. I see her skilled observer gaze sizing Alec up. “Why?”
“The caf’s a little overwhelming when you’ve got no one to sit with.” I find myself intrigued by his vulnerability.
“You miss your friends?” Lizzie asks.
“I miss things being familiar. It’s not easy starting at a new school senior year.”
“I’ll bet.” Lizzie gives a sympathetic nod. “But your girlfriend will visit, right? That’ll help.”
He grins. “No girlfriend.”
“That’s not the rumor going around,” Lizzie says. I nudge her on the thigh, a move Alec registers.
“Do you believe everything you hear?” Alec asks.
“No, that’s why I’m fact-checking. The story is that you got kicked out of school for snogging a girl in your dorm room.”
“Snogging?” Alec laughs.
“There are a million different words for it. Pick another, if you’d like.”
“Like I said, don’t believe everything you hear.” He gives the table a quick knock and throws me a soft smile. My stomach twitters. “I gotta run. Coach will kill me if I’m late.”
“So you made the team?” I ask.
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
“Thanks.” That blush deepens across his cheeks. “I only hope ice hockey is as good as field hockey in this town.” He turns to Lizzie. “It was nice meeting you.” Then, to me. “See you in French, Zephyr actually?”
I nod. “See you.”
Lizzie waves.
Alec jogs to the granite steps, takes them two at a time before disappearing into the mouth of the school.
Lizzie needles my thigh with her finger. “The new kid has a pet name for you.”
“Funny.”
“He looked pretty sincere to me.” Lizzie tosses a trio of mints into her mouth, her smile growing wider. “I don’t think it would kill you to investigate hanging out with him. He seems nice. We could all go out together, maybe. Jason will be home next weekend. What do you say?”
“Maybe.” But it’s a big maybe. I think Lizzie found something special in Jason, and there are only so many Jason and Lizzies in the world. Up until a few months ago, I thought my parents had that same kind of steel cable connection.
I raise my face to the low sun and close my eyes the way I’ve watched Lizzie do hundreds of times. I try to push away the fear of anyone watching me and relax into the wash of yellow light that paints the backs of my lids like a canvas. On it, my mind draws Alec and his smile, the way it speaks of a secret. It’s easy to be distracted by him, for sure. But then Alec morphs into my dad, grinning, happy. Popping out of his art studio with his next idea for a character from another galaxy. I dart my eyes open, fully aware of how dangerous blind faith can be.
Chapter 5
Saturday morning I hang in bed studying for my upcoming trig test. Finn seems content to lounge next to me all day, but by noon stir-craziness beats inside me fast as hummingbird wings. I can’t deal with the silent treatment from Gregg and I need to head over to his house. But first, a run. To clear my head. Prepare for The Talk I’m pretty sure we need to have.
I lace up my sneakers and grab my iPod. “Sorry Finn,” I say when his pant becomes please, please, please. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me today.” Or any day, for that matter. Finn’s a mixed breed, but the girl at the shelter called him a Couch Retriever since all he ever did was sleep. “I promise I’ll walk you later.”
I jog the quarter-mile length of our dirt driveway and check the mailbox for an envelope from Boston College. Nothing. I channel my disappointment and head into the woods, running carefully over the grooved ruts of the path, the ground already hard with the coming winter. My thoughts crowd with Gregg’s kiss, and I struggle to find the words to make us right again.
After nearly four miles my brain shuts off and all I feel is the breath passing in and o
ut of my lungs. It’s the best kind of inner quiet, the kind where every other problem in the world falls away.
When I reach Gosland Park I take a break before heading home. I settle onto a swing and pedal my feet off the ground. I float above the earth, back and forth until my body cools. I lean way back, extended. My eyes study the unobstructed blue of the sky, as vibrant as a spring wildflower. I breathe the color deep into my lungs, knowing December will soon rob me of this hue.
“Zephyr?” My name carries on the wind, like a whisper, like birdsong. I’m in such a fog, I think I imagine it. Until I hear it again.
I squint, see Alec leaning on the swing set pole, one hand crooked into his side.
I sit upright, dig my toes into the bark chips to brake. “What are you doing here?”
He plucks an earbud and lets it drop around his neck. “Out for a run.” I take in his fleece, his running sneakers, the horizon of sweat that hangs at his hairline. “Clears my head.” He takes the swing next to me, pushes off before tucking his feet under his body like a child. He surveys the park. “You come here a lot?”
“Sometimes,” I lie. “I used to come here when I was a kid.” It was special then. Now it’s an escape.
He stares at the far fields, where tiny kids in blue shirts play T-ball against tinier kids in red shirts. “Would it be dorky to want to ride the seesaw?”
I laugh. “Totally.”
“Wanna be a dork with me?”
I stare at him, registering this unexpected request. “Sure.” I stand. “Why not?”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I’ll take it.” Alec smiles as he invites me to mount the board first and then slowly lifts my side of the seesaw into the air. My legs dangle with the freedom and I can’t help the way my toes kick out, happy. He straddles his end and calls, “Just so you know, I plan on having kids someday, so no quick movements.”
“Got it.”
He climbs on, shimmies forward to balance us. We catch an easy steady rhythm and the floating sensation makes my whole body soar. I’d forgotten how weightless seesawing could make me feel, like a world of problems can be brushed away through bristles of moving air.
“My dad used to take me here every Sunday. We’d tell my mother we went to church, but really we just ate donuts.” I’m surprised at how easy this personal memory rises into the space between us.
“Is that your flaw, then?”
“My flaw?”
“You come from some donut-worshipping cult and I should be afraid. Very afraid.”
I laugh and the sound rises along with my body.
“Do you still do that with your dad?”
I shake my head, float downward.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a park with my dad. Not even when I was little. He’s too serious for such nonsense.” Alec’s face contorts like he’s mimicking a familiar stern expression. “Not sure he’s ever even eaten a donut, poor guy. If it’s not made of bran or cabbage, it’s not worthy of his gullet.” I wrinkle my nose. Alec laughs. “Exactly.”
“Is your dad glad you’re home? He’ll be able to go to all your games now, right?”
A flicker of sadness drops over his face before disappearing. “My mother’s the one who got me into hockey. Probably thought the coach would be a good role model, seeing as my dad was never around.”
“Are your parents divorced?” It seems like such a simple question to ask a stranger, even though I can’t bring myself to ask my mother or father if that’s what’s coming for them. My body rises and my ponytail bounces just as I peak, then instantly begin to fall.
“Nah. They’re more of the live separate lives type of people. My dad works in Singapore. Tries his best to get home for Christmas. He Skypes sometimes, when he can remember he has a family.”
“That’s kind of awful.” I plant my feet on the ground before pushing hard.
“Not really.” Alec floats buoyant toward the sky. “Not when it’s all you’ve ever known.” His face retains a kind of peace at this statement and I bite back envy. Will I ever be okay with Dad leaving the way he did? Or is my family’s situation harder to understand since Dad never seemed distant or unhappy? Just one day he was gone. My stomach drops, but not from the seesaw.
I dig my heels into the ground at my next landing. “I should go.”
“Is it something I said? Perhaps it’s the potent stench of my runner’s cologne? And the fact that you’ve had the pleasure of being downwind?”
“Nothing like that.” I nod toward the sandbox and reach for an excuse. “There are a couple of kids giving us the stink-eye. I don’t mess with playground politics.”
He laughs, gives me a shy smile. “Drop me down.” I do. He dismounts carefully and holds the seat to counterweight my descent. It’s another gallant gesture and my stomach tumbles.
I look toward the darkening sky. “I should run home while there’s still light.”
He agrees and we walk in silence until we arrive at the park’s metal gate. He reaches for the latch, lifts it free. “It’ll get better, you know.”
I narrow my eyes. “What will?”
“Whatever’s going on between you and Gregg.”
“How did you . . . ?”
“I didn’t know for sure. Not until just now. But you two haven’t been exactly chatting it up in class lately.”
Even he’s noticed Gregg avoiding me all week. “Has he . . . said anything about me?”
He surveys the ground at his feet. “Gregg talked about you a lot when I met him. I thought you were his girlfriend, but he said you guys were just friends. Best friends, I think he said.”
My heart wells with loss. “The best.”
“Did you guys ever date?”
“No. Why?”
He shrugs. “I just thought maybe that’s why there’s tension now.”
“No, nothing that dramatic.”
“Then I’m sure whatever’s going on between you two will work out. It has to. Good friends are hard to come by.”
He’s right. Spot-on right.
He swipes the toe of his sneaker into the dirt, creating an arc. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure.”
“Would you meet me here tomorrow?”
“Yes.” I’m surprised by the commitment.
Surprised?
No, scared.
Chapter 6
The crow of a rooster wakes me. It’s close; in my ear close.
I open my eyes and fumble for my phone, knowing it’s Lizzie. For a long time it was a game to see if I could keep her from messing with my ringtones. But she always got to my phone somehow. Now I can’t imagine being surprised by her selections.
Finn lifts his plump head from my pillow, clearly displeased with the disruption to his slumber.
LIZZIE!—in all caps, of course—blinks on the screen. I silence the rooster with the practiced twitch of my thumb.
“Morning.” The word rumbles low and scratchy, a storm scraping the sky.
“I’ll need reinforcements at work today.”
“M&Ms or Junior Mints?” I sit up and Finn lets out a gruff sigh before repositioning himself at the foot of my bed.
“It’s feeling like a Tootsie Rolls day. It’s just me and Shorty so I’ll need a big bag. Party size.” Shorty is the middle-aged manager of Too Cute Shoes, the dumpy discount footwear place where Lizzie earns the cash to visit Jason. “What are you doing?”
I prop my pillow and pull back my shade. A blast of too bright light hurtles into the room, illuminating my wall of photos like the trained light in a museum. There’s the picture Lizzie took of me and Gregg in the lunchroom last year. We are both laughing, his two fingers in a peace sign behind my head. I drop my gaze to my bureau, to the framed photo of us when we were five, Gregg pushing me on a swing at Young Ones childcare center where we got bused after our half days of kindergarten. I remember how we’d play king and queen and pretend to live in our castle under the slide. He kissed me then, to
o. A peck on the lips because we were married and that’s what married people did. It’s almost impossible to believe my view of marriage and trust was ever that simple.
“I’m heading over to Gregg’s.”
A beat of silence. “Do you want to wait? I can go after work. You know, if you need support.”
I do need the support. I have no idea what I plan to say, but, “I think I should go alone.” It’s never been hard to talk to Gregg. I’ve never had to prepare to talk to Gregg. I draw hope into my lungs that this time will be no different.
“Okay, come by after. With chocolate.”
“You bet.”
I shower, get dressed, and head out on my mission. I drive for nearly two hours and never even enter Gregg’s neighborhood. I start to understand why Dad took the easy way out via a note.
• • •
By the time I arrive at the park, Alec is waiting. Heat rushes to my face as he watches me pull into a tight parking space. Honestly, no one can understand the curse of Irish skin unless you live in it. I turn the keys, keep my eyes cut to Alec and his casual lean against his shiny robin’s egg blue antique Mustang. He’s wearing that secret smirk that I’ve come to expect.
I wave. He nods. I move toward him, suddenly self-conscious about my body. My too long legs. My too curly hair. My nose that’s just this side of crooked. Why are effortless good looks always wasted on boys?
“Hey,” he says casually.
“Hey.” I go for casual too, hoping it doesn’t sound like I practiced this one-word greeting in front of my mirror a hundred and three times after hanging up with Lizzie this morning.
“You’re right on time. Two o’clock exactly.”
“I’m punctual,” I say.
“Punctual says a lot about a person.”
“What does it mean when a person shows up early?”
Alec just smiles, in a way I can’t read.
So I look at his car. Cars are easy. I know cars. Dad used to leave issues of Classic Car magazine on practically every surface. He gave me and Mom quizzes when we were driving and he’d see the oncoming chrome grill of any car manufactured before 1972. I’ve been dragged to enough car shows to know this model anywhere. I swallow back the sadness that rises when I think of the July issue of Classic Car. The one that came right after Dad’s note. The issue that prompted Mom to cancel the subscription altogether. I can’t tell her the magazines keep coming, how I hide them in the back corner of my closet along with some of his other things.