by Alyson Noel
"Have you ever done this before?" he whispers, pulling me close.
I squint into the dark space before me, trying to make out the blondishness of his hair, the bluishness of his
eyes, and the overall cuteness of his face that's kept him solidly in the number two position, directly beneath Chess,
on the "cutest boys in school" list we've been keeping since fourth grade. But all I can make out is the vague outline
of his head, and I wonder if he's asking if I've ever been in this closet before, or if I've ever kissed a guy before.
Because to be honest, that wasn't exactly clear. But still, I guess the answer to both of those questions is pretty
much the same, no and no. So that's what I tell him.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asks, his voice filled with so much sweetness and concern that I'm
shocked. Because honestly, I thought he'd be in full grope mode by now. "I mean, you're so nice. And I like you. So I
don't want to push or anything."
I'd give anything to see his face right now, because this is not at all the cocky, loud, overconfident Parker from
the lunch table, the one I assumed I'd be wrestling with. And the truth is, whether he actually kisses me or not really
doesn't matter. I mean, I feel pretty neutral about the whole thing. I'm more surprised by the fact of how he even
wants to kiss me. And how he's being so nice. And how he just said he likes me!
And I know I probably shouldn't waste this opportunity since things like this never happen to me, and because
of that, this could be my one and only shot at a normal adolescent experience. But still, I can't help but ask, "Did you
just say you like me?" I know it's lame and insecure, but I need a little clarification, 'cause to be honest, this is pretty
hard to believe.
"Yeah. I think you're really cute, and nice, and stuff. Always have. You just never seemed very interested," he
says.
I know I should probably be satisfied with that, and just shut up and let him kiss me already, but I really need to
get to the bottom of this. So I go, "Seriously?"
"Seriously." He laughs. "But it's like, you and Jenay and Abby were always so tight that I guess I was too shy to
try to break in."
"You're shy?" I say, unable to keep my disbelief in check.
"Yeah, but I'm working on it," he says, pulling me even closer. "So, is it okay? Can I kiss you now?"
I kind of wish he hadn't asked, 'cause it makes me feel really awkward to give him permission. But still, I guess
it's better than never being asked, and possibly never being kissed. So I just nod and go, "Urn, okay."
So he does. He leans in and kisses me. First he does it with his mouth closed. Then with it slightly open. And at
one point he even slips his tongue in for a little bit. Then he pulls away, and says, "Was that okay?"
I nod. But then I remember how dark it is, which means he probably couldn't see that, so I clear my throat and
say, "Urn, yeah, it was nice."
And that's when he does it again.
Eight
By the time I get home, the house is mostly dark. And as I tiptoe upstairs and peek into their room, I'm surprised to
find my parents already asleep. I mean, normally, well, I guess normally I don't go to parties, but still, for the last year,
every time I left the house unchaperoned, I always returned to blazing lights, a flickering TV, and at least one, if not
both, of my parents staying up late, playing night sentinel.
But maybe this is a good sign. Maybe things are finally looking up. Maybe my parents' paranoid period is
coming to an end. Or maybe, this is just the result of my mom's addiction to happy pills, and my dad's utter
exhaustion.
I change out of my clothes and slip into my pink-and-white striped pajamas, then I pad into the bathroom to
brush my teeth and wash my face of what little makeup I bothered to wear. And as I peer at my reflection, I lean
closer to the mirror, noticing how my lips are all red and swollen, and my cheeks all flushed and tender, and I watch
them grow even redder when I realize it's because of Parker.
I guess I just never imagined something like that would happen to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like I
planned to join a nunnery, or take a vow of celibacy, or anything crazy like that. Heck, I even assumed I'd get married
someday, giving birth to the requisite number of kids. But all of that seemed so distant and far away. Like it was just
one more thing on life's big "To Do" list. Just stuff that grownups did, like subscribing to a newspaper or paying bills.
I guess I never thought about the whole attracting part of it. And how I might feel about someone. And how they
might feel about me.
And it's not like I'm hideous or anything. I mean, I'm pretty much your basic, ail-American, standard issue girl.
But still, it's not like I'm fun and sparkly like Jenay. And I'm certainly not amazing like Zoë. So I guess that's why it's
hard for me to make sense of that kiss. And how afterward, Parker stuck by me for the rest of the night.
When I wake up soaked in sweat at 3:06 A.M., feeling panicky, with my face all wet and my throat all tight and sore as
though I've been sobbing in my sleep, I force myself to just lay there, slowly breathing in and out as I count, starting
at one hundred and working my way down, just like that shrink suggested that time I accidentally told him about my
dreams.
But even after counting, even after changing out of my damp pajamas and into clean dry ones, even after
drinking a glass of water and assuring myself that there's absolutely no reason to panic, I still can't seem to relax
enough to fall back to sleep. And then I make it even worse when I start thinking about my party, and how
everything's changing so fast in a way I once anticipated, only now that it's happening, I'm no longer so sure.
i mean, my parents didn't wait up, and a boy actually wanted to kiss me. And even though at the beginning of
the night those two things would've sounded amazingly cool, now at o dark thirty, they no longer do.
Because, let's face it, there's comfort in being cautious. And there's peace in the predictable.
But now, if everything's going to be different, if everything's going to be filled with possibility and opportunity,
how will I know if I'm ready? How will I know how to deal?
And it's not like Zoë ever worried about these things. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission," she'd say.
And God knows she doled out her fair share of apologies. But still, nothing ever fazed her. Nothing ever tripped her
up. She just moved through life at lightning speed, expecting nothing but cooperation, approval, laughter, and fun.
Zoë was street smart and naive.
She was thoughtful yet reckless.
She was sexy but innocent.
She was a walking dichotomy.
And I want to be just like her.
I climb out of bed, grab my backpack, and retrieve the cobalt blue book that Marc gave me. Then I switch on
my reading light, slip back between the sheets, and with totally shaking hands, turn to the first page, shivering when I
see her familiar, round, loopy scrawl, and read:
This is Zoë's diary. And you should NOT be reading it!
I knew she was right. But I also knew she had something to teach me. So I ignored the warning, and turned the
page.
Nine
June 14 (finally!)
I don't know why they call it the last day of school, when really it's the first day of freedom. Cuz the second that
minimum day bell rings at 12:20 P.M., there's
not a teacher, principal, or school administrator w/in 50 miles that can
touch me—and that includes YOU, Coach Warner, you disgusting old pig. You think I don't notice when you look
down my top? Next year I'm gonna stick a tiny mirror down there so you can see your own ugly reflection staring back
at you!!!
As usual, classes were a joke—everyone just ignoring the teachers, running around, signing yearbooks, and
promising to hook up sometime during the hot days ahead. All I could do was nod and smile and go through the
motions, because the whole entire time I was thinking about ditching Stephen so I can hook up with Marc.
I know he's into me.
I'm never wrong about these things.
June 15
Didn't make it downstairs 'til after 11, still feeling drunk from last night. Walked right into the edge of the kitchen
table and had to grab the corner to steady myself. Thank G nobody noticed. Dad had his nose buried in a pile of
papers (as usual), Mom was outside working in her overachiever garden wearing her big old hat, SPF 75, wraparound
sunglasses, gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt—like she's allergic to the sun or something. Only Echo sniffed the air as
I passed, flashed me a knowing look, but didn't say a word as I headed for the coffeemaker. Didn't even get to the
second sip before Carly called, wanting to bitch me out for ditching Stephen and trying to hook up with Marc behind
his back.
So I reminded her that I'm her BFF, NOT Stephen. I'm the one who covered for her that time when she said she
was at my house but was really out with H, not to mention the gazillion other favors I've done for her over the last 5
years. Not to mention that Marc was already gone by the time I finally made it outside, so no damage done, right?
But even after I reminded her of all that she still has the nerve to go, "Yeah, but still."
I mean, I love Carly, really I do. But this holier than thou crap has got to stop.
Maybe she should get together with Stephen if she cares so much about his stupid feelings.
June 16
I'm psychic! Just call me Claire Voyant Because the very last line I wrote in my very last entry came true.
That's right, Carly hooked up with Stephen. And I'm not even that mad about it. Really. I barely even care. Well, other
than the fact that she went behind my back. But really, as far as I'm concerned she can have him because I am
sooooo over him. I'm sick of how his life revolves around sports and those stupid instant replays he insists on
watching over and over and over again. I'm sick of the way he eats with his mouth open, all those chucked up
particles tossing from side to side as he laughs out loud at his own lame-ass jokes. But mostly I'm sick of the way he
bicep peeks during sex. It's like he gets more excited watching the way they bulge out than by seeing me naked
beneath him. And if I sound like some bitter old hausfrau who got married too young, and stayed married too long,
well, then, whose fault is that? He stole a year of my life, robbed me of time I'll never get back.
Not to mention how it's been totally obvious from the start how Carly's been crushing on him, since day one. It's
like she's been waiting this entire time for me to dump him. Even the six months she was with H, she was just passing
time. So if she wants him that bad, she can have him. I hope they're very happy together, really I do.
I just think she could've waited 'til I'd actually broken up with him first I just think she could've waited 'til things
were official. Not to mention how she could have at least pretended to look guilty when I walked in on them.
But instead she just looked up and said, 'Well you said you were gonna leave him."
Which, of course, made Stephen gawk at me in shock. But I just kept right on looking at her. Shaking my head
as I used her words right back at her, saying, 'Yeah, but still."
Then I went back downstairs and ended up smoking some really powerful shit with Kevin and Kristin who are so
freaking in love they'll probably get married or something. I mean it's just so weird how they've been together since
eighth grade, and how they never ever think about what they could be missing.
I'm always thinking about what I'm missing.
Even when I'm happy with what I have.
Anyway, we just hung in the backyard, looking at the stars 'til we were cold and hungry and misted with dew.
And everything felt so vast, and unlimited, and extremely close to perfect
But now I have to figure out a way to fill up the summer before my parents decide that for me. So, good luck to
me!
I stifle a yawn, and close Zoë's diary, sliding it under my mattress for safekeeping. Not one thing I read surprised
me. Seriously, not the drugs, not the sex, not even that whole big drama with Carly. Though I'd always been kind of
curious why she stopped coming over so much. I guess I just assumed it had something to do with Marc. But then
Zoë's life had always been dramatic, and mysterious, and far more adventurous than mine. And even though I like
Carly, I know it had to be a pretty tough gig to be my sister's best friend. I mean, Zoë was just one of those people
who the clouds always cleared for, the sun always shined on, and the stars came out for.
She's the reason they invented spotlights.
And she left anyone standing next to her feeling like a dull, spent bulb.
But what did surprise me was the way I felt as I was reading. So close to Zoë, like she was sitting right there
beside me, whispering the words in my ear, and urging me to turn the page.
And it feels so good to finally have her back, that I switch off the light and close my eyes, saving Zoë for
another day.
Ten
By Monday at school Jenay and Chess are officially a couple. Though that's really no surprise for those of us forced
to watch them make out for the remainder of my party. And as I head for the lunch table that has gotten so crowded
weVe merged with the one beside it, I actually have to fight the urge to just turn around and bolt.
I mean, where would I go? Back to junior high? Because obviously, that's no longer an option. So instead I take
a deep breath and smile at everyone, including Parker—who I've managed to avoid until now.
"Hey," I say, dropping my lunch on the table, and easing onto the long yellow bench.
Jenay smiles then goes right back to her story, and by the time she's finished everyone is laughing. Well,
everyone but me. Since it's the one about how when she and Abby were watching her baby brother and he squirted
them both in the face just as they were changing his diaper, which believe me, I've heard like a million times before.
So I just reach into my lunch pack and retrieve my sandwich, trying to ignore the fact that Parker is waving at
me, trying to get my attention.
"Hey, wake up," he says, leaning toward me and smiling. "I called you last night but it went straight to voice mail.
I got your number from Jenay. I hope that's okay?"
"Oh, sorry about that," I say, twisting the top off my Snapple and taking a sip. "My phone was off, and by the
time I realized you'd called..." I just shrug, letting that trail off to nothing. Because the truth is, it's not like I was going
to call him back anyway. And it's not because I don't like him, I mean, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about him. It's
mostly because I'm so freaking lame I don't know what to say after "hello."
"Did you have a good weekend?" he asks.
I think about the book I read, the homework I finished, Zoë's diary, and shrug.
"Yeah. You?'7
He nods, still leaning toward me, still smiling, still gazing at me with those deep blue eyes.
But when I see him looking at me like that, ignoring everyone else just so he can concentrate solely on me, it
makes me feel so freaked out, so nervous, and so totally inadequate, that I stand up and say, "Urn, I'll be right back."
Then I abandon my lunch, abandon the table, and run out the door, desperate for fresh air and a temporary
respite from the worst part of me—the pathetic, fearful, morbidly insecure part. The part that wonders why a guy as
cute as Parker would ever like a girl as dorky as me, why anyone anywhere would ever like me.
I run past the burnout tree, the one where all the hard-core partiers hang, thinking how they're the only group in
this whole entire school who never point, stare, or whisper as I pass. But maybe that's because they're just too
stoned to care. I mean the cheerleaders, the song leaders, the drill teamers, the mascots, the jocks, the drama
freaks, the band geeks, the science nerds, the fashionistas, the club leaders, the council reps, the Goths, the Preps,
the ROTC marchers, the girls who starve to be skinny, the girls who barf to be skinny, the scrawny guys, the
wannabes, the techies, the sluts, the virgins, the cutters, the Future Farmers of America, the alterna artists, the
rainbow kids—the one thing they all have in common is that they all stare at me. Every single one of them. But the
major druggies? Not so much. So it feels pretty safe to pass by.
I head toward the bathroom, even though I don't really plan on going inside. But it's good to have as a decoy
route in case Abby decides to come looking for me again. And then just as I turn down the hall where I'd planned to
lean against the wall until the bell rings, I see Marc sitting not two feet away.
"Oh. Hey," I say, surprised to not only run into him again, but also to see that he's smoking, on campus, as
though it's actually allowed or something.
He just looks at me and nods, squinting his eyes as he takes another drag.
"I was just on my way to—" I point straight ahead, feeling the need to explain my presence, yet feeling
embarrassed by how fake I sound.
But he just drops his cigarette, smashes it with his thick, rubber-soled boot, looks up at me, and goes, "Did you