by Alyson Noel
“Just a community theater thing, no biggie. I’m just doing it for the experience,” I said.
“Can I come?” he asked.
But I told him no. Told him that he’d make me too nervous, and that I didn’t even want him to drive me. I’d just planned to take the bus, which meant I needed to leave right away, since it’d take me a whole lot longer to get there like that (which isn’t even a full lie, because I had planned to take the bus to the photo shoot).
So he just looked at me and said, “How ‘bout I drive you and pick you up after?”
And I said, “No way, Jose. In fact, I don’t even want to talk about it afterward, unless of course they cast me, then I’ll bore you to death with all the details.”
So he goes, “Well then how ‘bout this—we go to the park, hang for a while, and then you take my car and come pick me up when you’re done?”
“But I don’t know how long it will take! I mean, you’re just gonna sit there that whole time?” I asked, part of me really wanting the car since it would make everything so much easier, but the other part not wanting to be responsible for picking him up. I mean, what if it runs late? But still, having the car will really help, so I agreed.
Okay, so I just wrote all that in the parking lot of the Circle K, where he just went in to get us some snacks and waters and cigarettes and bread for our pet ducks. And now he’s back so—
“Thank you darling,” I say, wanting a ciggie big-time but knowing I can’t write and open the pack at the same time. But really, what’s more important, smoking or recording all the little mundane things that happen to me while I’m still anonymous?
So he goes, “What are you writing about that’s making you so happy?”
Then he acts like he’s trying to peek over my shoulder, so I pull it away and say, “You have no idea.”
So we’re at the park now, and I’m feeding the ducks while Marc starts on his homework and then he looks at me and goes, “So what play are you trying out for?”
And since I’m more into movies, and don’t really know any plays, I go, “Phantom of the Opera.” And believe me, the second it’s out, I regret it.
So he looks at me and goes, “I didn’t know you could sing opera.” Then he gives me this suspicious squinty kind of look.
But I think I pulled it off, cuz I just said, “I don’t, silly. It’s for a nonsinging part. A really small part, in fact, and it’s really no big deal. I just think it will be good experience to go to an audition and see what it’s like to be onstage with everyone watching you and stuff.” And since it seems like he might actually believe that I add, “But what about you? Are you really just gonna sit here and wait?”
And he smiles and goes, “Yup.”
And I go, “But what if you get bored, or need to go home or something?”
But he just shakes his head and says, “No worries, I’ll handle it. Just don’t forget to come back for me.” Then he jangles his car keys as he starts to hand them over.
And I go, “Please, I could never forget you,” then I lean in and kiss him, and reach for the keys.
But then he goes, “Wait, I want something in return.”
I just looked at him, thinking I should’ve known better, ‘cause there’s always a catch. “What?” I ask.
“Your diary,” he says. “Leave me your diary just to make sure.”
“Make sure of what?”
“To make sure you come back to me. You know, like collateral?” He smiles.
“You’re not gonna read it, are you?” I ask, still wanting those keys but not liking the trade, and wondering if I can trust him to really not read it.
But he just gives me a serious look, and says, “Only if you don’t come back.” Then he leans in and kisses me, and says, “And when you return, I have a major surprise for you. Something you’re gonna love, that will also explain everything, everything you’ve been wondering about where I was those times when you couldn’t reach me. I just want us to rewind, to get back to where we were. I really love you, Zoë.”
So I say, “And I really love you, Marc.”
Then he smiles and says, “Are you ever going to stop writing so I can kiss you and tell you good-bye?”
And I smile and say, “Yes!”
I turn the page but that’s it. And every page that follows is as blank as the one before it, nothing but blue lines on white background, Zoë’s loopy handwriting coming to its final rest.
I close my eyes and lean back against the cushions, tears pouring down my cheeks, thinking how strange it is that her diary ended on “Yes!” When her life probably ended on “No!”
I sit there, holding her book in my lap, unwilling to look at it, unable to let go.
And when my cell phone rings, I hit speaker, wiping my eyes as Teresa says, “Echo, I’m on my way over. We really need to talk.”
Thirty-three
Seconds later when the doorbell rings, I assume Teresa was a lot closer than I’d thought. But when I peek through the glass and see Abby, my stomach drops so fast and hard it takes me a moment to realize that she’s smiling as though yesterday never happened.
“Jeez, you really are sick. You look awful,” she says, giving me a concerned once-over while maintaining a safe distance from any potential infectious disease.
“Relax, I’m fine,” I tell her. “Seriously, it’s safe to come in.”
She gives me a hesitant look then steps inside, following me into the den, where she flops down on my dad’s favorite chair, and goes, “So, what gives?”
But I just shake my head and sit on the couch, pulling the afghan around me, hugging my knees tight to my chest. “I’ve been going through some stuff,” I finally say, knowing I owe her much more than that, but feeling unsure just how far I should go.
“I know.” She nods.
“You know?” I ask, looking at her and wondering just how much she knows.
“Well, for starters, you’ve been acting pretty freaky since the first day of school. And then all that stuff yesterday, well, that was pretty much the pinnacle of your freakiness.”
“Does Jenay hate me?” I ask.
She laughs. “Jenay’s incapable of hate. She’s all about love, pep rallies, and cheerleading tryouts.”
“Seriously?”
“’Fraid so.” Abby nods. “Tryouts are months away, but she’s already talking about it. She wants to be able to cheer for Chess at all of his football games.”
“Can’t she do that from the stands?”
“Not like a professional.” She smiles.
“So, do you hate me?” I ask, holding my breath.
“Honestly? I did. But then I got over it.” She shrugs. “Because I know what you’re going through. Okay, backtrack. Maybe I don’t know exactly what you’re going through. But sometimes I try to imagine it, you know? Like when Aaron’s driving me nuts and I’m fantasizing about totally throttling him. Well, sometimes I make myself stop and imagine how I’d feel if he was no longer around for me to hate. And the truth is, as much as he annoys me, I know it would be a whole lot worse without him. And then that makes me think how bad it must suck for you to have to deal with all that, not to mention the way people stare and the things they say. And I don’t mean like I pity you,” she says quickly, knowing full well just how much I hate to be pitied. “It’s just, I don’t know, I guess I just want you to know that I care, and that I’m here, and that no matter how hard you try, you can’t push me away. Or maybe you can, but you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that.” She smiles, but her bottom lip is trembling. And seeing that makes me feel unbelievably sad, especially when I realize how willing I was to discard her.
“So where is Jenay?” I ask, anxious to change the subject.
“Pep club,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But one more thing, Echo, and then I promise to let it go. I just want you to know that you can totally confide in me if you need to. Seriously, you can tell me anything you want and I promise not to judge or ever r
epeat a single word of it to anyone, including Jenay. Scout’s honor.” She holds up her hand, palm facing forward, even though we were never Scouts.
And when I look at her, I’m tempted, thinking how nice it would be to get some of this burden off my chest, not to have to bear all this weight on my own. But when I start to speak, I realize there’s still a few missing links, and I know I should wait ‘til I’ve gathered all the pieces.
So instead, I just shrug. “Rain check?” I ask, smiling as she nods.
When the doorbell rings a few minutes later, this time it really is Teresa. And when she comes in the den and sees Abby still sitting in the chair she gives me a quick, worried look.
“I should probably go,” Abby says, rising from her seat in a rare display of submission.
I glance at Terersa, wondering if she’ll insist on it, but she just shrugs and sits on the floor.
“Oh my God.” She drops her head in her hands and rubs her eyes with the pads of her fingers. “I’ve been so fucking stupid and I owe you the hugest apology,” she says, finally looking up at me, her eyes red and worried.
I glance at Abby, who’s clearly wondering what this is about, then I gaze back at Teresa when she says, “I need to talk to you about Jason.”
“Who’s Jason?” Abby asks, but when I look at her and shake my head, she goes quiet and leans back in her chair.
“Jason is a creep,” Teresa says, gazing at Abby and shaking her head. “A total freaking psychotic creep. Echo tried to warn me, but I was too stupid to listen. I thought he was some sexy, exciting, bad boy. Turns out he’s just bad.”
“Are you okay? I mean, did he hurt you?” I ask, remembering what happened to Zoë and Carly, and hoping that didn’t happen to her.
But she just shakes her head and closes her eyes, and when I glance over at Abby I can tell she’s confused. “Well, you know how normally we just meet up at the park and hang out and stuff? Like we did that one day? And how every now and then he’d stop by my house and we’d party when my parents weren’t home? Well, we did fool around, but only a few times, nothing major, basically because asshole Tom was usually there.”
I glance at Abby when she starts to say, “Who’s asshole To—” But then she looks at me and shakes her head, motioning for Teresa to continue.
“So yesterday, I was on my way home from school when he drove up and offered me a ride. And since no one was around to see me, I opened the door and got in.”
“Did you go to his place?” I ask, remembering Zoë and how he used the same M.O. on her.
She rolls her eyes and nods. “Jeez, you should see it, I mean, it’s a total freaking dump. I mean a filthy, cheap, disgusting mess.”
And just as I start to say, “I know,” I remember how I do know, and not wanting to share that with them, I don’t say anything.
“So he offers me a beer, and like the idiot I am, I’m all excited that we’re finally gonna hook up, since we’re all alone and stuff. So, thinking I should go freshen up a little first, I head for his bathroom as he heads for the fridge, and then I notice how the bathroom door is like right across from his bedroom, and I’m really tempted to open the door and take a look, but I’m also afraid of getting caught. So instead I just go inside and do my thing and right as I come out, I see him sitting on the couch with his index finger all shoved down the neck of my beer bottle. And I think, what the heck is he doing? And I start to feel all creeped out, wondering if he’s trying to poison me or drug me or something. So then I get all panicked, wondering what I should do. But then I decide to just act all smiley and calm until I can eventually find a way out of there.” Then she stops and looks at Abby and goes, “Do you think you can get me some water?”
And before I can even say anything, Abby is already up and heading for the kitchen. Teresa turns to me and whispers, “So anyway, I just try to act all normal, tapping my bottle against his, taking fake sips, and then right when I’m about to make an excuse to get out of there, his beeper goes off. So he goes, ‘I have to run out for a sec, so sit tight and don’t go snooping around.’ And when he gives me this threatening look, I just smile and nod and take another fake sip, and then like the second he leaves I’m about to bail, but then I wonder if maybe I’m overreacting. I mean, maybe he was just fishing a bug out of my beer, which is still pretty bad, though it’s not the same as drugging someone, right?”
Abby comes back with the water, and after taking a quick sip, Teresa looks at me and hesitates. “Should I continue?”
And since I have no idea where this is going, I really don’t know how to answer. But I also don’t feel like I can just kick Abby out, not after the way I’ve treated her. So I just shrug, letting Teresa decide. Then she takes another sip and goes, “Okay, so anyway, I decided to check out his bedroom, since the fact that he warned me not to snoop just made me want to do it even more. But then the second I open the bedroom door, I know where all of his money goes.” She looks at us and rolls her eyes. “He’s got this huge, four-poster bed, with these serious-looking, black leather restraints attached to all the posts, and there’re these two video cameras on tripods, and they’re both pointing right at the bed. I mean, there’s got to be like thousands of dollars’ worth of video equipment in there, like he’s making home porn or something. Anyway, I got so freaked out, and I knew I had to get out of there while I still could, and just as I was about to leave I noticed this huge stack of videos all lined up on a shelf, each one labeled with different girls’ names.” She looks at Abby, then me, and takes a deep breath. “And when I saw the one labeled ‘Zoë/Carly,’ well, I just grabbed it and ran.”
She shakes her head and looks at me. “I didn’t sleep the entire night cuz I was so scared about everything that happened, and everything that could’ve happened, and what he might try to do to me if he notices the missing video. And I really needed to see you, but then when you didn’t come to school today . . .” She shrugs, looking back and forth between me and Abby.
I glance at Abby, who’s sitting there completely still, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, then I look at Teresa and say, “What’d you do with the tape?” And I watch as she reaches into her big green tote bag, then hands it to me.
“You should burn it,” she says. “You should get rid of it so no one will ever find it.”
I turn it over in my hands, wondering if I will.
“I’m so freaking scared,” she says, starting to cry now. “I mean, what if he notices it’s missing, then tries to come after me and retaliate or something?”
I close my fingers around the tape, pressing it hard into my palm. Then I look at her and say, “You have to call the cops. You have to make sure he pays.”
“I know,” she whispers, nodding her head, her eyes filled with tears.
“But then everyone’s gonna know your business, and every one’s gonna talk.”
But she just shrugs. “I know that too.”
Thirty-four
The second Abby and Teresa leave, I run up to my room and shove the diary and tape between my mattress and box spring, placing them side by side, having no idea what to do with them but wanting them out of my sight. Then I pace back and forth between my bed and the french doors, wondering what I should do.
On the one hand, I know they contain evidence of yet another horrible crime against Zoë. Something she felt not only responsible for, but terribly ashamed of. And it makes me so sad to know that she viewed it that way, because even though he didn’t hold a gun to her head, Jason still drugged her and tricked her into doing something she never would’ve otherwise done. Not to mention that he’s an adult, one who was well aware of the fact that Zoë and Carly weren’t.
But I also think my sister had been through enough. And I’m not sure I can drag her memory—not to mention my parents—through all of this too.
“I’m gonna go to the cops and tell them everything,” Teresa had said as she stood on my porch, right before leaving. “But I won’t say a word about Zoë. I
swear. I mean, there’s probably plenty of evidence to convict him, so I doubt they’ll even need it. Besides, I feel like I owe you, I mean you did try to warn me and all.”
“What do you think I should do?” I asked, looking from her to Abby, who for practically the first time ever had no advice to give.
“Forget it,” she’d said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m out. This stuff is way over my head. I had no idea you guys were living these dangerous, top-secret lives.”
I looked at Teresa, but she just shrugged. “Up to you. But I promise not to say anything you don’t want me to.”
And as I closed the door behind them, I remembered Marc, and I knew I had to find him.
I flip open my cell and dial his number, listening to it ring so many times, I’m about to give up. But when he finally does answer, I get straight to the point. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For so many things. But I really need to see you now, and it’s actually pretty urgent. Do you think you can come by?”
He tells me he will, without once asking why.
I throw my peacoat over my ratty old sweats, shove my feet into some boots, pull a beanie onto my head, wrap a long, wool scarf twice around my neck, then reach under the mattress and grab the video, slipping it deep into my coat pocket. Then I purposely avoid looking in the mirror as I unlock my french doors and reach for the tree.
Obviously, I’m not trying to look cute for Marc. Because whatever weird attraction passed between us is now clearly over. At least it is for me. And I’m pretty willing to bet that it is for him too.
Because I think I finally get how my trying to be like Zoë—and Marc and I trying to be together—was just one more failed attempt to save her. And the truth is, Zoë is dead. And even though it’s almost unbearable to finally admit to the “D” word, if I truly want to move on then I can no longer avoid it.