“So when were you going to tell us?”
“You got a secret to share?”
Reid pulls on one side. Carly on the other. Monica and Jorge squeeze close by. Their attention doesn’t lift Zoe. They know. It cuts her open. Her world is not theirs. It never has been. A brittle shade separates them—or did. But now the dirty secrets of her life are bared, and embarrassment laps in. How did they find out? Please, not Mama. I hope they didn’t talk to Mama. She is stupid. Of course they would call eventually. Now appearances, even thin ones, are gone.
“What I want to know is how you can afford it.”
“It’s called a job, Monica,” Jorge says.
“Shut up, shit-for-brains. I wasn’t asking you. Besides, I have a job, and I could never afford an apartment.”
“It’s not an apartment,” Zoe says.
“Well, what is it then? A house?” Jorge asks.
“I—”
Reid stops and spins her to face him. “Did you rent a whole fucking house?”
Carly breaks in. “No. She bought it. She bought a whole house, you idiot. Would you let her talk!”
“It’s a room,” Zoe says, “on Lorelei Street.” Her words are like a stamp. A final approval. Or maybe more like full disclosure. No going back.
“Where’s that?”
They guide her to the parking lot, and during the ten minutes they have before the bell rings, they share a smoke between cars while she answers their questions. “It’s off
of Carmichael about six blocks from the diner.”
“How big is it?” Carly asks.
“I told you. It’s a room. That’s all. And a bathroom. And sort of a kitchen in one corner. A sink, a hot plate, and a refrigerator.” She leans against the car that hides them and takes the shared cigarette from Reid’s fingers. Their enthusiasm cinches her up, edges away the embarrassment. She squints and wants to have some fun. She inhales and blows a long dramatic trail out. Effect for Reid. Pause. Timing. It all matters. “Came with a dog, too. I share the room with a bulldog. A big, fat-ass bulldog.”
“No way!” Reid says. She knows he is more impressed with her delivery than the dog. Monica and Carly both laugh and scream “What?” at the same time. Jorge maintains control. He is not interested in the dog. “What about a Jacuzzi?” he asks.
Zoe and Monica exchange a look. The question goes unanswered. The warning bell rings, Zoe passes the cigarette to Carly for a last puff, and they walk to class. At the 200 wing the group splits—Zoe goes with Carly, and Reid, Monica, and Jorge head off in another direction.
“How’d you find out?” Zoe asks. “You called the house?”
“Yeah,” Carly answers.
Zoe feels a stiffening to her cheeks. A bracing to keep the turn of her lips and the tilt of her chin just so. “So you talked to my mom,” she says.
“No. I talked to your grandma. She’s the one who answered.”
Grandma? Her room was revealed by Grandma? A corner is stolen. A patchwork pillow. A star. A bulldog. A fingerprint smudge. Damn you, Zoe. Why didn’t you tell them first? The careful bracing is gone. “What did she say?”
“Just that you moved out. Gave me the address and then said something about secrets that I didn’t get.”
Secrets.
Carly’s voice becomes careful. Delicate. “She…sounded a little…funny. Just said you moved out because you were tired of secrets. Kind of leaned heavy on that word. What’d she mean?”
She meant for you to tell me, that’s what she meant, Zoe thinks. She wanted to steal a piece of my day. My life. Make her thoughts my thoughts. To throw my words back in my face. She meant to control me without ever speaking to me. But Zoe says none of those things to Carly.
“I don’t know,” she answers in a voice that even Reid would have believed.
Twenty-Seven