When will Mrs. Garrett call on me? Ever? Will she ever say my name? Cakewalk. Name or no name. Cakewalk. Be a good girl, Beth.
Her stomach must be bloody red by now. She swipes her palm across her forehead and hopes she is not coming down with something.
She stops at Taco Shack on the way home. She has to. Rent or not, she has to stop the burning throb of her stomach. She orders a large cheese quesadilla and a small Sprite to wash it down. The burn continues, and she stops at Food Star for the cheapest antacids she can find—a tiny roll of the Food Star brand for seventy-nine cents. She eats four of them. By the time she gets home her stomach is better but she is still feeling like shit. Now she has blown four more dollars. Coming down with something might have been better.
She sleeps. It is not even dark yet, but she falls into bed. She melts into the mattress, wants to melt so deeply that she can never be pulled loose.
Thirty-Nine
“A crush? I can’t believe you said that right to my face when you knew!”
Zoe pulls on Carly’s elbow. Tries to maneuver her to a quieter place, but Carly yanks free.
“He’s my brother!”
The day started out so well. After twelve hours of sleep, Zoe woke up refreshed. Almost hopeful. She felt confident enough to buy a Krispy Kreme and milk on the way to school. Everything would work out. But as soon as she stepped into the science quad and came face-to-face with Carly, things began to unravel. What made Reid tell?
“Carly—”
“My brother! My younger brother!”
“He’s six months younger than me, Carly. That’s all.”
“And that makes it okay? What was he—fifteen? Fifteen, Zoe!” Her voice is shrill, working higher and louder.
Zoe lowers her voice to an angry whisper and glances at the students within earshot. “So are you going to tell the whole school?” She pulls Carly close to the brick wall. “So what! He was fifteen. I was sixteen. Big deal.”
Carly retreats, her body softens, like it is tired. Her voice flattens. “It’s sick. He’s not like you, Zoe.”
The innuendo of the “you” rolls between them. Zoe can’t ignore it.
“What are you saying? I’m some kind of slut?”
Carly is silent.
“Say it!” Zoe says again.
Carly slings her backpack to her shoulder. “I don’t think I need to. You already did.” She turns and walks away.
Zoe yells after her, still needing to explain, or at least offer a rebuttal. “Give me a break, Carly. It’s not like I was his first.”
Carly turns. “Don’t be stupid, Zoe. He was fifteen. That’s exactly what you were.”
A long pause fills the air. Zoe tries to gather the words to her, snatch them into an order that makes sense.
Carly adds, “Like I said, he’s not like you.” She leaves, swallowed up by crowds of students, and Zoe is still trying to find her own words to throw after her.
But there are none.
Forty
Zoe slides into her seat. Late. But Mr. Ramirez is not like Mrs. Garrett. He doesn’t notice. It wouldn’t matter to her if he did. Tardiness is other world. A lifetime away, like grounding, curfew, and virginity. Less than mentionable. Zoe only thinks of Carly. Opens her book. Carly. Page 147. Carly. Last night’s homework.
Carly.
Carly is a virgin. To her, sex with one guy is monumental. Sex with half a dozen is inconceivable. And when one is her brother it is sure to ice her. That’s it, really. That’s all it comes down to. Her brother. And that Zoe never told. Carly will come around, though. Zoe is sure of that. But by Friday? Not a chance. And that is what matters right now. Carly would have to stew in her just-right-virgin world for a few days.
Zoe has to move on to basics: rent, money, and how to get it.