Alyson Noël - Saving Zoë

“Hey,” Parker says, reaching out to slap hands with the chauffeur, who squeezes his cell phone between his

shoulder and ear so he can slap back.

“You guys ready to leave?” He places his hand over the mouthpiece, and gazes from Parker to me.

“No, we’re just—” Parker starts, but I cut him off.

“I just need to get something out of the back. It’ll only take a sec.” I smile, watching as he winks at Parker before walking away.

“So, about this prize,” Parker says, closing the door and appearing by my side so fast and seamless it’s like he has springs in his shoes, ones that activate at the first hint of sex.

I look into his eyes and wait, knowing that soon, he’ll lean in to kiss me.

We kiss for a while. And while it’s nice, and sweet, and way better than that time in the closet since there’s no bad smells or hockey sticks shoved against my butt, I’m still not fully convinced that he actually wants to make out with me — boring, inept, plain Jane me.

So in my head, I imagine I’m Zoë — that I’m beautiful, wild, glamorous, and experienced — that there’s nothing in the world that can scare me.

And as Parker wraps his arms around my waist, I slide my hands down the front of his shirt, making my way down to his pants, hesitating near the spot that I would never try to touch, but that Zoë wouldn’t think twice about.

“I don’t get you,” he whispers, suddenly pulling away. “It’s like, inside the dance you’d barely even look at me, but now?” He shakes his head and squints, obviously not complaining, but still, more than a little perplexed.

But I just smile, knowing I’m no longer me. I ditched that nervous loser and became someone better. “I lost the bet,” I say, gazing at him with Zoë’s eyes, touching him with Zoë’s hands, and kissing him with Zoë’s lips.

He kisses me on the neck, as I lean back against the seat, feeling so incredibly daring and free. Then he slips his finger under my blue silk strap, sliding it all the way down, as I turn my head and gaze toward the window, shocked to see my own dull reflection staring back at me.

“I can’t do this,” I say, pushing him away, frantically reaching for my strap.

Parker just looks at me, his face flushed and confused, his hands halted in panic. “But you seemed so—”

I turn back toward the window, hoping not to see me, feeling disappointed when i do.

“Echo, really, I didn’t mean… please don’t be mad,” he says, his hands fumbling awkwardly as he reaches for me, trying to make me face him.

I move farther away, my heart beating frantically as I run my hands through my hair and over my dress, erasing all evidence of my little digression, knowing I need to act fast, to come up with some excuse that will explain my bizarre behavior, so everything will get back to normal and stop being so weird. “Jeez Parker, it was only a limo bet. I mean, just how big a prize did you think you were gonna get?” I ask, chasing it with a laugh so he’ll think we’re okay.

He laughs too, his eyes relaxing, his face clearly relieved. Then he opens the door and steps onto the curb, offering his hand as a guide. “Well, I probably should’ve told you this before, and I hope you’re not too mad, but I have a confession to make,” he says, slipping his arm through mine as we head back inside.

I gaze up at him, happy that we’ve moved on, but only mildly interested in what it might be.

“That wasn’t really our limo.” He smiles.

The next morning when I woke I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I expected. Or at least not in a physical way. I mean, I didn’t throw up, I didn’t have a headache, and I didn’t feel the slightest bit queasy. Which basically means that all of my parents’ warnings about the “high price one always pays for a night of overindulgence,” didn’t come true for me.

But mentally? Mentally I felt like crap. And I don’t remember anyone ever cautioning me about that.

I roll over and gaze out the window, noticing how the big oak tree has lost most of its leaves, making it look stark, alone, and defensive. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m getting all Freudian and weird, projecting all of my innermost feelings onto a tree. I mean after last night, and that whole freaky limo episode, I found myself feeling pretty stark, alone, and defensive too.

Yet I was also aware of how I was quite possibly making a snowstorm out of a snowflake. I mean, there are tons of girls who practically line up to “go wild” and who end up going a whole lot further than that. And it’s not like you ever see any of them stopping to think twice, or mentally torturing themselves like me.

But clearly, I’m nothing like those girls. And I’m obviously nothing like Zoë. And even though I know my life would be way more fun if I was, the truth is, I have no idea how to act like that and not lose myself in the process.

“I can’t believe you actually brought your books,” Teresa says, eyeing my bulging backpack and laughing.

“You said we were gonna study,” I say, cringing at how whiny I sound, while wondering what I missed. I mean, earlier, when we were on the phone, I specifically heard her use the word “study.” So excuse me for taking that literally.

“Well, I also said we were going to the library, but you don’t see me heading there now, do you? The only reason I said all that is ’cause my mom has ginormous elephant ears, and she was totally listening to our conversation that whole time.”

“So where are we going?” I ask, walking alongside her, my way-too-heavy backpack digging a wedge deep into my shoulder.

“The park. I told some people we’d meet them.”

“What people?” I look at her, noticing for the first time how she’s dressed so differently from how I’m used to seeing her at school, way less preppy and a lot more sexy.

“Just some guys, no one you know.” She smiles.

“Like, friends of Sean’s?” I ask, wondering why she’s acting so undercover and secretive.

But she just laughs. “Please. Sean is totally sweet, don’t get me wrong, and he’s good for school dances and stuff like that, but, well, I don’t know. There’s this other guy, and it’s kind of hard to explain.” She shrugs. “But you’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”

When we get to the park, instead of going right down to the lake like I usually do, Teresa leads me over to the old fountain, the one with all the angels and cherubs and overblown biblical images, all molded from a single slab of cement.

“Omigod! There he is, Jason. He is so hot! So just act cool, okay?” she whispers, shooting me a doubtful look, obviously not convinced I’ll be able to pull it off. She fluffs her hair around her shoulders, then straightens her sweater and picks up the pace, heading straight for these two guys who are drinking, smoking, and just overall loitering on the fountain’s tiled edge.

“Hey,” she says, stopping before them and tilting her head toward me. “This is Echo.”

I gaze at the two of them, wondering which one of these delinquents she could possibly think is hot.

“Echo? Who names their kid that? What’re your parents, like, hippies?” This comes from a fat guy wearing a size too small I DO MY OWN nude SCENES T-shirt that I hope is meant to be ironic. And when he laughs his whole belly shakes, stretching and bulging against the overburdened cotton, just like jolly or St. Nick. Only a whole lot grosser.

I stand there, wondering how soon I can leave, when Teresa shakes her head, pushes him playfully on the shoulder, and says, “Tom, you asshole. Leave her alone. Echo’s cool.” But when she looks at me, her expression tells a whole other story, having already decided I’m not.