Alyson Noël - Saving Zoë

“Hmmm,” I mumble, my eyes still closed, feeling happy and dreamy and free.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers.

So I do. Slowly lifting my lids, until I’m startled by the sight of his golden blond hair and blue eyes, so different from the familiar, dark stranger I held in my mind.

“Should I go?” he asks, gazing at me, before leaning in to kiss the side of my cheek.

I squint at him, wondering why he’s asking.

“Your parents. They’ll be back soon, and I don’t want you to get in trouble. I was just joking about scaling down your tree, you know that, right?”

But of course you were, I think, feeling disappointed that we’re back to being us, so different from who I really want to be. And just as I roll over, and start to get up, Zoë’s diary slips from its hiding space, and lands hard at my

feet.

“What’s that?” he says, reaching down to retrieve it.

But luckily I’m closer, which makes me quicker as well. So I swoop it up and hold it tight to my chest, then I look at him and say, “I think you should leave.”

All day at school I went through the motions — nodding, smiling, taking notes, acing pop quizzes, waving to friends, eating lunch, acting cute with Parker by sharing my brownie and laughing at all of his jokes. Yet the whole entire time, my eyes were searching for Marc. And I found myself lingering in the hall where he smokes, leaning against the wall where he eats, and stopping to tie my shoe in the area just outside the girl’s bathroom where I ran into him that very first day.

And it’s not like I was planning to actually talk to him or anything. I mean, I didn’t even know what to say. It’s more like I just wanted to see him, be near him, and share the same space with this person who I know so much about, but in such a strange, remote way.

And all the while, for the whole entire day, I was just waiting for the bell to ring, knowing that’s when I could finally go home, lie on my bed, pick up Zoë’s diary, and take up from where I left off.

Even last night after walking Parker to the door, I had every intention of bolting back up to my room and reading the diary. But then my parents drove up, and my dad, his face all flushed and happy from an evening of intellectual conversation and one too many glasses of wine, insisted we hang out in the den, watch a little TV, and get reacquainted during the three-minute commercial breaks.

And by the time I finally snuck out of there, it was late, I was tired, so I decided to call it a night.

“Are you guys going?” Jenay asks, shifting her books and stopping, having just reached the corner where we say good-bye and head our separate ways. “You know, to Teresa’s party?” she adds, removing a piece of windblown

blond hair from her lip gloss and tucking it back behind her ear.

I just shrug and look at Abby. I mean, it’s not like Teresa actually invited me or anything. But then I guess it’s not really that kind of a party. It’s more the haphazard, last-minute kind. The kind that gets planned the moment someone’s parents unexpectedly head out of town.

“I heard it’s going to be couples only. So count me out,” Abby says, staring off toward our street.

“Are you serious? Just couples? That’s so elitist,” i say, shaking my head and laughing, trying hard to appear like my normal, slightly sarcastic self, so my friends won’t see just how much I’m changing, and how I no longer care about any of this, especially now that I prefer Zoë’s world to my own.

“I think that’s only to keep the head count in check, so it doesn’t get all crazy and out of control. So no excuses, Ab. I mean, it’s not like there’s gonna be a velvet rope and a bouncer, so it’s not like you’ll get turned away at the door. At least think about it before you say no,” Jenay says, nodding encouragingly. “Please? Besides, if you want a date, I have the perfect guy all lined up and ready to go. All you have to do is say the word.”

“Forget it,” Abby says, blushing furiously but standing her ground. “I don’t accept donations, hand-me-downs, charity dates, or mercy hookups.”

“But you haven’t even met him! At least think it over, before you go all negative on me,” Jenay says, rolling her eyes but still laughing. “Listen, this guy is perfect for you, and this isn’t some crazy, random pairing because I’ve actually been thinking a lot about this. He’s super nice, really funny, and he’s incredibly smart too. And I mean like, majorly smart. He’s in my history class and he’s never once stumbled when he gets called on. Seriously, even when he’s messing around, he still knows all the answers.”

Abby puts her hand on her hip and shakes her head. “Did you even listen to your list? Nice, funny, smart, super smart even! Oh lucky day for me! But did you say hot? No. Gorgeous? Niente. Cute? Not so much. That’s a really bad sign, Jenay. A really bad sign.” She narrows her eyes.

But no way is Jenay giving up. “But that’s the thing, he is cute. Seriously, I swear. And the only reason I didn’t mention it first is because I know you’re not at all shallow or superficial. I know for a fact that you would never, ever base your opinion on looks alone.” She looks at each of us, smiling triumphantly, knowing there’s no way for Abby to argue with that.

Abby just stands there, squinting at Jenay as she mulls it over. “What’s his name?” she asks, as though that will somehow reveal which way to go.

“Jax. Jax Brannigan.”

“Jacks? Like plural? Like there’s two of him?” Abby says, her eyes going wide, as her head moves back and forth, indicating an immediate, “no way in hell” decision. “Jacks the nice, funny, super incredibly smart, two-headed history buff?”

“Jax with an x. And you can’t hold his name against him since it’s not like he named himself,” Jenay says, rolling her eyes, clearly frustrated with all of the obstacles Abby insists on throwing onto the otherwise well-marked path of love.

“What would you name yourself?” I ask, suddenly interested in this conversation, but probably only because as far as weird names go, I’m the undisputed queen. “I mean, if you could have any name, what would you pick?”

Abby laughs. “Well, when I was seven I wanted to be named Candy. So my dad started calling me Junior Mint, and my mom started calling me Abba Zabba and Aaron started calling me Twizzler, until I begged them all to please just stop and call me Abby again.”

Jenay smiles. “I always wanted a cute name. You know, one that ended in an I or E sound.” She shrugs. “But as it turns out, Jenay’s a family name. So I’ll probably be expected to pass it down someday too. You?”

Abby and Jenay both look at me, obviously curious how you could possibly ever top a name like Echo. And even though the years from kindergarten through fifth grade were the worst, with all the boys chasing me around, going, “Echooooo! Echoooo!” I guess I never really thought about changing it, never once thought about being anyone else — until now. I look at Abby and Jenay and just shrug.

“Well, I gotta get home and babysit. Call me if you guys get bored and want to come over. And Abby, think about it. Please, I’m begging you. I promise you will not be disappointed,” Jenay says, turning down her street as Abby and I head for ours.

“Are you and Parker going?” she asks, gazing at me briefly, then down at the ground.

“Where? The party?” I look at her. “I don’t know, I guess.”

“Do you think I should go?” She gazes at me, her face set and serious, like she wants me to be serious too.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” I shrug.