Alyson Noël - Saving Zoë

But he just looks at me. “I know.”

I glance at him, wondering how.

“You called. And you’re no longer angry.” He shrugs.

“I was never angry,” I say, pulling my hand away from an overly aggressive beak.

“Just give him the rest, so they’ll all go away.” He laughs.

I empty the bag and bite down on my lip, feeling this weird sense of comfort sitting so close to him, someone who I know so much about, and who knows that I know.

“How’re your parents?” he asks.

I just shake my head and shrug.

“They still hate me?” He looks at me, eyes neither worried nor hopeful, just curious.

“Probably.” I shrug. “You going to the trial?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I need to see that freak, I need to watch him pay. Couple more months though, right?”

“That’s what they say.” I watch the last duck, still pecking around near my feet, and I pull them in too so I won’t lose a toe. “Thanks for bringing me here,” I say, gazing up at him shyly. “I mean, I know this may sound weird and all, but being around you makes me feel close to her.” I bite down on my lip, wondering how he’ll take that.

But he just closes his eyes and lifts his face toward the fading sun. “Being here makes me feel close to her. That’s why I come every day.”

“Even when it rains?” I ask, trying to sound light and teasing, even though the moment is so clearly wrong for a joke. But that’s what I do when I’m nervous, I make inappropriate, stupid jokes.

But he just sighs. “Every day feels like rain,” he says, his eyes still closed, his long, thick lashes seeming almost fake the way they rest against his skin.

“Is your dad out?” I ask, wanting to change the subject, but suspecting this might not be the right way.

“Not yet.” He shrugs.

“Will you live with him when he does get out?”

He shakes his head and looks at me. “I’m in the guest house now, it’s like having my own place. So I plan to stay put until college.”

“Where you going?” I ask, suddenly panicked at the thought of him leaving, especially now that I’m just getting to know him.

“Berkeley’s my dream, Columbia would be cool, but my grades kind of suck, so probably right here.”

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, even though part of me wants it to be true.

But he just shrugs. “Wanna grab a bite?” He looks at me.

I do. I really, really, really do. I want to go anywhere he wants to go. I’d follow him wherever, just to be with him. Only I can’t. “I’m supposed to go to this party,” I say, lifting my shoulders and rolling my eyes, trying to come off as grown up, world-weary, and jaded. But when he raises his eyebrows, I look away. Since it’s obvious he still sees me as Zoë’s little sister.

I wish he would notice how much I’ve changed, how the last year has shaped me, transformed me. But he doesn’t. So I grab my purse and stand. “Can you drop me off? I need to go get ready,” I say, my voice carrying an edge that’s hard to miss.

He holds up his keys and they jangle together, then he stands and heads for the car.

And I walk alongside him, feeling small, silent, and frustrated. Wondering just what it will take to get his attention.

He comes around to my side, unlocking the door, and letting me in. And just as I start to move past him, my hip accidentally rubs against his, and his face is so close, and his eyes so deep, that I can’t help but lift my fingers to his smooth, sculpted cheek. Then without even thinking, I close my eyes, lean in, and kiss him.

He hesitates at first, but only for a moment. Then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest, kissing me hard on the mouth, until he finally pulls away and whispers, “Echo, trust me, you don’t want—”

But I do want. So I pull him back to me, leaving no room for questions, no room for doubt. Thinking this is exactly how a kiss should feel — glorious, heady, and intoxicating. Like those first three sips of vodka the night of the homecoming dance, only a gazillion trillion bazillion times better.

And even though I’m borrowing a moment from Zoë’s life, one that will never truly be mine, at this moment I just don’t care. I’m living for now.

“Echo,” he whispers, pulling away, calling my name even though I’d rather be Zoë. “Echo, stop.”

I open my eyes and smile, at first not noticing the dark cloudy look in his. But the moment I see it, I follow their trail.

And at the end stands Teresa.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Abby whispers, for like the hundredth time since she and Jax arrived.

“Omigod, it’s fine,” Jenay says, rolling her eyes and laughing. “Seriously, you look amazing.”

“Echo?” Abby looks at me. “Hello! Earth to Echo? Any comments on my outfit? Do these jeans make me look fat? C’mon, you can tell me, I can take it.”

I look at her and force myself to smile. “Please, you couldn’t look fat if you tried. Really. Now the Bratz doll? She looked fat. She just couldn’t pull it off like you can.”

Luckily Abby and Jenay both laugh, which means I’m pulling it off better than I thought. They have no idea how I’m not really here, that in my head, I’m back in the parking lot with Marc, just seconds after we both saw Teresa.

We didn’t speak the whole way home, but when he stopped on my corner he turned to me and said, “Echo, I’m so sorry. I—”

“Don’t.” I stared straight ahead, listening to the steady hum of the engine, determined to be brave and say what I felt for a change, rather than chickening out and running away like usual. “Don’t apologize,” I said, turning toward him. “I wanted to see you. And I’m not at all sorry for what happened.” I felt stronger after saying that, strong enough to actually look him in the eye.

“And Teresa?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with worry.

I took a deep breath, remembering the expression on her face, the wide eyes and gaping mouth so easy to translate, even from all the way across the parking lot. And how it turned into a slow curving smile as she watched us

climb into the car and drive away. “I’ll deal with Teresa,” I said, having not the slightest idea how I’d actually do that. But it sounded convincing.

Then I grabbed my purse and crawled out of the car, shutting the door firmly between us. And just as I started to move toward my house, I turned back, leaned through the open window, and said, “Hey Marc, thanks. Thanks for today.”

He smiled at me, holding my gaze for a moment. Then he turned up his stereo, shifted into gear, and drove away.

But now, with the three of us crowded into Teresa’s guest bathroom for the sole purpose of talking Abby down from her self-induced, body-dysmorphic panic attack, I realize I still have no plan for how to handle Teresa.

But then again it’s not like she doesn’t have her own secrets to hide. And it’s not like she was alone either.

“Listen, this is crazy. We’ve got to get out of here,” Jenay says, having reached her limit as she reaches for the door handle. “We’re in here, the guys are out there, and there’s something very wrong with this picture. Abby, you look great, you are great, and I can tell Jax is totally into you. But if you don’t get out of this bathroom right this second and back to your date I’m going to scream.”

Abby takes a deep breath and follows Jenay, while I linger behind the two of them, peering into the mirror as they head out the door, wondering how it’s possible to still look like me, when I feel so different inside.

Okay, so normally on a Saturday night, when someone’s parents are out of town and they decide to throw a party, you can pretty much expect to see the usual things — music blaring from somebody’s docked iPod, a lamp and/or vase breaking into a million little pieces, a half-hearted fistfight that breaks up well before they can take it outside, sporadic alcohol-induced vomiting in the bushes, people sneaking upstairs to hook up — I mean, those are just some of your basic, all-purpose party ingredients, right? Not that I’ve been to that many parties, but still, I’ve watched a lot of TV and movies and read a lot of books, so I think I know what to expect.