Alyson Noël - Saving Zoë

“Still,” they said. “You could’ve stood right there, over the body, making those calls. You know, to cover. Because you panicked. Because you saw what you’d done to her, saw her lying there like that, and you freaked. Come on, you can tell us. We’re here to help you. So the sooner you confess, the better.”

Marc refused a lawyer, refused to change his story. He just handed over her backpack and said the only reason he even had it was because she’d left it with him as proof she’d return.

It’s weird how the police uncovered her life a lot quicker than her body. How within just a few days they knew most all of her secrets — about the Web page, the photo shoot, and her increasingly volatile relationship with Marc. They even interviewed her friends — Carly, Paula, practically everyone she knew. And believe me, they were all too eager to spill the beans on some things, while completely clamming up on others. But the one thing they all had in common is that every one of them pointed the finger at Marc. Saying how they were always suspicious of his loner ways and his completely messed up family.

“He isolated Zoë.”

“He kept her all to himself and totally freaked when she tried to pull away.”

But none of it’s true. None of it matches anything I’ve read.

And you’d think that Carly, of all people, would’ve been above that. Especially since she was Zoë’s best friend. But the truth is, it took her awhile to finally give them the more important details, and I always wondered who she was trying to protect — Zoë or herself?

I mean, she’s the one who pushed it. She’s the one who encouraged her to go. Not that I think it’s her fault or anything, because clearly it was Zoë’s choice in the end. Though I guess it explains why she tries so hard to avoid me at school, and how she can barely manage to look me in the eye when we pass in the halls.

And yeah, so maybe Marc is kind of a loner. I mean, so what? That doesn’t prove anything. That doesn’t make him guilty of anything other than having the rare ability to be comfortable just being by himself. Not to mention that it’s that exact quality, aside from his sexy good looks, that attracted Zoë to him in the first place. It’s what made her want him even more.

Though I do know that he hated all of that modeling stuff, and Zoë’s celebrity ambitions. He thought that whole world was sleazy and shallow and awful. That it took naive hungry people and built them way up before spitting them right out again. So it’s probably true that he would’ve freaked if he’d known about those pictures. But that’s why Zoë kept it hidden. And by the time he found out, it was already too late.

It took six long months to catch the guy who did it. But only because he tried to do it again. He lured the victim to the exact same location using the exact same M.O. And just like with Zoë, instead of packing a camera, he brought a knife.

He left a six-inch scar across that poor girl’s neck. But hey, at least she got to keep her head. My sister wasn’t so lucky.

And it was that, they said, that finally took her.

And even though they caught him red-handed (trust me, no pun intended), not one thing changed for Marc. And those six months he spent as a suspect may as well have been a conviction. I mean, maybe he didn’t go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. But then again, he didn’t have to.

Our town became his jailer.

At first I was worried how Parker would act. Would he be angry, dismissive, sad, happy, euphoric, grateful?

But then I decided not to care.

And it’s not because I was the least bit proud of the way I’d handled things. To be honest, I wasn’t proud of much of anything I’d done, it was more like now that it was over, I was over it too.

Though I was determined to deal with Teresa. I mean, I still had no idea what her motive might be, not to mention why she insisted on even hanging with me in the first place. And I needed her to know, once and for all, that she was wrong about me, that no matter what she thought, she and I were totally different, we had nothing in common, we were nothing alike. And that any secrets I may have had, I was now more than willing to blow right open.

So right before lunch I stand by her locker, just waiting for her to show. And when she sees me she waves and smiles and says, “Hey! Let me just dump these books and we’ll head on over.”

But I just look her right in the eye and recite the speech I’d been rehearsing all day in my head. “I’m not eating at the table,” I say. Tm hanging with Marc. And just so you know, I don’t care who you tell, or what you say, because I’m all out of secrets. But don’t forget, I still have yours.” Then before she can even respond, I turn and walk away, heading over to where Marc sits, feeling the weight of her stare the entire way.

It feels good to have nothing to hide. To no longer care what everyone thinks. Because knowing the real truth makes nothing else matter. And the real truth is that the only thing Marc has ever been guilty of is loving my sister. Despite what these small-minded people still say.

Because the fact is, Zoë never told him! I read it for myself. And if he didn’t know what she was up to, then how was he supposed to stop her? How could he possibly have done anything to save her?

And even though I feel pretty awful to admit it, I really need a break from Abby and Jenay. I mean, I love them, don’t get me wrong. And the last thing I’d ever want is for them to feel hurt or abandoned by me. But all the stuff they’re into now, everything they care about, is just so standard-issue teen — so normal and typical and boring and mundane, like they’re living in a sitcom, instead of the real world like me.

And it’s not that I don’t wish I could live like that too, because I really truly do. But unfortunately, that’s no longer an option. And no matter how much I might want for things to be different, there are some things I just can’t change. I mean, they don’t know what it’s like to live under the shadow of a sister like Zoë. They don’t know what it is to live with a vacant, numb, pill-popping mom and an absentee dad, and to have the whole town point and whisper whenever you go by. They’ll never know the pain of hearing the exact same people who left angels and cards for my sister’s memorial, gossiping behind her back, slandering her character, and acting like she somehow deserved it.

But I do know what it’s like to live like that. And that’s why I’ll never be able to blend. I’ll never be able to care about pep club or which jeans to wear to a party or who will ask me to a dance.

I’m a freak. There’s just no getting around it. And even though it wasn’t by choice, now that it’s a fact I have to find a way to live with it. And hanging with Abby and Jenay and all of their “normalness” only emphasizes my “weirdness.” So I need to find a place where I won’t always feel so strange and obtrusive. I need to be with someone who’s a lot more like me.

“Hey,” I say, sliding onto the bench next to Marc and tapping him on the shoulder, since he’s wearing earphones with his eyes closed, which means he can’t hear or see me.

He opens his eyes and smiles, then scoots over to give me more space.

And when he removes his earpiece I say, “Is it okay if I sit here with you?” I tear into a bag of chips, then thrust it toward him, offering him first pick.

“What about your friends?” he asks, looking at me intently, his deep dark eyes traveling over my face.

But I just shrug. “I thought you were my friend.”

He looks at me for a moment, then nods and inserts his earpiece.