The Boyfriend Thief

CHAPTER 15





I sat upright in bed, gasping and blinking in the dark as I tried to figure out what the noise was that had woken me. Then I heard it again. The chime on my phone, signaling a text message.

Stumbling out of bed after tripping on my blanket, I lunged for the phone on my desk to make it stop ringing before it woke anyone else. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out the glowing red numbers of my alarm clock through the haze of sleep. 12:41AM.

Who in their right mind would be texting me after midnight?

I had to blink a few times against the brightness of my phone before I could read the message. R u awake?

It was from Zac, whose number was programmed into my contacts because of our business project.

I am now, I texted back.

Open ur window.

I pulled back the blinds and nearly yelped at the face peering at me through the glass. The window opened with a shudder, letting in the night air, which was still warm after the record hot day.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I came for our date.” He rested his arms on the windowsill and grinned at me. The moonlight illuminated the top of his head like a halo.

I shook my head, still trying to wake myself up. “What date?”

“You said you wanted to see my comedy routine the next time I did it,” he explained. “Tonight’s the night.”

“Now?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I like to go on late. I mean, it’s not like I’m sleeping or anything. And that way, I’m sure my dad won’t come waltzing into the diner in search of good entertainment and catch me in the middle of my act.”

My brain was still fuzzy with sleep and so it took longer to process anything Zac was saying. My inability to get moving must have annoyed him, because he poked my arm and said, “Go. Get dressed and meet me outside.”

He disappeared before I had a chance to protest the craziness of this idea. After locking the window again and pulling the blind down, I cast a longing look at my bed. It would be so nice to crawl back under the covers and go to sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was vital to a healthy body.

But I had to admit I was curious. Only so I could win Zac over, of course. This would have to win me major brownie points in his good graces. I doubted Hannah had ever been to one of his midnight shows.

So I got dressed, pulling on my purple shoes and jeans and a T-shirt. I tried to tame my bed head into a ponytail and only paused long enough for lip gloss. Then I tiptoed out of my room, stopping in the hall outside my dad’s door to listen for any sounds of movement. The house was dark and quiet. I could faintly hear my dad and brother snoring through their closed bedroom doors.

Zac waited outside, sitting on the hood of his beat up sedan. He slid down when he saw me.

“You came,” he said, as if he didn’t believe I would.

I eyed Zac’s dented and dirty car and then said, “Why don’t I drive?”

The town was still as we drove through the darkened streets, lit only by the streetlamps along the side of the road. I wasn’t used to being up this late. I kept to a strict eight-hour sleeping schedule and was always in bed by eleven at the latest. The world I knew so well looked different in the light of neon signs and sleepy eyes. Every now and then we’d pass a 24-hour fast food place or a club where people spilled out onto the sidewalk, their laughter breaking the silence of midnight, but other than that it was almost like Zac and I were the only two people awake in the entire world.

Zac’s knees bounced up and down in the passenger seat. “I hope you like my show. I’ve never done it in front of outsiders.”

“Outsiders?” I asked.

“People who aren’t part of the regular midnight comedy crowd.” He reached over to fiddle with my radio and I slapped his hand away.

“The radio stays on one oh one point seven,” I told him. “Car rule number three.”

He made a face at me in the light of a streetlamp. “That station that plays those weird indie bands?”

“They’re not weird,” I said, stopping the car for a red light even though no other cars were visible in the other direction as far as I could see. “They’re underrated.”

“They’re whiny.” He turned up the volume and a slow ballad filled the air. “Listen to that. It could put even me to sleep.”

I smirked. “Maybe we should turn it up louder then.”

“We need some music to dance to. Something to keep us awake and get us energized for the big show. Something that makes you say, ‘woooo!’”

I winced at his loud screech right in my ear. “Less woo, more quiet.” I pressed the CD button on the dashboard. “Here, how’s this for dancing?”

My favorite song by Hallow Flux filled the car, upbeat music dancing all around us. Zac nodded his head, grinning wide.

“Hallow Flux,” he said. “This is what I’m talking about.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You know Hallow Flux?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I happen to be a music connoisseur. Delia got me into them. We went to their show last year, when they came to Greenville.”

I slapped my hand against the steering wheel. “No way. I was at that show with Molly. Why didn’t I see you there?”

“Because before our little business project you’d never spoken a word to me?” Zac asked, poking a finger into my side. “And you know, the fact that like five hundred other people were there.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, echoing through my head. Before our little business project you’d never spoken a word to me. He was right, of course. Ever since that summer after seventh grade, I’d only spoken to people when absolutely necessary. Zac and I weren’t in any of the same clubs at school, we didn’t hang out with the same groups, we didn’t have anything at all in common. And yet, here we were, in my car at midnight, on the way to his comedy show.

The Rose Castle glowed in the dark night. A few people stood outside, talking and laughing to each other, and through the windows I could see more people inside.

“Hey, Zac!” a guy greeted him as we walked across the parking lot.

“Moody, my man!” Zac answered, reaching out to grip his hand. He grinned at the other faces gathered around, nodding to them. “Hey, Mark, Ally, Nate.” They were all older than us. The man Zac had called Moody and the woman looked to be at least in their fifties.

“Got the whole Zac Pack here tonight,” Ally said, reaching over to hug him tight.

Zac pulled me forward into their gaze. “This is my friend Avery. Avery, this is Mark, Ally, Nate, and Walter—but everyone calls him Moody.” He leaned toward me and whispered. “He has a short temper sometimes.”

The group greeted me warmly, with Ally breaching my personal space to hug me as tight as she had Zac. She smelled like peppermint. I wasn’t used to hugging random people and at first I stepped back slightly when she lunged toward me. But then when she wrapped me in her embrace, pulling me close to her warm body, a slight tingling buzzed through me. I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the embrace.

After a few minutes of chitchat, in which an alien took over my body so that Ally was able to pry my entire life story out of me with a few well-meaning questions, Zac led me inside the tiny diner. The brightness of the lights compared to the darkness of the late hour outside made me blink several times before my eyes could focus on anything. People sat at the tables scattered throughout the room with their chairs turned to face a temporary wooden stage that had been set up along the far wall. The place wasn’t packed, but still a good amount of spectators filled the seats.

Zac seemed to know everyone, or else they at least knew him. Everyone called out to him as we wound our way through the room.

A waitress carrying a tray of chips passed by us. “Find a table anywhere,” she said over her shoulder as she kept moving. “Someone will be with you in a minute.”

I gestured toward a table. “This okay?” I asked Zac.

He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Not there. Only the old people or newbies sit at the tables.”

“I am a newbie,” I reminded him.

“You’re with me. There’s a difference.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the side of the room, where cushions and bean bag chairs lined the wall. A few people were slouched against the cushions, legs spread out across the floor as they waited for the show.

Zac walked over to the bean bag chairs, turned around, and with one smooth movement, plopped down. He sat there smiling up at me as he sank lower into the beans, his knees almost level with his head.

“This is so not ergonomically friendly,” I said, giving the bean bag chair next to him a wary look.

Zac patted the bag. “Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”

I tried to sit as easily as he had, but the chair was much lower than I’d thought and I fell into an awkward sitting position when my knees gave up holding my crouching body. The bean bag almost swallowed me whole as I sank toward the floor.

“So,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Zac, “what exactly does one do at a comedy show?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked me, sounding as though this were a travesty that had to be corrected right away.

I shrugged. “I’ve never been to one of these. Never found a comedy show worth seeing.”

“Until now.”

“That remains to be seen. You’re not on stage yet.”

“Just you wait,” Zac said, settling back in his chair as a man in a brown corduroy suit jacket bounded onto the little stage.

“Are you guys ready for the next acts in Midnight Comedy?” the man shouted into the microphone. The applause and cheers from the crowd thundered around me. Apparently, midnight comedy was serious business here in Willowbrook.

The first act was a girl around my age with a ventriloquist dummy. The act was cute and the girl managed to get a few laughs even out of me. But I couldn’t focus on her act because Zac kept leaning toward me to whisper in my ear. He told me about Katie, the girl on stage, and how she’d gotten Regina, the doll, as a gift for her tenth birthday from her grandparents who had since passed away. He told me about other people in the room and about their first times up on stage. He seemed to know everything about everyone, absorbing their stories into his head and letting them tumble out now into my ear. His warm breath sent shivers down my spine.

The room erupted into applause when the girl with the doll finished her act. The man who seemed to be hosting bounded onto the stage again as she exited.

“Let’s give it up for Regina and Katie!” he said into the microphone.

“Who’s next?” I asked, leaning toward Zac.

But the man on stage went on, his face shining as he smiled across the room. “Now, a local favorite, Zac Greeley!”

The applause that filled the diner was almost deafening. People whistled and shouted cheers as Zac literally jumped onto the stage, spinning around into a lively jig.

“All right!” Zac said as he took the microphone from its stand and looked out into the sea of faces around him. “How is the Zac Pack doing tonight?”

Several people cheered and clapped in response. Zac grinned wider. “I have the best fans in the world. It’s always fun being here at the Rose Castle. Although for those of you who are new, I warn you not to try the soup du jour. It’s actually the soup du yesterday’s leftovers and you never know what you might be eating. I’m just saying,” he went on as a few people laughed, “I don’t know about you, but I like to at least be able to identify the food going into my mouth. The one time I tried the soup I swear I ended up eating a sock and three paperclips. When I complained, they charged me extra for the paperclips. Apparently, the soup is only supposed to come with one paperclip, unless you specifically ask for more.

“So tonight is a big night for me,” Zac went on once the laughs had died down. “I have a special guest in the audience tonight.”

To my horror, he pointed toward me and every head in the room turned in my direction. I crouched down in the bean bag, wishing it would swallow me whole.

“Cute girlfriend!” an older man shouted.

My face had probably turned red enough to blend into my hair. Zac, however, didn’t miss a beat with this case of mistaken identity.

“Yeah, I like to bring her out around town sometimes. Show her off. Make myself look good, you know? You should see how hideous I look when I’m not with her.”

I laughed nervously as the gazes turned away from me and back toward the stage.

“So I went bowling last night,” Zac said. “I broke a record—the most gutterballs ever made not in your own lane.” He raised his fists in the air in celebration. “That’s right, Lucky Strike Bowling Center has my name and picture on their wall now. Of course, it’s on a big poster that says ‘Do not under any circumstances let this guy bowl here ever again.’ I made six gutterballs three lanes down from me. Now personally, I think that’s quite an accomplishment. I mean, my best record before that was only four gutterballs two lanes down. But the management said something about my being a hazard to the other bowlers, so my bowling shoes have now been confiscated.”

“No fair!” someone shouted.

Zac waved his free hand. “I know! I asked the manager, ‘Don’t I have the right to be tried by a jury of my peers before I’m convicted of these allegations?’ So he called in one of the bowlers whose head I almost took off with my throws, this little old lady with a mean spin on her ball. She took one look at me and said, ‘Guilty! Ban him for life!’ I was like, ‘Grandma! I’m your own flesh and blood!’”

I laughed through Zac’s fifteen minute routine. Comedy shows had never held much appeal for me, but something about Zac’s energy on the stage and the way his face radiated under the lights captivated me. He seemed perfectly at ease up there, with the laughs from the audience feeding his confidence. It was amazing watching him. He was no longer hyperactive, always jittery Zac Greeley, he was a star, a natural born performer. He still showed evidence of his energy with the way he bounced around the stage during some of his jokes, but he didn’t seem to be as unfocused and restless as he did in everyday life.

After he had finished, he bounded offstage with a high leap, high-fiving people as he made his way back to me. His face was lit with excitement and he looked as if he were in his natural element. His eyes sparkled and my stomach felt as if it turned a thousand somersaults in my abdomen when he smiled at me.

“What’d you think?” he asked.

“You were amazing,” I told him. “Best comedy show I’ve ever seen.”

He laughed. “Only comedy show you’ve ever seen.”

“Because I’ve never found one worth seeing before.”

He nodded toward the door. “Ready to go? I could use a big slushie right about now.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” I tried to push myself up from the bean bag, but couldn’t get myself steady to get leverage. After two unsuccessful attempts, I raised my hands up toward Zac and said, “Help.”

“Avery James is asking for help?” Zac pretended to look shocked. “I thought Avery James could take care of herself and never needed anyone’s help with anything.”

I swatted at his leg then grabbed his hands and pulled myself to my feet. “I only needed a little leverage getting out of that ridiculous bean bag. I don’t know who decided to call that torture device a chair.”

When I stood, we were so close my nose was only inches from Zac’s chin. He had a fine bit of dark stubble along his cheeks and a tiny scar on the underside of his chin. The scent of his musky deodorant filled my nose. His hands still gripped mine, fingers entwined as we stood there, our eyes locked as if neither of us could look away.

It was the applause greeting the next performer that finally shook me from the trance Zac’s eyes had me in. I stepped back, wrenching my hands from his. I was a boyfriend thief, I reminded myself. A boyfriend thief couldn’t get personally attached to her work. It was a business agreement and nothing more. I wasn’t that girl who fell for a guy that was absolutely, completely wrong for her and who had come along at exactly the absolute wrong time. I couldn’t afford distractions at this point in my life.

And Zac Greeley had distraction written all over him.