School had been as awful as she expected. It had been easy to avoid Emily—as she seemed to be doing her best to ignore Zoe. In fact, no one paid Zoe any attention. It was a relief, of course, but as always, somewhere deep down inside, it hurt. She didn’t register on anyone’s radar. What did that say about her?
Now, sweat bloomed under her arms. Idly she wondered what on earth she was doing here. She’d had every intention of canceling—making up an illness or injury—but as the school day went on, she realized her alternatives were as bad as going to Harry’s. She could go there … or go to Kate’s. She lifted her finger one more time and, before she could think better of it, pressed the button. A moment later the gate buzzed.
Harry’s house was nearly as big as Kate’s—with a sweeping path winding up to the front door. By the time Zoe made it to the double doors, a tiny girl with coils of blond hair stood in the open doorway. A grand staircase rose up behind her.
“Huwo.”
The girl was maybe two or three, dressed in a ratty Tinker Bell costume and carrying a wooden spoon wrapped in a tea towel. She frowned as if Zoe’s presence was highly inconvenient. “Tum in.” She sighed. “You’re about to miss da so.”
“Um, what?” Zoe said.
“You’re about to miss the show,” Harry translated, jogging down the stairs in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and bare feet. His T-shirt showed off his torso—which was narrow but toned. Zoe felt a frisson of something deep down. Wow.
“The show?” Zoe said.
Harry scruffed the little girl’s hair. “Actually, Maggie, Zoe is here to see me. We have homework.”
“No!” The little girl’s face morphed into pure fury. “You have to wats da so!” She launched herself at him, catching his upper arm.
“Dad?” Harry yelled, with Maggie hanging off his biceps. “Need some help here.”
Zoe followed Harry through an archway into a living room that belonged in a design magazine. The floors were black, polished concrete, and art hung on every wall. On the white, streamlined couch was a man who looked exactly like Harry—except older. His right leg, in a cast, was stretched out in front of him, and the television was on. When he saw Zoe he became instantly animated.
“Well, hello there!” he said, his eyes darting to Harry. He tried to stand but then gestured at his leg and gave up. “I’m Leigh, Harry’s dad. I’m not usually here during the day, but as you can see I’m recovering from knee surgery.”
Zoe smiled at the floor, blushing. “Hi.”
“Dad, this is Zoe,” Harry said. “We’ve got homework. Please tell Maggie we don’t have time to watch the show.”
“No!” she screamed.
“I’ll watch the show, Mags,” Harry’s dad said.
Maggie continued to scream, but Leigh wasn’t listening, he was looking at Zoe. He seemed unexpectedly delighted to see her, which made no sense to Zoe. Surely Harry had people over all the time?
“So do you kids want to work in here or—”
“We’ll go to my room,” Harry said quickly, and before Zoe had time to protest, he was guiding her toward the staircase. Harry’s room? She’d never been in a guy’s room her entire life!
They walked to the top of the stairs in silence. So far Zoe had managed to avoid saying a word to Harry, but now the silence was deafening. Her palms became slick. Say something!
“So did you have your … appointment?” she blurted out. “After school?”
Harry blinked, surprised. “Oh. Yeah.”
Zoe had hoped it would kick off some more conversation—he’d tell her that he’d been to the dentist and needed a retainer, or to the PT for an injury—but that appeared to be the end of that. Silence descended again. They walked past an enormous window and Zoe fantasized about diving out of it. At the same time, another part of her, a braver, more hormone-driven part, wanted to go into Harry’s room.
“In here,” Harry said when they reached a door at the end of the hallway.
Harry’s room was as big as Zoe’s apartment. Despite its size, it was plain and boyish and a little bit messy, with a desk and chair, and an unmade king-size bed against one wall.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Harry said, easing himself onto the bed. Then he paused. “Sorry, did you want a drink or something?”
“No,” Zoe murmured, though her throat was bone-dry. She sat on Harry’s desk chair. “I’m good.”
“Okay then,” he said. He reached for his laptop on his bedside table and arranged it in his lap. “Where do we start?”
Zoe felt oddly distracted. Harry looked different like this, in his room. More relaxed or something. Maybe it was the T-shirt he was wearing? He looked really … hot. Really really hot.
“Zoe?”
“Oh, um…” She tried to gather her thoughts, but her brain was not complying. Harry and his newfound cuteness had thrown her off. The ridiculous thing was, she knew where to start. Last night, she had watched Emma Watson’s UN speech about feminism. It was simple, uncomplicated—like most powerful speeches. It followed a standard sort of structure that by now Zoe was familiar with. Open with some anecdotes, delve into some history, perhaps a few statistics. Move on to the present and end, of course, with hopes for the future. It wasn’t rocket science, at least the writing of it wasn’t. So why couldn’t she bring herself to speak?
She looked at Harry and then quickly away again. Had he always been this cute?
She felt him watching her. “Man, you are shy, aren’t you? The closet is over there if you want to put your head in?”
“No,” she said, her cheeks pooling with color.
Harry raised his eyebrows. Really? Clearly she wasn’t fooling anyone. He frowned, thinking hard. It only made him look cuter.
“What if you closed your eyes? Would that help? Maggie gets freaked out at birthday parties that have kids’ entertainers, but if she closes her eyes she really enjoys it.”
Zoe thought she might actually die, right there in Harry’s room. Harry would have to track down her mom, in the hospital, to give her the body.
“Okay, I’m not saying you’re like a three-year-old,” he said quickly. “I just saw a parallel. The point is, we need to do something. I can’t do the debate without you—you’re smarter than me! But we can’t get to the smart, if we don’t get rid of the shy.”
He gave her wink, and Zoe fell in love with him just a tiny bit. Or at least enough to try closing her eyes.
“I guess I can … try it,” she said. She closed her eyes.
“Cool,” Harry said. “So where shall we start?”
For a moment all Zoe could think about was Harry’s wink. But after a moment, she began to recall the Emma Watson speech.
“We need to open by introducing our argument,” she said, “then offer some anecdotes, some history, and some statistics if we have any. Then we talk about the present and end with the future.”
Zoe heard Harry’s fingers on the keyboard—fast, urgent keystrokes.
“I think our argument should be centered around the fact that we are a country of equality,” she said. “If students are called by their first names, why should teachers be different?”