I’m persistent if not subtle. “Is that what’s been going on? Why you haven’t been at school?”
Zenn sighs and stares out the window. Finally he says, “My mom has gone all ape-shit crazy now that he’s here. Drinking too much, not working. When I’m home I have to babysit her.”
“Do you need anything? Can I help?”
Zenn shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking about leaving school.”
“What?! No.”
“If I worked full-time we’d probably be okay. I wouldn’t have to rely on her to be reliable.”
“Zenn. You can’t. That’s not the answer.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it is. Maybe this is all just a waste of time. School. Art. All of it.”
“Education is never a waste of time.” I realize how stupid and preachy it sounds as soon as it’s out of my mouth. “Just … give it until the end of the semester. Okay?”
His jaw clenches, his hands grip the steering wheel.
“Okay?” I ask again.
“Fine. But I really don’t see the point.”
I don’t know how to argue with him. Maybe it is a waste of time. But what can I say? He can’t quit. I won’t let him. But I try to keep it light. “You wouldn’t miss trig? What are you, crazy?”
He finally cracks a smile. “You are such a nerd.”
It’s like he just told me he loves me.
He parks in front of my house and I want to reach out and touch him again … something. But self-doubt gets the better of me.
I just say, “Thanks for the ride,” and climb out of the truck.
I’m halfway to the house when Zenn rolls down his window. He calls out, waving for me to come back.
“Hey,” he says, “do you want to do something tonight?”
Oh, my God. Maybe that hug wasn’t just a friendly hug for either of us. Maybe it was something more. Or maybe he just wants to get out of his apartment, away from his mom and dad.
“By some miracle, I don’t have to work,” he says, studying his hands on the steering wheel. “And I’d prefer to not be around those two.”
He’s nervous. Oh, my God, he’s definitely nervous.
“And … well …”
My silence has gone on too long. I’m bordering on cruel now. “What do you want to do?” I ask coyly.
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“I’m just messing with you. It doesn’t matter. I’m in.”
Chapter 23
I text Charlotte as soon as I get inside. She shows up ten minutes later with her brand-new makeup bag in hand, like a doctor making a house call. I feel horrible that I haven’t been there for her the way she is here for me now.
I look in the mirror and figure she’s got her work cut out for her. I take a quick shower while she pieces together an outfit from my closet, nothing crazy, but a combination that I would never think of. Then she uses some kind of paste and a hair dryer attachment to make my wavy hair as curly as possible. Then she forces me to sit still while she applies more makeup than my virgin skin has ever seen.
“Easy, Char. I don’t want to look like a pageant contestant.”
“You won’t. You’ll just look like you, only an HD-worthy version.”
Sure enough, my pores become invisible, my eyes bigger, my mouth fuller. If I had known makeup could do this I would have tried it sooner. Charlotte makes me wear my contacts, insisting that kissing is much easier without glasses. I take her word for it because, frankly, what do I know about kissing? And what are the odds of that happening anyway?
When I come out of my room, Libby wants to touch my hair. Normally it’s in a braid or a bun or a barrette, so the fact that it is loose and curly is just too much. I must look like a fricking princess to her.
Maybe to my mom, too, because she looks at me almost longingly. “Oh, Ev. You look —”
I cut her off before she starts to sound like the gushing Instagram posts of my peers. I’m not going to the prom. It’s just a date, if even that. I glance at my reflection in the microwave and do a double take.
Holy crap. I am a fricking princess! Makeup is amazing!
“It’s not too much?” I ask.
My mom reaches out and touches my cheek lightly. “No. Just enough.”
All my negative feelings about Jessica disappear and I’m grateful that she tutored Charlotte so she could help me in my moment of need. Charlotte hasn’t met Zenn yet, but she rightfully senses that it would be weird for her to be waiting with me when he shows up, so she gives me a hug and whispers, “Text me later. I want details.”
She pulls out of the driveway just moments before Zenn is supposed to arrive.
“Mom,” I say quickly, “I don’t really know if this is a date or what so I’m not going to have him come in, okay?”
She touches my hair. “You don’t think it’s a date?” Her voice is skeptical and I understand why: the hair products suggest otherwise.
“Maybe. I don’t know. But can we not make a big deal out of it?” I kiss her on the cheek. “I won’t be too late.”
“Okay.” Her voice is disappointed. “Have fun. Be careful.” It’s what she says every time I leave the house.
“I will,” I reassure her, though for the first time in my life I don’t feel like being very careful at all.
I walk out just as Zenn pulls in the driveway.
I get in his truck and he smiles kind of shyly. If he notices a major transformation, he doesn’t show any shock. “I was going to come to the door,” he says.
He was going to come to the door! I add that to evidence that this may, in fact, be a date.
“We’d never get out of there. The E’s are still up and they’d have you drawing animal pictures all night.”
“The ease?”
“Oh. Yeah. E’s, like the letter E. That’s what we call them sometimes. ’Cause all their names start with E.”
He nods, and then cocks his head. “Libby?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Right.”
Since neither of us has any money, or at least not any money we want to spend at a sit-down restaurant, we decide to pick up some pizza and take it up to the bluff that overlooks North Beach. The huge playground there is deserted — it’s after seven on a Friday night in November — so we have our pick of places to hang out. I timidly point to a sign: PARK CLOSES AT DUSK.
“You nervous, Walker?” Zenn teases. “Not much of a rule breaker?”
I pretend I don’t care. But I am nervous. Eva Walker doesn’t break rules. And maybe that’s not the only reason for my nerves.
Zenn takes a blanket from the back of his truck — I think the same one that I sat on that day I got drenched — and I carry the pizza box and we climb up the gigantic wooden play structure to a platform sheltered from the breeze by a low wall. We sit with our backs against the cedar planks, eat pizza and talk.
Zenn tells me his dad has been out of the picture for a long time, that he’s only seen him a few times his whole life. He doesn’t tell me what that’s done to him, what it’s like for a kid to grow up without his dad. But I can hear some of it in his voice.