“It’s about time Stephen King learned to share!” I say. Dad loved that a writer was the most important thing to come out of Maine; he had a million terrible Stephen King jokes, but today my friends just give me blank looks. I let the pinch of sadness pass and change the subject.
“I can be the Zen voice-over reading the meditation on your app,” I offer.
“And I’ll just ride your coattails and bring you snacks,” Amber says, but she sounds half-hearted about it.
I try to focus again:Zebras, not horses.
It’s the analogy I need right in this moment. My weird dream was likely just that—a weird dream. Nothing to worry about. And Jason’s expression was probably a small involuntary twitch of his facial muscles. It’s the easiest explanation.
But a tiny fleck of uncertainty remains.
What if I’m wrong?
Nine
Jason’s friends are on the soccer field after school the next day, warming up before practice, and I am, ostensibly, taking pictures for the yearbook.
“I have a question for you guys,” I say.
“For the last time, Zadie,” Holden says, “no, I will not break up with Bennett to date you.”
I roll my eyes but fight a smile. “That’s not the question.”
“Oh, fine. Yes, I will,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulder.
“Aww,” Josh says. “I thought you were going to ask why I wasn’t wearing any underwear and if it’s because my mom didn’t do my laundry.”
“Not my question either.” I love being around Jason’s friends, being accepted by them. Before dating Jason, the soccer jocks intimidated me. Now I know they’re mostly secret softies.
“I really think we’d get away with it if you posed as me to write my Spanish test next week,” another of the boys says. “And all my tests.”
“Soanyway,” I say, speaking over all of them. I play with my black heart necklace, today’s open secret. “Do guys like it when girls make the first move?”
“Yes,” Holden says unilaterally. “Is your friend Amber coming? I heard she brought cupcakes today.”
I ignore his question. “Yes? That’s it? That’s the official answer?”
“Yes,” Holden says, stretching his calves.
“Go on,” I implore. Softies or not, boys are the worst to have a serious conversation with. “Explain.”
But just then Coach Kyle appears, and practice starts. I sigh in frustration, then go into official yearbook photographer mode, walking around and taking pictures. I am packing up the school’s digital camera at the end of the day when Holden runs up to me. “So the consensus is yeah.”
“Huh?”
“On girls making the first move. Everyone said yes except Tyler, who said no, and Josh, who said, ‘Depends.’ And Marcus, who said, ‘It’s hot as hell.’ ”
“Marcus?” I’ve been trying not to pay him any attention the last couple of days, given that I feel like I’m walking around with a giant neon sign that screamsI Have Been Dreaming About Marcus Riddick.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Marcus looks over at exactly that moment. He’s laughing at something someone is saying, and his smile fades. His T-shirt is tight across his broad chest, hair pulled out of his face, and I inhale as if I’m the one breathing hard from playing. Our eyes are like fingers, light and lingering, brushing a second too long on a handshake. I should roll my eyes or something, but I don’t. “That’s…good to know” is my lame response, as I finally tear my gaze away.
Holden’s methodology is the furthest thing from scientific, but I don’t think it’s wrong either. Jason might not have liked something about our first kiss, but I highly doubt it was me liking it too much.
Then because I have nothing else to lose, and because it’s easier than checking if Marcus is still looking over here, I tell the truth. “I just remembered Jason asked for us to take it slow on our first date. He seemed, like, hesitant. I wish I could ask him what that was about.”
Holden gives me a suspicious look. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head. “No.”
