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Zachary
Thenextdayisa day of contrition.
I begin with Zaro.
It’s not an easy meeting to set up. In Spearcrest, you can’t exchange a glance with someone across a corridor between classes without the entire school somehow knowing about it. The walls have eyes around here, and if one person sees one thing, social media ensures that everybody else will know of it.
Fortunately for me, the Spearcrest campus is a sprawling place, and I have the key to places most students don’t have access to. I text Zaro and ask her to meet me in a maths classroom on the top floor of the New Manor. The awkward angle of the door means that even if you stood right against the glass panel at its centre, you could only see a small corner of the classroom.
Of course, finding somewhere to meet is the easiest part. Given how furious Zaro has been with me since she found out I asked Iakov to keep an eye on her, and given I had her quasi-kidnapped the night before, I can’t imagine she has much goodwill towards me.
But this is a day of contrition, so I’m willing to wait. Zaro has read my text, but she hasn’t responded. She might come, she might not. There’s no way of knowing.
So I sit in a corner of the classroom that’s the furthest from the door and take out the paperback book that’s tucked into my coat pocket—a collection of David Hume essays I’m going to reference in my aesthetics assignment for Mr Ambrose—and start reading.
She makes me wait almost two hours.
She turns up just before midday.
Seeing her is a bittersweet feeling, a strange mingling of melancholy and nostalgia. In her face, I see remnants of the little sister I remember so vividly: in the big, dark eyes with their forest of curly eyelashes, in the natural glow of her skin and the roundness of her cheeks, in the pout of her lips, which remind me of how her mouth would wobble every time she was about to cry as a little girl.
Those are the remnants of the old Zaro, but they are set like jewels in the shape of the new Zaro. A taller Zaro, with the grace and poise of a dancer, a Zaro with a direct, defiant gaze. A Zaro in Gucci tights and an oversized blazer, a belt around her waist, her long black curls half-up, the tips now honey-gold.
Zaro has always been a soft being, but whatever softness is left inside her is well hidden now. Even from me.
Maybe especially from me.
“Morning, Zaro,” I greet her. “You didn’t need to dress up on my account.”
“I have somewhere to be after this,” she snaps. “So it better not take long.”
I want to tell her it would already be over if she’d come earlier, but I’m too grateful that she came at all to care. I nod. “It shouldn’t take long. Where are you headed to anyway?”
“Why?” she asks in a sneer. “So you can sic your dog on me?”
I sigh. “Look, Zaro. I’m not going to beat about the bush with this. I am sorry for asking Iakov to keep an eye on you. Not sorry because I regret it or because I think it’s a bad idea. I’m sorry because of how it makes you feel. I never wanted that. I never, ever want you to feel like I don’t trust you or like I look down on you.”
She lets out a burst of angry laughter. “Oh, you don’t want me to feel that way, do you? You don’t want me to feel like you see me like a little girl who can’t look after herself and make her own decisions, so to show me that you really respect me, you don’t get your hands dirty trying to control me, you just get your big scary friend to do it for you?”
“I’m not trying to control you,” I say immediately. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Great. Great. I feel so blessed and fortunate to be surrounded by so many men who wish to protect me—by controlling me.”
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to carefully consider my words. The last thing I want to do right now is to speak out of anger. I asked Zaro to meet me here because I want to sort things out with her, not deepen the trench between us.
“Look—I understand why you feel this way,” I say slowly.
She interrupts me sharply. “Don’t patronise me.”
“Alright. Why don’t you tell me how to fix this, then?”
She stares at me for a second as if she wasn’t expecting me to say that. She recovers quickly and blurts out, “I want you to get your stupid friend to leave me alone.”
I consider my response. I realise I’m playing with my book, tugging at the pages and flicking them back and forth. It’s probably making me seem nervous, and I don’t want Zaro to think I’m nervous. I close the book and set it aside.
“Alright. I’ll ask Iakov to stop keeping an eye on you. What happens next?”
“What do you mean?” Her tone is short and irritated.
