So I decide to do something I haven't done since I was hell-bent on avoiding the presidential fitness test back
in sixth grade—I fake sick.
I'm feeling kinda lousy," I say, squinting at her as I conjure up images of hot furnaces, burning matches, the
scorching desert heat, and the bowels of hell—method acting for raising my temperature.
"What's the matter?" she asks, sliding onto the edge of my bed and readjusting the covers in a way that brings
her hand dangerously close to the partially exposed diary.
I shift my body, flopping the covers over it, trying to make it appear as though I'm sickly and distressed, when
really I just need to keep that little blue book far out of her reach.
Tm nauseous," I say, allowing myself a mental high five for the stroke of sudden genius. I mean, that's one that
can never be disproved, since it's only felt by its host.
"Anything else?" she asks, her face growing worried and stained with concern.
Jeez, she wants more? What is this? "Um, yeah, I think I also feel a headache coming on, probably nothing
major, but then again, it just started. I'm also a little weak, but that's probably just the fatigue," I mumble, rearranging
my face to resemble someone who's fighting burgeoning, yet intolerable pain.
"Sounds like the flu. There's a bug going around," she says, smoothing her skirt as she stands. "I'll call the
school and tell them you won't be there today."
"Do you think you can call Abby too? And tell her I won't be meeting them on the corner?" I ask, even though I
doubt they're expecting me, not after my outburst.
"Of course," my mother says. "But I'm worried about leaving you here all alone, feeling this way."
"Oh, I'll be all right. Really," I say, hoping I haven't gone too far, praying she won't try to use this as an excuse
to call in sick too.
Twenty-eight
Remember how I said I like having the house to myself? Well being home alone for the whole entire day is like
Heaven. Seriously. And with my mom finally gone and fully convinced that I'm planning a day of bed rest (but that I
won't hesitate to call her if necessary), I grab the diary and take it downstairs, where I make myself a nice, healthy
(well, kind of) breakfast.
I pour some frosted cereal into a bowl then add more sugar and nonfat (that's the healthy part) milk, then I prop
the diary before me and begin reading, trying to get the spoon from the bowl to my mouth without splattering the
pages.
August 11
Today is the second official day of my vacation and I really thought it would be nice if I could spend it with my
boyfriend but apparently he has other plans. Some big effin secret he refuses to tell me.
And to be honest, I'm really getting sick of it I mean, it's not like I keep secrets from him, at least not about
anything he actually needs to know about. But this is different, this is important. I can just tell.
But you know what? Screw him! I'm just gonna spend the whole day at Paula's, laying by the pool, and not even
think about him or his stupid secret. I'm just gonna pretend that he and his little mystery don't even exist.
I know I probably sound like a brat, but it's just that lately, every single passing day is starting to feel exactly the
same as the one before it. Like my life is just one long, continuous rerun, with no new episodes scheduled. And it's
starting to make me feel really really restless, and more than a little anxious about the future. I mean, I know
everything about my life probably seems pretty normal, and not all that bad compared to some, but the thing is, I
never wanted to be normal and I certainly never wanted to be just like everyone else. I've always dreamed of
something bigger and better and brighter
I've always wanted more.
Like, you know how when you watch those teen reality shows on MTV and stuff? And how everyone's always
out shopping, or going to parties, or fashion shows, or clubs, or charity events, or whatever, and then how after their
turn on the series is over they all get magazine covers, movie deals, recording contracts, product endorsements, and
regular spots in the tabloids? When just one year before they were just another kid with a normal life, in a
much-better-than-normal town? Well, that kind of stuff makes it so crystal clear just how slow and boring it is here. Not
to mention how I'm missing out on some mega opportunities, all because my parents are determined to live in this
wasteland—this stupid, boring, totally fucked-up zip code.
I mean, it's not like MTV would ever even consider coming here. So I think it's obvious that if I really want to
make something of myself (of my life!), then I'm really left with no choice but to get the hell out of this dead-end town.
Seriously. And even though my parents are already starting with the big expectations and college talk (well, as college
professors they've actually been at it for years, only now it's more focused and serious), I have to find a way to tell
them that their hopes and dreams have nothing in common with mine. And as far as college goes, well, it's just not
gonna happen for me.
Because, let's face it, my grades are total sliders—good enough to pass class and not get yelled at too much,
but nowhere near their Ivy League standards. And if they think I'm going local, then they're completely loco. I'd never
go to the same lame school where my mom and dad teach.
It's like, let Echo go to Harvard, since she's the brainy one who cares about all that intellectual, deep stuff. Let
her be the one who makes them proud. I mean, maybe I'm just not smart like that. Maybe I've got other (better) things
to do. And going to college just to please them will only end up putting me four years behind.
So lately I've been thinking about graduating early. I figure I can either beef up my credits (not exactly sure how,
but I plan to find out), or take my GED and say an early adios. I mean, I've always wanted to be a
model/actress—seriously, ever since I was a really little kid that's all I've ever wanted to do. And I just read this article
in one of my magazines about some 14-year-old girl who's storming the European runways! Seriously—the chick is
only 14! And I'm already 16—and then next year I'll be 17—and it's just gonna keep on going like that! Which means I
really can't afford to waste any more time messing around with my friends and waiting for my boyfriend to call.
I've got to start making a plan for escape. So I can ditch this town and go live my dream before it's too late!
I mean, if Carly and Paula want to lay around the pool all day, making dates with perverts in exchange for free
beer, before moving on to junior college and husbands and babies and a bin full of smelly diapers and never once
being interviewed on Access Hollywood, then that's fine. Whatever makes them happy.
But that kind of mundane life will never be enough for me. So with that in mind, I've decided to put my Web
page to better use. I've decided to make it work forme. And no way am I mentioning it to Marc.
Because if he can have a secret then I can too.
August 12
Went shopping for back-to-school clothes with Mom and Echo, and when Mom refused to buy me the jeans I
wanted, I just pulled out a wad of cash and bought them myself Hah! The power of employment! And seeing her face
go all tight and twisted made it totally worth spending all of my hard-earned dough.
'You're the one who wanted me to work," I couldn't help but remind her. 'You're the one who found me the
br /> high-paying job!"
I swear, I can't wait 'til I'm a model making a gazillion trillion dollars, driving a Mercedes, living in an awesome
penthouse apartment chock full of Jimmy Choos and Prada bags, and sending my parents on vacations in exotic
locales—just to get them out of my hair! Let's see who judges me then!
After shopping we went for lunch, and just as I stuck my fork in my salad Echo announced that she's already
completed her summer reading list and is getting a head start on the books she heard she'll have to read during the
school year.
Jeez! Sometimes I can't believe that we're actually sisters. Seriously. I mean, I love her, I really, really do, but
sometimes it seems like she's from another planet. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I really am adopted like I used to dream
about when I was younger. Because despite having my father's eyes and my mother's nose, there's no way in hell I'm
even remotely DNA connected to these people.
Oh yeah, I also got these really awesome shoes, a couple new sweaters, and a really cute fall coat with a fake
fur collar (since I would never wear real fur, I love animals too much, and I plan to make sure that's included in all of
my modeling contracts).
But it's not like I can actually wear any of it right now since it's still so freaking hot out. But still, maybe I'll just
pack it all up and drag it over to Carly's so she can take some photos of me in it. I need some new pictures for my
page since I'm planning a complete overhaul. I'm totally gonna delete all the slutty, stupid, bullshit quotes, and any
and all comments regarding drinking, sex, or partying. I'm even gonna switch the background wallpaper to something
clean, and sleek, and modern. I'm gonna make it like my online portfolio. So it needs to look as professional as
possible.
And even though I still haven't told Marc anything about it, last night when we were all at Kevin's, Paula totally
let it slip.
"Omigod," she said. "Remember when we put that picture on your site, the one where you had your top off and
then all those guys started instant messaging you?"
I just sat there, totally bugging, and thinking how I was going to kill her the second I could get her alone.
But then Carly goes, "That was my site, dummy. Zoë doesn't have a site, remember?"
And then Paula looks at me, and goes, "Oh yeah, duh! Somebody pass me another beer! Ha ha!"
And then everyone laughed, including me because I felt like I had to, to make it look real.
Marc was the only one who didn't laugh. Marc just stared.
August 16
One week down, two to go! Been hanging at Paula's every day, read the first two pages of one of the books
from the eleventh-grade summer reading list—boring! Saw Marc every night except for one where he acted all
mysterious so I acted like I didn't care.
Still working on the revamp of my new Web page, though I'm still not all that thrilled with the photos Carly took. I
mean, right after I uploaded them, I waited for the usual comments to come pouring in, but mostly I just got stuff like:
Bikini pics way hotter!
Girl-on-girl action mo betta!
So I guess that means if I wanted to be a porn star I'd be set. But that's not gonna happen—/ mean, disgusting!
Not to mention how the only lingerie ads I'd ever be willing to do are for Victoria's Secret. I mean, if it's good enough
for Giselle, then it's good enough for me, but otherwise, that kind of stuff is usually sleazy and cheesy.
Anyway, I think it's getting painfully obvious how I definitely need to get some professional pictures taken by a
real photographer, in a real studio, as opposed to a bunch of cell phone digitals taken by my drunk, burnout friend in
her poorly lit bathroom.
And then, wouldn't you know it, just when I was actually considering returning those awesome
two-hundred-dollar jeans (that I already wore) so I'll have more money to add to the professional photographer
savings account I keep stashed under my mattress I get a message from a professional photographer!
Seriously! Apparently he stumbled across my page and saw my photos and thinks I have potential but the
pictures are way too amateur! Duh. So he told me to check out his Web page to see some of his work, and to let him
know if I'm interested.
So of course I clicked right over and checked out his pictures, which I gotta say are completely amazing!
Seriously nice high fashion black-and-whites, along with some really great head shots, some of which feature models
that I'm actually familiar with! And I was so majorly excited I was just about to e-mail him back, when Marc called. So
instead I just bookmarked the page, figuring it's probably better to wait a few days and not look all desperate and
overly eager.
But still—kismet fate, destiny, providence, big-time amazing luck—call it what you want, it's finally starting to
happen for me!
August 18
I'm totally freaked and don't know what to do. And the worst part is I can't tell anyone, at least not until I know
what it means, because maybe it won't end up meaning anything. But at the moment, I just can't seem to figure it out.
And believe me, I've tried.
Okay, so I was just out with my dad, on our way downtown, and just as we drove past the office where I work I
saw Marc opening the door and going inside. And even though I immediately turned around in my seat and did a total
double take just to make sure it was him, the whole thing happened so fast I just couldn't be positive.
But I still have to stress how it really, really, really looked like him. I mean, let me put it this way, how many guys
in this town are that good looking and just happen to dress in all black and wear Doc Marten boots when it's one
hundred and two in the shade?
Only one that I know of
And it's not like it would be such a big deal, except for the fact of how he told me he was going to be home all
day, doing some work on his car. So right after the sighting, I tried to reach him on his cell, but he must've turned it off
cuz it went straight into voice mail. Which, okay, fine, maybe he doesn't want to have it on when he's working on his
car, I mean, that makes sense, right?
But then here's the thing—the only people who occupy that office are two shrinks. My boss, who I know for a
fact is away on vacation, and the other one who's this psychiatrist (which, I recently found out, means he went to
school even longer so he can make even more money and prescribe drugs) who doesn't leave for vacation 'til my
boss gets back.
And then I remember that comment Mark made that one day about my boss having a goatee, and how it got me
all wondering how he would even know that since it's not like they'd ever met or had ever seen each other.
And even though I shrugged it off at the time, now I'm starting to wonder just how many secrets he's actually
keeping from me.
Because to be honest, it seems like they're starting to multiply.
August 20
That photographer dude just sent me another message, which seems a little weird and desperate. But then
Carly goes, 'Well maybe he just wants to be the one who discovers you, because if you become famous, then it's like
big-time kudos for him, right?"
And when you think about it, she really does have a point Anyway, I didn't message him back yet, 'cause I'm
meeting Carly soon and I need to concentrate on that right now. I mean, I finally broke down and told her all about
&nb
sp; how I saw Marc at the shrink's office and how weird things have been with us lately.
And then she was all, 'What's that about?"
And I'm like, 'Who knows?"
Then she says, "Well, don't you have a key?"
And I go, "Yeah, but it's only to the front door and his office. Not the other guy's place."
And she goes, "Well, it's a start."
August 21
Marc just called to make plans for our two-months-since-we-first-kissed anniversary and I don't even know what
to say. I mean, just two days ago I would've thought that was extremely romantic, but now it's kind of creeping me out.
I guess it's because of what I found out. Or more like what I kind of found out. Because sometimes having only a
partial answer is worse than not knowing at all.
August 22
Finally called Marc back (I know, I know, bad girlfriend). Anyway, I told him dinner at Giorgio's tomorrow night
sounds good, but that I wouldn't be able to see him 'til then.
But still, the more I think about it, the more I think it's probably nothing, since he's never done anything major to
weird me out before (and you'd think I'd know by now if he had psycho tendencies or something). And I've definitely
never seen him do anything remotely violent or destructive, and the only time he's ever playing with fire is when we're
smoking, which doesn't really count as playing with fire, right? (Just playing with your health—ha ha!) Anyway, I'm
actually starting to wonder if maybe I'm the one who's crazy!
I mean, I love him—/ really, truly, totally do! And I can hardly believe the way I'm totally overreacting to
something that in all likelihood is probably nothing! And I really have to stop acting like this because if I don't then I'm
totally going to sabotage the only relationship I've ever had that's actually made me feel extremely happy.
Not to mention how I need to learn to give him some space and respect his privacy since it's really not
necessary for two people to know absolutely everything about each other. In fact, it's better not to. At least that's what
they say in Cosmo.
But still, I just can't stop wondering why Marc wouldn't tell me that he's seeing a shrink. Unless it's because I
always make fun of my boss and the psychos who see him, in which case, I feel even worse.