"Trust me. I can tell. His hat is different." He looks at me, those gorgeous blue eyes that used to ignore me,
now searching for mine.
And even though my head has cleared, my stomach still feels a little weird. But I know it's just nerves. I also
know how to get through it. "Wanna bet?" I ask, suddenly feeling better, braver, using Zoë as my guide.
"Bet what?" He gives me a dubious yet interested look.
"That you're wrong. That you're totally, completely off base. Because there's no way you can tell from all the
way over here if that guy's really our driver." I look him in the eye, my gaze steady and sure, my mouth curving into a
smile.
"And if I'm right?" he asks, obviously interested in where this might lead.
"Then you win." I shrug.
"Yeah, but what do I win?" He smiles as he moves in closer, quickly adapting to the new me. "It's a bet. So
there's got to be a prize, right?"
I look at him, gazing directly into his eyes for the first time tonight. "Oh, there's a prize all right. But you won't
know what it is until it's too late and you've already lost." I laugh, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him across the
lot, all the way over to limo number three.
"Hey," Parker says, reaching out to slap hands with the chauffeur, who squeezes his cell phone between his
shoulder and ear so he can slap back.
"You guys ready to leave?" He places his hand over the mouthpiece, and gazes from Parker to me.
"No, we're just—" Parker starts, but I cut him off.
"I just need to get something out of the back. It'll only take a sec." I smile, watching as he winks at Parker
before walking away.
"So, about this prize," Parker says, closing the door and appearing by my side so fast and seamless it's like he
has springs in his shoes, ones that activate at the first hint of sex.
I look into his eyes and wait, knowing that soon, he'll lean in to kiss me.
We kiss for a while. And while it's nice, and sweet, and way better than that time in the closet since there's no
bad smells or hockey sticks shoved against my butt, I'm still not fully convinced that he actually wants to make out
with me—boring, inept, plain Jane me.
So in my head, I imagine I'm Zoë—that I'm beautiful, wild, glamorous, and experienced—that there's nothing in
the world that can scare me.
And as Parker wraps his arms around my waist, I slide my hands down the front of his shirt, making my way
down to his pants, hesitating near the spot that I would never try to touch, but that Zoë wouldn't think twice about.
"I don't get you," he whispers, suddenly pulling away. "It's like, inside the dance you'd barely even look at me,
but now?" He shakes his head and squints, obviously not complaining, but still, more than a little perplexed.
But I just smile, knowing I'm no longer me. I ditched that nervous loser and became someone better. "I lost the
bet," I say, gazing at him with Zoë's eyes, touching him with Zoë's hands, and kissing him with Zoë's lips.
He kisses me on the neck, as I lean back against the seat, feeling so incredibly daring and free. Then he slips
his finger under my blue silk strap, sliding it all the way down, as I turn my head and gaze toward the window, shocked
to see my own dull reflection staring back at me.
"I can't do this," I say, pushing him away, frantically reaching for my strap.
Parker just looks at me, his face flushed and confused, his hands halted in panic. "But you seemed so—"
I turn back toward the window, hoping not to see me, feeling disappointed when i do.
"Echo, really, I didn't mean...please don't be mad," he says, his hands fumbling awkwardly as he reaches for
me, trying to make me face him.
I move farther away, my heart beating frantically as I run my hands through my hair and over my dress, erasing
all evidence of my little digression, knowing I need to act fast, to come up with some excuse that will explain my
bizarre behavior, so everything will get back to normal and stop being so weird. "Jeez Parker, it was only a limo bet. I
mean, just how big a prize did you think you were gonna get?" I ask, chasing it with a laugh so he'll think we're okay.
He laughs too, his eyes relaxing, his face clearly relieved. Then he opens the door and steps onto the curb,
offering his hand as a guide. "Well, I probably should've told you this before, and I hope you're not too mad, but I
have a confession to make," he says, slipping his arm through mine as we head back inside.
I gaze up at him, happy that we've moved on, but only mildly interested in what it might be.
"That wasn't really our limo." He smiles.
Thirteen
The next morning when I woke I didn't feel nearly as bad as I expected. Or at least not in a physical way. I mean, I
didn't throw up, I didn't have a headache, and I didn't feel the slightest bit queasy. Which basically means that all of
my parents' warnings about the "high price one always pays for a night of overindulgence," didn't come true for me.
But mentally? Mentally I felt like crap. And I don't remember anyone ever cautioning me about that.
I roll over and gaze out the window, noticing how the big oak tree has lost most of its leaves, making it look
stark, alone, and defensive. Or maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm getting all Freudian and weird, projecting all of my
innermost feelings onto a tree. I mean after last night, and that whole freaky limo episode, I found myself feeling
pretty stark, alone, and defensive too.
Yet I was also aware of how I was quite possibly making a snowstorm out of a snowflake. I mean, there are
tons of girls who practically line up to "go wild" and who end up going a whole lot further than that. And it's not like you
ever see any of them stopping to think twice, or mentally torturing themselves like me.
But clearly, I'm nothing like those girls. And I'm obviously nothing like Zoë. And even though I know my life would
be way more fun if I was, the truth is, I have no idea how to act like that and not lose myself in the process.
"I can't believe you actually brought your books," Teresa says, eyeing my bulging backpack and laughing.
"You said we were gonna study," I say, cringing at how whiny I sound, while wondering what I missed. I mean,
earlier, when we were on the phone, I specifically heard her use the word "study." So excuse me for taking that
literally.
"Well, I also said we were going to the library, but you don't see me heading there now, do you? The only
reason I said all that is 'cause my mom has ginormous elephant ears, and she was totally listening to our
conversation that whole time."
"So where are we going?" I ask, walking alongside her, my way-too-heavy backpack digging a wedge deep into
my shoulder.
"The park. I told some people we'd meet them."
"What people?" I look at her, noticing for the first time how she's dressed so differently from how I'm used to
seeing her at school, way less preppy and a lot more sexy.
"Just some guys, no one you know." She smiles.
"Like, friends of Sean's?" I ask, wondering why she's acting so undercover and secretive.
But she just laughs. "Please. Sean is totally sweet, don't get me wrong, and he's good for school dances and
stuff like that, but, well, I don't know. There's this other guy, and it's kind of hard to explain." She shrugs. "But you'll
see what I mean when you meet him."
When we get to the park, instead of going right down to the lake like I usually do, Teresa leads me over to the
/> old fountain, the one with all the angels and cherubs and overblown biblical images, all molded from a single slab of
cement.
"Omigod! There he is, Jason. He is so hot! So just act cool, okay?" she whispers, shooting me a doubtful look,
obviously not convinced I'll be able to pull it off. She fluffs her hair around her shoulders, then straightens her
sweater and picks up the pace, heading straight for these two guys who are drinking, smoking, and just overall
loitering on the fountain's tiled edge.
"Hey," she says, stopping before them and tilting her head toward me. "This is Echo."
I gaze at the two of them, wondering which one of these delinquents she could possibly think is hot.
"Echo? Who names their kid that? What're your parents, like, hippies?" This comes from a fat guy wearing a
size too small I DO MY OWN nude SCENES T-shirt that I hope is meant to be ironic. And when he laughs his whole
belly shakes, stretching and bulging against the overburdened cotton, just like jolly or St. Nick. Only a whole lot
grosser.
I stand there, wondering how soon I can leave, when Teresa shakes her head, pushes him playfully on the
shoulder, and says, "Tom, you asshole. Leave her alone. Echo's cool." But when she looks at me, her expression
tells a whole other story, having already decided I'm not.
She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse and settles herself onto the ground, sitting Indian style at their
feet. "Somebody give me a light," she says, offering the pack to me, as the other guy, the one I'm assuming is "Hot
Jason," leans toward her with a burning match.
I shake my head as I watch her inhale, then release it back through her nose and mouth like an angry cartoon
bull. Making sure to shift just ever so slightly, so that the V of her low-cut sweater is aimed straight at Jason—who's
aiming for slick but nailing seedy, and who's definitely old enough to know better.
It's weird how she acts like this around me, yet plays it so straight at school. Like last night, when she was
drinking, only I saw how much. And I'm willing to bet I'm the only one who knows about the smoking, the cleavage
flaunting, and how she's hoping to cheat on Sean with this loser.
"How's your little boyfriend? What's his name? Sam?" asks Tom, who's already been called an asshole, and
now seems intent on proving it.
"His name is Sean, you moron. And he's not my boyfriend, we just hang sometimes." She glances quickly at
Jason, with his slicked-back, longish blond hair, faded Levis, motorcycle boots, dark T-shirt, and black leather jacket.
And I realize he seems really familiar, though I can't imagine why.
"You go there too?" Tom asks, kicking his foot in my general direction, as opposed to, oh, I don't know,
gesturing politely or addressing me by name.
"Bella Vista? Urn, yeah," I say, feeling pretty squeamish under his heavy, judgmental gaze, and wondering not
for the first time, why I'm still here.
"That school sucks. Principal Hames is a fucking loser! L-O-S-E-R," he says, pumping his beer-gripping fist in
the air, proving he can spell.
I just stand there, not agreeing, not denying, not saying a word. Just trying to avoid the secondhand smoke
while plotting my escape.
"You leaving soon?" he asks, dragging on his cigarette and sipping his beer, going from beer to cigarette, from
cigarette to beer, barely taking a break in between.
"Bella Vista? No, I just started," I say, looking at Teresa who's ignoring me now, since she's too busy flirting
with Jason.
"No, I mean now. You're just standing there like you've got an appointment or something." He sips his beer and
laughs. "At least drop your bag and relax. It's not like we're gonna hurt you. Unless you want us to." He narrows his
eyes, giving me a long, leisurely once-over, starting at my Converse tennis shoes and working his way to the top of
my head.
"Oh, no, I just..." I gaze at Teresa who's still ignoring me, then I turn back toward the way we came. I mean, not
to be a prude, but I don't like this scene. And not to be a freak, but I'm getting a really bad vibe.
"You guys got any more beer?" Teresa asks, getting the attention back on her, which believe me, is where we
both want it. "I need a little hair of the dog. I swear I have like the worst hangover, ever. Echo and I got totally wasted
last night, and I need some relief." She stands, moving toward Jason and grabbing his beer, tilting her head back and
swinging her long blond hair as she guzzles.
"Want some?" she says, turning to me, her eyes wide and shiny, her mouth wet and open.
But I just shake my head and look away, cringing as my overloaded backpack carves a long, deep groove into
the top of my shoulder.
"Your friend's a real blast," Tom says, tossing his bottle toward the silver metal trash can, not bothering to get
up and retrieve it when it ricochets off the side and rolls across the grass.
Then just as I'm about to tell him to go pound sand (or something much worse), Jason flicks his lit cigarette
right at him and goes, "Shut the fuck up." Then his eyes move over to me, embarking on an unhurried cruise along
my skinny, undeveloped body, until finally coming to rest upon mine. "I knew your sister," he says, reaching for
another beer, flipping the top, and nodding. Smiling as he pulls Teresa close, pressing her hard against him, and
sliding his hand down her back until he reaches her butt and squeezes. His eyes never once wavering from mine.
I watch as Teresa gazes up at him and giggles, then i turn and walk away. Feeling angry with her for dragging
me here, but even angrier with myself for staying.
"Echo, wait! Shit. You guys, I'll be right back," Teresa says, running to catch up with me. "Where the hell are
you going?" she whispers, tugging on my jacket, as I pick up the pace, doing my best to ignore her. "Echo, jeez, don't
be mad."
I shake my head and walk even faster, 'til I'm just short of running. I hate when people do that. I hate when they
put you in a really bad position and then tell you how you should feel about it.
"Seriously, slow down, please? Just give me a sec to explain," she pleads.
I swing around and face her, making no attempt to hide my anger.
"Listen, I know Tom's kind of an asshole, and I probably should've warned you. I'm sorry, okay?"
"Kind of an asshole?" I look at her and shake my head. "Oh my God, you weren't trying to set me up with him,
were you?" My eyes go wide, having just now thought of that totally disgusting possibility.
But she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I know you're all into Parker, and I would
never try to mess with that. It's just that I really, really, really like Jason. I mean I really like him. Don't you think he's
cute?" she asks, moving right past me and back to her. Going from apology to confession in zero to five seconds.
"Honestly? I think he's creepy. Not to mention old" I say, far too mad to even care what she thinks.
"But that's why I like him." She shrugs. "He's got a car, money, and ten times the maturity of all the guys at
school put together."
"Teresa, he's a drug dealer" I say, not entirely sure of this, but still convinced that it's true. "He's bad news.
Trust me, you don? want to get involved with him."
But she just sucks on her cigarette and squints at me, and it's clear she's chosen not to listen. "You don't even
know him. You just met him like, ten minutes ago."
I watch as she shakes her head and
rolls her eyes, even though everything she just said is wrong. I mean,
even though I haven't actually "met" him until now, that doesn't mean I don't know about him. But it's not like I'm gonna
explain that to her, since it's not like she'd even listen if I tried. The only thing I want to do is just get the heck out of
here. Now.
"Listen," I finally say. "You're right. It probably is none of my business. But maybe you should ask yourself why
some twenty-five-year-old guy is hanging out with and supplying beer and drugs to a fifteen-year-old girl. I mean,
come on, Teresa." But when I look at her, her eyes are blazing. And instead of persuading her, I've just made her
mad.
"Okay, first of all, he's twenty-four, not twenty-five. And second, you only saw him give me a light and a beer.
That's all. So you better not go telling people anything other than that. In fact, you better not go telling them anything
at all. You also shouldn't be so judgmental. I mean, he was friends with your sister."
I look at her, standing before me, feeling so righteous even though she couldn't be more wrong. "He knew my
sister, but he was never her friend," I say, glaring at her. "Believe me, there's a difference."
But she just rolls her eyes and flicks her ash to the ground, the gray and black particles hovering briefly before
clinging to her feet. "Listen," she says, grabbing my arm just as I start to walk away. "No need to mention any of this
at school, okay? I mean, it's not like it's anybody's business, and I don't want Sean to get all upset and get the wrong
idea. All right?" She looks at me, her face showing fear for the first time today.
But I just release myself from her grip and head toward home. "Don't worry," I say without looking back. "I won't
say a word."
Fourteen
Monday at lunch Teresa's sitting next to Sean, acting all cuddly and cute, like yesterday never happened. I line up my
food, spreading it out before me, gazing from my orange to my cookie to my sandwich, wondering which to eat first.
"I can't believe your mom still packs a lunch for you," Teresa says, eyeballing my pastrami on rye. "I think that
is so sweet."
I decide to skip the healthy stuff and just start with the chocolate chip cookie, wondering if by "sweet" what she