Page 62 of Kiss Collector
“Can I get some money for gas?” I ask, even though I have a pocketful from my paycheck.
He pats his back pocket and frowns. “I’m not sure I have any cash. I can run to the ATM—”
“No,” says Jacquie, reaching into her apron. “Is ten enough?” She holds it out to me, but I recoil from it, shaking my head.
“Zae, what’s wrong with you?” Dad asks.
I slide out quickly, forcing them to move aside. “I don’t feel good. I have to go.”
I rush away, hoping Zeb will follow me through the crowd of loud talkers, holding drinks, completely unaware of the girl who is roiling with disgust and betrayal.
I sprint through the parking lot and lean against the minivan with both palms, my head hanging down, trying my hardest not to cry or barf. I can’t get the image of them out of my mind or the injustice of it all. He should be looking at Mom like that, not her.
“Zae!” Dad’s voice makes me stand and blink. He stops in front of me, his face pinched with worry. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Go back in withJacquieand don’t worry about me.” His worry slowly morphs to realization, and he pales. His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I fling open the door and climb in. Dad slowly backs away, looking unsure. I see in the side mirror that Zeb comes out and hugs him one last time before getting in the minivan with me. I don’t look at Dad again. I just drive away the second Zeb closes the door, hoping Dad enjoys his new life without me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday Night
While I was at dinner, Lin and Monica went bowling with Parker the gymnast and a few of his Garrison friends. Bauer was not there.
I try to be happy for her, but I’ve got a pit in my stomach that won’t go away. I’ve been sitting at our tiny dining room table, zoning out since Zebby and I got home. I swear, I never used to be this negative and pissed off at the world. I hate feeling this way, but I don’t know how to shake it. I can’t make Jacquie go away. I can’t get my parents back together. I can’t make boys be faithful. I can’t even make my own stupid heart not want Dean.
“I was thinking the three of us could go to church in the morning for Easter.”
I snap my head up to where Mom is standing in the kitchen.Zeb is staring with a similar look of surprise from the couch. We haven’t gone to church in years.
She goes on. “I’ve been hearing things about that one by the mall. It’s supposed to have really good music.”
Zeb looks at me, as if I can fix this.
“We don’t have to go to Sunday school, do we?” I ask. The thought of being in a small room with other kids I don’t know, probably the only one who doesn’t have Scriptures memorized, terrifies me.
“No, no,” Mom says. “Just the regular service. It doesn’t start until eleven, so you’ll have plenty of time in the morning. I’ll get home by ten twenty and we’ll leave at ten forty.”
If I wanted, I could refuse. I could get out of it. But then I think of Dad and Jacquie, all happy together, and I don’t feel like I can deny Mom this one small request.
“Okay.” And while we’re playing nice, there’s something I need to ask her that I’ve been putting off. “Hey, Mom? Um... tryouts are in May, and they’re requiring a roundoff back handspring. Could I, maybe, take a few lessons?”
Her entire face sags, and my heart drops with it. I know she cannot afford it, especially now. “I’m working,” I say. “So I can maybe pay half? And we can talk to Dad about pitching in.”
“Honey, things are so tight right now. One month of lessons last year used up months of our savings.”
“I know. Just... never mind. I need to get ready.”
She exhales as I stand to go. I don’t know what I’m going to do about cheer. The move isn’t something I can practice on my own. I need someone strong to spot me. I know it’s dumb, but I have an irrational fear of landing on my head. I have the bestjumps on the squad. My motions are tight and I can dance my ass off. I’m one of the strongest bases, and I’ve never let a flyer fall, even if it means getting a black eye and minor concussion. But tumbling has always been my weakness. I can’t believe it’s come down to this. What am I going to do? Who am I if not a Peakton cheerleader? Every time I think about it, I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.
In the bedroom, I stare up at my Eiffel Tower poster, then let my eyes wander over images of the Irish Cliffs of Moher and Egyptian pyramids. What would it be like to get away from all this? To go far away and experience an old-world culture? Even my far-off dreams cannot unroot me from my troubles right here, right now. I take out my phone and scroll, then stare at Dean’s number for a long time. Then I take a deep breath and text him.Party tonight at Quinton’s.
His response is almost immediate.Sweet. Thnx.
I hope that means he’ll come. Nervousness courses through me. This is my chance with Dean—my chance to turn his eye away from Monica. I still don’t know for sure if he was lying about the poems. Why wouldn’t he be honest? Maybe because he’s embarrassed or nervous. If he wrote them, I need to let him know I feel the same. I’ll stake my claim, and if he finally lets the truth out, I know Monica will understand and back down.
A sense of foreboding fills me as I gather my clothes, flat iron, and makeup bag, but I try to shake it off. This storm cloud over my head cannot last forever. I’m going to take matters into my own hands. Iwillhave fun tonight.
