Chapter SEVEN
Em wandered through the aisles at Victoria’s Secret, touching the lacy underwear and satin bras that hung around her in lilac, turquoise, and hot pink.
It was two days after Christmas, and her car was in the shop with a broken fender, so JD had driven her to the old mall. She was supposed to meet him for a movie in about an hour, but for now they had parted ways to redeem gift cards and shop on their own. She’d been sort of avoiding her other friends, like Fiona and Lauren. It was just too complicated after kissing Zach, and she didn’t know how to act normal anymore.
She stopped and stared at a deep purple balconette bra covered in a fine layer of shimmery lace, with a matching thong.
She’d never really owned anything like this—cheap cotton stuff from Target had done the job the few times that it had mattered. When she dated Alex Parson freshman year, he’d taken off her shirt, and the turquoise T-shirt bra she’d been wearing underneath hadn’t really seemed to faze him one way or the other. Although last year, in a relatively steamy hookup
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session with Steve Sawyer, she’d stopped him from taking off her pants, less out of chastity than because she was embarrassed by her plain white bikini briefs.
And it’s not like she was planning to do anything more with Zach. . . . It was just that she was ready to finally own some real lingerie.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” a female voice said.
Em whirled around to face a saleswoman who was looking at her intently—as though she knew Em’s secret.
“Um, I don’t know,” Em said, knitting her brows nervously.
“It just looks a bit big for you, dearie,” the woman said, pointing to the purple bra. “Let’s get you measured.”
Em let out a nervous laugh. Apparently she was even more paranoid than she’d thought. That realization, though, didn’t stop her from purchasing the purple bra, matching underwear, and a pair of low-rise black lace boy shorts, then stuffing the whole Victoria’s Secret bag into a deeper bag that held a J.Crew sweater and jeans.
JD was waiting patiently with two tickets for the latest apocalyp-tic natural-disaster film when she came trotting up a few minutes late. His bright yellow and black buffalo-plaid shirt made him look like a lumberjack bumblebee from afar.
“You didn’t get anything else?” he asked, surveying her bags.
“Nope,” Em said, happy that her hair was covering her ears.
“Just window-shopped.”
They walked up to the concession stand, where Em was not 81
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surprised to see Drea Feiffer looking as morose as usual. The only thing different about her getup today was that it was half covered by the dark-red employee vest she obviously hated. It didn’t complement her skinny jeans, which she’d dyed an outrageous shade of purple, or high-top Converse, which were “laced” with enormous safety pins. Not one to bow to the system, however, Drea had adorned her vest with an enormous brooch that she apparently slept in—she was never seen without the silver pin, which was shaped like a giant snake wrapped around an open eye.
It wasn’t very flattering. Still, Em gave her a small smile. She felt bad for Drea. Rumor was that Drea had been visiting Sasha in the hospital every day. Drea had other friends besides Sasha—other goth types who hung out in the school parking lot—but Sasha had been her closest friend, as far as anyone knew. It must be terrible to see your best friend like that. She couldn’t imagine if Gabby . . .
The guilt came, a pulsing shock. She couldn’t even think about Gabby.
“Hey, Drea,” JD said, as friendly with Drea as he was with anyone else. “How was your Christmas?”
Drea’s eyes fluttered to Em and back to JD. “Hey. It was pretty rough. I didn’t . . .” Drea’s voice went up, like she was about to say something important. Em tried not to stare at the circles under her eyes. Drea’s best friend had just tried to kill herself, and the poor girl had to sell Junior Mints all day. Em felt a momentary impulse to reach around the counter and hug her. But she’d probably think Em was crazy. Drea cleared her throat, and her dry tone came back. “Didn’t have to wear this damn vest for a few days, at least.”
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“It’s not that bad. It brings out the red in that snake eye there,” he said, grinning, trying to lighten the mood. “Have you seen this movie?” He fanned the tickets out on the counter.
“Yeah. It’s okay. Although, if I see one more disaster movie where the girl still looks hot at the end, I’m going to boycott modern cinema.”
“One of those?” JD motioned to Em and said, “She hates that too.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess we’ve got one thing in common, then.”
Drea reached for the popcorn bags. “What’ll it be? Medium popcorn, Sno-Caps, Twizzlers, and two Sprites?”
“You got it,” JD said.
As they walked away from Drea, he said in a low voice,
“I just feel so bad for her, ya know? She and Sasha were really close.”
Waiting for the movie to start, JD bit off both ends of a Twizzler and demonstrated—as he did every single time they saw a movie together—that Twizzlers could be used as straws.
They bickered over whether or not to simply pour the Sno-Caps in with the popcorn (Em voted yes, JD voted no, Em won). Em leaned back and breathed in the stale movie-theater smell of old cushions, sticky soda, and buttered popcorn; this was the most relaxed she’d felt in almost a week. Sometimes she forgot how much she loved spending time with JD, who didn’t expect anything from her, and who was totally himself. Now he was trying to use the Twizzler as some kind of kazoo. Sure, he could be kind of dorky, but he always made her laugh.
After the movie—which, as Drea had warned, featured 83
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totally unflustered and beautiful disaster victims—they walked to JD’s car. Em looked toward the coffee shop that JD always referred to as the Crappuccino, a popular hangout, and was surprised to see Zach sauntering out the door. A bolt of electricity rushed through her. She was about to yell his name but stopped herself when she saw him hold the door open for some girl she’d never seen before—an older, pretty girl wearing jeans, heels, and an expensive-looking sweater. They were laughing together as they walked in the opposite direction.
“Were you about to say something?” JD asked.
“No, I . . .” Em trailed off, and JD followed her eyes.
“That guy is such a dirtbag. He’s still with Gabby, right?”
“Of course he’s still with Gabby.” Em was surprised at how forceful she sounded. “That girl could be anyone—friend, cousin, dentist. Why do you have to assume it’s something shady?”
JD was obviously taken aback by the strength of Em’s reaction. He raised both hands defensively. “I don’t. I was just guessing, based on how they were walking.”
“Well, you have no idea, so maybe you shouldn’t go around
hypothesizing,” she said.
“God, Winters. Sorry. Didn’t mean to piss you off. Miss Touchy.”
“Miss Touchy?”
“Okay.” JD grinned. “That sounded less creepy in my head.”
Em laughed, but the image of the pretty girl with Zach stuck in her mind as she and JD drove home in silence.
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In her room later that evening, Em was organizing her photos and doing her best not to think about that girl at the Crappuccino when her phone buzzed, and she caught her breath—maybe it was Zach.
Nope. It was a text from Gabby.
Hey! Txts are expensive but I wanted to say hi and that I miss you! This bungalow is pimped out and I wish u were here to go in the Jacuzzi w/me!
Em felt a brief pang of guilt—but it turned quickly into annoyance. Her devoted best friend was texting her from across the ocean and Zach couldn’t get in touch from across town?
Impulsively, she dialed Zach’s number.
Miracle of miracles, he picked up.
“Hey there,” he said in a sexy low voice.
She vowed not to lose her resolve. With her voice shaking the tiniest bit, her thoughts spilled out: “Hi. Listen, I have to say some things. Ask some things. Like, what if this whole thing blows up in our faces? What are we doing?” She took a breath and listened, but Zach was silent. She barreled on.
“What if Gabby finds out? And seriously, Zach, I don’t mean to sound weird, but I saw you today outside the Crappu . . . the Cappuchinery—who the hell was that girl?”
For a second, Em thought Zach had hung up. But then he laughed.
“Someone’s a little jealous, huh?” Em didn’t respond. “Em, don’t worry,” Zach said, suddenly serious. “That was just a family friend. Her name’s Amanda and her mom and my mom are 85
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friends. They’re visiting, so I offered to take her out for coffee.”
“Oh,” Em said dumbly.
“She actually does charity organizing for her sorority and she was giving me some advice about the Feast. It was really helpful. I’m a little in over my head, you know?” Every word that came out of Zach’s mouth made Em feel like more of an idiot. Zach was stressed about the Football Feast—organizing it was a huge responsibility—and here she was, whining about another girl without even knowing the full story. Or really having the right to whine in the first place.
“And about Gabby . . . it’s complicated, I know. But we’ll figure it out. Why don’t I come pick you up,” he offered. “We can talk about all this in person. My parents aren’t home. We can chill in front of the fire . . .” He trailed off in a singsong voice.
“Okay,” Em said. He was right, it was better to talk these things out in person. But in the back of her mind, she knew they weren’t just going to talk. As she waited to hear his horn in the driveway, she changed into her new Victoria’s Secret purchases.
Once she was in his car, she felt the same electricity she’d felt the other night. A power that seemed almost out-of-body.
It was cold still, and the roads were crunchy with salt from the plows. The moon was big, but the night was cloudy—no stars.
“Get anything good for Christmas?” Zach asked as radio rap offered a staccato background to the drive.
“A few books, yeah,” Em said, a bit relieved to be talking about normal stuff. “And a gift certificate to Anthropolo-gie, which is amazing.” But after that, they lapsed into charged silence.
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Inside Zach’s house, Em felt shy. She’d never been here without Gabby—except for one time last year, when Zach had a party but Gabby had strep throat and couldn’t come. His stepdad, the real-estate guy, had a taste for modern furniture—
black, streamlined stuff that was nice but wasn’t very warm.
Zach pressed a button to light the fireplace. Em sat on the floor, leaning on a big pillow, watching him move around the room.
He poured them each a glass of wine from the bar by the window, then sat down on the plush rug next to her.
Em took a sip, tasting its syrup on her tongue. She wasn’t exactly a wine expert, but this one was distinctly sweet.
“What kind of wine is this?”
Zach threw a glance back over to the bar. “The expensive kind.”
Em smiled, not sure what to say next.
“So, let’s talk. I’m sorry if I seem distracted. It’s the Feast, and just the holidays in general. It’s tough without my dad around.” Zach was avoiding eye contact. Em wanted so badly to see him smile the way he had the other night.
“I understand. I just—I just think we should talk about the whole Gabby thing. How we’re going to . . . handle it.”
Zach nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked at her suddenly. “What do you want me to do?”
“What do I want you to do? I mean, what do you want to do?”
The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “This.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, brushing his lips against the side of her face. Em shivered.
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“Zach,” she said, trying to sound sexy and serious at the same time. “I want that, too. But Gabby is my best friend. And she’s your girlfriend. We can’t just . . . do this. Not if you’re still together.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I know what I need to do. Break up with her. But . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck like it ached.
Em took a deep breath and reached for his hand. She gave voice to her biggest fear, hoping that merely saying it aloud wouldn’t make it come true. “Do you not want to? Do you think this is a mistake?”
He squeezed her fingers. “No. I . . . I don’t know what to do, Em. I feel like I’m being pulled in all these different directions—by you, by Gabby, by my stepdad. . . . Do you know how many times he’s reminded me that my future basically hinges on my admission to Yale?”
Em raised her eyebrows. “He said that?”
“Yeah. And he’s freaking out about the Feast, too. And my math grade—he keeps threatening to pull me out of Ascension and send me to his old prep school if I don’t pass precalculus.
He’s always saying I need to get whipped into shape, you know?
It’s just, like, exhausting. Like every single thing I do has to be perfect. You don’t get it. Making mistakes is unacceptable.”
She knew he was talking about school stuff and his stepdad, but his clipped tone sent a bigger message: Stop pressuring me.
For a moment they sat in silence. She wanted to say more. But at the same time, she didn’t want to upset Zach. She tried to choke back all of the doubts and fears rising in her throat.
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After a long minute, Zach bit his lip and smiled at her. She was relieved; it was as though some of the awful tension had been released.
“You look pretty,” he murmured. And then he was kissing her lower lip, tugging at her hair. They were lying back on the big decorative pillows and she let herself be carried away by the warmth surging through her, by her sudden need. He wanted her so badly. She could feel it. Em forgot about their talk. They grabbed each other’s necks and waists and shirts in the flickering light. She couldn’t believe how romantic it was. His lips moved down her neck and onto her collarbone; then he raised her shirt and started kissing up from her belly button. In one tangled maneuver, her shirt was off.
“Beautiful,” Zach breathed, pulling the straps of the purple bra off her shoulders. And Em felt beautiful.
They lay there, knees interlocked. His shirt was off now, her hair was coming undone, and she felt like she was melting into the rug, like she would never be able to move from this spot again. His lips were on her neck, then on her shoulders, on her arms—she was floating, burning.
For a second, Em stared over Zach’s broad shoulders into the fire. The flames danced like they were being seduced by a snake charmer. As Zach brought his lips to hers again, she felt even more light-headed. She had never felt so many emotions swirling together before: giddiness and excitement, fear and sadness. She finally understood why people described love as being “swept away,” because the old Em had been carried off somewhere. And in her place was this other person, this 89
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girl who knew what she wanted and didn’t care about anything outside of this one moment.
He started to unbutton her jeans and she arched her back slightly. And then—horribly—she thought of Gabby and how excited her best friend was about V-Squared (her plan to lose her virginity to Zach on Valentine’s Day this year). And it was like the bubble she’d been floating in had burst.
“Not yet, Zach,” she said, gently moving his hand away.
“But we both want it,” he said, touching her face softly.
His eyes were lonely. Sad. This was not the Zach McCord Em knew from the basketball court, or earth science, or late night at Pete’s Pizza. This Zach was ten times more intense—and he wanted her.
Em’s brain swam with images of Gabby, Zach, and the pretty girl she’d seen with Zach earlier that day. And just then, they both heard the front door open and a sharp intake of breath.
When Em scrambled to face the foyer, her world came crashing down. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. No.
Chase.
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