“Points for honesty, at least,” Rosa says, grabbing Finley’s arm and shaking her head when she’d pry further. “Do you two need some room?”
“No, we’re good.” Zach finishes setting up and sits down just in time for the delivery man to knock. “Where’d you want these?”
“Four pizzas?” Finley squeaks. “Are you trying to fatten us up for something?”
“Who cares?” Rosa takes one box, flips open the lid, and throws it to Finley. “Here you go.”
“Ham and pineapple. Yes.”
The more I stay silent, the more they compensate, growing louder as they eat through more food than I would have thought possible. Zach, meanwhile, picks at a single slice, glancing at me while every time I meet his eyes, they bounce away.
When we stop pretending to eat, Zach walks me through his copious notes, losing me almost immediately. But he circles back, goes over the text until I can match up the subliminal messages with the written words.
I still don’t understand the metaphors or the subtle shifts in character, but there’s a better-than-average chance I can fake it.
The work runs out and we still sit at the table. I’m waiting for him to tell me why he’s really there, and he’s waiting for me to… I don’t know what. Say it’s okay. Tell him it’s all in the past.
I wish it were. The pull of him next to me is so strong it’s exhausting that he doesn’t touch me.
“If I don’t hear voices in the next minute,” Rosa warns, “then I’m coming over to check.”
“Yes, Mum. We’re obviously getting up to no good at the table right in the middle of the flat.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Finley adds with a giggle. “Now tell us what you did, Zach, so we can try to fix it.”
“Okay. That’s your cue to leave.” I stand and pile together his notes and textbook, then shove it towards him, not caring if they got mixed.
“Those are for you.” He stands too, quickly shuffles through the pages, putting them back in order. “Notes to read before class tomorrow. You still have third period free, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. That’ll give you an hour to study.”
Awkwardness lands between us again with a heavy thump. I can’t remember what we used to talk about. Did we talk? Or was it always just physical? Perhaps I made up our conversations in my head.
“You know,” Zach begins in a whisper, then stops, shaking his head.
“I know what?”
He raises a hand, coming so close to touching my shoulder that my body bends towards him. Then he tucks it back in his jeans pocket while my body cries for release. “I know what I did. I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I still care for you.”
“That isn’t how you care for people.”
His eyes lock with mine, pleading while I send back a multitude of messages, all saying no. “Maybe it is. Maybe that’s just how it goes when you’re with me.”
“Then you need to learn to be better.”
For a second, his control breaks. “You need to be more accepting,” he snaps, pain glowering from him like anger.
“That isn’t—” I break off, unable to continue. “No.”
“You knew who I was.” He steps closer, his physical form dominating me even though we’re not touching. When he speaks again, his voice is haggard. “Don’t you think if I could change, I would’ve done it by now?”
I close my eyes, swaying so near that strands from my fringe sizzle and cling to the static of his sweatshirt. “What did you do to that boy?”
If my change of tack surprises him, he doesn’t show it. “I sent him a text message posing as Sierra and invited him to a local park. Then I held a knife to his throat and told him if he ever hurt or called her names again, I’d kill him.”
Nothing more than the little shit deserved.
