It is an article, nearly three years old, about a local fifteen-year-old boy with an interest in filmmaking. Makinghorrormovies.
“Meridian High School students and best friends Zach Laird and Raj Gupta celebrate after their third-place finish in a national short-film contest,” a caption says.
What has stolen my breath, though, is the picture. In it, an Indian boy faces the camera, looking very solemn. He’s the boy who bumped into me and couldn’t stop staring at the theater that day. Next to him in the picture—next toRaj—a tall, red-haired boy stares at me with a grin as wide as the sun.
“Are you sure?” Memory Zach asks, moving around to my side of the table so he can see.
But I only gape at him, fighting to keep my breath steady and my mind calm, and then stare again at the boy who looks exactly like him. Whoishim.
Zach Laird.
The name forms in my mind, wrapping around my brain in a way that is familiar and foreign and confuses me.
I look at the picture again.
I don’t know the first thing about him, therealhim, but the steady ticktock of my chest, the bomb racing to an inescapable explosion, confirms something I haven’t been sure of—only suspected, only feared.
And it speaks with complete assurance.
I once loved this boy.
BEFORE
Late October
Zach and I see each other in spurts. For minutes between viola practice and the store and the Cineplex and my dad’s apartment and his trips to Caldwell. Since he’s much busier than I am, I’m usually visiting him at one of his two jobs or at his house.
So when I stop by at the Cineplex after school one day and one of his co-workers says Zach is taking out the trash, I head outside to the back of the theater and literally pounce on him.
His back is to me, and when I wrap myself around his waist, he jumps. “Holy shit, you scared me,” he says, turning around to face me.
I cough and feel my eyes water as he exhales smoke directly into my face.
“Sorry,” he says, giving me a wide smile. “I was literally plotting ways to kidnap you.” He kisses my top lip.
I don’t kiss him back, just stay frozen, unable to erase the frown on my face.
“What’s wrong?” Zach asks.
“You smell like a chimney.”
Zach holds his cigarette far away from his body for dramatic effect. With his other hand, he reaches to cover my eyes. “You did not see me smoking.”
“Ismellyou smoking,” I retort, taking his hand off my face. “I thought you were quitting. Your dad bought you a CXX.”When it’s all your family has been able to do to keep At Home Movies running the past few months.
Zach seems surprised, his eyes wider than normal. “I didn’t know it bothered you so much.” He puts out his cigarette.
“It’s just gross,” I say, wishing we were spending the first time we’ve seen each other in a week making out, but I don’t feel like kissing Zach at all right now. Also, weirdly, I remember what Raj said once:Where there’s smoke, there’s Lindsay.
He nods, still watching me. “Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Iwasreally down to two a day, but then with school. And Raj keeps wanting to make something to enter for the Valley Con Short-Film Contest, and I’m avoiding him because that’s all he talks about. I feel like shit.”
I take a step toward him now, put my hand on his shirt. “Why don’t you want to enter?”
“Ido,” Zach insists. “I just…can’t think of anything good. And then my dad pays eight hundred freaking dollars for a CXX that I can’t use.”
“Maybe,” I say thoughtfully, “maybe you’re thinking too narrowly. Like, a while ago, I felt so sick of my playing, and then I borrowed some of Katy’s music, transposed it down a fifth, and learned a couple ofherpieces. I was pretty bad at them, but it made me feel better.”
“Addie, you don’t get it.” Zach’s voice is impatient. “I think I just need time or something. I need to figure it out on my own.”
