Paper Girl Read online

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Jackson didn’t answer. He just held on. I tried to toe off my sandals, but the right one kept catching.

  “Here,” he said, crouching down.

  “You don’t have to…” Oh my God, his hand was on my foot, warm fingers that tickled the side. “Jackson.”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  All the words trickled back down my throat. His eyes were hazel, flecked with yellow around the irises. And all this time, I’d been staring at his shoes.

  His finger hooked in the strap of my sandal. He pulled it off smoothly and tickled my foot again. He grabbed both sandals and set them near the elevator with the other shoes all lined up and waiting. He removed his sneakers and smiled at me.

  Well, he wasn’t wearing shoes now. And socks were definitely less interesting to stare at. Might have to do the eye contact thing more often.

  I thought Gina was weird—after all, none of her ideas were anything like Dr. Edwards’s. But maybe…maybe there was something to Gina’s assignment after all.

  27.

  JACKSON

  As usual, the King household smelled like a restaurant. This time, the air was filled with spices and promised everything a Twinkie never could.

  I was also close enough to Zoe to smell jasmine, the same scent she’d had on the last time I’d been near enough to brush her hair from her eyes.

  “What do you need?” I asked her, having trouble keeping my hands to myself. Her feet had been soft. They made me want to touch her again.

  “I’m just…” She stared at her bare feet. “I need to stand here for a minute.”

  She did. Like a statue. And, helpless to do anything more, I said, “I’ll get some water.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. I didn’t want to leave her, but I didn’t want to stand there staring at her while she collected herself. She was clearly embarrassed about what had happened.

  A panic attack. That’s what it looked like. My mom had one two weeks after she found out about her illness. Suddenly she wasn’t just planning dinner or which bills to pay next; she was planning for her death. I’d come home from school to find her sitting motionless at the kitchen table, staring at a centerpiece of daisies.

  “Just give me a minute,” she’d whispered, as though it hurt to push the words out. “Wait until it passes.”

  And so I had, doing chores around the kitchen and fetching her a glass of lemonade, unable to stay as calm as she was. I didn’t want my mom to panic. That was my job. She’d always been the calm one, and all of a sudden, the roles were reversed. I hadn’t been able to help her, and now I couldn’t help Zoe, either.

  Mrs. King beamed when she saw me. Probably because she was making food and she figured she could foist it off on me. I didn’t mind being foisted on, but the guilt flickered anyway.

  “Try this,” she said, handing me an entire plate of mini quiches.

  I glanced at Mae, who met my eyes with a smile that didn’t stretch as wide as normal.

  “All of it?” I asked.

  “Mom.” Mae took the plate from me and set it on the counter. “You can’t make him eat all of this.”

  “Not making,” Yoko insisted. “Asking. Encouraging. Growing boys need nutrition, and I made too much.”

  “What’s all this for?”

  “I’m putting together a Fourth of July party menu.”

  “For your blog?” Mae asked.

  Yoko nodded, nudging the plate on the counter until it almost reached me. I gave in and lifted one of the quiches to my lips.

  Zoe walked into the kitchen at the same time. Her eyes met mine as I sampled the food, but she dropped them before I could smile. She still clutched a few envelopes in her hand, and she set them on the counter.

  Yoko blinked. “You got the mail?”

  Zoe glanced at Mae and shrugged. “Sort of.”

  “Yes.” Mae nodded. “She got the mail. And we saw Mrs. Webber, who had a hot-pink visor on today, which means she has a visor in every single color of the rainbow.”

  “And every one in between.” Yoko smiled at Zoe. “You need food, then.”

  Which must have been her way of showing how proud she was. She frequently offered Mae food when she got her report card or mentioned a cheerleading meet their team had won.

  “I’m not hungry.” Zoe ventured another glance at me. “I have homework.”

  I nodded. “Right. I said I’d help you with the worksheet.”

  It felt strange to walk through their apartment only wearing socks, but I realized I should have been more respectful long ago. Even Mr. King took off his shoes when he arrived home in the evening, and something about the gesture made me feel more like a part of their family.

  At the door to Zoe’s study, she stopped and turned, lifting her chin to look me straight in the eyes. “Thanks for…you know, not saying anything to my mom.”

  “Sure.”

  She fumbled for the doorknob, and I reached past her to grab it with a steady hand. Her breath rushed out, fluttering her bangs, and it was all I could do to stand there and let her walk past.

  I wanted to pull her against me and say ridiculous things like how it would be all right, and that she could talk to me, and that I understood—even if I didn’t. It felt right to want to comfort her.

  Even if I was in my socks.

  But then I stepped inside the study, and the computer was on. My eyes went straight to it because it was the first source of light I saw. Since I was wearing my glasses, I could actually see what was on the screen halfway across the room. Chess Challenge. Just like I thought.

  Zoe didn’t notice. She walked straight to her desk and grabbed a pile of papers off the surface. I followed her, almost holding my breath. As though she could feel my eyes on the screen, Zoe shut the lid of the computer with a swift gesture, and then she turned with her worksheets.

  “I finished the sheet.” Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s…nothing.” I smiled at her. It was crazy. There was no way Zoe was Rogue. There were thousands of people on Chess Challenge, and for me to be playing the same person I knew in real life? The odds were completely against that. Then I also remembered… I’d told Rogue I was homeless. That was huge. A huge secret. “I want to help.”

  She looked at the papers in her hands, and then up at me.

  “Not with your math.” I adjusted my glasses. “I mean, not only with your math. With…everything. You can talk to me.”

  Her mouth opened, just a hint of rose on her lips, and the room seemed to shrink around us.

  “Why did you stop going to school?” I asked.

  Her eyes glittered with moisture. Shit. I’d been tactless. She needed a little more build-up, not an outright question like that.

  “I couldn’t be there anymore,” she whispered, dropping her gaze again.

  “I understand.” When she looked like she didn’t believe me, I continued. “I mean, I understand about not being able to be somewhere anymore. Not that you don’t want to be there, or that you were forced to leave or anything. Just that you can’t.”

  The papers in her hand shook. “The same thing happened at school.”

  “What same thing?”

  “The same thing as downstairs.” Her words were heavy, laced with defeat.

  “A panic attack?”

  She nodded, chin still angled downward. “It makes me nervous to leave the house. To go to school. To…talk to you.”

  I reached out, closing my hand around hers to still the papers. She froze as if a bee had landed on her.

  “I’m not going to judge you, Zoe. We’re all screwed up in so many ways. I’m screwed up, too.”

  “But…”

  Her hand shook underneath mine. I wished I could send her some of my calm. I understood nerves. But not to the point where I couldn’t even leave my house. So what had she been doing downstairs? Just checking the mail?

  “Would it help if we d
id some math?” I asked.

  Her nervous laughter bubbled out, making me smile. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this.” She glanced up, eyes still moist. “Yes, I think math would help. On the bright side, at least I’m learning something new for the day.”

  On the bright side…

  I forced myself to release her, but stayed close as we sat at the desk, going over her worksheet from yesterday. Just because Zoe and Rogue said the same things didn’t make them the same person. And the sooner I got that through my head, the sooner I’d stop driving myself crazy.

  28.

  BlackKNIGHT: I’m sorry.

  Rogue2015: Okay. Why?

  BlackKNIGHT: For leaving yesterday.

  Rogue2015: You’re allowed to have a personal life. Whatever that is. It’s your turn.

  BlackKNIGHT: I have a personal life. Sure. But I didn’t have to be rude.

  Rogue2015: You weren’t rude. You know we get more points toward our total score if you play faster.

  BlackKNIGHT: Or in my case, I lose points. Right?

  Rogue2015: You have a point there.

  BlackKNIGHT: Terrible pun.

  Rogue2015: Yeah, I know. I’m tired. Okay, take your time.

  BlackKNIGHT: Why are you tired?

  Rogue2015: It’s almost midnight.

  BlackKNIGHT: Really? It’s almost midnight here, too. I think…

  Rogue2015: What?

  BlackKNIGHT: Maybe we live closer than we think.

  Rogue2015: You live near a cornfield?

  BlackKNIGHT: Ha ha. We’re in the same time zone.

  Rogue2015: That’s…a strange coincidence.

  BlackKNIGHT: Yeah. Strange. You still okay to play?

  Rogue2015: Of course.

  BlackKNIGHT: Why are you so tired? What did you do today?

  Rogue2015: Is this a new chess strategy? Distracting me? Because it’s not earning you any points, either.

  BlackKNIGHT: I feel like talking instead. We’re still anonymous, so you could tell me all your wildest secrets and no one would ever know.

  Rogue2015: No one but you.

  BlackKNIGHT: That’s right. No one but me. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.

  Rogue2015: Or else?

  BlackKNIGHT: Or else I’ll…take your queen and steal this match point from you.

  Rogue2015: Ha! So much confidence. Or is that…bluffing?

  BlackKNIGHT: Talk, or I’ll do it.

  Rogue2015: *sigh*

  BlackKNIGHT: Is that the sound of you giving in?

  Rogue2015: I’m too tired to argue. Okay. One thing. I have a stack of DC comic books hiding under my bed.

  BlackKNIGHT: That’s your wildest secret?

  Rogue2015: No, that’s a secret. I’m too tired for wild ones right now.

  BlackKNIGHT: Who’s that a secret from?

  Rogue2015: The stack of Marvel comic books hiding under my desk. You have to swear you won’t tell either of them. They get jealous so easily…

  BlackKNIGHT: *groan*

  Rogue2015: What? Not a big enough secret for you?

  BlackKNIGHT: It’s not that.

  Rogue2015: Then what is it, BK? You seem to have something in mind.

  BlackKNIGHT: You’re very careful what you say to me.

  Rogue2015: It’s a gift.

  BlackKNIGHT: I don’t disagree. But I want…

  Rogue2015: What?

  BlackKNIGHT: I want to know you. Does that make sense?

  Rogue2015: I’m not used to talking about these kinds of things.

  BlackKNIGHT: What kinds of things?

  Rogue2015: Things that matter.

  BlackKNIGHT: I’m not trying to pressure you. Much.

  Rogue2015: Ha ha. You do make it hard to say no.

  BlackKNIGHT: Then tell me something else.

  Rogue2015: Well, you did tell me about a girl you like. So I guess I could tell you about a boy.

  BlackKNIGHT: Yes, tell me.

  Rogue2015: Not much to tell, really. I like him. A lot. But I’m super nervous around him. Like, throw up on his shoes nervous. You know that feeling?

  BlackKNIGHT: Sure. I’ve felt it once or twice.

  Rogue2015: I’m pretty sure if he knew how much I want to talk to him, he’d laugh at me. Plus, I know way more about him than I should.

  BlackKNIGHT: So that’s your secret? You’re a stalker?

  Rogue2015: :-P No. I’m not a stalker. I learned about him from other people. But I’m like those hopeless little girls who write their first names with the last name of the boy they like. You know, like we’re married.

  BlackKNIGHT: Ah, I see. Does this boy know how you feel? Maybe he’d like your stalkerish tendencies.

  Rogue2015: No way! Pathetic, right? I’m pretty sure if I told him, he’d never want to see me again.

  BlackKNIGHT: You never know.

  Rogue2015: No, I know. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re teenagers. These things are fragile.

  BlackKNIGHT: You’re right, they are. But that means he’s a teenager, too, right? He probably has the same kinds of thoughts. He probably wants to know about you just as much as I do.

  Rogue2015: I wish you were right.

  29.

  ZOE

  I did wish BK was right. Even though it scared me to death, I wanted Jackson to know me. Whenever he turned those quizzical hazel eyes on me behind his thick glasses, I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up next to him and spill out my heart and soul. In an elegant way, of course.

  In my fantasy, we’d walk hand in hand down the Denver streets while the sun warmed my cheeks and everything I said would impress him. And then we’d stop, and he’d kiss me, right in the middle of the sidewalk. He’d slide his hand down to the hem of my shirt, where a sliver of bare skin was exposed and—

  “Zoe?”

  I jerked in my seat, almost tumbling out of my chair. I reached up and adjusted my glasses, irritated I’d lost track of time and hadn’t put in my contacts before Gina got here.

  My fantasy bubble popped. I didn’t want Jackson to be anything like BlackKNIGHT, or Rogue to be anything like me. I liked being Rogue because she reflected a side of me I didn’t—no, couldn’t—show anyone else. But in real life, I wasn’t there yet. I was just…

  Zoe.

  I touched the sleeve of my sweater to the corner of my mouth, sure I’d drooled during my reverie. If Gina noticed, she didn’t say a word.

  She only walked inside my study and asked, “Do you want to talk in here today?”

  “Sure.”

  Her eyes met mine. Her scarf looked like it had lily pads on it, and it matched her eyes. “Good.”

  I’d done something right. Probably my optimism.

  “You usually say ‘If that’s what you want,’ or ‘Whatever you want,’ when what I really want is for you to just tell me how you feel,” she said as if reading my mind.

  She sounded just like Jackson. Straightforward. To the point. He told me how he felt. Come to think of it, BlackKNIGHT did, too. I was the only one who couldn’t ever seem to say how I was feeling.

  Instead of sitting, Gina walked to the Milky Way wall and examined the sun, which was only halfway finished. “It’s big.”

  “One hundred and forty-three sheets of paper so far. But I’m not finished.”

  She looked closer. “That’s a lot of paper. How do you fold those pieces at the center so small?”

  “I have small fingers.” And patience. There was nothing more soothing than focusing on one sheet at a time, hour after hour, folding it into tiny triangles to make one larger piece.

  She chuckled, and a wave of warmth washed over me. So far so good. I wasn’t embarrassing her or myself.

  “I like how it’s tinier at the middle and gets bigger as it expands.” She turned to face me. “I heard they’re doing a paper art exhibit at the museum.”

  Delight hit first, then dread. Yes, I’d love to go. No, I couldn’t go.

  “It starts next week,” Gina said
. “A good amount of time.”

  I ducked my chin. “For what?”

  “To work up to it. How did your assignment go?”

  “Project: Mailbox,” I mumbled.

  Her shoes moved into my vision. All I could think about were Jackson’s socks. Jackson’s warm hand on mine. Jackson saying he wanted to help, and me wishing desperately for the courage to let him.

  “How did it go?”

  “Mae went with me.”

  “That’s all right. Sometimes we all need a little help getting from point A to point B.”

  “We took the elevator, and I walked to the mailboxes.”

  “Good.”

  “And then I couldn’t breathe.”

  Gina didn’t speak for a minute. I glanced up into kind eyes.

  “Let’s back up,” she said. “What happened before you couldn’t breathe?”

  “I was nervous, anyway,” I said with a shrug. “It was inevitable.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t, Zoe.” She gestured to the desk. “Why don’t we sit?”

  I took the chair opposite her and stared at the grains of wood on the table. Marker and pencil marks marred the surface. Mom had built this desk for me—one of her YouTube projects. Perfect height, perfect width. Perfect for me to spend hours and hours at while the world went on all around me.

  “This is what we’re working on,” Gina said. “Retraining your mind not to think the worst. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  “I got the mail, and I said hi to this lady with a visor.”

  “And what did she do?”

  “She smiled and talked with Mae.”

  “Pretty smooth so far, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I turned around and ran into Jackson, and the mail fell on the floor.”

  “Jackson is your tutor, right?”

  “Yes. He was coming to help me with my math worksheet.”

  “What did he do?”

  My mouth opened. Nothing out of the ordinary, I realized. “He apologized, then helped pick up the mail.”

  “He felt bad.”

  “It looked like it.”

  Gina leaned back in her seat. “But you were embarrassed you dropped the mail?”