Paper Girl Page 6

  But on the other hand, she treated me like a regular person. Maybe she was just a regular person, too, and she knew exactly how hard it was to live in the real world.

  “But staying inside here all the time isn’t living your life. Real life, your life, has to be outside of this house eventually.”

  I gritted my teeth, surprisingly hurt by her words. “I—I know what real life is.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m not living it.”

  Gina turned to me. She smiled, which seemed like the most inappropriate response she could have given. I met her eyes long enough to see they were green with yellow flecks. Then I stared at her shoes. Black flats with bows on the tips. No, not at all like any therapist I was used to.

  “This is good.” When I didn’t answer, she continued in a voice that very much made her sound like a therapist. “This is a step in the right direction. It means you’re longing for something more. You’re ready to move on.”

  “Wanting it and being ready for it are…very different things.” But I applauded myself for being able to express this to her without stuttering. Or vomiting. Progress.

  She nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her fiddle with the scarf around her neck, fanning it out as though she was hot. “That’s true. But wanting it is the first step. And I think you’re brave enough to give it a try.”

  “Give what a try?”

  I remembered that Jackson was coming by later. I had to talk to him. He was going to be my tutor. Nerves rattled my insides.

  “Your goal.”

  I swallowed. “My goal is to go to Mae’s graduation. I promised her. I just need to…” I blew out a breath. “I need to be able to do that.”

  “Are you ready for that?”

  My stomach clenched hard. “No.”

  “Then let’s work on getting there by starting with something that isn’t so intimidating,” Gina said. “A smaller goal. You set one, and I can help walk you through steps to get there.”

  The word “goal” sounded ominous when she said it now. Taboo.

  “I do have another goal. I do. Bring up my math grade. Physics, too.”

  “I mean one that directly correlates to your social anxiety.”

  I checked the pedometer app on my phone. I could have been walking more right now. Or making more of Neptune. But instead, I had to make a goal. I had to correlate things. This blew. A goal correlating to my anxiety meant doing something this house couldn’t keep me safe from.

  But wasn’t that the point? How was I ever going to make it to my sister’s graduation if I couldn’t even do something smaller?

  “What about one of Mae’s cheerleading meets?” Gina asked. “I know she and your mom really want you to go. You’d be with your family, but out of the house.”

  Mae had meets in big convention centers sometimes. She had a huge competition coming up, but there were going to be hundreds of people there. Maybe thousands.

  Panic flickered through me.

  “Or even a school function where she’s cheering,” Gina pressed. “Kind of like a mini-graduation trial run.”

  I immediately thought of basketball—Robert and Jackson playing for the school team, and Mae cheering on the sidelines. Then I’d have two people to watch, both Mae and Jackson.

  “I think you could do it,” Gina said gently. “I’ll help.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll work up to it. Some test runs. And you can use Dr. Edwards’s coping techniques. You can do this.”

  Outside, the blackbird flew away. I wished I could, too.

  “Zoe,” Gina coaxed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She was right. I knew what I wanted. To live my life outside of this apartment. But…

  “Zoe,” Gina said again. “Come on.”

  I frowned at her. “Peer pressure. This is peer pressure, right? I think Dr. Edwards would like to hear about this.”

  She laughed. Squinting eyes. Damn. That was pretty convincing.

  “Fine,” I mumbled. “Where do we start?”

  “You’re doing it this afternoon. Your first meeting with your tutor. Talk to him. Try to make eye contact.”

  But it was Jackson. Eye contact? It was hard enough making eye contact with regular people. With Jackson, it was so much harder. Especially when he was that close. My body and his sharing a space. I shivered.

  “You can do it,” she said. “I know you can.”

  I was glad she was so confident in me. All I knew was that I felt like I was going to throw up. I was sure I could figure out the velocity with some sort of physics equation, however, and then it’d be educational, too.

  Paper. That’s all. I had to look at it like a blank piece of paper. No expectations, just ready for whatever I wanted to create out of it. I was in control here.

  “I expect a full report the next time I see you,” Gina said.

  …

  My stomach felt like something from the Cretaceous period was swimming inside, trying to get out. Since Gina left, it had seen fit to remind me nonstop that I had to sit in the same room as Jackson the whole afternoon and do my best rendition of “normal” as possible. I already knew I was going to fail.

  I always did.

  This wasn’t like paper at all. Paper was fragile. And so was I.

  In my study, knowing Jackson was going to be here any minute, I prepared. I took out two mechanical pencils, one notebook, Mae’s old Physics book, and went through the stack two more times to make sure I had everything. I didn’t want Jackson thinking I was unprepared. Or that I didn’t appreciate him helping me, though I wished we could do it online somehow, so I didn’t have to be in the same room as him.

  I was actually pretty composed when all I had to do was type to someone. My brain functioned in coherent patterns, focused on topics. And you couldn’t stutter when you were typing.

  When I heard the ding of the elevator and my mom’s cheerful voice welcoming Jackson into the apartment, my hands shook on my notebook, and the pencils I’d gathered scattered onto the floor.

  Mom knocked on my door. “Zoe? You coming? Jackson’s here.”

  I’d put in my contacts, brushed my hair, worn pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband, and yet I still felt woefully unprepared to face Jackson. Or even to stare at his shoes.

  There were so many things that could go wrong, and I was the root of all of them. The more I thought about it, the larger the disaster grew until my embarrassment at facing Jackson became the equivalent of the naked dream.

  You know, the one where you walk into some big event completely naked and everyone stares at you. Except in mine I was walking into the prom wearing an embarrassing Hello Kitty hat like that was going to cover me somehow. I said “checkmate,” and everyone started laughing.

  My life was that dream. Every. Single. Day.

  “Zoe?” Mom said again.

  I gathered my pencils off the floor. “I’m coming.”

  With my books and pencils clutched against my chest, I walked down the hallway one, two, three…twelve more steps to add to my daily goal. They were in the kitchen. An audience. Mae, Jackson, and Mom, all looking at me. The freak who didn’t leave the house.

  I wondered how surprised they’d all be when I actually did show up at the graduation ceremony. If I actually walked confidently to my seat and pulled out my phone to take pictures of Mae. It would almost be worth it just to see the shock on their faces. Almost.

  Jackson wore his beat-up Converse. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him in something different. He probably went everywhere in them because, for him, the world was a big place full of possibilities. I wore socks because leaving our shoes by the door (or the elevator, in our case) was pretty much the only tradition Mom had brought with her from Japan. But these socks had walked dozens of miles in this apartment, and they still looked brand new.

  “I made lemonade,” Mom said, gesturing to the center of the
table. Mae made a face behind her, and it only heightened my nerves. “And cookies.”

  They were oatmeal cookies. The kind that crumbled all over the place when you took your first bite. Normally my favorite, but not when someone was watching me make a mess of myself.

  What did she think this was? Afternoon tea? A date?

  Oh God, I couldn’t even think the word “date” without blushing.

  Jackson smiled at me. I tried to return it, but it came off feeling more like a grimace. I stared at his shoes again while my whole face lit on fire.

  Mae plucked a cookie from the pile and said, “I don’t envy you guys.”

  “Come on,” Mom said. “Math can be fun. Right, Jackson?”

  Mae almost choked on her cookie when she laughed.

  I could tell Jackson was trying to hold in a smile. “It can,” he said. “You just have to understand the basics.”

  Mom nodded like she was ready for her lesson, too. Mae poked her arm. “Don’t you have a closet to macro-organize or something?”

  My mom smoothed her hair. “I should probably work on my video. I’m doing a segment on homemade and all-natural cleaners.”

  Mae mimed falling asleep before she poked Mom’s arm again. “Let’s go.”

  Jackson reached for a cookie. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. King.”

  Mom beamed. This was probably the first time she’d seen me in a room this long with other people my age. And standing next to Jackson…Oh my God, to her this probably was a date. She looked happy enough to reupholster a chair. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

  I used my eyes to plead with Mae as she walked toward the living room with her cookie and a water bottle, but she just smiled and waved.

  Gina would be saying, This is good, Zoe. Step out of your comfort zone. The more you do it, the easier it’ll get.

  And then I was alone in the cavernous kitchen with Jackson and oatmeal crumble cookies.

  Here goes nothing…

  18.

  JACKSON

  “Your mom’s funny,” I said, trying to ease the tension.

  Zoe made a noise of agreement but stared at my shoes. She looked different today—and that in itself wasn’t a bad thing. But she was wearing her contacts, which made me jealous because I really wanted something besides my two-year-old glasses. Her hair billowed around her shoulders, and she had the same fringe of bangs in her eyes that I wanted to reach out and brush aside. And she wore blue-and-white striped socks instead of her Manga-covered sneakers. It struck me how much you could learn about someone by visiting them in their home.

  “Should we work at the table here?” I asked. “Or—”

  “No— Yes. I mean, this is good. Right here.” Her cheeks burned a bright red as she sat at the table.

  I pretended not to notice and instead slipped my backpack onto one chair and sat next to her. My elbow brushed hers. She jerked her arm away and tucked her hands under the table. I pretended not to notice that, either, even though her skin was so smooth and warm I wanted to touch it again.

  She played with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around and around her fingers. I imagined those fingers working quickly and deftly on paper, making the stars and planets in her secret room.

  “How do you feel about physics?” I asked.

  She glanced up then dropped her eyes to her notebook. “It’s evil.”

  I laughed. I used to think so, too. “You either love it or you hate it. But it’s pretty simple, really.”

  “So, you love it,” she mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “You love it? Physics?”

  “I do. Everything has an answer. It’s explainable.”

  “Like numbers.” She brushed her hair from her eyes.

  “You like math?”

  “No. But it’s—it’s definite, like you said. Everything has an answer. There’s c-comfort in that.”

  She stared at her notebook again, even as I nodded. “I agree. Numbers are comforting.”

  “So, uh—uh—” She almost knocked the plate of cookies off the table when she slid her notebook closer.

  I caught it smoothly and pushed the plate to the center of the table. Never mind shy—she was nervous. That’s what it was. People tended to feel that way when they had to learn something new.

  “You only have a few months left of school,” I said. “What can we do?”

  “Wh—what?”

  “What would help you bring your grade up the most?”

  “Passing my tests.”

  “Good. Let’s aim for that. What are you working on right now?”

  “Right now?” Her gaze flashed around the room. “Like my assignment?”

  I nodded. “Can I see? So I know where to start, or what you’ll be tested on? I mean, we’ll go over basics, too, but let’s at least get you past your test.”

  “I don’t—I mean, it’s on my computer. I could—I didn’t—” She stood, knocking the notebook off the table. “I can go print it out.”

  I stooped at the same time she did to retrieve the notebook.

  She paused and murmured something under her breath. It sounded like “eye contact.” Then she looked me straight in the eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

  “Wh—what?”

  “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not—I mean—” She took two long breaths in and out. “It’s not you. It’s everyone.”

  Everyone? Everyone made her uncomfortable? I opened my mouth to ask, to understand, but she stood abruptly.

  “I’ll get my homework,” she said.

  “I can just look at it from your computer.”

  Panic flickered in her eyes.

  “Is that where you do all those paper designs?” I asked, longing to get a peek at her galaxy again.

  She nodded.

  “I’d like to see,” I said.

  “It’s not—I mean, if you want to.”

  I stepped back with a smile. That was easier than I thought it would be. “I really would.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, already walking to the hallway. “Come on.”

  When we reached the door, she stopped with her hand on the knob. “It’s sort of messy,” she warned.

  “I doubt it,” I answered with a laugh. She didn’t seem like the type to leave anything unorganized. “Open up.”

  She opened the door and stepped inside, brushing past me close enough I could smell her hair. Something floral on her skin. I swallowed. Then I moved into the room, already searching for her art.

  The Milky Way spilled from the walls and the ceiling, shooting stars and planets everywhere. My vision was dazzled by colors and shapes, by Zoe’s creativity.

  I didn’t think I’d ever met someone who could say so much by saying so little.

  “This is amazing,” I said, trying to take it all in.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Really. How long did it take?”

  “Months. Lots of m-months,” she stuttered, and then she blushed again.

  There was no way in hell I was going to tell her it was actually cute when she stammered like that. I was starting to think her social ineptitude was the whole reason she wasn’t in school anymore. That seemed to be the likeliest explanation. And she’d told me everyone made her uncomfortable. Everyone, as in, everyone? The whole world?

  I kept my focus on the wall. “It looks like it’s to scale.”

  “I had to—to use some program online. You know, to calculate it—and—and then I measured it out.” She waved a hand above her head. “The meteors were just for…fun.”

  I walked closer to her, peering up at one of the meteors. I didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath, or the floral scent again. Jasmine, maybe.

  A scent my mom might have worn.

  Mom’s words came back to me, something she’d said at the hospital, holding my hand tightly and trying to impart years of experience to me in a short amount of time
. Like she’d known she wasn’t going to make it.

  Sometimes what you’re looking for finds you first.

  Maybe she was talking about a career passion, or that one friend that felt more like family. But in this moment, it felt like she was talking about Zoe.

  “The meteors are fun,” I said to the ceiling. “How many are you going to make?”

  “A lot more.”

  I smiled, keeping my gaze focused on the meteor. Rogue told me to be myself, so that’s what I was going to do. And right now, I was interested in Zoe’s paper wall.

  “Is that what you’re working on right now?” I asked. “Meteors?”

  “I’m working on Neptune. And—and Saturn’s moons, too.”

  I glanced around, eager to see her progress.

  “It’s—I just started it,” she said, edging toward her desk like she was ready to hide whatever I wanted to find. “I had to get more paper for the outside parts. So the color kind of fades as it gets bigger.”

  I nodded and faced the wall again. “You know what would be cool?” I asked her without turning around.

  It took her a minute to answer. “What?”

  “A giant chessboard.” I glanced back and smiled when her eyes widened. Maybe she thought I’d forgotten about her love for chess. “You could do all the pieces, make them 3-D like this.”

  When I turned around, her eyes were still locked on me. Okay, maybe she didn’t love chess anymore. Maybe paper was her thing now, and she didn’t care about the game at all.

  Then she nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “What did you learn today?” I asked, grasping for anything that might link us and get her to open up.

  Her chin lifted. Something sparked in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

  “You have to have learned something new today.”

  She looked away. I kicked myself for not asking something simpler. But finally, she said quietly, “The day’s only halfway through.”

  My hand twitched, wanting to reach out and brush the bangs from her eyes. “True.”

  “I guess I figured maybe—maybe your math lesson would be my new thing for today.”

  I smiled. “You’re probably right.”

  With those words, she lifted her eyes to mine again, just briefly. They melted like dark chocolate. Sometimes what you’re looking for finds you first.