Paper Girl Page 8

  “Do you want to go on a picnic?”

  Yes. But she already knew this. I wanted to go on a picnic, I wanted to go to Mae’s graduation. I even wanted to go to the stupid prom. I wanted the world, and today I had to start making changes or it was never going to happen.

  “How about yesterday?” Gina prompted. “Your tutoring session?”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s for Physics, right?”

  “And Algebra.”

  “Who’s your tutor?”

  “Someone from Mae’s school.”

  “A friend of hers, right? That’s what your mom said.”

  I gripped my hands together tight in my lap, crushing the paper, and then purposefully relaxed them. “I tried to do the eye contact thing.”

  “How’d that work out for you?”

  “Okay.”

  “If you can’t look in the eyes, look at the forehead.”

  I lifted my eyebrows at her. “What?”

  She smiled. It was an easy smile, kind of like Jackson’s. Like both of them had no cares in the world. “When I was in school, I had to give a lot of speeches in front of the class. And during my internship, I had to talk to a lot of people who were pretty intimidating. When I got nervous, I’d stare right here.” She pointed to the center of her forehead.

  I stared at it.

  “See? It makes it seem like you’re making eye contact, but you aren’t really,” she said. “Good trick. I have others, too. Tricks to make social situations easier.”

  “Really?”

  She relaxed in her seat. “What are you making there?”

  I set the paper on top of the desk. “Nothing.”

  “You want to tell me why you were outside on the balcony?”

  God, she was persistent.

  “Zoe?”

  “It was Mae.”

  I glanced at her face. She was good at keeping her reactions under control. She didn’t raise her eyebrows or blink or even angle her head. She just nodded for me to continue. “You were outside because of Mae.”

  “Yes.”

  She waited. We battled it out in the silence of the room, each of us unwilling to say the next word. But this time, she won.

  “She wanted me to go to practice with her, and I said it was too scary, and she acted like she missed me coming—”

  “Do you think she was acting, or do you think she really does miss you being there?”

  My mouth dried. I didn’t answer.

  And, though it seemed entirely inappropriate, Gina smiled. “I know what’s going on here.”

  My pulse picked up. Oh no, it was like she could see straight to my soul. Read my mind. It was embarrassing feeling like she knew everything about me when I’d hardly said a word.

  “I have an idea,” Gina said.

  “Oh, crap,” I blurted, then pressed my hands to my cheeks.

  She only laughed. “Yeah, it’s going to feel like that a lot. I swear I have at least a dozen ‘oh, crap’ moments a week. But, it’s a good thing. Keeps me on my toes. And it helps me grow as a person. You’re going to have to trust me, though.”

  No, thanks.

  “Zoe?”

  I looked up.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I swallowed, shaking my head even as I said, “Yes.”

  21.

  JACKSON

  After school, it took two buses and a mile walk to get to the cemetery. Since I couldn’t afford flowers, I’d plucked some pretty weeds from next to the fence at the last bus stop. If I was Zoe, I probably could have made a bouquet of paper flowers, but since I wasn’t, this would have to do.

  I walked several rows east, and then turned south. One, two, three headstones later, and I was at my mom’s. Cecilia Ann Knight.

  There were already flowers. Daisies—her favorite. One of her friends probably brought them. Everyone liked Mom. She had a lot of friends.

  I put my offering next to the white daisies, and then sat on the grass by her headstone. A wave of clouds rolled over the sun. I wiped a drop of sweat from my neck and sighed.

  “I know it’s been a while,” I said, like she’d made a comment about me finally visiting her.

  But I could hear her answer as though she were right here with me.

  You’re busy, Jackson. You don’t have to visit me all the time.

  “I want to.” I smiled. “You’re good company.”

  What about Dad?

  I sighed again. I was having a good week, and thinking about him threatened to take that away. I didn’t want to contemplate what was going on with my dad, but everything else that had fallen into my lap this week made me believe in the kind of optimism my mom always used to have.

  Before the brain tumor came, she was an optimist. During her treatment, she was an optimist. In her final days, she was even more cheerful (when she wasn’t sleeping or so loopy from the medication she hardly recognized me).

  It was the kind of optimism that infected people, that made my occasionally melancholy dad believe today could be just as good as any other day. It was the kind of optimism that made me give school another chance instead of ditching every day like I wanted to.

  The kind of optimism that had made me want to talk to that quirky girl on the bleachers because, in my mom’s words, There’s a whole world out there, and you’ll never experience it fully if you keep your head down and your mouth shut.

  Maybe not the best motto to live by, but certainly not the worst.

  I couldn’t keep my mouth shut around Zoe. I wanted to know what was behind her paper art and why she’d left school. I wanted to know what secrets she held on her computer and why she couldn’t ever seem to look me in the eye.

  I also kind of wanted to know why I was drawn to her in the same way I was drawn to Rogue. Zugzwang. She’d said that to me just like Zoe had. After I’d told her about being homeless. I couldn’t believe I’d actually told her. But Rogue was being open with me, and it was so nice to finally, finally get it out in the open. To finally tell someone my secret.

  You’re smiling.

  I glanced at the headstone with a chuckle. “It’s a girl. Does that make you happy?”

  And it was like I could hear her laugh along with me. My mom had never pushed me to date—I didn’t care about it much at that age. But I know she would have liked to see who I might have been interested in.

  “She reminds me of you.” I plucked at the emerald blades of grass. “We’re just friends.”

  I don’t know why I said it. Maybe because I was reminding myself that’s where I stood. I was intrigued by Zoe, but I wasn’t sure how far that would get me.

  And college?

  I was glad she changed the subject. “I’m making sure I’ve got everything together. I still need to do more tutoring for this one scholarship. It’ll help a lot.” I needed it desperately, but I’d make it work. It wasn’t something I’d want my mom to worry about even if she were here. “I’m working on it.”

  Good.

  We sat in silence for another ten minutes, watching the clouds dance across the sky. And when the world felt at peace again, I stood.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  To see the girl.

  I laughed. “And work. Gotta make a living.”

  I adjusted her flowers before turning away, and it was probably just me, but I could hear the words I’m proud of you floating along the wind as I left the cemetery.

  …

  When I arrived at the King household, the elevator doors opened directly into their foyer. The air smelled like a bakery. Two steps inside, on the shiny tiled floor, I stopped and stood still.

  My family had never been rich, but Mom had made being poor seem like an adventure. We had taco night, where we’d get three tacos for a dollar over on the corner. We made spaghetti in large potfuls, and Mom would always encourage me to throw the noodles against the wall to test them. And then we’d eat leftover spaghetti for a week because it was inexpensive. It could have been miserabl
e, or at least frustrating, not having new Nikes like the other kids in school or the newest iPhone. But it wasn’t. It was our life, and sometimes the smallest reminder that it was missing hit me so hard in the chest I could barely breathe.

  It was a shock to me to find that same kind of optimism and family togetherness here in the King household, thirty stories above the downtown streets of Denver, where brand new tennis shoes weren’t hard to come by, and gas money was pocket change.

  “Jackson?”

  I smiled at Mrs. King when she came around the corner. “Hi.”

  “I thought I heard the elevator, and Brett called up from the desk. You look like you could use a muffin.”

  I wasn’t sure what one looked like when they could use a muffin, but she was right. She didn’t give me just one muffin; she gave me a whole plate of them.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I started, even though I wanted the muffins.

  “I made too many,” she said almost apologetically. And that was just another one of her quirks—being overly generous to her guests. I followed her to the kitchen. “You’re welcome to take some home for your family.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but she made a waving motion with her hand indicating I should keep them.

  Mae wandered into the kitchen with her hair in braids, and she eyed the plate of muffins. “You really think he’s going to eat all that?”

  Mrs. King’s eyes went wide, like she hadn’t even considered I might not want a whole plate of muffins. And again, she was right. I would have taken two—but only because she insisted.

  “They’re not good?” she asked.

  “You should really be nicer to your mom,” I chided Mae jokingly. “Trying to feed people isn’t a crime.”

  Giving a satisfied smile, Mrs. King answered the phone when it rang. “Hello? Genki?” She paused. “Genki desu.”

  Chattering in Japanese, she walked out of the room, leaving me and Mae standing at the island.

  She looked tired and irritated. I should have kept my mouth shut, but thanks to my mom, I couldn’t do that.

  “Are you okay?”

  She yanked on one of her braids. “Zoe and I had a fight.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another shrug. “It’s the same thing we always fight about.”

  “Probably not muffins,” I ventured.

  Her eyes lit with amusement. They looked almost identical to Zoe’s. Bright. Expressive. But unlike Zoe, Mae could meet my eyes. She could engage.

  “No, not muffins.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Mae’s chin dropped this time, reminding me again of Zoe. “Not unless you can get her out of the house.”

  I started to answer, but she straightened and shook her head. “She’s in her study. I’m sure it’s fine if you go on back.”

  Get her out of the house? What was that supposed to mean?

  Yeah, I got that Zoe probably didn’t leave much because she was homeschooled, but that didn’t mean she didn’t do her own thing here and there, right?

  I’d probably just gotten myself into the middle of a fight I didn’t belong in.

  I walked down the hallway to the study. There was a new addition to the door: a paper design in 3-D that said Zoe’s name. I touched the corner of the Z, the paper drifting out to form a butterfly. How the hell did she do that? And with such precision?

  I knocked. There was shuffling before the handle twisted and Zoe appeared, her hair twirled up with a pencil.

  Her smile faltered. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” I shifted my backpack on my shoulder. “Ready for more math?”

  “No.” She sighed, stepping back. “But I have to. I’ll grab my notebook.”

  “We could work in here,” I suggested, already trying to peer inside the room to see if she’d added anything else to the ceiling or walls.

  Her eyes flicked to my face, then to my shoes. I should have remembered to take them off at the elevator like the rest of her family did.

  “Or…outside?” I amended. “It’s nice.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I already tried that today. It—it didn’t work so well.”

  I blinked and raised an eyebrow. “That was cryptic. You should tell me what that means.”

  “I…” Her eyes came up again, looking unsure.

  “We could take a walk.” I was inspired by what Mae had said. “You can tell me about it.”

  “Oh…” She backed up, leaving the door open for me to step through. “I—I can’t.”

  Why? The word was on my lips, but it was one of those times when keeping my mouth shut was probably a good idea.

  It didn’t stop me from wanting to get her to open up, though. To solve the riddle of Zoe. It was that same feeling I always got around my mom. I just wanted to help—wanted her to want my help. It was hard being the one on the other end, knowing something was wrong and not being able to do anything to fix it.

  Or maybe I was thinking that because I’d just visited my mom. Because we’d talked about Zoe.

  She bit her lip. “I mean, I should, but I can’t. I—I—”

  “It’s fine. We can study.”

  Her head jerked in a nod. “Yes. I have to. I have to pass my test.”

  “Okay.” I kept my voice easy. “That’s what I’m here for. To help you pass.”

  “I’m sorry.” She grabbed a piece of paper off her desk and folded it into a triangle so small it disappeared in her tiny hand.

  I wanted to pry her fingers loose and hold her hand in mine. To run my finger along her palm and see how soft her skin really was. But I kept my distance.

  “You don’t have to be sorry about anything.” When she didn’t seem convinced, I took off my backpack. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing up into her conflicted eyes. Or stop my gaze from dropping to her lips. “Can we work in here?”

  She nodded. I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking her about Chess Challenge. Probably not a good idea to make her even more uncomfortable right now.

  “I brought worksheets for practice,” I said. “That’s exciting, right?”

  She gave a short laugh, and then she stared at her feet this time. “Exciting.”

  “Zoe…”

  The word lingered in the air, touching every surface, every floating piece of paper, and evaporating into nothing. I could feel her trepidation, the nerves thrumming off her. It baffled me, but I couldn’t bring myself to question it. Not right now.

  So I said, “Let’s start with math.”

  She nodded. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Math. Good.”

  Right there, I made it my personal mission to get Zoe King so comfortable being around me, she’d not only talk to me in full sentences, but she’d do it while meeting my eyes.

  22.

  BlackKNIGHT: I have a dilemma.

  Rogue2015: Your castle is trapped and your queen feels exposed?

  BlackKNIGHT: Not that kind of dilemma.

  Rogue2015: Have you noticed the rankings?

  BlackKNIGHT: What?

  Rogue2015: You’ve dropped to 5th place. The only dilemma you should be focusing on is how to free your castle and save your queen.

  BlackKNIGHT: Are you mad at me?

  Rogue2015: What? This is a game. There is no mad. There’s win or there’s lose.

  BlackKNIGHT: What a wonderful life motto.

  BlackKNIGHT: Rogue, you still there?

  Rogue2015: Okay, what’s your dilemma?

  BlackKNIGHT: It’s not working.

  Rogue2015: What isn’t working?

  BlackKNIGHT: This girl…she still won’t open up to me.

  Rogue2015: Keep trying. You got me to open up.

  BlackKNIGHT: True. Any suggestions?

  Rogue2015: Try a new defense. A sly one. One that comes out of nowhere. One that dazzles.

  BlackKNIGHT: ?

  Rogue2015: Don’t give this person a chance to be nervous around you. Show her you want to know her. Believe in her.


  BlackKNIGHT: Are you sure you’re 16?

  Rogue2015: Absolutely. Now, your queen needs your help. Play the game!

  BlackKNIGHT: Yes, ma’am.

  23.

  ZOE

  The numbers blurred on the worksheet Jackson gave me. I had no idea if the answers were right. I felt like they were. Well, maybe half of them. Or a few…

  How was I supposed to know if I was on the right track? It wasn’t like I could get Jackson to check, because then I’d have to call him. Talk to him on the phone like we were friends or something.

  I turned down the volume of my music and then got up from the desk in my study and admired Calisto. It was one of Jupiter’s sixty-three moons, and it was perfect. Except for…

  I caught myself before adjusting it. No, I was supposed to be working on homework. It would be so much easier if Jackson were here. Then he could give me his take on Ganymede, too, another of Jupiter’s moons. I wasn’t sure on the color and—no! Homework.

  I grabbed my worksheet and then left the study and wandered to the kitchen. Mom stood at the counter, frowning over a pile of papers. She looked up when I walked in.

  “Zoe. Good. I need your help.”

  “I don’t know how to make homemade soap.”

  She smiled.

  “Or reupholster a chair.” Though, I’d watched her do it once, and I was pretty sure I could handle a staple gun.

  Her smile grew wider. “It’s a paper project.”

  “Oh. Lay it on me.”

  “I thought I might do a segment on card making. Maybe do a mock-up of three or four different types of homemade cards so I can do segments for each of the holidays.” That was Mom. Making her cards months before actual holidays so she was prepared. So she could share them with her fans. “I thought maybe you had some ideas.”

  My cheeks warmed. She usually only asked for my help to pick contest winners or to follow her around with the camera if she needed to move a lot for one of her videos. “I have lots of ideas.”

  She smiled again. “Good. Dr. Edwards said it might be good to get you involved more.”

  I deflated. “Oh.”

  “That’s not—I mean—” Mom walked around the counter to me. She usually never got flustered, and she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I asked you because I thought you could do this. It just popped into my head that this might be one of those things we could do together. Dr. Edwards said maybe I needed to take more of an active part in your life.”