along with me after a moment. It's the closest we've come to talking about Eve and what happened five years ago.
"Look, J, this is how it works. Seriously. You've been like a, a
monk
or a
priest
or something. I mean, there've been plenty of girls interested in you. Like Lisa Carter—"
"Yeah, and I remember how that worked out."
"That wasn't her fault."
"No, it was mine. And I get that. This isn't 'how it works,' OK? Seeing Rachel, that was a fluke. I got out with my skin and that's cool."
"But—"
"But nothing. This isn't a case of a girl being interested in me. This is
Rachel,
OK? And Michelle's little fantasy world where Rachel and I get together is really getting old, man, OK?"
He bristles, real anger gathered in his eyes and the set of his jaw. I've seen him like this before, when he talks about his father or his brother. I stepped over the line—I shouldn't have dragged Michelle into it.
"It's not ... It's not some fantasy of Michelle's. It's not ... You make it sound like she's—"
"I'm sorry, Zik."
"No, listen to me. There's fantasies, OK, I get that. And then there are just things that people want really bad. And this is one of those things. And Michelle's not the only one, get it?"
"What—Rachel?" I can't believe that Rachel would want to date me.
"Me, you asshole!" he yells, his face flushing red. "Me! Jesus Christ, why do you have to be such a dense asshole sometimes?"
My fists ball up on their own; it's just a reaction to being yelled at, to Zik's flushed face. I would never take a swing at him. I tell myself that. Never. Even though I can see the perfect opening.
So, Zik shares Michelle's fantasy. I should have realized.
"I mean ... God!" He turns away from me, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "I hang out with Rachel all. The. Time. Do you even
realize
that? She's Michelle's best friend. I see her all the time!
"It's like I'm ... It's like I'm schizophrenic or something. I mean, I can't talk about Rachel when I'm around you, and I
won't
talk about you around Rachel. And I have to think about who I'm going to see on which days and for what events and can I wave to Michelle at a game if Rachel's standing next to her ... I mean, thank God Rachel's softball games are usually at the same time as ours so I don't have to worry about
that,
but..."
I had no idea. I never gave it a single thought. But for five years, Zik's been living two lives, like a kid with divorced parents. No wonder he never asked me about Eve; it would open the whole thing up—Rachel's closet and everything else that happened.
The phone rings just then. Caller ID says "Out of area," but that could be Mom or Dad's cell phone, so I answer it.
"Hi, Josh?" says the voice at the other end.
"Uh, yeah." And I realize, as I say it, that it's Rachel. I flicker back to the closet for half a second. Zik arches an eyebrow, and I wonder if I looked like I was going to pass out.
"So," she goes on, "I'm at work, but I get off at midnight. Do you have to get up in the morning, or are you ready to put your money where your mouth is?"
"What are you talking about?" I mouth "Rachel" to Zik and his eyebrows jut skyward.
"It's just a figure of speech," she says. "Look, I have to go. Meet me at SAMMPark? Like, twelve-fifteen. I'll see you. Bye."
I hang up. Zik's swaying back and forth like a potty-training toddler. I almost ask him if needs to pee-pee like a big boy.
"Well? What was
that
about?" You can tell that if he could ask the question louder or somehow bigger, he would.
I'm honest with him: "I have no clue."
Zik, of course, wants to call Michelle right away and get the 411 from the closest thing we have to the source itself. He's certain that Michelle has a series of text messages that, once decoded through the Michelle-inator, will spell out exactly what's going on.
"Nothing's going on," I tell him as Dad pulls into the driveway. "This is over, Zik. Rachel's just ... She's just messing with me. Which is fine. She's
"Look, J, this is how it works. Seriously. You've been like a, a
monk
or a
priest
or something. I mean, there've been plenty of girls interested in you. Like Lisa Carter—"
"Yeah, and I remember how that worked out."
"That wasn't her fault."
"No, it was mine. And I get that. This isn't 'how it works,' OK? Seeing Rachel, that was a fluke. I got out with my skin and that's cool."
"But—"
"But nothing. This isn't a case of a girl being interested in me. This is
Rachel,
OK? And Michelle's little fantasy world where Rachel and I get together is really getting old, man, OK?"
He bristles, real anger gathered in his eyes and the set of his jaw. I've seen him like this before, when he talks about his father or his brother. I stepped over the line—I shouldn't have dragged Michelle into it.
"It's not ... It's not some fantasy of Michelle's. It's not ... You make it sound like she's—"
"I'm sorry, Zik."
"No, listen to me. There's fantasies, OK, I get that. And then there are just things that people want really bad. And this is one of those things. And Michelle's not the only one, get it?"
"What—Rachel?" I can't believe that Rachel would want to date me.
"Me, you asshole!" he yells, his face flushing red. "Me! Jesus Christ, why do you have to be such a dense asshole sometimes?"
My fists ball up on their own; it's just a reaction to being yelled at, to Zik's flushed face. I would never take a swing at him. I tell myself that. Never. Even though I can see the perfect opening.
So, Zik shares Michelle's fantasy. I should have realized.
"I mean ... God!" He turns away from me, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "I hang out with Rachel all. The. Time. Do you even
realize
that? She's Michelle's best friend. I see her all the time!
"It's like I'm ... It's like I'm schizophrenic or something. I mean, I can't talk about Rachel when I'm around you, and I
won't
talk about you around Rachel. And I have to think about who I'm going to see on which days and for what events and can I wave to Michelle at a game if Rachel's standing next to her ... I mean, thank God Rachel's softball games are usually at the same time as ours so I don't have to worry about
that,
but..."
I had no idea. I never gave it a single thought. But for five years, Zik's been living two lives, like a kid with divorced parents. No wonder he never asked me about Eve; it would open the whole thing up—Rachel's closet and everything else that happened.
The phone rings just then. Caller ID says "Out of area," but that could be Mom or Dad's cell phone, so I answer it.
"Hi, Josh?" says the voice at the other end.
"Uh, yeah." And I realize, as I say it, that it's Rachel. I flicker back to the closet for half a second. Zik arches an eyebrow, and I wonder if I looked like I was going to pass out.
"So," she goes on, "I'm at work, but I get off at midnight. Do you have to get up in the morning, or are you ready to put your money where your mouth is?"
"What are you talking about?" I mouth "Rachel" to Zik and his eyebrows jut skyward.
"It's just a figure of speech," she says. "Look, I have to go. Meet me at SAMMPark? Like, twelve-fifteen. I'll see you. Bye."
I hang up. Zik's swaying back and forth like a potty-training toddler. I almost ask him if needs to pee-pee like a big boy.
"Well? What was
that
about?" You can tell that if he could ask the question louder or somehow bigger, he would.
I'm honest with him: "I have no clue."
Zik, of course, wants to call Michelle right away and get the 411 from the closest thing we have to the source itself. He's certain that Michelle has a series of text messages that, once decoded through the Michelle-inator, will spell out exactly what's going on.
"Nothing's going on," I tell him as Dad pulls into the driveway. "This is over, Zik. Rachel's just ... She's just messing with me. Which is fine. She's
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