In third-period science, Zoe was trying to follow the rules. Not the class rules, her own. And her own rules were far more extensive.
• Never place both feet on the ground while sitting.
• Never touch the sides of the chair.
• Never be the first or last person to take their seat.
• It’s okay to look around the classroom, but never out the window.
• Don’t let anything weird pop into your head.
• If forced to answer a question never start your response with “Um” or “I think.”
Two seats to her left, Cameron Freeman was folding up scraps of paper and attempting to throw them at the back of Billy Dyer’s head (yeah, real cool, Cameron, picking on a kid because he’s deaf), but the paper was falling well short of its target. Zoe wanted to tell Cameron to cut it out, but Zoe didn’t do things like that. It wasn’t that she cared about what Cameron Freeman thought about her—she didn’t—it was merely the fact that if she stood up to him people would notice she was alive, and that was something Zoe tried to avoid at all costs.
“Okay, class,” Mr. Bahr said. “Everyone find a partner.”
Zoe’s stomach plunged. There were few things more heinous than having to find a partner in class. The looking around, the making eye contact, the inevitable rejection. All around her people paired up with the ease of magnet and metal. Even now Zoe couldn’t help but marvel. How did they do it? Were they really as carefree as they looked? Usually, when the class was asked to partner up, Zoe lunged for Emily, her one and only friend. When Emily wasn’t in her class—like third-period science—she simply kept her eyes down and tried to be invisible. Eventually the teacher would pair her up with whoever was left, usually Billy or Jessie Lee Simons, the emo with the turquoise hair and the piercings. But today, as she pondered her defect, her inability to be normal, she found herself staring straight ahead, and that’s when she noticed Harry Lynch, bent around in his chair with one elbow draped on the front of her desk.
“What?” she whispered, when he didn’t look away.
“You just said my name.”
Was he crazy? Why on earth would she say his name? “No I didn’t.”
“You did. First and last.” Harry spoke matter-of-factly rather than with ridicule. “Why else would I be looking at you?”
Zoe felt her cheeks pool with hot, shameful color. It was a good question, which made it all the more humiliating. Someone like Harry would never look at Zoe spontaneously. Harry wasn’t good-looking exactly, but he managed to hide it well by being big and looking more or less like all the other guys who played football. Maybe she had said his name out loud? She did do weird things like that sometimes. Once, in gym class, she’d accidentally started singing out loud (she needed to sing internally to get through the horror of exercising and wearing gym shorts in public). Maybe she was actually as crazy as she thought she was?
Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Amber Jeffries was practically sitting in his lap. “Partner, Harry?”
She gave him the kind of slow sexy smile that was both adorable and sickeningly desperate. Harry’s gaze flickered to Amber’s. “Sure.”
As he turned back to face the front, Zoe’s heart started to beat again. Another bullet dodged. Just about another five hundred billion to go.
Until tomorrow.
* * *
Once, Zoe’s mom had asked her to describe what it felt like, being her. For a heartbeat, she’d considered telling her the truth.
It’s like being anchored to damp sand, she’d imagined saying. Your head is toward the ocean, your ears are wet, and you’re waiting for the next wave. You want to turn and look, to see what’s coming, but you can’t move. So you just lie there and wonder. Are the waves big today? Will they come, tease me a bit, then recede away? Or will they come at speed, dumping on me again and again, filling my nose and mouth with water until my lungs are burning and ready to explode? The awful part is, you don’t know. So you wait, helplessly, expecting the worst.
Zoe had pictured what her mom’s face would look like if she were actually to say these words. And then she’d said, “It kind of feels like being out of breath. You know, a little light-headed, a little fluttery. But it only stays for a few minutes and then it fades away.”
It was bad enough that one of them knew the truth.