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ZACH
I had a couple of hours between classes and met Brett at the gym. We had an upper body workout planned. He was already waiting and chatting up a brunette at the free weights. The guy was clueless when it came to girls. He had a way of striking out every time. He wasn't a bad-looking guy, average height, sense of humor, but the second he opened his mouth, crap came flying out. I gave the guy advice, but not once did he take it.
The brunette saw me coming and her green eyes locked on me. Shit, Brett would be pissed. I nodded to her, trying to act disinterested at the same time. Brett followed her stare and when he saw me, he frowned. Double shit. The girl said a few more words and wandered off, but not before giving me a pouty smile.
"Really? Wear a fucking bag over your head next time. I almost had her."
Right. "Sorry. Must be my magnetism."
"Shove it!"
We got to work. I only had an hour before I had to meet Genie. I promised to have a quick lunch with her before my Economics class. There was an urgency to her text, like she had something important to tell me. If she was pregnant, Mom and Dad would kill her.
"How was your night out with the girls?" Brett asked, his tone mocking.
"Jealous that I got to spend my Saturday night with four beautiful ladies?"
He let out a huff. "Wanna invite me next time? I'd tap Andrea or Lucy."
And that's exactly why I didn't invite him. "Haven't they already shot you down a million times?"
"I figure if I wear them down, they'll submit to my charms."
"What charms?"
He gave me the finger.
We did some reps and took a short break. I loved the burn, it made me feel like I was accomplishing something.
"And Emma? Man, I can't believe I just asked about her."
I bristled. "Then why did you ask?"
"Curious, I guess. Like watching a car crash."
I took a swig of water, carefully formulating my thoughts. If I sounded too pissed off, he'd get on my case. Treading carefully was the right approach. "Look Brett, you want to be on Team Bianca, I don't give a shit. Go shove your nose up her ass. Makes no difference to me. But leave Emma out of it. She's a nice girl and doesn't deserve all this shit from you guys. I've said it before and I'll say it again: what has she ever done to you?"
Brett took a step back and looked up at me. I was easily four inches taller than him. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. So much for treading carefully. "What is it about this girl?" he asked. "I don't get it. It's like she's got you by the balls."
Brett had been my best friend since forever, and we were tight, but for some reason I knew I needed to be on guard. "I see things in her that you don't. It’s that simple."
"So you want to do her?"
His face was twisted in confusion and disbelief. He seemed so lost. I felt like his Dad trying to explain why his favorite hockey team had to trade their star away. He couldn't grasp the concept that not everything was about sex. "She was down-and-out. She had no one."
"So you feel sorry for her?"
"No, I just ... I needed to help. I can't explain it."
A flash of understanding came over him. "You're always picking up strays, you know that? Sometimes you gotta walk away. You can't be the good guy all the time."
"Why not?"
"You want to be lawyer or a politician some day? You have to be cutthroat. You won't be able to hide stray dogs in your basement, hand money to bums on the street, or give the clothes off your back to some homeless guy. And you especially won't be able to let random sketchy chicks crash at your apartment."
Yes, I'd done every one of those things and never regretted any of them. That's what made me different from Brett and most of our other friends. When I handed the homeless guy my wool Burberry scarf and leather gloves on a bitterly cold January night, I didn't think twice, not even when my hands froze so bad I wanted to cry from the stinging pain.
The dog reference had been about the shepherd mix Mom discovered cowering in our laundry room. I can still remember her yelling my name across the house. I knew I'd been discovered and reported to her immediately.
"Why is there a dog in our basement?" she asked.
I explained how I'd seen it for a couple of weeks wandering the soccer field at my middle school. Kids had been throwing things at it and chasing it away while I'd been secretly sharing my lunch with it. One day a kid threw a rock so hard the dog yelped. It made me so angry that I picked up a rock and hurled it at the kid, hitting him hard in the chest. He cried like the spoiled piece of shit he was. A hush fell over the field where we'd all been playing around, kicking soccer balls. Even the dog had stopped whimpering. All eyes were glued on me.
"Any of you hurt this dog again, I'll fucking kill you."
I was thirteen, and that's the day I decided not to care what anyone else thought of me. Apparently, that's also the day I became cool, the “it” kid for more than just my dad being a senator.
So I told Mom all this. A part of me was frightened that'd she'd kick the dog out, or worse, bring her to the vet to be put to sleep. Instead she took me to the pet store and made me buy a leash and collar from my allowance. We then took the dog to the vet. Other than some worms and a little malnutrition, she was healthy. Mom then made me post signs around the neighborhood in case her owners were looking for her. After two weeks, she and Dad called me into the living room. I sat on the sofa with Mitzy by my side. Yeah, I was stupid and named her.
"What are we going to do about the dog?" Mom asked.
"I dunno," I said, my voice quiet and sullen. I'd grown so close to her and the thought of giving her up killed me. She slept with me at night, on the bed, even though she wasn't supposed to. I couldn't let her go.
"Well, this is what's going to happen. You're going to take her for walks before and after school, you're going to feed her and take her out at night before bed. If she makes any messes, you are going to clean them up. Is that clear?"
I thought I'd explode with excitement. "Yes, I'll do all that!"
"And don't bring anymore dogs home," Dad added.
Mitzy died last summer. The vet said she had bone cancer. I was so grateful to have her for six years. Man, I loved that dog.
"I'm not sure why any of those things are bad," I said, picking up a pair of thirty-pound dumbbells.
"I'm just saying that you can't always be the saint. One day someone is going to fuck you over."
"Thanks for the sound advice."
"If this girl goes psycho and cuts your throat in the middle of the night and you bleed to death, don't come crying to me."
"I won't. I'll be dead."
"Smartass."
We finished up our workout, and I took a quick shower before meeting up with Genie at the coffee shop in her building. She had secured a table and was tapping furiously on her phone. I sat across from her and she didn't look up.
"Hey, loser," she said.
"What's up? Why the ominous text?"
"Talked to Mom this morning. They are having their Christmas party at the beginning of the month and I thought you should know."
"You could have put that in a text."
She put her phone down with a thud and let out a sigh. "Here's the thing; I want to bring Steve and she said no."
"No surprise there."
"I thought you could talk to her."
"Me? No way. Why would I want to jump through that minefield?"
"Because you're my brother and Mom's favorite."
"And you're Daddy's little girl."
"Not when it comes to Steve."
It was no secret we all just barely tolerated Steve. He was a bolded capital 'C' conservative, but that wasn’t the problem. It was that he enjoyed butting heads with Dad on the rare occasions Genie brought him around. He was also the reason Mom and Dad still thought that Genie lived with me. If they had any idea she was spending every night at his place, they'd blow a gasket. The last time Steve had graced us with his presence, he'd gone on a rant about gun control that nearly sent Dad into orbit.
"Sorry, Genie, I'm not touching this one."
She frowned and tried her puppy dog eyes on me. "If you do it, I'll owe you big time. I know you can sway Mom."
"Maybe, but I can't sway Dad."
"Okay," she said, folding her hands together, "let's negotiate. What do you want in return?"
"There's nothing you can offer that will persuade me to stick my neck out for you on this."
"I'll do all photo-ops with Dad."
"I'm sure he won't want you in pictures if you're associated with a righty like Steve."
"I'll do all the campaign work for the next three months."
Her desperation had hit rock bottom. "It's a losing battle. They won't come around."
Her face lit up like some imaginary light bulb had gone off. "I'll help you with Emma."
"Help me? What are you talking about?"
She leaned in close. "Are we going to play this game? You like her."
"She's a great girl."
"No, like her in the biblical sense."
I grimaced. "Did you just say that?"
"I think she likes you back. The way she stares at you. She wants you. And the way you look at her. Don't even try to deny it."
"She's in love with Jake."
"Ah ha! You admit it," she said, pointing her finger at me. "I knew it! You talk to Mom and Dad and I'll talk to Emma."
"And that would be a no," I said, laughing and shaking my head.
"You worried Mom and Dad won't like her? I told you they would."
"No. What I'm worried about is all this shit you just made up."
She tapped her fingers on the table and I knew her mind was working overtime. "You're afraid of two things. One, she doesn't like you back, and two, you'll actually stick it out with her which might lead to some kind of serious relationship. Let me give you some sisterly woman advice: she does like you back and you'd be lucky to have her in your life for as long as she can put up with you."
"Wow, thanks for all the unsolicited advice. Anything else? I've got class in fifteen minutes."
"Please talk to Mom and Dad." All the kidding around was replaced with sincerity. She needed me.
"I'll make one try. Don't expect any miracles."
I got up to leave and she grabbed onto my arm. "I think you should invite Emma to the party. I mean that."
"I'll see."
"She's a good one, but I think you already know that."