Deadgirl

“Ah,” Zack said, and held up a newspaper, “There’s a good one in here about gangs.”

I made a face. “Seriously? Is that still a thing?”

Zack shrugged. “I guess no one’s told them how unfashionable gangs are.”

He wasn’t joking. He actually looked a little annoyed.

“Oh come on,” I said. “It was a joke. I’m just saying you don’t hear about gangs very much anymore.”

Zack nodded. My insides did a triple somersault. A 9.5, I imagine.

“So, uh, what brings you to the ole libraria?” I said in my best Spanish accent, which is also my worst Spanish accent.

I knew the reason he was in the library, but it didn’t hurt to reaffirm. Or to drive over a couple small-talk speed bumps before hitting the scary-talk freeway going eighty.

“Biblioteque,” Zack corrected, still smiling. “Just like to catch up on the paper before class.”

He waggled the newspaper in his hand again.

“You know,” I said, “I don’t know anyone our age that reads the newspaper.”

“Besides me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, besides you.”

Zack smirked. “Well, I’m special.”

I agreed, but I wasn’t exactly going to admit it then and there. Maybe it was a little old-school, but I preferred to be the chased, not the chaser. Still, it was hard with him looking into my eyes like that not to just blurt out “I love you,” sling my arms around him, and tear his lips off with mine.

I took a deep breath. Whoa, girl.

“Does your mom tell you you’re special?”

“Constantly,” Zack said. “So, worst-segue-ever, by the way, are you going to the movies tonight? With us, I mean.”

My well-arranged cocky/flirty smile disintegrated. I was ready to play cat and mouse, and he was playing, well, dog. Straight to the point. I gathered myself together as fast as I could and gave a non-committal shrug. I’d been ready to play out his intentions, to see if he really wanted me to go or just wanted someone to go. The eager look on his face blew my spy attempts out of the water.

Raw excitement shot through my body like an electrical current. Calm down, Lucy. Play it coolish.

“Well, I want to,” I said. “But Morgan is technically grounded. We’re still scheming a way out of it.”

Zack frowned, “She’s grounded? Wasn’t she at your house last night?”

Warning, warning. Why the hell did I bring up Morgan? When trying to flirt with dream guy, mentioning goddess-like, super-hot, best friend is off-limits. Now he was thinking of her. Hell, I was thinking of her. Brilliant.

“Well, yeah,” I said. “But she was studying. She had to call her mom from my house phone every hour.”

“Every hour?” Zack whistled. “Did she hit a nun with a shovel or something?”

I explained her situation. He nodded along and finally gave that long low whistle again.

“Well, that’s not so tough,” Zack said. “If you have a crazy friend.”

I had Daphne. No one crazier.

“Okay,” Zack said, and glanced around. “Sit with me and I’ll tell you my idea.”

My heart did a drum roll on my ribcage. But right as I opened my mouth to accept his invitation with whole- hearted glee, the loud electronic wail of the bell blasted through the library, through the school. Turned my excitement into ash.

“Crap,” Zack said. “What about lunch? Meet me at lunch?”

I swooned. I didn’t even know I was capable of swooning. In fact, my grasp of swooning mechanics might be described as loose. Still, I felt something that seemed to fit into that category pretty well. Wow. Just since yesterday I’d gone from cynical teenage girl-about-town to dumb- struck, marble-mouthed puppy dog. I hate hormones.

I nodded my affirmation, mostly because I didn’t come close to trusting my mouth. It might have spazzed and said “your eyes are like blue fire,” or “do you mind if I nibble your earlobe?” and then I would have to kill myself.

“Okay,” Zack said. “You still sit by the statue?”

I nodded again. It was too early in the day for making a fool of myself.

“All right, peace.”

Zack turned and bolted through the turnstile and out of the library. The Devil would show up for Sunday mass before Zack would be late to class. I realized by all technical definitions Zack was either a nerd or a goody-goody, but his casual confidence, not to mention boyish good looks, seemed to make him label-proof. I couldn’t call him a geek and make it stick anymore then I could call him a saucepan or a lima bean.

I went to Journalism with a spring in my step and my books clenched tight to my chest. I know I looked like an idiot, but no power I possessed could scrape the atomic grin from my lips. I think it was visible from space.

I didn’t have any article in Journalism to comment on—in fact, I’d already finished both of my articles for the school paper that month. As was usually the case, the fast writers finished up within days and sat around playing Text Twist or surfing the internet while the slower or lazier writers stared at their monitors in either terror or apathy.

I spent most of the period thinking about either Zack, the movies, or Zack at the movies. In other words, I was disgusting.

I went through second period World History with a slightly more active mindset. I enjoyed history because it was real life without all the boring parts. Edited for maximum excitement.

I left the class feeling even springier.

I met Morgan on the way to English. She swept up next to me on one side while Wanda angled in from the other. We joined together like any veteran flock of birds.

“So?” Morgan asked. Her eyes were wide in excitement.

“Well...” I said, enjoying the moment. “Let’s just say it was not a blanket invitation.”

“You think he digs you?” Wanda asked.

“Outlook is good,” I said.

My grin split even wider. I felt like the top of my head was going to hinge off of that smile and I’d be looking upside-down behind me.

I have weird thoughts.

Ms. Fleece was already scribbling on the whiteboard when the three of us swept into English as nearly one entity.

“What about Benny?” I asked. “Any info there?”

“Mostly confirmation,” Morgan said. “Zack seems to have gotten over The Weirdness last year.”

The Weirdness was our codename for the awkward, hot-and-cold, non-relationship Zack and I had last year. It was everything bad about a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship with none of the good. Mostly just idiosyncratic jealousy, territoriality, and longing glances. No one asked anyone out—we never really held hands or touched each other. We weren’t technically anything. Blah. The Weirdness haunted my dreams.

Still, if The Weirdness really had ended…

Daphne and Sara were in their usual seats, just beside ours. Sara—black, pretty, perfect-skinned—possessed the sort of annoying physique that went with being an avid softball player. Daphne was wearing a floral-print dress that complimented her olive skin and a pair of black combat boots that did not. She must have been mid-rant when we entered—a circle of students were turned to face her, but she shooed them off and looked up at me. A smile transformed her face into something heart-shaped and vaguely adorable.

“Did I hear Zack?” Daphne said, and I groaned.

Sara sat up, “Can we talk about Zack again?”

“No,” I said.