Zen and Xander Undone (10 page)

Nancy makes Adam and me stand by the fireplace. She snaps so many pictures that my eyes ache. Then she takes my picture with Dad, and he takes her picture with me, and then they have me stand by myself. They start bickering about how I should pose, and Adam holds up his hands in a time-out signal. “Okay, folks. We have reservations so . . .”

He grabs my hand and we sprint for the car.

T
HE FIRST THING
that happens at dinner is I drop a meatball into my lap and the tomato sauce soaks through my napkin to leave a quarter-size spot of grease on my dress. I spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom washing it out, and when I get back to our table I see that Adam has ordered me a slice of cheesecake. I hate cheesecake. I don't like the stupid cherries on top of it because they're always too cold and they hurt my teeth, and the cake itself is like plaster. I break it up with my fork to make it look like I'm eating it.

“Don't you like it?” Adam asks, worried. There's a dab of cherry sauce on his nose, but I don't know how to tell him. “I thought that all women loved cheesecake.”

I could lie. Xander probably would. But lying is not my strong suit, and besides, as Mom always said, there's no dignity in lying. “Sorry. I actually can't stand cheesecake.”

“Don't eat it. I shouldn't have ordered it.”

“I shouldn't have dropped a meatball in my lap.”

“Yeah. Watching you eat spaghetti in that dress was like watching Audrey Hepburn hock a loogie.”

He's trying to make me laugh, but I feel awful. “This just isn't me.

“Getting all dressed up and stuff?” he asks as he wipes his mouth
with his tie.
“I don't know what you're talking about. It comes perfectly natural to me,” he adds, deadpan, as he takes the little rose out of his lapel and uses it to pick his teeth.

I have to laugh. “You're a lunatic.”

He smiles, and I notice how white and strong his teeth are. There's a little shadow of whiskers on his chin, and I realize his neck isn't as skinny as it used to be. He's starting to look like a man. I don't know how it could have happened. I've seen him every day for almost my whole life and he always looked pretty much the same to me. Not tonight, though. He's changed, and I like what it's doing to him.

I like what it does to me too.

“Come on, let's get this over with.” He drops a few twenties on the table, and we leave the four-star restaurant in his mom's rusty '87 Civic with a garbage bag taped up where the rear window used to be.

When we get to the Radisson, the prom is already cranking. There are tons of people all writhing around to music I've never heard before. They all seem to know the song. Most of the girls are wearing short dresses, and I look down at my long gown, feeling like I wore the wrong thing. Adam leads me over to the punch bowl. I take a glass so that I have something to do with my hands, and I watch the people dancing.

From the mass of arms and legs, a tall boy with shiny brown hair emerges. He's holding a huge camera, and he walks up to me and Adam. “Can I take your picture for the yearbook?” he asks us.

“Oh, I don't go to this school,” Adam lies, and then abandons me to go find the bathroom. He hates having his picture taken. He's like a woman that way.

The guy smiles at me nervously. “I don't remember seeing you before. Are you a senior?”

“I will be next year.”

He stares at me for what seems like a long time, then hits his forehead with his hand. “You're the karate girl!”

“Yeah. I guess.” I shift my weight because the ballet slippers Xander made me wear are starting to pinch my feet.

“That's right! I wanted to get a picture of you busting up a board at the talent show last year, but I ran out of film.”

“It's just as well,” I say.

“But that would be so great for the yearbook! It would look so cool next to some of the other sports pictures we have.”

“Well, it's not like I'm on a team or anything.”

“Yeah, but we don't want the football players to get
all
the attention!” He grins, very openly, and that makes me smile. “Could I get some pictures of you doing some kicks or something?”

He looks so hopeful, biting his lip, I can't say no. “I could do it next weekend, after my sister graduates, I guess.”

“Okay, let me get your number.” He fishes through his jacket pockets, and that's when I notice what he's wearing. It's a brown plaid leisure suit that's a little too big for him. He isn't wearing a shirt under the jacket, but around his neck is an enormous brown tie that mostly covers up his bare chest and stomach. On his feet are Birkenstock sandals. He's a wreck.

He has produced a pen and a small notebook and is waiting for me to give him my number. I realize that I've been staring.

“You've noticed my threads.” He smirks.

“Yeah. Nice,” I say, and then realize that it's completely obvious that I'm lying.

“I'm being subversive.” He raises one eyebrow in a way that makes him seem a little cocky, a little devious. “Your number?”

Once he stows his notebook in his jacket pocket, he sticks his hand out at me. “Paul Martelli.”

I shake hands with him. “Athena Vogel.”

“The goddess of wisdom,” he says knowingly.

“Well, I go by Zen.”

“Oh yeah? Are you a Buddhist?”

“Not really.”

“How do you get from Athena to Zen?”

“My sister's nickname is Xander, and I wanted a nickname too.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Plus the middle syllable of Athena would begin with the Greek letter theta, which becomes Zin our alphabet. So instead of calling yourself Then, you're Zen. Very cool.”

My mouth drops open. “You're the first person who has ever made that connection.”

“I like that kind of stuff, that's all,” he says just as Adam comes back from the bathroom. Paul's demeanor changes, and he gives Adam a simple nod before disappearing behind a swath of dancers.

“Want to dance?” Adam asks just as the music shifts. It's a slow song, and it doesn't sound like something that would make me look like a complete fool, or send me to the emergency room with a slipped disk, so I nod and let him lead me onto the dance floor.

It's strange to put my arms around Adam's neck, because he's so much more solid than I thought he'd feel. His hands are large and warm on my back, and I notice myself getting a little nervous, but it's a good kind of nervous. Adam is looking over my shoulder, sort of staring into space. I can't tell if he feels nervous in the same way I do or not. Somehow, when I feel this way, it becomes so hard to read people.

“So, Zen,” Adam says in my ear. “I've been a little worried.”

I feel a cloak of disappointment fall over my shoulders, and it makes me sag. “About Xander?”

“Don't you think she's acting wild lately, even for her?”

I nod because I feel too sad to talk. Even when she isn't here, Xander dominates his thoughts. Usually I like how she draws the attention to herself because I hate being noticed. But tonight, wearing this dress, with my arms around Adam, I want to be the one who glows.

“Do you think it would help if I talked to her?” Adam says.

“Oh, come on,” I say, annoyance laced through my voice. I feel like the answer to this question is so obvious that he probably already knows it. And that makes me wonder why he's brought up Xander at all. Just to have something to talk to me about, because she's the one thing we have in common? Or is he trying to distance himself from me? Or is it that he can't stop thinking about her, even now?

“I mean, the other day with the train . . .” he stutters.

“When she flashed the engineer?”

“Yeah. That was . . .”

“You liked it. Don't pretend you didn't.”

That shuts him up. He readjusts his hands on my back.

“It's not that I liked it. It's just . . .” His shoulders stiffen under my arms, and I glance at his face to see that it's gone blank, as though all his muscles have tightened. “Zen, I'm afraid she's going to get hurt.” He pulls away to look at me, his mouth tight. He's scared. “I think she
wants
to get hurt, Zen.”

We sway slowly under the prism of lights while I think about what he's said.

Xander has always been careless. When we were kids she used to rollerblade down the biggest hill in our town, screaming the whole way. I'd go down it too, but I'd put on the brakes every so often. Not Xander. She pointed her toes straight downhill and coasted as fast as she could go. When Mom got on her case about it, she'd pout, muttering that it's too hard to have any fun if you're scared all the time. I always secretly agreed with her. But now it doesn't really seem like Xander's having that much fun.

I glance at Adam, and I see he's watching me, his eyes troubled. Suddenly he's Widdle Adam from across the street again, and I'm Zen Vogel with the skinny legs and the innocent face. What he's said makes me worry even more, because now that the idea has entered my mind, I think he might be right.

W
E LEAVE THE PROM
kind of early, trailing out with some kids who are headed to an after party in a hotel room somewhere. One of the girls, a senior, screams out her car window, “Premarital sex!” and laughs maniacally.

Adam shakes his head; I roll my eyes, but I feel strangely empty. Prom night is when lots of girls lose their virginity, and I know that's not going to happen tonight, and definitely never with Adam. I didn't come to the prom hoping to have sex with anyone, but for the first time, I wonder why I'm the only teenage girl in America who isn't chasing after boys. Maybe Xander's right. Maybe something is wrong with me. Mom always said it's just that I'm too cerebral, but I can't help wondering if I really
am
frigid like Xander says.

Adam drives in silence to the bar where Xander and Margot are supposed to be. I don't really want tonight to be about Xander, but when I told Adam about her fake ID he got really worried and insisted on checking out the place. “I just want to make sure she's safe,” he said.

She. No thought for Margot.

I study his profile, the way he's peering into the dark street as he drives, licking his lips, his brow tense. Everything about him seems strained. I wonder if I were at a bar, would he come looking for me? Would he be this worried?

“That must be the place,” he says, and slows down to park.

The bar shares a parking lot with a liquor store and a check-cashing place. Across the road is a strip joint.

“This street reminds me of every Tarantino movie I've ever seen,” Adam says through his teeth. He watches the door as a large, leaning man stumbles through it, keys in hand. He lurches to his truck, burping loudly. After him comes a very small woman wearing a tight-fitting denim vest. “Give me those damn keys, Harvey, I mean it!” she bellows as she yanks them out of his hand. He sort of crawls, sort of falls into the truck and she crawls in after him, swearing loudly.

“Charming,” Adam says as he takes off his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“You wait here. I'm going to see what she's up to.” He pulls his tie off over his head and unclips his cummerbund. “Do I look like a kid who just left the prom?”

I grudgingly look him over. His normally springy hair is slicked back, and his shadow of whiskers adds years to his face. “You'll pass.”

He points his finger in my face and says sternly, “You stay here.”

I hit his hand away and fold my arms over my front. I expect to hear the car door close, but instead I hear, “I'm sorry, Zen.”

I turn to look at him. He's leaning into the car, his face solemn and sad. His eyes are too honest. He isn't just apologizing for talking to me like I'm a child, or for leaving me alone in the car. He's apologizing for preferring Xander to me. I've known him long enough to see that.

I'm furious that he would expose me like this, and I turn away from him, twice as angry as I was before. He can have her, as far as I'm concerned. Let someone else baby-sit her for a change. I'd love the vacation.

He slowly walks to the door of the bar. The steady way he's stepping over the gravel shows how scared he really is. He opens the door, and a loud swatch of guitar music sails into the night. The door closes behind him, and I'm all alone in the quiet.

I can hear crickets chirping, and every so often a frog's throaty call. We must be near the river that runs through town along the railroad tracks until they veer north. The door opens, and I see two youngish guys come out. One of them says, “I knew she wasn't twenty-one.” I peek into the window to see Xander fast-talking a tall, pretty woman who is holding up a phone and pointing to the door.

The door swings open again. Margot stomps out in her sequined platform sandals. When she sees me, she marches over and opens the rear door so hard, the car jiggles. “Thanks a lot, Zen. And after I did all your makeup!”

“What happened?” I try to sound surprised.

“Adam told the bartender we had fake IDs!” Margot yanks her crystal combs out of my hair, none too gently. “Where did he get
that
idea?”

“He said he just wanted to check the place out.”

“You shouldn't have told him where we were! You know how protective he is of Xander!” She angrily shoves the crystal combs in her own huge hair, which swallows them up. “He's totally in love with her!”

I don't say anything to this. It makes me feel shaky. I just want to get out of here.

The door slams open and Xander flounces out. She's heading for our hatchback, but when she sees Margot sitting in the back seat of Adam's car, she makes two fists and stomps over to us. “What the hell are you doing in his car?” she slurs, her face twisted in a nasty scowl at Margot.