Sophomore Year Is Greek to Me (3 page)

When I got home, Dad was in his study working with the door closed—probably looking up ways to further sabotage my high school career/life. I headed to my room and found a Post-it note stuck to my computer monitor. It said:
Ornery Daughter Comes to Senses, Celebrates Impending Adventure.

Interesting.

This is a thing my dad and I have done since I could write: leaving headlines around the apartment instead of regular notes. Usually I think it's pretty clever, but not this time.

I got out my own pad of paper and scribbled down:
Despondent Daughter Ignores Father's Annoying Note; Father Withers Away Unvisited in Bargain-Basement Nursing Home.
Not the world's most concise headline, but it'd do. I dashed down the hall and stuck it on the door to his study.

The next morning, there was a new Post-it plastered to my forehead when I woke up. It said:
Come on, Ace. Look on the bright side. For me? . . . For you?

I crumpled it up, tossed it in the trash, and headed to school.

“You guys. Guess what?” Matty said, sliding in next to me at the lunch table later that day.

I eyed him warily. Despite the fact that I'd spent an hour on the phone with him the night before lamenting the unwelcome turn of events at Chez Lowell, he seemed to think that other topics were up for discussion. And when Matt Klausner leads with an open-ended question, you never know what path you might be lured down.

“If this has anything to do with that piercing place in the Village, the answer is still no,” Hilary said.

Matt grinned. “My cousin Paulette got her tongue pierced there, and when my uncle saw it, he helpfully removed it
for
her . . . with pliers. Then she watched the hole close in the mirror. She said it took two hours.”

“This is what you wanted to tell us?” Hilary asked, horrified.

“No, it is
not,
so if you'd just—”

I glanced up from my grilled cheese, which I'd been bitterly picking at instead of eating. “Your cousin stared at her tongue in the mirror for two hours? What's wrong with her?”

“Well, she's not that interesting.” Matt shrugged, stealing some tater tots from my plate. When I scowled at him, he opened his mouth to reveal the disgusting mess inside.

“You're seriously the worst,” Hil said.

“Oh, I'm
so
sorry. Were you two sitting here moaning about the fact that Zona gets to leave this cesspool and live in one of the most gorgeous places on the planet? Are we having a cry-athon in the caf?”

“Hey!” I snapped. “If you want to switch itineraries with me, feel free to—”

“Because if you're done with sad-sack time, I have something of
great import
to share with you. But maybe . . . maybe you don't even
care.
” Matt glared at us, folding his hands on the tabletop.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hilary said. “What's up?”

“Well, now I'm not sure you deserve to know . . .” He sniffed petulantly.

I knew when a battle had been lost. “Pleaaaaaase, Matty, most handsome of men. Please,
pretty
please, tell us the exciting news. It's all we want in the world.” Hilary and I batted our eyelashes at him dramatically.

We're dorks, but it's so
fun.

“Okay, you've forced it out of me!” Matt exclaimed at last. “The news is: I. Like. Someone.”

Silence.

“Hello? Anyone? This is a landmark event. I'd
like
a reaction.” Matt folded his arms across his chest. I looked at Hilary. She looked at me.

“Is this a joke?” Hil finally said.

“How dare you! I've never been so insulted in my—”

“It's just that . . . you
never
like anyone. Ever,” I pointed out quickly. “I mean, is it someone at this school? The school filled with ‘horrible, hideous, juvenile, totally uninspired guys you could never in a million years imagine touching with a ten-foot pole'? Because I definitely remember that speech.”

“Ugh, of course it isn't someone from this freak show. It's”—Matt leaned in conspiratorially—“the counter guy at the Starbucks on 12th Street. I'm in love, I'm in lust, I don't know what to
do
with myself!” He flung his arms in the air triumphantly.

“Should I say ‘Is this a joke' again?” Hilary asked. “Because I totally will.”

“Scoff all you want, but we have a connection. He gave me a free package of those chocolate-covered graham crackers today,” Matt said smugly.

“Wow. Did he hand them to you through the window of his white van before asking you to climb in?” I said. Hilary laughed. Matt did not look amused. “Matty, come on. You can't be serious. This guy is like . . .
old.
Too old.”

“Love knows no age restrictions. Weren't your parents, like, twenty years apart or something?”

Twenty-five years, actually.
So
not the point.

“Besides,” Matty went on, “he's not old, he's
mature.
And I'm sixteen, not nine. He can get me into clubs. And maybe you guys, too, if you're good.”

“Gee,” I said with wide eyes, “I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more than hanging out with you and your new faux-boyfriend in a—”

“What do you call a cougar if he's a guy?” Hilary interjected thoughtfully. “A lion?”

“—club, but I have to move to another continent instead. Thanks for the invite, though.”

“Oh, here we go. Back to Sadsville.” Matt slumped in his chair. “Can't you take a minute to be encouraging? Should I ask him out or what?”

“NO!”
Hilary and I said together.

Hil flung her sandwich crust at him. “Definitely
not,
” she added.

“You two just want everyone to be as miserable as you are.” Matt narrowed his eyes and flung the bread back.

“Matty, that's not fair. Of course we want you to meet someone. Just not someone who is elderly and works at Starbucks,” I said, trying to be diplomatic. I knew Matt got bummed out because there were basically no other gay guys in our school—well, not many who'd admit it, anyway—and he wanted to hook up and have crushes like everybody else.

“He's not
elderly
! He's probably, like . . . twenty-four!”

Hilary and I gave him the exact same look. He scowled at us again. Then the bell rang and we all heaved a collective sigh. “Well, this was fun,” Matt said morosely. Then he brightened. “I've got a free period . . . Anyone want to go get coffee?”

“Seriously, though, you guys, what's a male cougar?” Hilary asked again. “A tiger?”

“I have no idea, Hil. I'm gay, not an expert on gay terminology. Zona, why don't you do a little undercover journalism and find out for us? I'll ask Scott where you should look for leads.”

“I have History,” I said firmly, scooping up my tray and ignoring Matt's suggestion. “Also, you've had enough coffee for today, sir. Hilary, I'm leaving you in charge.”

“Gee, thanks.” Hilary rolled her eyes resignedly and looked pointedly at Matt. “No coffee for you.” He sniffed haughtily and started doing something on his phone—probably tweeting about how no one understood him. I winked at Hil and headed to class.

It was hard to believe I was sitting in our usual Friday meeting like I hadn't had my world upended a few days earlier. And yet, here I was, same as always.

“. . . and that pretty much covers it, I think,” Ben said. I was too busy focusing on how his deep, chocolaty-brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled to hear his full speech. (I'd been obsessed with him since last year.) Unfortunately, he A) had a girlfriend and B) didn't care about me even before he had a girlfriend.

This reality was one I had to live with daily as I plodded through the sad desert that was my romantic life. The only bright spot to my Greece trip, really, was that maybe there'd be some cute guys there. Guys who liked reading biographies, and utilized correct punctuation, and didn't have to
try
to be cool. Basically, exact replicas of Ben, only Greek. And single. And not oblivious to my love.

But I wasn't putting money on it.

Hilary was on the other side of the room chatting about a new article with über-gorgeous staff writer Lexi Bradley (also a sophomore, but looks like she's about twenty-five), and I was just about to go over and join them when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, Zona—can I talk to you for a sec?” It was Ben. Touching me. On my actual body. My heart stopped beating for a second, but I made a quick recovery; I knew this wasn't going to be a “Let me reveal my love for you” speech. It was going to be a “What the hell? I chose you to be features editor over all those juniors and seniors and now you're leaving the country?!” speech. I'd sensed this was coming, but I'd kind of hoped it would be a few more days before I had to talk to him about it. Of course, news travels fast in high school.

I trudged behind him to the big desk where he did all the layouts. Why did he have to be EIC? I'd much rather disappoint last year's chief, back when Ben was just a snarky junior with a camera wandering around school. For one thing, it was way easier to pretend he had a secret crush on me in those days, because you could never be sure who he was taking pictures of. But then again, that's exactly how he ended up with his girlfriend, Kelsey, so . . . Ugh—why was I thinking about this? I had more important things to focus on, like—

“Zona? You in there?” he asked. Oh,
terrific.
He was doing the crinkly-eyed smile thing.

“Yeah, sorry, just spacing,” I said.

“Seems to be your thing today,” Ben replied.

I blushed furiously. “Yeah, sorry about that—I guess I've been a bit distracted.”
By your chiseled good looks. Run away with me?
“So, um,” I continued, “I guess you heard through the grapevine about my dad's new story—”

“Don't you mean the
olive
vine?”

Ben grinned and looked at me expectantly, but I was blank. Finally, after an endless moment, I got it. “Oh,” I mumbled, “is that a Greece joke?”

“Not a very good one,” he conceded, shrugging. He looked down at the desk and moved a few index cards around.
Great. Now he hates me,
I thought.
Why didn't I just laugh hysterically?
He looked back up. “Anyway, it sounds amazing. I'd kill to be there with your dad while he's researching—I mean, talk about the opportunity of a lifetime, right? You must be pretty psyched.”

“Yeah, I guess . . . but I'd honestly rather stay here.”

He looked genuinely shocked. “Seriously? Why?”

“Well, I have responsibilities, um, to the paper, and—”

“Oh, yeah—our beloved
Reflector.
Nice that you're worried about her, but I promise we'll soldier on while you're living it up in freaking
Greece.
And working on actual news that isn't about someone running a bra up the flagpole. Again.” Ben held up his iPad, which had a photo-editing program open with a picture of a bright blue bra flapping in the wind.

I laughed, but didn't feel very funny. I started fiddling with the zipper on my Brooklyn Industries hoodie. Maybe I
should've
been more psyched . . . but all the kids who were excited on my behalf didn't actually know the whole story.

Maybe Ben would offer to go with me. He could help carry my suitcase. Dad would probably be completely on board with that plan.

“Anyway, I guess you know we're gonna have to replace you as features editor. It's too bad—your work on the last two issues has been awesome. I was really excited about having you on my team this year.”

He was?! How excited, exactly?

“I kind of don't have a precedent to follow for this sort of thing,” he continued. “If you want to recommend somebody . . . Or I could just go through the other applications from the end of last year and see if anyone is still interested in the job . . .” He trailed off, his attention suddenly distracted by his phone. Probably a romantic text from Kelsey. He cracked a smile and started typing a reply.

I was ready to get the hell out of there and go write some subpar, heartbroken poetry on the wall of the girls' room.

“Yeah, so,” I began, scrambling for something to say before dashing away, “I'm honestly devastated about leaving you in the lurch like this, especially because I was elated about getting the position . . .”

He glanced up at me. (I continued fidgeting like a six-year-old.) “Sorry, Zona, that was totally rude. Um, yeah . . .” His eyes flicked back to his phone. ”But don't feel bad. You'll be back next year! Have an amazing time in Greece—seriously, I would love to be in your shoes.”

And . . . he was back to texting. 'Kay. Bye.

I slunk out of the room, waving to Hilary and Lexi on my way. Hil followed close behind me.

“Did he already know?” she asked.

“Yeah. He's going to replace me. I mean, I knew he would. It's just all happening in five seconds, you know? I don't leave for another two-ish weeks!” I thought about the absurdly expensive spiral notebook with the hard metallic cover that I'd bought at Kate's Paperie when I found out I'd been chosen for the job. I'd already filled up half its silver-lined pages with my ideas for features articles, interesting layouts, surveys, interviews . . .

“I'm sorry, Zo. This totally sucks.” Hilary scuffed the ugly linoleum tiles with her studded Converse high-top sneaker. “Want to come over later? My mom's on call and my dad will be at some meeting, I think. We can order in Thai and hang out on the terrace and they won't bother us.”

I love going to Hilary's. She lives in a gorgeous penthouse with massive floor-to-ceiling windows, a view for days, and every gadget in the world. They have a fridge that's about the size of my bedroom, and it's always chock-full of fancy cheese and desserts that her parents never eat because they're always at work or charity events. Oh, and did I mention the enclosed, heated terrace that's bigger than my entire apartment? Don't get me wrong—the Lower East Side is more my style, and I honestly wouldn't trade . . . but the Bauers' is a
very
nice place to visit.

I smiled. “Thanks, but I have to go home and try to convince my dad to reconsider. Again. And that could take all night . . .” I trailed off, feeling depressed.

She squeezed me in a quick hug. “If you change your mind, just text me. 'Kay?”

I couldn't believe I'd have to be without my incredible best friend for six months. I was never going to make it.