Starry Eyes(5)

Until everything changed last year.

Gathering my courage, I adjust my glasses, paste on a civil smile, and say, “Hi.”

He tugs his chin upward in response. That’s all I get. I used to be trusted with his secrets, and now I’m not even worthy of a spoken greeting. I thought at some point this would stop hurting me, but the pain is as sharp as it’s ever been.

New plan: Don’t say another word to him. Don’t acknowledge his presence.

“Babe,” Sunny says to Lennon, unpacking what appears to be some sort of sex lube. “Which rock star bit the head off a bat? Your other, less-hip mom thinks it’s Alice Cooper.”

Mac pretends to be affronted and points to me. “Hey, Zorie thinks so too!”

“She’s wrong,” Lennon says in a dismissive voice that’s so scratchy and deep, it sounds as though he’s speaking from inside a deep, dark well. That’s the other thing about Lennon that drives me nuts. He doesn’t just have a good voice; he has an attractive voice. It’s big and confident and rich, and entirely too sexy for comfort. He sounds like a villainous voice-over actor or some kind of satanic radio announcer. It makes goose bumps race over my skin, and I resent that he still has that effect on me.

“It’s Ozzy Osbourne,” he informs us.

“Ha! Told you,” Sunny says victoriously to Mac.

“I just picked one,” I tell Lennon, a little angrier than I intend.

“Well, you picked wrong,” he says, sounding bored.

I’m insulted. “Since when am I supposed to be an expert on the abuse of bats in rock music?”

That’s more his speed.

“It’s not arcane knowledge,” he says, sweeping artfully mussed-up hair away from one eye with a knuckle. “It’s pop culture.”

“Right. Vital information I’ll need to know in order to get into the university of my choice. I think I remember that question on the SAT exams.”

“Life is more than SAT exams.”

“At least I have friends,” I say.

“If you think Reagan and the rest of her clique are real friends, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Jeez, you two,” Sunny mumbles. “Get a room.”

Heat washes over my face.

Um, no. This is not an I secretly like you fight. This is I secretly hate you. Sure, he’s all lips and hair and baritone voice, and I’m not blind: He’s attractive. But the only time our former friendship dared to risk one pinky toe over the line—a period of time we referred to as the Great Experiment—I ended up sobbing my eyes out at homecoming, wondering what went wrong.

I never found out. But I have a pretty good guess.

He gives his mom a long-suffering look, as if to say, You done now? and then turns to address Mac. “Ozzy’s bat story was exaggerated. Someone in the audience threw a dead bat onstage, and Ozzy thought it was plastic. When he bit the head off, he was completely shocked. Had to be taken to the hospital for a rabies shot after the show.”

Sunny bumps her hip against Mac. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still right, and you still owe me a cupcake. Coconut. Since we skipped breakfast this morning, I’ll take it now. Brunch.”

“That actually does sound good,” Mac says. “Zorie, you want one?”

I shake my head.

Mac turns to Lennon. “Baby, my baby,” she says in a coaxing, jovial voice. “Can you make a bakery run? Pretty please?”

“Mother, my mother. I have to be at work in thirty minutes,” he argues, and I hate how he can be so cold to me one second and warm to his parents the next. When he sets the book he’s carrying on the counter, I see what he’s cradling in the crook of his elbow: a red bearded dragon lizard about the length of my forearm. It’s on a leash connected to a black leather harness that wraps around its tiny front arms. “Got to put Ryuk back in his habitat before I go.”

Lennon is obsessed with reptiles, because of course. He has an entire wall of them in his room—snakes, lizards, and his only nonreptile pet, a tarantula. He works part-time at a Mission Street reptile store, where he can be creepy with other likeminded snake lovers.

Mac reaches over the counter to scratch the lizard on top of its scaly head and coos in a childlike voice, “Fine. Guess you win, Ryuk. Oh dear, you’re coming out of your harness.”

Lennon sets the bearded dragon atop his manga book. Ryuk tries to get away, nearly falling off the counter. “That’s an inefficient way to go,” Lennon dourly informs the lizard. “If you’re going to off yourself, better to overdose on reptile vitamins than jump.”

“Lennon,” Sunny scolds lightly.

A dark smile barely curls the corners of his full lips. “Sorry, Mama,” he says.

When we were younger, people used to taunt him mercilessly at school—How do you know which mom is which? To him, Sunny is Mama, Mac is Mum. And even though Mac gave birth to him, neither woman is more or less in his eyes.

Sunny twists her mouth and then smiles back. He’s forgiven. His parents forgive him for everything. He doesn’t deserve them.

“So, Zorie. What brings you by, love?” Mac says to me as Lennon adjusts his lizard’s tiny harness.

I’m forced to step to the side of Lennon in order to have a conversation that doesn’t involve me speaking at his back. When did he get so freakishly tall? “My mom’s looking for a FedEx package.”