If You're Out There(36)

“So you’ll pick up your brother?”

“Um . . . yeah. No problem,” I tell her. When I hang up I’m still staring. The sketch is loose and messy, but it’s definitely me. I’ve locked eyes with myself, emerging from a charcoal-smudged page. I’m smirking, an eyebrow raised, like a challenge. Unlike the other faces, mine is somewhat hopeful. Strong and soft all at once. My cheeks are round, my freckles brought out.

For a moment I’m slightly sickened by the warm and fuzzy feeling rising up in me.

“Okay, I’m back,” I announce, crossing my arms over the pj top as I return to the dinner table. I was careful to leave Logan’s door the way I found it before creeping back down the hall. “Where were we?”

“You were telling us what you’re going to do with your life,” says Bee, making Bonnie chuckle.

“Ah, that,” I say. “I’ll tell you the truth, Bee. I have no idea.”

“Really,” says Bonnie.

I shrug. “I guess I’ve never felt like I was one of those kids with some big, great destiny. You know? Maybe the world isn’t begging for my achievements.”

Bonnie frowns. “Sounds to me like you might be underselling yourself a bit, if you don’t mind my saying.” My phone beeps again and her eyebrows raise. “Popular lady.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Let me silence this.” It’s an email from an address I don’t recognize.

From: <[email protected]>

To: Zan Martini <[email protected]>

Date: Thu, Sep 13, 8:32 pm

Subject: <no subject>

ZZWelcome way in/d.344itspdfiiiihauhlep

“What is it?” asks Logan.

“Nothing.” I turn the phone facedown. “Just spam. Anyway, enough about me. Any big plans in your future, Bee?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Halloween,” she says seriously. “I’m pretty sure I want to be a doughnut.”

I laugh out loud and Logan looks happy for a moment. “That is amazing,” I tell her. “Please do that. I’ll help make the sprinkles.”

After dinner, Logan places a bundle of dry clothes in my arms. Bonnie and Bee load the dishwasher while “Lady Marmalade” booms from built-in speakers.

Logan and I hover in the kitchen to watch. Bonnie hands Bee everything that isn’t sharp or glass, and Bee takes intermittent breaks to sing into spatulas and wooden spoons. The little diva pauses as Aguilera and the crew sing the chorus: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? “What does all that French stuff mean?” she asks.

“Oh,” says Bonnie, smacking her lips. “I uh . . . I don’t know.”

Logan smiles and clears his throat. “My aunt’s going to call you a car, when you’re ready.”

I return a few minutes later in warm, dry clothes. Bee and Bonnie have since moved on to Prince’s “1999.” They briefly break from dancing to say good night.

“I’ll come down with you,” Logan says as we walk the narrow hall. He jolts up as we approach his room, subtly rushing ahead to close the door. I try to look oblivious.

Waiting for the elevator, I fight the urge to ask about that call from his mom. I can tell we’re both thinking about it. The longer the silence lasts, the harder it is to break.

The elevator arrives and he lets me on first.

He reaches past me to press the button, and for a second I’m startled by how close we are. The elevator stops with a bounce and we step into the old-fashioned lobby.

“Logan, my man!” says a new doorman through a thick, eastern European accent.

“Hey, Frank,” says Logan as the man pauses something streaming on his laptop. “Don’t let us interrupt,” says Logan.

“Scandal,” Frank says to me. “Wonderful program. I’m late to this party. Please. No spoilers.”

“I would never,” I say seriously.

A car rolls up and Logan makes a rush for the door before Frank can get out from behind the desk. “You going to put me out of job!” he calls over the sounds of wind and rain.

“It’ll be our secret,” says Logan, opening an umbrella through the doorway.

I tuck myself next to Logan as we scurry out from the protection of the awning. With the umbrella still above us, Logan opens the door to the slick black car, and before I slip inside, I stop and catch his eye. We are safe and dry, our faces inches apart as the rain pours down around us. He looks at me but doesn’t move. I don’t move either.

My gaze slides to his lips. I imagine what it would be like to lean just the littlest bit forward. Instead, I take a step back. “That was fun,” I say over the rain. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

“Well . . . g’night,” I say, and I disappear behind tinted glass.

I lurch up in my bed, awakened by a dream.

Mouth dry. Stomach plummeting.

Heart beating.

I was the bus driver in the storm, staring straight ahead, with Logan’s grieving charcoal faces all behind me. Priya stood outside, screaming soundlessly as she pounded against the rain-streaked doors.

“ZZ,” I say aloud.

She used to call me ZZ.



Hellooooooo. taps mike Is this thing on?