Z O E Y
It was Sam's birthday and I had been invited not once but three times. Sam had told me about it a week before and said he would be extremely upset if I didn't show up. Mr. Young had told me about it a few days after but said I didn't have to come if I couldn't. It was a Saturday, after all, and I probably had plans. I didn't. I was going to spend the day studying. Mrs. Young had told me the night before, over text message.
When I showed up Saturday morning, it was her who opened the door in a colorful dress and a necklace that matched her earrings. She was smiling. Mrs. Young was always smiling.
"Good morning!" she said, too loud.
I smiled, "Good morning."
"Please come in. I have a lot of things to tell you and not nearly enough time."
I followed her inside. I had expected it to be loud in the way all kids' birthdays were loud, but the house was silent. Too silent.
"Where's Sam?"
Mrs. Young turned back at me, still smiling, "He went skydiving with his daddy."
"Really? What about the party?" I was very confused.
"It only starts at twelve. You have time." She was already on the move again.
I kept following her, "Time for what?"
"Right, here's the thing," she said, opening the kitchen door. I walked in after her. Tristan was sitting at the table, eating cereal, or pretending to. I didn't have time to say hi because as it turned out, Mrs. Young did have a lot to say. She began with, "I have a reservation at this beautiful five-star spa resort for the whole day today. I must have gotten the dates mixed up. I'm not monster. I didn't book it on my son's birthday on purpose â"
"Sam's not your son," Tristan said.
Mrs. Young ignored him, "Anyway, I have this reservation and I really can't miss it. See, the ticket is non-refundable, and I can't lose all that money, because, sweetie, it was a lot of money. Anyway, I told Richard I would find a way to make everything work, and I did, because, alas, here you are. Now, there's not actually much to be done except take all the food and drinks outside before the kids arrive. Richard took care of the tables before he left this morning, so no problem there. You do need to bake him a birthday cake though, because I didn't have time, and also, I'm a terrible baker. He wants that cake with sprinkles in it. It's disgusting, if you ask me, but Sam didn't, so, anyway, we don't actually have all the ingredients you'll need, so you'll have to go grocery shopping. I'll give you some money, wait."
At this, she turned around to look for her wallet inside the bag hanging on a kitchen chair. When she found it, she took out a few bills, and handed it to me.
"That should be enough. You don't have to get top ingredients. He's turning eight â"
"He's turning ten," Tristan said.
She ignored him again, "Anyway, what I mean is, he probably won't notice the sprinkles in his cake are knock-off, you know? Also, it can be a small cake. He only invited a handful of kids, so, any questions?"
"Yes, actually," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Could I get a ride to the grocery store? I can take the bus back after, it's just it's gonna take a while if â"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Tristan will give you a ride."
I looked at him. He frowned, "How? Richard doesn't really want me driving, does he?"
"We won't tell him," she said. "The garage code is 1607."
"So, my birthday?" he asked.
She seemed surprised, "Oh, I guess it is."
"Why doesn't Mr. Young want you driving?" I asked. I couldn't help myself. I knew why I didn't want him driving, but I was curious. Why didn't his dad? Had he been in an accident before?
"Well," Mrs. Young said, a half-smile on her face, "Tristan's a bit of a danger on the road, but the grocery store is just minutes away. What can go wrong?"
"I can drive," I said. There was no way I was getting in a car with Tristan again.
"Great!" The half-smiled turned in a full one. She turned to Tristan, "Isn't she a doll?"
"No."
"Right," she said, grabbing her bag and putting it over her shoulder. "I gotta get going. Do me a favor and don't tell Richard I asked you to bake the cake because I was supposed to do it, but I overslept this morning and didn't have time. Anyway, he'll be upset, and it's Sammy's birthday, and I don't think any of us wanna ruin it, right?"
"Don't worry about it." I smiled.
"Oh, you're adorable!" she said, squeezing my cheek before going for the door. "I'm out."
And out she was. Tristan got up and took his bowl up to the sink.
"Don't you just love her?" he asked, his back at me as he spilled his cereal down the drain. He hadn't even eaten half of it.
"She's something."
"You can say it," he insisted, turning away, and leaning back against the counter.
I frowned, "Say what?"
"You know what."
"I don't." I actually thought I did, but my mom had taught me better than to talk shit about my boss to my boss's stepson.
"Then you're even more stupid than I thought," he said, pushing himself off the counter. "And I thought you were pretty stupid already."
I didn't answer him, turning my back at him instead, and walking out of the kitchen. I had to go grocery shopping, get back, bake a cake I had never baked before, and then set up all the food and drinks outside in time for the party. I didn't exactly have time to lay down and let Tristan walk all over me.
I was opening the front door when I realized he had followed me.
"What do you want?" I asked, stepping outside.
"A ride," he said. "I need to get Sam a birthday gift."
"You haven't gotten him anything yet?"
"I'm not gonna answer that, because, you know, it's a stupid question," he said, right before, "Look, I can go myself, but I did smoke a little weed this morning, and I don't think getting in a car accident on my brother's birthday would be very nice, would it?"
Mrs. Young was right about one thing. No one wanted to ruin Sam's birthday, so I shrugged, and said, "Fine, you can come."
"Of course I can come." He was already following me outside.
I typed the garage code in and walked in when the door slid open. He followed me. The Youngs had four cars. Mrs. Young had just left in one, and Mr. Young had probably taken another one this morning to go skydiving with Sam (skydiving!!), so there were two cars left. I knew nothing about cars just that one was a jeep, and the other wasn't.
"The Lexus is automatic," Tristan said, pointing at the one that wasn't a jeep. "Do you know how to drive those?"
I didn't know what automatic meant when it came to cars, but I wasn't going to tell him, because he was probably going to make a huge deal out of it, and again, I didn't have the time for it.
"Let's go for the jeep," I said. He got the keys from a hook in the wall and unlocked it. I got in the driver's seat. He got in through the passenger's side. I started the car. The turned on the radio. Seven Wonders was on. I turned the sound up, "I love this song!"
"Who sings it?" he asked. I was surprised he did.
"Fleetwood Mac!"
"Then let's keep it that way."
I laughed and started singing all the same. Mom and I used to sing this in the car on the way to school every day back when her shifts started just after first period. Next to me, Tristan rolled his eyes. I got the jeep on the road, rolled the windows down, and kept on singing. The sun was out, and the sky was blue, and the wind was cold against my face, and I just loved this song.
"You really are a mystery to me," he said when it was over, as if voicing a thought he had been entertaining for a while.
I looked over at him, and asked, "Why?"
"Nothing ever gets to you, does it?" he asked, turning off the radio. I opened my mouth to answer, but he continued. "I've been paying attention to you, which is not something I normally do, by the way, but it doesn't matter. I've been paying attention and I've noticed that your life sucks. See, I thought it didn't, because you're so happy all the fucking time, but it actually sucks â"
"My life doesn't suck â"
"I fucking beg to differ," he said. "You have no friends."
"I have some friends," I said, as a matter of fact.
"I can count on the fingers of one hand how many friends you have," he insisted, putting one finger up. "There you go."
"I have more than one friend."
"No, you don't. I told you, I've been paying attention, Zoey. Your only friend is that girl that dresses funny â"
"I'm friends with Luke too. And Jason."
He laughed. I had never seen him laugh before. Or if I had, I couldn't remember it.
"The guy who punched you in the face?!"
"How do you know about that?"
"I told you I've been paying attention!" he insisted. He had definitely been smoking weed. "Anyway, you're failing at Precalculus â"
"Precalculus is really hard," I stopped him. "I should have gone for Trigonometry."
"Precalculus is really easy," he said. I rolled my eyes. He continued, "Anyway, you also work way too much â"
"I don't," I stopped him, again, even though my mom did say the same thing to me a few days ago. Tristan made a face, so I said, "Maybe a little bit."
"Richard has you doing, what, 35 hours a week? I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"He pays really well," I pointed out. I had made more money babysitting for a month than I had working at the ice cream parlor all summer. "And I love your brother, so I don't really mind â"
"And you have bags under your eyes," he continued. "Which tells me you didn't really sleep last night â"
"I didn't sleep at all. I was reading this really good book about â"
"I don't care," he said. "The point is, you didn't sleep, and yet here you are, singing in the car, working on a Saturday morning, even though I can promise you, you won't get paid for this. Richard would pay you, but Richard doesn't know you had to come in early to help, and she won't tell him, and neither will you, obviously â"
"You don't think she's gonna pay me?" I asked, stopping at a red light. I had been at their door at 9 o'clock sharp, just as Mrs. Young had asked, and from what I understood, I would be taking care of the things for the party up until 12. Tristan laughed again.
"I know she's not gonna pay you."
"Well, it's Sam's birthday, I'm happy to â"
"Exactly! You're happy! You're so happy all the time! What the fuck is up with that?"
"I don't know what to tell you, Tristan." I shrugged. "I think you have this perverse idea that being happy is for stupid people â"
"You're right. I do," he said before I could go on. "I think if you paid any real attention to the world around you, you wouldn't be nearly as happy as you are."
"I pay attention," I told him.
He smiled and said, "The light's green."
I hit the gas and ignored the irony, "I actually think you're the one who's not very good at paying attention, Tristan."
"I think I've proved I'm very good â"
"No, you didn't," I stopped him. I didn't usually stop people midsentence this much, or at all, really, but almost everything that came out of his mouth demanded something to come out of mine. "If anything you proved you don't know me at all."
"I literally started the conversation saying you were a mystery to me, so no, I don't know you at all." he said.
We were arriving at the grocery store. I parked the car, took the key off the ignition, and turned to him again, "That's because you don't pay attention to what really matters."
"No, you're the one who doesn't pay attention to what fucking matters," he said, watching me open the door. "Also, I'm staying in the car."
"I know," I said as I stepped out. He put his feet up on the dashboard, rolled the window down, and lit up a cigarette. I smiled, and said, "I'll be fast."