The Unofficial Zack Warren Fan Club (3 page)

It felt like I’d let her down. I’d let myself down too. I never wanted her to look at me like that again. So I sat with my dad and the school counselor. He recommended I channel my anger and frustration into a physical outlet that would teach me discipline and respect. I really owed that guy a lot, my whole future even. And if it hadn’t been for Chloe showing up at the right time, I don’t know what would have happened.

Drugs, drinking?

I didn’t want to know.

Despite all that, Chloe and I weren’t exactly friends. In the past I’ve irritated her, done my best to avoid her, and pretended to be angry with her. For all she knew, I hated her. I had my reasons for keeping her at arms length, wanted her thinking I couldn’t stand her…up until practice today. Everything changed. Max made me realize exactly how much I owed Chloe.

The problem I faced was trying to figure out a way to approach her and form some sort of friendship. If we could be friends, I think I’d be okay with that. But I had a feeling the second I got a little close to Chloe, I‘d want to be closer.

Mere friendship with Chloe Baker would not satisfy me. But it would have to be enough. If it wasn’t, I’d revert back to my old ways of ignoring her, making her think I wanted nothing to do with her, and I’d hate every second of it.

I went to my room and packed the rest of my things, leaving out the necessities. Tomorrow would be interesting, an adventure, or so I’ve been told.

I wasn’t so sure this was an adventure, more like a test of my patience and self-control. Because at some point, I knew Chloe Baker would tempt me.

Chapter 3

Chloe

I stood in my bedroom, staring around at the sad empty space.

Bare white walls begged for decoration and posters. The puttied holes where my pictures and mirror used to hang reminded me of Swiss cheese. Little indentations could be seen in the carpet where my furniture once sat. Happily covered in a sufficient amount of dust, books, and clothing.

This space was my refuge, my home. I didn’t want to leave.

But I didn’t have a choice.

I squared my shoulders, telling myself I wasn’t going to cry, and said a silent farewell to a magnificent room. A room that saw numerous slumber parties, me dancing in front of the mirror, singing into a hairbrush, and the place where I had my first kiss with the boy next door.

The kiss hadn’t been my idea.

My room was also the first place a boy ended up with my handprint on the side of his face.

I trudged down the hall to the bare living room. My sneakers squeaked on the terracotta tile. I swear my breathing echoed around me. The space felt ten times bigger without my mom’s ginormous couches and stone coffee table.

A cave with skylights and built-in shelving.

I groaned, wishing this was a bad dream. That we came home to find our house had been robbed, everything taken, right down to the last dust bunny.

It wasn’t a dream and we haven’t been robbed.

My mom came to stand next to me and sniffed, just as sad.

“I guess this is it, Chloe.” She could pass for my older sister. We had the same silky straight hair and hazel eyes. Although she was five-eight, I got the short end of the family genes and barely hit five-three.

“Yep,” I crossed my arms, following her out the front door. The sound of it closing behind us felt so final, ominous. We stepped off the porch and I wanted to protest. Chain myself to the railing with a sign saying: Hell no, I won’t go!

“This is going to be fun, a great adventure.” Mom said. I didn’t agree, not even a little. Hiking up a volcano, dog sledding, swimming with sharks—those are adventures and this wasn’t my idea of fun.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and followed her down the front path we slaved over to lay the pavers perfectly last summer. If I’d known we’d be selling it wouldn’t have been a priority.

I eyed the edge of our driveway with unconcealed hatred.

Two gigantic moving vans waited, packed to the point of exploding. Mom’s blue Mini Cooper was hitched up to the back of the first van, a prisoner.

“Hey, honey, were all set.” Mom giggled, meeting her new husband halfway down the drive.

“Excellent!” Glenn kissed her. He was tall, bald by choice, and had unnaturally blue eyes. For a forty year old guy he wasn’t too bad looking…except he reminded me a little of Mr. Clean. He even had an earring in his left ear.

Glenn and met my mom at the grocery store eight months ago. After a long conversation about how much they both hated broccoli—which I’m sure was packed with innuendo—they eloped.

Vince seemed like a real winner then. He was the star of the debate team and ran an underground gambling club. What more could a teenage girl want?

Lots more.

Vince grew up to be the slimy car salesman you avoided on a used car lot, right down to the gold pinky ring and oily hair. He was king of the creepers, and could talk a blind man into buying a Buick.

Thankfully, he ran off eight years ago with a German sausage maker turned model named Helga.

Mom is super happy now, and I really liked Glenn. In fact, I liked him more than my own father. But before they went to Vegas to say I do in front of Elvis, mom sat me down to have a talk.

This is never good, whenever your parent shows up at your dorm on a Saturday asks you to sit for a conversation. Why couldn’t she just call? Why did she drive almost half way across the state to me for a conversation?

So I prepared myself for the bad news…

“Honey,” mom said in her sweetest voice on that fateful day two weeks ago, sitting slowly across from me, as if any loud noises or sudden movement might cause me to have a coronary. “Glenn bought a house. It’s closer to his job, and a lot bigger.”

“Good for Glenn,” he wouldn’t be moving into our house and junking it up with all his golf clubs and guy stuff. Even though I wasn’t home all that much anymore. When I did go back, our space would be clean. “I’ll make a banner for the going away party.”

“He bought it for me as a wedding present.” She sent me a smile full of hope and anticipation, flashed the massive ring, and I knew my goose was cooked.

She snorted. “You know me, I’m a fly by the seat of my pants gal. Glenn’s the one with all the idea’s…did I ever tell you he keeps a planner? It’s highlighted and color coded.”

“No, really?” but Glenn is like that, very by the book, black and white. My mother is like throw up, everywhere. Somehow they managed to meet in the middle and balance each other out. For this I was very grateful. The last thing I needed was the male version of my mom for a stepdad. Then we’d really be in trouble.

When she told me about our new place my eyes bugged out of my head. I thought I’d die of shock. Our new home was located in a general area about forty minutes east of our old home in Naples and into the land people forgot. The area didn’t even have a name, just a county road.

“Yes.” She clapped and smiled over at me happily. I had to smile back because she was just bursting with excitement. How could I ruin this for her when she finally found the man she’d been looking for? “Chloe, I’ll be riding with, hubby. Will you be alright?”

“Sure.” I lied, cringing at Glenn’s pet name. Then she proceeded to plant a kiss on him.

I raced for the passenger side door of the other orange monster and yanked it open, pulling myself up into the seat. I slammed the door shut and stared out the window feeling chained, a prisoner, just like the Mini Cooper.

I crossed my arms and propped my feet up on the dash, sneaking a little peak at him. “I know you hate me. Why don’t we get this fight over so we can coexist without killing each other?”

He ran a hand through his hair. Perfect blond hair, but not perfect at the same time. It was either artfully arranged to look mussed up and sexy, or he achieved the doo by rolling out of bed and winking at his reflection in the mirror.

He had the most amazing blue eyes, like the sky on a perfect summer day. He was tall, around six feet. Throwing all those baseballs made him muscular, sleek like a panther.

“They were stupid. You can’t put pink streamers on a BMX bike.” He started driving, handling the monstrous van with ease. I’m glad I wasn’t at the wheel. I’d have taken out every mailbox and old lady on the block.

“My father bought me the wrong one for my birthday. I wanted the pink princess bike with the basket and plastic flowers.” Vince always wanted a son, someone to take over the used car lot. After realizing he couldn’t turn me into a boy, he decided girls could sell cars too.

Oh, how loved that made me feel.

Not.

Vince finally accepted that I wanted nothing to do with selling used clunkers and stopped coming around three years ago. Unfortunately he hasn’t quit calling.

“You sound like you still want that bike.” Zack said.

I lifted a shoulder. “Well, it’s a cute bike, and I could have a more grown-up version of it. I’ll have to think about getting my own…”

“No, you didn’t. Except that’s not the point.” I cranked up the air to ward off the sizzling Florida heat, aiming every vent in my direction. Just to be nice, I left one for Zack. “The point is that we haven’t been able to go five minutes without fighting since.”

His lips pursed, eyes focusing on the road. What was he thinking about so hard? “My dad used to sing in the shower before my mom died. I heard him singing this morning. It must mean he’s really happy with Molly.”

“I think they really love each other.” He added, and draped his arm across the back of the seat. I couldn’t help noticing how close his fingers were to brushing my neck. “You want us to pretend to get along in front of them.”