What Z Sees Read online

  What a weird thing to think. I’m so messed up. Why am I thinking like this?

  Come on, I say. Let’s go out and do something. Let’s go swim at the lake. Let’s pretend that none of this is so freaking weird. Let’s just not think about it.

  I’ve been thinking about it a lot, she says. I can’t stop thinking about it. Are you okay?

  I’m ... I say. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.

  You don’t? she asks. How can you not want to? I mean, it’s big. It’s pretty big. It’s so ...

  I know, I say.

  I feel like I need to make you okay, she confesses. I don’t know how. It’s freaking me out.

  Please? I ask. Don’t freak out. Let’s just take a break from everything. From all this stuff. And go swim.

  Okay, says Sin. I don’t have a swimsuit, though.

  Yes, you do, I say.

  I don’t, says Sin. It doesn’t fit. It’s too big.

  Okay, well, we’ll use a boat or something then, I say. I just want to go outside and get away from here.

  See the thing is that suddenly I feel like I’ve been at home forever, like a prisoner who didn’t notice the door was open the whole time. I need to escape. My whole world has shrunk down in forty-eight hours to the inside of my closet, and the barn obviously and the dog pens I can see from my window. But still, I can’t breathe. I need to stretch. I need fresh cold air but, given that it’s the hottest day of the year, I’m not going to get it.

  I crave it. I crave it like a junkie craves drugs, like I imagine that must feel.

  Like Axel craves alcohol. Like Dad craves risk. Like Maman craves Dad.

  I crave it so much I’m willing to beg Sin to come with me because suddenly I feel like I can’t go alone, even though alone is lately the way I’ve felt best. I miss her. I do. I miss before. In a way, I’m kind of sorry that I told her because I know she’s upset. She wants to instantly fix everything. I’ve made her feel helpless, bad.

  I didn’t mean to.

  I don’t want her to.

  It takes Sin ages to arrive and I’m waiting for her at the bottom of the driveway, crouched under a tall maple tree, as though that will shield me from what I already know. The shade feels nice.

  I’m not going to tell Sin about Dad. It’s not fair. I’m dumping too much on her, I hadn’t thought... hadn’t realized that it would be hard for her, too. I was thinking about myself. Dumb.

  I’ve got a plan. I’ll just act normal, or as normal as I can. It kind of gives me a break, too. Like if I don’t say it out loud, it’s not real, I can pretend it’s not real.

  I press the bracelet into my wrist, like a reflex, even though there are no thoughts to see. Like maybe it could just turn me off altogether. I pull and twist the wire so that the bracelet is pulled tight and stays that way without my help. It’s just pressing pressing pressing. There, I think. Off.

  Maybe I’ll tell her about John, though. Maybe that. That feels safe. Normal. Girl stuff.

  Giggly stuff.

  Stuff that feels almost fake, more surreal than the sur- reality of everything else.

  Finally, Sin’s Honda Civic squeals around the corner, wheezing black smoke. The girl always drives like she’s on fire. Like she can’t slow down. Like the squirrels will get her if she does. Or a bear.

  Bear! I think, and I sort of laugh to myself. That whole thing, the whole Bear! joke, that seems like an awful long time ago.

  I sink into the air-conditioned comfort of the passenger seat. It smells like car-air-freshener-made-to-smell-like- men’s-cologne in here. The radio is loud and I turn it down and look at Sin, trying not to see all the things Sin is thinking about. For example, how awful I look. The bracelet isn’t working. I press harden I’m still looking. She feels sorry for me. Her sympathy is like a sea creature. A starfish stuck to glass with a million suction-cup feet.

  I stare out the window instead. The heat is shimmering off the road. It’s so unbelievably hot, I bet if I put my bare feet on the blacktop the skin would burn and stick.

  It’s so hot, I say. I can’t stand it.

  I know, says Sin.

  I need ice cream, I say. Let’s go get some.

  She shrugs. I’m kind of on a diet.

  You’re thin! I say. I mean, you’re so much thinner. You’ve ... what have you done?

  She isn’t really thin. Not in the way models are thin. She’s not Gigi-thin. She’s just not fat. She’s thin in such a curvy way that she still looks big, but it’s different somehow. She’s wearing it differently. Her legs are different. Her arms are firm.

  Yeah, she says. I’ve been working out.

  You look ... wow, I say.

  Thanks, she says. I feel... wow.

  Well, you should, I say.

  There’s a silence. Something darts through her thoughts like an eel, sleek and purple. I just get the edge of the thought, like glimpsing someone through a closing door.

  I think maybe it’s Hamster, something Hamster-related.

  What happened with Hamster? I ask, tracing a picture in the fog of my breath on the window. The glass is cold from the air conditioning. It feels good. Smooth. Familiar.

  You know everything, right? asks Sin. Don’t you already know?

  No, I say. You haven’t been thinking about it. Not when I’ve seen. Besides, I’m not looking. I’m trying not to look.

  Oh, she says. I guess I didn’t... I guess I haven’t been. She laughs. Is it wrong that I don’t want to think about it? He was just so ... gross. So slobbery. He was crying! It was creepy.

  He cried? I ask. Wow. Not just a bit, she says. Like heaving sobs. She looks over at me. Her eyes are kind of twinkling and I burst out laughing. You’re kidding! I say.

  No, she says. I feel bad laughing. But it was so ... awful. Wiping his nose on his sleeve!

  Poor guy, I say. I try to swallow the laughter, but I can’t. We laugh and laugh and laugh. Watching her, laughing. Then I see it, clear as anything. I stop abruptly. Oh my God, you’re in love with my brother! I’m not in love with him, says Sin. Are too, I say. Am not, says Sin.

  But you can’t even argue! I say. I can see it! I can tell! Want to know what it looks like? Um, says Sin. I guess.

  I look right at her. Okay, I say, picture Axel. Think about him. Sin does.

  It looks like pink smoke, I say. It has sparkles in it, like a Halloween sparkler. Something soft, like feathers or flames, but also smooth like the skin of an apple. It’s like a cliche, right? There are no flowers, though. It’s more like a ... like a melting wax crayon thing like we made in kindergarten with the iron and wax paper, a bunch of pink colours all melted together. With some yellow, flecks of bright yellow that sort of ... shimmer. And in the middle of all that, I can see his face. It’s so stupid. Isn’t it stupid? And I totally know exactly what it means, like I suddenly know sign language and I want to un-know it. Do you know what I mean?

  Not really, sighs Sin. It’s so hard to get. Have you talked to your doctor? Maybe it’s ...

  No, I say. God. Don’t be like that. It’s not like a medical condition! It’s a power! A crazy power! What am I supposed to do with it? That’s the whole thing. I feel like I should do something with it.

  I lean forward and rest my head on the dashboard, which is cold from the air conditioning. I leave a sweaty forehead stamp there. But it feels good.

  I say, This is so messed up. This is wrecking my life. What am I supposed to do?

  Sin shrugs. I have no idea. None. How could I know?

  And now I’m a drag to be around, you don’t even want to hang out with me, who would?

  I do so, protests Sin.

  Oh, I say.

  You’re going to make yourself crazy with wondering why, says Sin. The thing itself doesn’t have to make you crazy. Like can you see someone’s thoughts if you aren’t looking at them?

  No, I say. I have to be looking at their faces.

  See? asks Sin. Maybe it’s not such a big deal. Avoid eye cont
act.

  That’s harder than you’d think, I say. You can’t help looking at people’s eyes.

  You can learn, says Sin. I’m sure you can figure it out. You’re smart. Besides, you can’t undo it.

  Someone must know how to fix me, I say. And I don’t mean a doctor, I mean ... I don’t know, like a psychic.

  Sin bursts out laughing. But that stuff is all crap! You don’t believe in it! Remember how hard you laughed at Gigi and her tarot cards?

  I know, I say. By now I believe a whole lot of junk I’d never have believed before. I do. I can’t be the only person who knows how to do this. Maybe some of those psychics can, too. Maybe they know how to control it or something. Maybe there’s, like, I don’t know. A book or something.

  I doubt it, says Sin. Honestly, they’re mostly full of crap. You know that. It’s all fake!

  I know! I don’t know! I don’t know what I know! I say.

  Out the window, the lake has appeared, glittering and blue. The beach is packed with people. Jam-packed. So close together they must be touching, sunscreen-slathered sweaty skin sliding off strangers in passing. Gross.

  Ugh, I say, I can’t stand all those people. Let’s go to the other side.

  But there’s no beach, says Sin.

  Who cares? I ask. We’ll just stick our feet in or something. Something normal. But away from other people. Really, I can’t stand it. It’s not just that I can’t stop looking, it’s that people think really shitty things. You have no idea.

  I could guess, says Sin. I just guess I’d rather not know. Although ...

  Don’t even go there, I say. I’m not going to stare Axel down to figure out what he thinks about you. Don’t ask me to do that.

  I didn’t! says Sin.

  But you were thinking it! I say.

  Stop looking at me then! says Sin.

  This sucks, I say. It’s exhausting. It’s just emptying me out, you know? Let’s talk about something else. Um. Have you talked to Hamster since the break-up?

  What? she asks. Why? No.

  I saw him at the barn, I tell her. He came to visit Pudding Pop but he didn’t ride him. He just looked at him. I think he’s going to sell him, maybe? I have a really hard time reading him. It’s weird. I think he was thinking that, but I could be wrong. It’s not so clear with everyone.

  That’s strange, she says. He’s a mumbler when he talks so maybe he mumbles his thoughts, too? He’s so weird about that horse. I don’t know why he rides. Well, I do. Because he thinks he’s a knight or something. But it just doesn’t fit him, you know? He’s the wrong type.

  Hmm, I say. What’s the right type? Axel?

  I’m teasing her.

  Stop it, she says, blushing.

  I laugh. Don’t worry about it, I say. Anyway, I know what you mean. Even Pudding Pop doesn’t seem to understand why Hamster’s around.

  I hate that I went out with him, she says. I hate that I slept with him. I’ll have to remember him forever now! He was my first! It’s gross. I’m gross.

  You’re not, I say.

  He’s awful, she says. Come on, you know he is.

  I shrug. I don’t want to tell her the truth, which is that, at the time, she thought he was the best she could do. He was like the boy equivalent of taking the smallest cookie or the booby prize.

  No one told you that you had to sleep with him, I say.

  It wasn’t that bad, says Sin. It was okay.

  Sin pulls the car up into the parking spot on the other side of the lake. Pushing open the door, which feels like it weighs a billion pounds, I’m hit by a wave of heat. I kick off my shoes. The dirt feels good between my toes, gritty and rich. Even though it’s hot. Actually it’s burning hot. Not so good. Quickly I dash to the water’s edge, my feet being thrashed by the rough ground. On this side of the lake, the dirt drops right into the water, no artificial beach, no attempts to make it pretty. It’s just coolish sludge once my feet make contact.

  There are leeches in there! yells Sin from the car. I’m not putting my feet in there. Besides, I just did my toes.

  There are no leeches, I say, going deeper. The water feels cool. Better than the dirt, anyway, but not cold enough to feel refreshing. I’m dying to just dive in but I’m fully dressed and I didn’t bring a change of clothes. Now that we’re here, I’ve forgotten why it was so important to come here after all. The beach end of the lake reverberates with noise, chatter pouring across the water to us like so many invasive thoughts. It’s mostly happiness, punctuated by a crying kid who probably dropped his ice cream or something. That happy camaraderie shouldn’t bug me, but it does. I can’t help feeling like it’s not open to me anymore, that it’s not available.

  I used to love crowds. People. Kids. Whatever, everyone.

  I slump back to the car, ignoring the pain in my feet. Little rocky pebbles are all lodged in my skin. It feels like broken glass.

  Don’t put your gross muddy feet in here, says Sin, leaning back with her eyes closed, air conditioning blasting her face.

  Your legs are all muscly, I observe. You’re like ... different.

  I was working out a bit, she says. I’ve been going to the gym. Well, except for the past week. I don’t want to run into Hamster.

  Hamster goes to the gym? I ask. I kind of can’t picture that. Does he, um, lift weights?

  No, she snorts. Well, sort of. He tries.

  Really? I ask. I can’t... he doesn’t... well, you know.

  Yeah, she says. I know.

  I laugh. Well, I say. It’s good that he’s interested in fitness, I guess.

  I guess, she says. She drops her voice to a whisper: he wears a sweatband around his forehead.

  I laugh harder. God, I say. That’s ... awful.

  Yeah, well, I like the gym! she says. I hate that I don’t want to go now in case he’s there.

  Yeah, I agree. That sucks.

  What do you want to do? asks Sin.

  Ugh, I say. I don’t know. Let’s go to a movie. It will be cold in there at least.

  Sure, says Sin. Okay. Let’s do that.

  We drive without speaking, the radio up full volume, the windows down, allowing the warm air in and the air conditioning to escape. It just feels more summery that way. Everyone we pass looks relaxed, as though it’s so hot there isn’t any choice but to sit. Have a drink. Kick back.

  But I can’t relax. It’s only when we’re seated (in the front row so no one is in front of me who might catch my eye) and the movie starts to roll that I begin to relax, just a little, and let myself get swept up in the story, forgetting for a couple of hours about Dad and about Axel and about everything.

  AXEL

  Chapter 17

  AS SOON AS they arrive home, Axel practically throws the horses into the barn. Like it’s their fault. The car ride home was so awkward, it hurt. If awkwardness was a disease then he had a fatal version of it, that was for sure. It was awful. Maman was being so nice. He didn’t deserve nice. She should have yelled at him. Any other mother in the world would yell at him. He deserved to be yelled at. He deserved worse than that. Probably his whole season is ruined. He has one more chance, obviously, at the tryouts next week but the judges will have heard about the debacle at the Grand Royal and he’ll be blacklisted. He’s blown it.

  He wants Maman to get mad. He wants her to say something, even if it’s just something about being disappointed.

  She doesn’t.

  Which pisses him off. It makes him want a drink, is what it does. No matter how much he tries not to think about it, all he can picture is the bottles of wine lined up in the rack in the kitchen, the ruby red of the juice looking as black as oil through the green glass of the bottles.

  I have a problem, he thinks. No, I don’t. I’m too young to have a problem. It’s not like I need AA. It’s not like I’m really ... out of control. I’m just stressed.

  Stressed.

  He doesn’t unhook the horse trailer or anything. It’s so hot. He wants a shower and then he�
��s going to bed. He’s going to get into bed and stay there until tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Maybe he just needs some distance from the horror of the event, the stilted reaction of Des and Wick, who started talking to him more slowly, like he was a toddler and not just a drunk asshole teenager who made a mistake. Started giving each other significant looks, like he’d be too out of it to notice. Well, he noticed.

  He hates them.

  Dad’s at the table reading the racing papers when he passes the kitchen.

  Fuck you, says Axel, stomping up the stairs. He half- expects his dad to follow but he doesn’t even bother to respond. Axel hears the page turning.

  Asshole, he adds for good measure. Just to try to get a rise out of the old man, but nothing. No reaction.

  He kicks at the bathroom door, which does nothing but hurt his toe. The door is locked.

  ZARA, he screams. I need to use the BATHROOM.

  I’m having a shower, she calls.

  I don’t care, he says. Hurry UP.

  Overwhelmingly, he wants to cry. Hurry up, please, he adds in a calmer voice. Please hurry.

  Are you okay? she yells over the sound of the water.

  Yeah, he says.

  No, you aren’t, she says, turning off the water. He sits down on the floor and waits for her to open the door.

  When she does, he’s shocked but pretends not to be. Somehow she looks even worse than before. Gaunt where she used to be thin. Sad-eyed where she used to be so ... happy. What’s happened to them?

  What happened? she asks.

  It’s dumb, he says. I don’t want to talk about it. What happened to you?

  Nothing, she says.

  Huh, he says. Well, nice talking to you.

  He gets up, pushes past her, turns the taps on full blast. Then he starts to cry, but only when he’s sure she can’t hear him. It’s all fallen apart, he thinks. It’s all wrecked.

  When he has showered so long the water runs cold, he goes up to his room and crawls into bed. His wet hair flops like seaweed over his pillow and his eyes. Normally he’d never go to bed with wet hair — it will dry frizzy and look dumb in the morning — but now that seems like the least important thing in the world. Zara knocks on his door. A? she asks. Can I come in?