Rotten Apple (2 page)

“How’s it going, Applesauce?” George, the day gateman, called out as she walked by.

Today even George’s friendly question annoyed Apple. And it annoyed Apple that it annoyed her. George was a nice man, and the only person she would let get away with calling her “Applesauce.”

She gave George a half-hearted smile.

“I’m good, George. How are you?” she asked.

“Great, Applesauce. I’m just great. How’s the Queen of Hearts?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s fine,” responded Apple. “Just enjoying her time off.”

“Well, you tell her to get back to work. It gets quite boring in this booth without having your mother’s show to look forward to,” George said, pointing to the mini television in his booth, as proud as if he were showing Apple a photograph of his own family.

“I’ll let her know. See you later, George,” said Apple with a polite smile.

“Later, Applesauce,” said George, tipping his hat. “You have yourself a good day.”

Apple flashed him another half smile. From the time she had been able to understand words, Apple had realized there would always be questions and “cute” comments about her name. Being named after a fruit kind of did that to your life. In fact, Apple often joked that her first name might as well have been “Conversation” and her last name “Starter,” because people were always asking if that was her real name and why in the world would her parents have named her that.

Apple supposed there were worse fruits to be named after. Her mother said she had named her Apple because she thought it was a “delicious”-sounding name. That and she had craved apples when she was pregnant. At least her mother hadn’t craved mangos or kiwis. Thank God for small miracles, thought Apple. Brooklyn always tried to make Apple feel better about her name by saying, “Hello? My name is Brooklyn!

Where do you think I was conceived?” And Happy? Happy had no idea why her parents had named her Happy. “Maybe they were happy for that five minutes it took to conceive me,” Happy often joked. “Or maybe my mother was just happy to have me finally come out of her.”

Apple continued to inhale deeply in through her nose and blow air slowly out of her mouth as she walked along the quiet highway. A golfer drove by in a fancy golf cart and waved at her.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he asked.

Whatever, Apple thought. She raised her hand back in greeting. Why does everyone have to be so friendly all the time here? Why was everyone asking her questions?

ifteen minutes later, Apple arrived at Market Mall, the plaza (even though it was called a “mall”) where Gossip was located. She loved having Market Mall and all its high-end stores so close to her home, even if some of the shops were pretty ridiculous. She passed Spa Dogs, an upscale boutique for “pampered pets,” which sold dog clothes and organic dog foods and hosted dog fashion shows every month. She looked in the windows of Facial Furnishings, a store dedicated to funky eyewear, and of one of her favorite boutiques, Savvy Girl, which sold clothes from the four M’s—Miami, Melrose, Milan, and Manhattan.

Still, Apple swore her brain hadn’t stopped ringing from her mother’s questions—before she realized that what she was hearing was actual ringing. Her cell phone was going off in her bag, and she hadn’t noticed.

Apple stuck her hand in her tote bag, riffling through the keys, lip gloss, gum, old movie tickets, her iPod,
her wallet, and the change at the bottom of her purse.

Why did they have to make cell phones so small? Why hadn’t she carried a smaller purse?

“I can’t find anything in here,” Apple moaned under her breath, standing still while still fishing around in her bag, feeling a million items but not her phone. “Where is the damn thing?”

Screw it, Apple thought, as she knelt down on the sidewalk outside a store called Health Nuts. She dumped the contents of her purse out on the ground. It wasn’t like there was anything important or valuable in there, and the sidewalks at this plaza were eerily clean—just like all the spotless cars. And everyone’s gleaming white teeth in magazine advertisements.

Apple finally found her pink cell phone.

“Hello? Hello?” she asked breathlessly, flipping it open. No answer. Great, Apple thought, throwing her phone back into her bag in disgust. Can anything go right in my life today?

She stayed crouched, hanging her head so her long, super-curly brown hair fell over her face, and covered her eyes with her hands, taking a moment to calm down. Maybe she should go into Health Nuts one of these days and ask about some sort of natural pill for relaxation.

Breathe, Apple, just breathe. It’s just a missed phone call. As Brooklyn would say, “Let all your bad energies out. Think only positive thoughts.”

“Breathe, Apple, just breathe,” she said again.

“Bad day?” a deep voice asked above her.

Apple looked up, surprised. She hadn’t realized she had been talking out loud. She felt her face turning pink.
Apple hated how she blushed so easily. What was the point of being a private person if the feelings just seeped out of your skin and made you blush? She had to work on that.

She couldn’t help but notice that the guy standing above her, looking directly down at her, was cute—
super
cute. His lips were bee-stung plump, turned upward in a half smile. His eyes were as blue as the ocean. He had the sweetest dimple in his right cheek.
And
he was smiling at her. Apple was mortified. There she was, crouching on the ground outside Health Nuts, muttering to herself, surrounded by an old issue of
Teen Vogue
, crumpled papers, dirty tissues, and old gum packages, like some sort of crazy person. She felt her face turning redder.

“No, um, I just missed a call, that’s all. It’s not a big deal,” Apple answered, frantically starting to shove everything she had dumped out back into her bag. “I couldn’t find my freaking phone in this bag. It’s like an endless pit leading to nowhere.”

“Was it an important call?” the cute guy asked, bending down to talk to Apple at eye level. Apple looked down. She wasn’t good at looking people directly in the eye. It made her uncomfortable. The cute guy started helping her pick up the contents of her bag, handing over a package of gum, which Apple grabbed and threw into her purse, along with a package of bobby pins, her wallet, and a lip gloss she had been trying to find for more than a month.

“No. I doubt it. It was probably just one of my friends. I was supposed to meet them, like, twenty
minutes ago, and I’m late. They were probably just wondering where I was. Well, I’d better go. I’m late,” Apple said, standing up.

“So you’ve said,” the cute guy responded.

It just figured, thought Apple—I get stopped by a super-cute guy when I’m wearing dirty, stretched-out jeans and on my way to get my eyebrows waxed. Why couldn’t I have run into him afterward, when I don’t look like Oscar the Grouch?

“That’s it?” the cute guy asked. “That’s all I get?”

What the heck was he talking about? Did he expect a tip or something? Apple realized she hadn’t even thanked him for helping her gather her things. She had been rude to her mother, and now she was being rude to a complete stranger who had just helped her and who was being very kind. She was just not herself today. She was in what her Crazy Aunt Hazel always annoyingly called her “Rotten Apple” mood.

“Oh,” Apple said. “I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me.” She watched the cute guy stand up. He was at least a head taller than her.

“No, seriously,” the cute guy continued. “Come on! Is that really all I get from you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Apple! It’s me! Aren’t you even going to ask how the last six months of my life was?” the cute guy asked. “Have you lost your mind along with your cell phone and everything else in that deep and endless pit of a bag of yours? You should really think about cleaning that thing out. Apple, it’s me! Me!” he insisted. “Come on! You really don’t recognize me?”

Apple turned her eyes up and took a proper look at the cute guy’s face, finally forcing herself to even look in his eyes.

“Oh … my … God,” she said, blinking her eyes. How had she not noticed? But he looked so completely different. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Zen?” Apple asked, hesitantly.

“Um, hello? Yes, it’s me, Zen,” he said with a laugh. “We’ve only been going to school together for ten years now. I know I was gone for half a year, but still …”

Apple suddenly found herself feeling light-headed and slightly dizzy. All the shiny cars trying to find parking in the mall, and the people walking around them on the sidewalk eating ice cream cones suddenly seemed to go into slow motion. It was the same feeling she had always had when she walked by Zen in the hallways at school, or when she knew he was sitting near her on the spiral staircase before classes started.

All she could think was, please, dear God, do not let me faint.

“It’s only been six months,” protested Zen. “Am I that unforgettable? Do I really look that different?”

How could I ever forget you? Apple thought. I’ve only thought about you every day for two years. I just spent months wondering if I was ever going to see you again. She cleared her throat and fanned her face. She suddenly felt very hot, as if she had just gone for a long jog.

“I can’t believe it,” Apple said. “You look … well… you look so different. What happened to your glasses? And your hair! It looks so much longer and blonder. You look … you look … you look … you look so much
taller,” she gushed. And she thought—this time
only
in her head—and you look like you’ve been working out! Where did those shoulders come from? Where did those washboard abs come from?

Apple hated herself for stuttering. She hated herself for gushing. She was a stuttering, gushing moron.

Breathe, Apple, just breathe.

“‘Different’ meaning good? Or ‘different’ meaning bad?” Zen asked, smiling his dimpled smile.

“‘Different’ meaning amazing!” Apple heard herself gush again. She knew the words coming out of her mouth made her sound idiotic. She had to tone it down a notch—or five hundred notches. “I mean, you know, you look healthy. Very healthy. That’s all I meant. You look really, really healthy. You look very different and really healthy.”

I did not just use the word “healthy” four times in one sentence, Apple moaned inwardly. Please tell me I did not.

“I decided to get contact lenses,” Zen said, “so maybe that’s the ‘different.’ You can’t exactly surf with glasses. And my hair, I know it’s a little long, but six months’ surfing in the Australia sun does make it lighter, and I guess grow faster or something.” He touched his hair. “I guess hanging out with all those surfers got to me or something, because I kind of like it like this.”

“Well, you look incredible,” Apple told him. What was wrong with her? “I mean, you look incredibly healthy.”

“Well, I’ll take ‘healthy’ as a compliment. So how are yow?” Zen asked. “How was your semester?”

“Fine. Uneventful. Boring. The usual,” Apple answered nervously.

Apple found it hard to speak in full sentences to this new Zen. Not that she had ever had an easy time talking to the old Zen, before he became Hot Zen.

Apple could not get over how much he had changed.

She forced herself to turn her eyes away from his face, and stared at the ground, with the same concentration she usually saved for exams or watching
Minors in Malibu
. God forbid Zen could read in her eyes that her Zen crush had, in the last few seconds, just turned into a super-sized Zen Crush. Apple had always thought Zen was sweet-looking and cute. But now? She had to get a grip!

“What are you doing here?” Apple asked, finally. Market Mall was a fun place to hang out with friends at night, but not necessarily on a Sunday afternoon, unless you had an appointment at Gossip.

“I’m just waiting for my mother. She’s grabbing some vitamin E oil or something,” he said, nodding toward Health Nut.

“Oh,” Apple responded.

“Yup,” Zen said.

“Well, I guess I better go. I’m late,” Apple told him. “You know, to meet Brooklyn and Happy. I’m late. We’re meeting at Gossip.”

Okay, Apple thought, how pathetic am I? I’ve used the words “late” and “healthy” way too many times in the last three minutes. Zen will for sure think I’m a nutbar. How could he not?

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school then. I’m dreading going back,” Zen told her. “Being home schooled in Australia was so laid back. There wasn’t any
schedule—I just had to get my work done and send it in. I’m dreading having to go back to a regular schedule.”

“Yeah, me too,” Apple answered, thinking, I’m so
not
dreading going back—especially now that you look the way you do. This was going to make school so much more interesting.

“Well, it was nice to see you,” Zen said, “even if you totally didn’t know who I was.” Zen laughed.

“I knew! I knew! My mind was just somewhere else,” Apple said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Apple turned her back to Zen and headed down the sidewalk toward Gossip, fighting the urge to start running.

I’m an idiot, Apple thought. I’m a stuttering idiot, with a mono-brow. I’m a stuttering mono-browed idiot.

“Hey, Apple! Wait up a sec!” Apple heard Zen call out. He ran and caught up to her, two storefronts away from Gossip.

Please do not notice my mono-brow, Apple thought, turning around to face her super-sized Zen Crush once again. Was it possible Zen wanted to talk to her longer? Or to ask her something important, like if she wanted to hook up sometime?

“Yeah?” she asked. She could literally hear the gulp in her throat as she swallowed, and wondered if Zen could hear it too.

“You forgot this. It’s not exactly what I’m into—I have no use for it,” Zen said, holding his arm out toward her, smiling broadly. Oh, that dimple!

Apple swore that she could actually feel her heart melting.

“Oh. Thanks very much,” she said, taking the
Teen Vogue
from Zen’s outreached hand, all the while wishing the ground would open and swallow her up.

“I’m late,” she said again, and raced off past the last couple of doors to Gossip. Why was it always so hard to breathe when Zen was around?