The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak (13 page)

Everything is spiraling out of control. It's not whether
everything is going to come crashing down around me, but when. My own brother is going to get us in worse trouble than we've ever been in, and the only thing standing in the way is a guy who believes in hobbits.

Duquette and I lean against a wall, sipping sodas and watching the parade of humanity ooze by. For the first time I get a look at his ludicrous smoking jacket–T-shirt combo. I can't help but laugh.

He smiles back. “What really worries me is wearing a red shirt around here.”

“I don't get it.”

His smile broadens. “So much to teach you.”

I look away. It's hard to concentrate when he's smiling like that. How can he be so calm? In a few minutes or hours, everything is going to fall apart. My parents will kill me and Brinkham will kill him. And yet, here he is, joking like he doesn't have a care in the world. Why is he even doing this? What's in it for him? Is this all just some macho plan to impress me?

He stretches and then subtly leans to the side, rubbing his back. I remember how many times he's been hurt tonight. How he told me about his father and I told him about Nichole.

He's being nice to me . . . because he's nice. Obnoxious and annoying and with a terrible excuse for a beard, but nice.

“Hey, Zak?”

He straightens up. “Yeah?”

“Um, I want to thank you for all you've done tonight. You know. Just in case I don't get a chance again, I wanted to tell you—”

He frowns. “Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?”

“Talking like I'm about to charge an enemy machine gun nest. We're spending tomorrow together, remember? Not to mention next week at school.”

I thought I'd get to keep seeing Nichole. Nothing is certain
.

“Let me say it anyway, Zak. Thank you. For everything. A sane person would have abandoned me long ago.”

He grins again with that same annoyingly optimistic attitude. “Call me Duke. Hey, um, Ana, maybe when all this blows over, you and I could . . .”

He then stops talking, though his mouth continues to move.

“What?”

“I said maybe you'd like to . . .” He trails off.

“Gosh, Zak, I'd love to
mumble mumble
with you.”

He clears his throat, smiles, and starts again. “Maybe we could get together and do something a lot more low-key. A movie or grab a bite to eat or something.”

His self-assured grin never falters, but the rest of his face is nervous. That makes me happy. Makes me feel superior to Baldy and Strawberry.

“Zak, thanks, but I can't. I'm not allowed to date.”

He instantly tries to backpedal. “I didn't mean like that,” he blurts unconvincingly. “Just a couple of
friends
”—he pauses, as if I'll object to being called that—“hanging out.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. Mom and Dad have it in their head that if I do anything with a boy, he'll end up dragging me off to some den of depravity.”

I think he's going to argue, but at that moment a
man in a suit of armor stumbles to his knees, yanks off his helmet, and proceeds to loudly vomit into it.

Zak looks away. “Kind of a paranoid attitude, don't you think?”

We laugh. Zak helps Sir Pukes-a-Lot to his feet. After he staggers off, the two of us just kind of stand there. I feel a chill in the air. Zak won't look at me.

Don't be like that. I'm sure I'm not the first girl to turn you down
.

And it's not like I have any choice. Not like I could sneak out and see you. That's exactly what Nichole did
.

It's not like I actually want a date with Duquette and his weird movies and whatever. To sit somewhere and talk. To hear about his family issues. To tell him more about Nichole. Have him help me get some things straight in my head.

“Zak?”

“Hmm?”

“Where do we go from here?”

As soon as I say it, I realize my words could be misinterpreted. I almost clarify that I'm talking about our search for my brother. But I don't.

Zak shrugs. I note that the gesture makes him grimace. I wonder how much physical pain he's hiding. “I dunno. I guess we show up at the Vampire Ball and hope Strawberry wasn't hallucinating again.”

“And until then? Should we keep looking around?”

“I'd rather not. James called, said Conan has been drinking and rounding up a barbarian horde to mangle me.”

I reach out and slap Duquette in the back of his stupid head. Hard.

“Ow!”

“You idiot! And you've just been hanging out here with me? What if that lunatic had showed up?” I reach out and swat him again.

“Stop that!”

“That guy tried to kill you! And now he's drunk? Do you have some kind of a death wish?”

He stares at me dumbly. I hit him again.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno. Violence in the Middle East. Global warming. Whatever.” I smile sweetly. He rubs the back of his head and glares.

“Well, I wouldn't mind taking a load off until the dance. Somewhere no one will notice me. You wanna learn how to play Illuminati?”

“No.”

“We could see a movie . . . no, wait . . .” He checks his phone. “Maybe you'd like to escort me to Mark and John's wedding. No one will bother us there, and there's going to be cake.”

The very thought of attending the ceremony depresses me. They seem like nice guys, after all, but I can't sit around for an hour, watching two people I don't know get married, while my brother's wandering around, ruining my life.

“Zak, I—”

“Hey, it's that SOB who chased Eric's girlfriend!”

He's a gangly guy, dressed in furs and leggings. I don't recognize him, but he's staring at Zak with anger.

“Eric!” He turns and hollers down a hall. “Get over here! It's that guy who tried to kidnap Lisa!”

I look at Zak. “Friends of your Viking pal?”

He nods, still slouched on the bench.

“They wouldn't follow us into a wedding, would they?”

“Probably not.”

We stand, bump fists, and then take off sprinting down the corridor.

We've made it back to where Zak first accosted Boba Fett. We either outran the horde or lost them at the start.

“I'd ask if we're underdressed, but something tells me we're not.”

People are filing into the ballroom. Many are wearing dresses and suits, but others are more creatively attired. There are Ewoks, Stormtroopers, Klingons, and
one girl in that Princess Leia bikini.

Zak offers me his arm. I take it.

We're greeted by two ushers, dressed as Mr. Spock and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Are you with the Horowitzes or the Danvers?”

“Friends of both,” answers Zak.

The Vulcan directs us to an empty row near the back. “Live long and prosper.”

“And may the Force be with you . . . always.”

Zak looks a little uncomfortable, this might be a bit much, even for him. Soon we are seated.

“I haven't been to a wedding since Mom and Roger jumped the broom. You ever been to one?”

“No, I . . .” And then the memory hits me. The reminder slaps me in the face. That note from Nichole. Her beautiful handwriting on the save-the-date card.

“Hey, Ana, is something wrong?”

I shake my head.
Think of something else, Ana
.

“Hey?”

He won't shut up. He's sitting there, staring at me, all concerned, with those big brown eyes, wanting me to talk to him. He's probably the first person since . . . maybe since Nichole left, who's ever wanted to have a serious conversation about me. Just about me.

The idea shocks me so much that I almost smack him again, for lack of a better reaction.

“Zak, have you ever done anything you're really ashamed of?”

He opens his mouth, then stops. “Um, nothing I'm going to tell you about just yet.”

“After Nichole left, I think Mom and Dad expected her to call, to beg to come home, to discuss adoption. But she never did. And the longer she was away, the more worried they got. And one day she sent us a letter, saying she and Pete had settled down in Olympia, and when our parents were willing to talk, they could come visit.” I stop to take a breath. “And they refused. You see, they had a plan for Nichole, and her being a pregnant teen living with some guy wasn't part of it.”

What I don't tell Zak is how I begged and begged my parents to at least let me go see her, but they were stone.

Even when their grandchild was born. Being right was still more important. Not just my parents, but to Nichole, too. They were all willing to tear up my family, rather than to budge one inch.

“At any rate, Nicole started writing to me. She didn't have a computer, but still managed to shoot me an email every so often. Things were tight for her, but I think she and Pete survived on love for each other and hate for everything else. And after my nephew was born, they kept asking me to come down. You can guess how my parents reacted to that.

“But last year . . . last year, they decided they were going to finally tie the knot. They'd saved some money, things were going well. So they sent me an invitation. Actually . . . Nichole called me. Asked me to be her maid of honor.”

I'm breathing heavily, like you do when you're trying not to be sick. Trying to keep back the awful memories. But I have to tell him the whole story.

“And I didn't go, Zak. I told Nichole that Mom and Dad had a fit and wouldn't let me out of their sight.”

It takes a great deal of willpower to face him. “Ever hear of anything more pathetic?”

As usual, he tries to cheer me up. “Ana, it's not your fault. You said yourself your folks aren't totally rational.”

And I should leave it at that. Zak seems to like me for some reason. There's no point in telling him my shame.

But he told me about his dad. I owe him a painful memory.

“They didn't know about the wedding, Zak. They weren't invited. Nichole didn't want them there.”

“So . . .” He leaves the syllable hanging.

“So if I were going, it would be on my own. Sneaking out and everything. I had it all planned out. I was supposed to go to a debate tournament that weekend. Instead, a friend of Nichole's was going to drop me off at the bus station. But, if I did that . . .”

As I struggle to put the next part into words, Zak finishes my thought for me. “Your parents would have found out about it. And you would have gotten in trouble for the first time.” He's not smiling, but his eyes have a warm, sympathetic look.

“I would have had to face them, tell them I broke the rules, and deal with the fallout. And who knows, maybe that would have changed some things. Let them realize how stubborn they were being. But . . . I couldn't do it. I was too scared. I went to the tournament instead. Missed my sister's wedding. I still haven't met my nephew. All because I couldn't stand up to my parents.”

There. I said it. I missed a once-in-a-lifetime family event because I didn't want to get yelled at.

Zak scratches his hair. “No one can blame you . . .”

“Don't sugarcoat it!” The ballroom is now very crowded and several guests look at me. “If you'd been in my shoes, you would have gone. You would have hitchhiked if you had to. I know I don't have any excuses.”

Zak breaks eye contact and sits there, jiggling his legs for an annoyingly long time. He then turns and faces me. I brace myself for a namby-pamby answer that excuses my behavior. He turns to me.

“Ana, you're one of the most intelligent people I know, and I know a lot of smart people. And someday I'm going to see you on TV and say ‘Hey, I know her, we
used to . . .'” He trails off. “‘Hang out.' But, Ana, your mother can't hold your hand when you're being sworn into the Supreme Court or whatever you're planning on doing. And if you just let your folks use you to win a fight with your sister, then you're not going to have much to look forward to. Maybe it's time for you to make a stand. Hell, Clayton's kind of made that decision for you.”

Easy for him to say. He's not playing for the stakes I am. “Zak, I don't think you quite realize what it's like for me. Let me put it this way. You were obviously very close to your father. But did you ever really screw up? Ever just do something dumb and you knew there'd be hell to pay later?”

“Sure.”

“And did you worry that he'd stop considering you as his son afterward?”

“Of course not . . .” He freezes, realizing where I'm going with this.

“Well, I think about that every day. I live in fear of a bad grade or a detention, or getting in a fight with them. And I'm almost done. After I graduate, things will be different. I'll be in college.”

“So you'll just have to hang tight for a couple more months, I guess,” says Zak, though not enthusiastically.