Read The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak Online
Authors: Brian Katcher
The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak (22 page)
“Mom . . . do you believe if you'd grounded her for a month, then she wouldn't have had sex?”
Mom shakes her head.
“You did what you did. But I can't keep paying for my sister's mistakes. Sometimes it's like you don't even love me.”
Mom looks so horrified that I'm sorry I said it. “How can you even think that?”
“You never say you're proud of me. You never hug me.”
“I hug you every day!”
“Yes. At six thirty a.m., every day as I leave for school. And only then.”
I can almost picture my Mom's thoughts, as she tries to prove me wrong. And she can't.
“Oh, Ana.”
“Mom . . . we do have a lot to discuss. And I know I made some bad choices last night. But when we do talk, let's do it for real, okay?”
“Okay.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. Neither of us move.
“Ana?”
And then we hug. Awkwardly at first, then tightly. And we're both crying.
“So proud of you, Ana. So proud. You did so well today. And that one chemistry question was bullshit.”
I pull away, shocked. “Mom!”
“Well, it was. Now let's get out of here, or you'll miss your ride back.”
She's letting me go back with the team?
As we leave, I take Mom's hand. It's sort of like holding Zak's hand: unfamiliar, but very comforting.
“Mom? I'd like to visit Nichole this summer. I really want to see her. I miss her.”
Mom nods. “We'll see.” But for once, that's not a dismissive comment.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I'm grounded forever, aren't I?”
I'm gearing for the affirmative, but Mom just kind of gives me a sideways glance. “I don't know. You are eighteen. And you've never actually been punished before.”
It occurs to me that I've essentially been grounded since Nichole left, but I don't say anything.
“I'll discuss things with your father. Now, what's up with you and that boy on the team? Was he that strange kid I talked to on the phone last night?”
I giggle. “His name's Zak. He was the one who helped
me track down Clayton. He saved us a lot of trouble.”
“Hmm.”
“C'mon. He's smart, funny, and a really nice guy. You'll like him.”
“We'll see.”
I've seen him naked, too
.
1:13
PM
“And then, right when the guy is about to tear my
head off, Ana shoves this blunt arrow right up his nose. You should have heard him howl.”
Roger stares at me over his coffee cup. We sit on a bench in the hotel lobby, my overnight bag between us.
“Zak, one night when I was in high school, me and some friends snuck into my principal's office and covered it in toilet paper. I've always considered myself a guy who had some wild times in his teens. After hearing you talk about last night, I realize I was an amateur.”
I smile. “It was an unusual con. You should have been
hanging with the sci-fi geeks. We know how to have a good time.”
“Obviously.”
I'm putting on a cheery face, but I'm worried about Ana. I have a horrible feeling that once she talks to her mother, I may never see her again, until we're both eighty and run into each other at our spouses' graves.
Roger stands and stretches. “I have to make tracks, Zak. Your mom will be worried.”
“Hey, thanks again. You really came through for us.”
“My pleasure.”
“Hey, um, Roger? Maybe some time, you and me, we can catch a flick or something?”
“Sure. Maybe one of those
Star Trek
movies you like. I just love that Yoda guy.”
“You're killing me, man.”
Roger grins, pleased at his joke. “Right back at you. See you tonight.” He raises his cup to me, and leaves.
Wow. I'm actually going to have to buy him a birthday present this year. Eh, it's worth it.
Mrs. Brinkham arrives, carrying her suitcase and a lot of hate. She stops directly in front of me. I stand. Not so much out of respect, but fear I may have to defend myself.
“I just talked to Clayton's mother. Thankfully, she is
not going to make a big issue over this morning.”
“Score!”
“I would wipe that smirk off my face, Duquette. Three of my students vanished last night. I could have lost my job.”
I'm chagrinned. “I'm really very sorry. Ana and I were both just worried about Clayton and didn't want to see the police involved.”
So blame him for all this
.
“You know, Zak, a lot of teachers would have overlooked your plagiarism. Or at least let you redo that assignment. I hate that attitude. It shows students that you don't have to try very hard, that you can get away with anything. That's why I made that deal with you. I knew you were smarter than that.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Lord, yes.” I can't tell if she's being sarcastic.
“We didn't do too bad in the tournament, though.”
“No, you didn't.” She shakes her head. “I have to go check out.”
“Hey, Mrs. B? You're my staff advisor, right?”
“Yes?” she asks warily.
“Maybe next week we could get together and talk about . . . you know, my long-term goals? Help me register for college classes and stuff?”
She stares at me. “Why the sudden interest?”
I shrug. “Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time I planned ahead.”
She gives me the thinnest of smiles and heads to the front desk.
And maybe I know a girl who's headed for more than community college and a tech department job. Maybe I want to show her, I can make plans too
.
And there she is. As she comes out of the elevator, I can tell she's been crying.
“Ana . . .”
She smiles at me. “It's okay.”
“What . . .”
“We talked. It's okay. Things are fine.”
I know not to press. Instead, I take her hand. There's so much I want to tell her, but I don't have the words. But it's nice just looking into her reddish-green eyes and seeing them smile back at me.
“I had a good time last night, Zak.”
“Please, call me Duke,” I ask her for the hundredth time.
“No.”
Why is she so insistent on that? “Ana, literally everyone calls me Duke. You're the only one of my friends that calls me Zak.”
“Yes, I am. And I think that just maybe, I've earned the right to call you what I want. Zak.”
She smiles at me and I'm no longer annoyed. Our faces get closer.
“You two.” Mrs. Brinkham has returned. Ana and I quickly pull apart. “We're leaving. Your brother is already in the van. Are you coming with us, or going with your parents?”
“We're . . .”
Ana interrupts me. “We're going with our parents. We'll see you on Monday.”
Mrs. Brinkham nods. “Very well. And Zakory, if you ever get the urge to cut my class again, please feel free to do so.”
“Ana,” I say when she's gone. “Roger already left.”
“So did my mom.”
I don't understand. “So how are we getting home?”
“Who's going home? Doesn't this con go on through Sunday?”
“Yes . . . but so what? We have no money, no car, no way of getting back.” She's gone slap happy.
Ana smiles sweetly, turns, and begins to walk away. She then twirls and faces me. “Shockingly, I'm not grounded, at least not yet. I told Mom Sonya invited me to stay over at her place, kind of an end of the quiz bowl season celebration. Sonya loaned me fifty bucks, and said she'd cover for me. So I don't know about you, but I'm going back to the convention. I'm going to have
a good time. If you're too scared, you can still catch Mrs. B.”
She walks out of the lobby.
Numbly, I get up and chase after her.
My God, what have I started?
This book could not have happened without the help
of a lot of people. Firstly, I'd like to thank Claudia Gabel for always believing in me, even when I'm difficult to work with. Also, big thanks to Melissa Miller, who really helped me get my thoughts in order.
Huge thanks to my writers' group and other friends who were willing to read this manuscript over and over again: Kate Basi, Jenny Bragdon, Ida Fogle, Paula Garner, Debi George, Mark George, Mike George, Heidi Stallman, Elaine Stewart, and Amy Whitley. Special thanks to my Seattle connections, Antony John and Brent Hartinger. Big hugs to Hope Mullinax and Rachel Proffitt, the con-queens.
Biggest ever thanks to my wife, Sandra, and my daughter, Sophie, who put up with me wandering around the
house talking to myself when the muse is upon me. Love you both.
Finally, long overdue thanks to the following people:
Mrs. Dawkins, third grade, Hawthorne Elementary; Mr. Harley Marshall, fifth grade, Progress South Elementary; Ms. Pat Turpin, speech, Fort Zumwalt South High School; Ms. Kelly Barban, creative writing, Fort Zumwalt South High School; Ms. Elaine Somers-Rogers, English 20, University of Missouri.
Those people helped inspire in me a lifelong love of writing. Also, big raspberries to Ms. U, sixth-grade language arts, and Ms. T, seventh-grade language arts, South Middle School, who almost killed it.
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