The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak (5 page)

I have the beginnings of a glorious headache. I splash
some water on my face at the bathroom sink. Sonya has already left with Landon. Mrs. Brinkham is probably in her room, decompressing. Duquette is doing whatever the hell he does. And me, I'm standing here, gripping the porcelain, my stomach tying itself in knots.

Today should have been simple. We should have glided through every round, especially against that last team. Instead, we almost blow it, because I'm not there. Because Brinkham decided we're in kindergarten and everyone gets a turn. Even Duquette. Thank God he has half a brain.

I shake my head. No time to think about that right now. Tomorrow, we have a chance to advance to state. That's going to look phenomenal on a scholarship application. But only if we pull it off. And let's face it, Clayton and I are going to be the ones to do it. I can't let down the team again, not even for one round. Not even tonight. We have work to do. I run a brush through my stubborn hair and leave to find my brother.

Landon is just leaving the boys' room, wearing that stupid smirk he gets whenever he might be alone with Sonya. Clayton sits on his bed. Thankfully, Duquette is nowhere around.

I sit down next to him. He's removed his dress shirt. Underneath he's wearing a gaudy promotional T-shirt from my dad's work. It's a size too small. I'll have to remind Mom to take him clothes shopping soon.

“Great job today, Clay,” I say.

He seems distracted. “Oh. Yeah.”

“You look tired. What do you say we grab a bite to eat?”

No response. Maybe he needs a nap.

“There's an Italian place near here. I'll treat you to some panini bread. Then maybe we can quiz each other. Bet I win!”

He turns and looks at me with an odd expression. For the first time, I notice the trail of fuzz on his upper
lip. “Ana, I think I'd rather eat with the guys tonight.”

I smile at the idea of Clayton hanging out with “the guys.” “I think Landon has other plans.”

“Well, maybe Duke wants to do something. You know, just the boys.”

My brother's attempts to act cool are cute, but it's time to be serious. “You're not doing anything with Zak.”

To my surprise, he wants to argue. “You mean Duke.”

“I mean Zak. Clayton, you don't want to spend time with a guy like that.”

His brow furrows. “He certainly pulled our butts out of the fire today. What's your problem?”

He's getting upset. This isn't good. I need him in top form tomorrow. “Clay, I'm sure he's a great guy. But he's not serious about the team. He spends all his time playing cards and games. That's a guy with no future. You're better than that.”

This doesn't appease Clayton. “You're acting like I'm in love with him or something. Jeez, Ana, I just want to have a little fun for once!”

He's angry, but I'm terrified.

My memories are yanked back several years. It was a Friday night. Mom was out of town, Dad was asleep. And I caught Nichole sneaking out for the night. To see Pete again. After our parents told her she wasn't allowed.

I told her not to go. Told her she'd end up in trouble.
She just shook her head and looked at me with that amused expression.

“Calm down, Ana. I'll be back in a couple of hours. I just want to have a little fun for once!”

I didn't stop her. I let her go.

I need to explain this to Clayton. How one bad decision ruined Nichole's life. And mine. And if he's not careful, he'll be next.

Unfortunately, Duquette chooses this moment to barge in. He sneers at the room and tosses his bag onto the couch. I'll have to finish my talk with my brother later.

“Get some rest, Clay. I'll be back around five.”

“'Kay.”

As I pass Duquette, I make up my mind to thank him for stepping up today. He did really come through earlier, and who knows, he might be useful again in the future. But then he smiles that stupid, careless grin, the one that seems to say,
Nothing at all matters
. I picture him on the deck of the
Titanic
, scooping broken iceberg pieces into his drink.

I shove past him without a word.

I stand there a moment, watching Ana close the
door behind her. What the turlingdrome is her problem? I save the team and she treats me like I'm some feces-throwing chimp.

Just another reason why today sucks.

I survey the room. Clayton sits on one bed, Landon's bag is on the other. Typical. I drop my duffel onto the couch and pull out a change of clothes. I'll force Clayton to trade beds with me later.

“Hey, Clay? Any idea why your sister is treating me like I just ran over her puppy?”

He's staring at the door, as if she's still standing there.

“Clay?”

He comes back to himself. “Oh, don't let Ana bother you. You know, it's that time.”

Eww . . . her brother knows?

Fortunately, he elaborates. “College applications, scholarships, that sort of thing.”

I nod, but I don't believe him. There's something about me that rubs Ana the wrong way. She's probably intimidated by my manly looks. I run my hand over my chin. The goatee is coming in nicely.

I start to remove my tie, but quickly check myself. It had belonged to Dad, and he knotted it for me when I was eleven. I never learned to tie one, so I've preserved the knot all these years.

“Hey, Duke? That convention you were talking about . . . how long have you been going there?”

Talk of Washingcon brings me down. “Since I was ten. This is the first year I've missed.” And the last year I'm ever going to miss.

“Wow. Your parents let you go there that young?”

Parents
. Thanks for mentioning that, Clayton. If you could just bring up Roger, you'll win the Duke's Painful Memory Triple Crown.

“Yeah. I didn't spend the night until I was twelve, but yeah. They . . . they trust me.”

“No shit?”

From anyone else, I wouldn't have noticed. But Clayton going all PG-13 on me causes me to take a closer look. He's standing by the wall, his brow wrinkled, his tiny fists clenched, his jaw working.

“Clayton?”

He jumps, startled, like I'd just caught him playing with himself. “Nothing. I mean . . . are you going to go tomorrow? It's a two-day event, right?”

“No,” I growl. I'd asked Mrs. Brinkham about this earlier, trying to see if she'd just let me stay in Seattle after the tournament on Saturday and find my own way home. No dice. This is a school event, and I'm not to be out of her sight until they drop me off in front of my house in Tacoma on Saturday night.

Clayton doesn't know when to let up. “Too bad. It's probably not even that far from here.”

“Maybe five, ten miles.” So, so close.

“Yeah, over at the . . .”

“Olympic Convention Center.” Sweet wretched hive of scum and villainy.

“And do you—”

I don't want to talk about this anymore. “You want to eat, Clayton? You like Mexican?”

He doesn't answer for a moment. “I'm actually not
too hungry. You can go without me, if you like.”

Tempting. “We'll go later, then. I'm going to hop in the shower.”

“Yes. Okay. Yes. Take your time.”

He says this so pointedly, I'm afraid he's going to beat one off while I'm in the bathroom. I get my toiletries case, the one that still has my dad's old razor in it.

Clayton is looking at something on his phone. He's staring so intently, I ask him what he's looking at.

“Um . . . just looking up how to play that card game of yours.”

“Mazes and Monsters?” I point to my bag. “The deck's in the top pocket if you want to look at the directions. We can play a couple of rounds later.”

He continues to mess with his phone. “Yeah, Duke. Let's do that.”

I close the bathroom door and blast the hot water. Right now I could be sharing a hotel room with ten or twenty of my closest friends, instead of hanging around with Boy Wonder and his sniping sister.

“Hey, Duke?” my roommate shouts. “How much does it cost to get into Washingcon?”

“Thirty for one night. Why?”

There's no answer. Wearily, I climb into the shower.

And now, everyone is mad at me
.

Clayton is mad because I won't let him go off and get in trouble with Duquette.

Duquette is pissy because he's missing his stupid little fairies and Martians club.

The rest of the team is mad at me for not being at the helm during that last round. They didn't say anything, but I could just tell. I should have been there. I should have insisted. I let them down.

And Mom and Dad . . . they're always disappointed in me. It's not that I don't do well, it's that I don't do well enough. It's like I have to be perfect just to be average.

Nichole was the one who screwed all that up. And now Clayton and I have to play catch-up all of our lives.

Guys like Zak can go out and have fun—heck, they can take it for granted. They don't know what it's like to have to beg to go out for pizza with the debate team. To not be allowed to go to a friend's house unless it's school related. To have to tell guys you don't date, rather than you aren't allowed to date.

Focus, Ana, focus
.

But that's something to think about later. Right now, I need to take a shower, change, and grab some food.

My phone rings. I'm surprised—normally Mom wouldn't call to check up on me until later in the evening. I glance at the screen.

Domino's Pizza
.

Gleefully, I answer. It's not the pizza place, of course, but when your parents are in the habit of checking your phone records, you don't want any strange numbers arousing their suspicions.

“Nichole?”

“Hey, girl.”

Instantly, the stress of the day fades away. I sit on the bed and close my eyes. I can almost imagine it's like before, with Nichole and I sitting in her room, just talking. Just talking like sisters. As long as we want to.

I can't believe I haven't seen her in almost two years.

“Ana, I got your text. Are you at school? Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I make an effort to keep my voice firm, in control. “I'm at a quiz bowl tournament. Just wanted to talk to you while I could.”

There's silence on the line. I instantly regret my choice of words.
While I could
. While Mom and Dad aren't around. So they won't know I'm talking to you.

“So, did you win?” she asks eventually. Nichole was never one who was really focused on school, but she was always proud of me. She still is.

“Yeah. Thanks to Clayton.”

“How's . . . how's he doing?”

“Phenomenal, as usual. Last week he got the top score on—”

Nichole interrupts, her ADD kicking in. “And how are
you
doing?”

“Oh, just fine.”

“Listen, Ana, I can tell when you're upset. I have to leave for work in a couple of minutes, but if you need to talk, I can call in.”

“No, no. I'm great. Really. It was just a long day.”

“Ana . . . I know when you're lying. Now, when are you coming up to visit us?”

I hold the phone away from my face for a couple of seconds as I try to keep my voice even. “Soon, Nichole. Soon.”

“Yeah.” Nichole packs a lot of cynicism into that one syllable.

“I promise! I've just been really busy, with speech and quiz bowl and—”

“I have to go, Ana. Please. Try to get up here some weekend. I'm on a regular schedule at work now, so we could have the whole time together.”

“Nichole, you know it's not that easy for me to get away.”

“Try.”

She hangs up.

I don't cry. I don't. I stand there, mentally reciting my informative speech from last month's debate tournament.

I am strong. I am strong.

I am a pathetic little weakling who won't visit her only sister
.

I am strong. I am strong.

I am a bad sister. I won't argue with my parents. I won't stand up to them. I won't demand to visit Nichole
.

I am strong. I am strong.

Because they kicked her out. They disowned my sister because she broke the rules. And they'll do the same to me. They will
.

I am strong.

Enough of this. I have a couple of free hours. Enough time to change clothes, take a short nap, and do a little studying for tomorrow.

As I start to unbutton my white blouse, I catch a glimpse of myself, reflected in the rain-splattered hotel window. I smile, wryly. To be honest with myself, it's not like I have to explain the dating ban to a
lot
of guys.

Nichole used to say I was cute. But then, that's a pretty girl's prerogative. She never had to deal with steel-wool hair, a pointy chin, and a complete and total lack of a chest.

Good old Ana, straight As in everything . . . including cup size
.

I stand in profile, trying to imagine what I'd look like with curves. And do I really want that? I'd probably just end up attracting morons like Duquette . . .

Who is that out there?

I lean into the window and wipe away the condensation. Outside, one story down, I see someone walking away from the hotel. A kid. He's standing in the middle of the street, in the drizzling rain.

I can't make out his features but I know who it is. Only one person would be wearing that glaring tangerine-and-red T-shirt.

It's Clayton. He's leaving the hotel alone.

I watch, helplessly, as he hails a taxi and climbs inside.

I storm down the hallway, ready to kill the first person I see. And I'm making sure that the first person I see is Zak Duquette.

What was that cretin thinking, letting Clayton go off in a taxi somewhere? He's only thirteen, for goodness' sake! Where does he need to go now that he needs a cab?

Oh, if my parents find out about this, I'm so dead.

I arrive at the boys' room. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my top, focus my energy, and attempt to drive my fist through the door.

There is no answer for a minute or so. Maybe no one's there. But just when I've decided to go find Mrs. Brinkham, I hear Duquette shouting from inside.

“Hold your horses! What, did you lose your key or . . .”

He opens the door. I take a step back when I realize that he's been in the shower. His hair is covered in shampoo and he's wearing nothing but a flimsy hotel towel that he holds around his waist, revealing his pale, damp torso.

“Ana?” He squints through the suds.

I quickly make eye contact. “Where did my brother go?”

“Huh?” He points to the empty room, where the TV
plays loudly. “I thought he was in here. Maybe he went to get a soda.”

I shove my palm into his hard, wet chest and force him back into the room, shutting the door behind us. I then realize that Duquette might misinterpret a gesture like that, so I cut to the chase.

“Clayton just left this hotel in a taxi. I saw him but couldn't stop him. Do you have any idea where he's going?”

Zak wipes soap out of his eyes with his wrist, his other hand still holding up the towel. “I dunno. You know, I was right in the middle of a—”

“Think!”

He opens his mouth, then pauses. “That little punk,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“He must have gone to Washingcon! He kept asking me about it. I thought he was just curious.”

I clutch my face in my hands. This cannot be happening. My little brother, running off to Duquette's world of drunken trolls and spacemen and God only knows what else. Oh, this is bad. So very bad.

And then Duquette laughs. Like this is funny. Like it's a joke.

“Wow. Clayton decided to break the rules. Didn't see that coming.”

I don't need this. I turn to leave.

“Awesome.”

That does it. I twirl around to give Duquette a good smack across the cheek to pay him back for putting this moronic idea in my brother's head.

At least, that was the plan. I come up short and crack him across his big old nose. It must have hurt, as he yelps and clutches his face.

His towel lands on my feet with a wet
plop
.