This Is Me From Now On (17 page)

Right before Spush, Nisha and Lily walked over to my locker, where I was throwing random books into my backpack.

“Okay, Evie, you want to talk about this?” Nisha asked.

Yes. Desperately.
“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Because you'd just say everything was my own fault. And you'd be right.

“Things are slightly complicated,” I mumbled.

“And you also can't talk about your date with Zane?”

“We heard you in the lunchroom,” Lily said quietly. “So did everyone else.”

“I'm sorry,” I said stupidly. “I wanted to tell you guys—”

“But you were too busy sneaking around with Francesca,” Nisha said. Her eyes didn't look angry. They looked disappointed. Hurt. “Evie,
why
?”

“Please don't ask,” I begged. “It's just this … project we were doing.”

“The Attic Project?” Lily asked.

“No, a different one.”

“Who's it for?”

“I can't tell you.” The words came out of me like a sob. “I really want to, you can't
believe
how much I want to. But please just let me get through this, okay?”

Lily glanced at Nisha, who shrugged in disgust.

“Whatever,” Nisha said finally. “You know what, Evie? It doesn't even matter anymore.”

Then my two best friends turned and walked away.

The whole rest of that day, I just kept thinking
Zane, Zane, Zane.
It was the only way I could deal with worrying about Theo and Espee, wondering if he'd even read the chewed-up card, or just tossed it in the trash like a piece of junk mail. But I did spot them huddling in front of the main office right before dismissal, and I heard her whisper-yell at him, “Don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel about this!”—which
might
have meant he'd confessed about Ozzie and she was totally freaking out. The other thing I noticed was that Espee wasn't wearing the locket—although for all I knew she had it hidden under her lumpy white turtleneck sweater.

And of course their love affair wasn't the only thing in my life that was weird or complicated or just incredibly messed up. As of Spush, Nisha and Lily had completely stopped talking to me, and the fact that I had no idea how to fix things with them was really starting to terrify me. Plus I suddenly realized that Angelica's diary hadn't arrived this week, which meant that unless it showed up in the mail today, we were seriously running out of time. But I knew there was no point nagging Francesca about it, because apparently Samantha and Aunt Yellowteeth had a big screaming argument on the phone last night, and Francesca announced that she “absolutely refused to discuss” her “utterly boring family.”

Anyway, with all this chaos going on, the one thing that was totally good, the one thing that made me feel happy and un-paralyzed, was thinking about my movie date with Zane. Even Francesca seemed eager to help me obsess. We hung out together that afternoon, me sort of researching the San Francisco Earthquake online while she pulled books off my shelves and asked tons of random questions: Was I planning to wear the Oscar earrings? Did I know anything about the movie? Would we go to I Scream afterward? Did I want to borrow shoes?

We also spent a lot of time in my bathroom, doing and redoing my hair. Finally we decided how it should look (pretty much the same as always, although parted a little farther to the left). I showed her the outfit I was planning to wear (purple top with cute embroidery, blue mini with cute pockets, black ballet flats). Then she asked, for the majillionth time, about the Oscar earrings.

“Actually,” I admitted, “I think I've decided to wear this instead.” I opened my desk drawer and took out my amber necklace. “That's a prehistoric mosquito,” I explained quickly, before she could even ask.

She held up the necklace to my desk lamp. “My God.”

“I bought it with my own money. This summer at the mall. Don't say you hate it.”

“Why would I?”

“I don't know. Because of the mosquito.”

“The mosquito,” she said, “is absolutely brilliant. The mosquito gives it
character.
” She clutched her chest like she was having a heart attack. “Oh, Evie. This necklace is deeply, deeply gorgeous.”

“It is?”

“It's epic. It's fantastic. It's utterly unique.”

“You really—?”

“It's you,” she said, giving me her dazzling smile.

And that was when I forgave her for everything. Because how could you stay even a tiny bit mad at someone who gets who you really are? Or who you would be if you weren't afraid? She handed the necklace back to me, and then I fastened it around my neck. And I thought:
This is me from now on.
I'm not even sure what I meant by that. But once it was on, I promised myself that I'd never take it off. No matter what anyone else ever said about it.

Around six Francesca went home to feed the rabbits and, I supposed, to get dressed. Mom was doing an open house for this big, ugly McMansion she was selling, so Grace ordered in some Chinese food. (She was still acting huffy about my date, so all she got was spicy shrimp, which she knew I hated. But that was okay, because I was too excited to eat, anyway.)

The second Dad got home from work, I gave him an enormous hug. “You didn't forget, right? You're driving Francesca and me to the Blanton Cineplex at exactly 6:55, right?”

“Right,” he said, tiredly. “Just let me put my briefcase down first, okay, Evie?”

Francesca rang the bell at 6:50 wearing her huge cable-knit sweater and some normal-looking jeans. Her hair was
in a messy ponytail, and for once she was wearing actual sneakers. “You look fabulous,” she shouted as soon as I opened the door.

“Thanks. So do you,” I said, wondering why she'd changed her clothes into something so … un-Francesca. But I didn't wonder too hard, because after all, this wasn't her date. So who cared what she looked like, anyway?

We got to the movie theater at 6:57. Katie Finberg was reading a paperback, and Brendan Meyers was talking on his cell phone and pacing in front of the ticket window.

“Which one's Zane?” Dad asked, as he pulled over. “The one on the phone?”

“Lord NO,” Francesca exclaimed. “That's Hideous Brendan. His personal habits are disgusting, truthfully.”

Dad glared at the honking car behind us. “Well, I'll meet Zane later, I guess. Got your cell, Evie?”

“Yup!”

“Call me by nine fifteen.”

“
So early? The movie's over at nine ten!”

“I know. Call and we'll talk. Have fun.”

“Oh, we will, Mr. Webber!” Francesca promised. “Thanks extremely for the lift!”

And then we were on the sidewalk.

Immediately Brendan paced over to us. “Where's Zane? Wasn't he coming with you?”

I shook my head.

“Why not? You guys are supposed to be on a date, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I checked the times, and the movie's starting in, like, six minutes.” Saying the words “six minutes” sprayed some spit on his upper lip. It was so gross, I had to look down at my shoes.

“I'm sure Zane is on his way,” Francesca said quickly.

I looked up. She had a funny expression on her face, one I'd never seen before, kind of like a battle between
Isn't this funfunfun
and
Omigod, this could be a bloody disaster.

“Well, anyway, I'll get in line to buy our tickets,” she announced loudly. “And if Zane is running a tad late, we'll just save him a seat.”

Everyone handed her some money. I grabbed her sweater. “What if he isn't coming?” I whispered.

“He's absolutely coming,” she whispered back. “He told me.”

“He did? When?”

“I don't know, the other day. Don't worry, Evie. Just enjoy your date.”

“Does anyone else want popcorn?” Katie asked. “I can't watch a movie if I don't have buttered popcorn.”

“Except the stuff they use isn't butter,” Brendan said. “Just Buttery-Flavored Oil.”

“Eww, gross,” Katie squealed. “Don't ruin it for me, Brendan!”

He grinned. “Actually, as long as you're getting popcorn can you get me some nachos? With Cheese-Flavored Product?”

“Normal people call it
cheese
,” Katie reminded him. “Evie, do you want anything?”

I suddenly had an intense craving for an extra-large cup of crushed ice. And I definitely didn't want to be left alone with Brendan. So I followed Katie over to the concession stand.

We watched the concession guy drown her popcorn in Buttery-Flavored Oil. As soon as he was done, Katie took one soggy-looking kernel between her thumb and pointer and popped it daintily into her mouth. Then she wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, “Can I ask you a question, Evie? Are you still fighting with Nisha and Lily?”

I scooped some ice into a paper cup. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it's funny they're not here.”

I tried to spot Francesca on the ticket line, but the lobby was getting too crowded to see anything. “Oh, that's because they're working on their Attic Project.”

“Too bad,” Katie said like she probably didn't believe me. She reached for Brendan's nachos. “So how's your project going, anyway?”

“Mine? Oh. Really, really well.”

“What's it on?”

“It's … hard to describe.” I checked my watch: 7:04. “Because it's family history. And families get, you know, sort of … complicated. How's yours?”

“Great. Brendan complains a lot, but he's actually a great partner. We're just working on the bibliography, and then we're pretty much done.”

“Cool,” I said, chomping hard on my ice. And thinking:
If only I'd partnered with Katie Finberg. Not only would I be pretty much done with the Attic Project but I wouldn't be ruining the lives of four people.

Plus a dog.

A minute later Francesca returned with five adult tickets.
It was now exactly one minute until they started showing the previews, so I told everyone to get seats, while I waited in the lobby for Zane. Francesca offered to hang out with me, but I said there was no point in both of us missing the start of the movie. (“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked, the
omigod
side winning the battle on her face. “I totally am,” I answered firmly, chewing on the last little molecules of ice in my cup.) So she went into the theater with the others and I sat there by myself, watching car-crash trailers over and over on the overhead TV sets and tracing rectangles with my shoe in the geometric carpeting.

At 7:32, Zane strolled into the lobby.

“Hey,” he said casually. “Sorry I'm late. Where's everybody else?”

“Inside,” I said, handing him a ticket. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

We hurried into the dark theater. Brendan and Katie were sitting at the end of a row, and Francesca was sitting behind them, next to two seats on the aisle. Zane immediately took the empty seat right next to her, leaving me on the end. I saw him lean over and whisper something in her ear, and then I saw her whisper something back. It sounded
like
You promised.
Promised what? To be on time? Not to whisper during the movie? He whispered something again, then folded his arms across his chest.

Francesca leaned across Zane and beamed at me. “So, Evie,” she said. “Isn't this great?”

“Great,” Zane muttered.

“You be quiet. I think everything is
perfect.
”

“Yeah, Francesca. If you say so.”

He slumped low in his seat like his whole body was pouting, and suddenly I understood something I should have seen right from the beginning. How could I have been so blind? About so many different things? It was as if for the past two weeks my brain had been stuck on Pause, and now I was fumbling in the dark for the Play button.

Francesca tapped on the back of Katie's seat. “Could I possibly have a tiny bit of popcorn?” she asked sweetly. “That butter smell is heaven.”

“Oh, sure,” Katie said. She turned around, holding up her greasy tub. “You guys want some also?” she asked, a smear under her lip, like a buttery-flavored soul patch.

“No thanks,” Zane grumbled. “I just want to see the movie.”

“Evie?”

“No thanks.”

Francesca reached into the tub and took a giant handful. “Ooh, lovely,” she said. “Really salty and greasy. I bet those nachos are yummy too.”

So now Brendan turned around. “You want one?” he asked, even though you could tell he didn't want to share.

Francesca helped herself to a big gooey orange glob. “Bliss,” she exclaimed, as if she wasn't even in a movie theater. “Of course now I'm thirsty.”

That did it for me. I reached inside my jean jacket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. Then I leaned across Zane and handed it to her. “If you want something, go get your own,” I whispered loudly.

Then I sat there watching the movie. It was about some guy who saved the world, but I didn't even notice what from.

Aren't you going to answer the phone?” Grace said at breakfast Saturday morning.

I shook my head. Now that she knew my First-Ever Date had been a humiliating disaster, and that I never wanted to go on another one for, like,
the entire rest of my life,
she was talking to me again. Well, yee-haw.

She checked the caller ID. “It's Francesca,” she announced. “She obviously knows you're home, Evie.”

“Who cares? So what. Let her call all day!”

“She'd better not,” Grace warned. “I have a tutor coming over this morning, and I do
not
want the phone ringing nonstop.”

“Well, I can't control what Francesca does, so don't ask me,” I snapped. Then I got up and ran upstairs. I put on my orange pumpkin sweater and some jeans, brushed my teeth, and called out, “BYE, I'M GOING OVER TO NISHA'S.”