No One Needs to Know (18 page)

Narrowing her eyes, Zoey sticks her thumb out to the side, as if she’s concentrating, and makes a fake picture frame with her fingers and thumbs as if she’s trying to imagine a camera shot.

I roll my eyes and throw the dress at her. It clobbers her over the head.

“Hey!”

I reach into the box and find another dress, this one pink, and throw it at her just as she’s peeling the first one off her head.

And then I throw another and another, until the box is empty and she looks like a coatrack. The stack of dresses trembles as she laughs. “This is what I get for helping!” she says, but her voice is muffled underneath all the layers.

I laugh, too, walking closer and pulling the top dress off the pile. The others kind of drag away with it and drop to the ground. Her hair is all raked forward, almost entirely covering her face.

I reach out, pushing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear.

Zoey stills, meeting my eyes.

I don’t know who moves first, or if we’re pulled together by force—this undeniable attraction we have for each other—but soon my mouth meets hers and I close my eyes, enjoying the taste of her on my lips.

It’s right. When we kiss, it’s always right.

Something creaks beside me, and I realize a heartbeat later that it’s the door to the storage room. I leap back so fast my heels hit a box behind me and then I fall, crashing into a pile of boxes that were stacked waist-high.

I land in a heap, the other stuff falling around me, until only my arms and head are left uncovered.

“Nice one, sis,” Liam says as the dust settles. “Very graceful.”

I can see by his flippant, amused grin that he didn’t see Zoey and me.

Whew.

I swallow. “Thanks,” I say, struggling to get back to my feet. I feel like I fell butt-first into a hole. “So, are you just going to just stand there, or … ?”

He steps forward and extends his hand, pulling me easily to my feet.

I lean over, wondering how it is he hasn’t noticed or acknowledged Zoey, but all I see is the door, swung wide enough that it’s just shy of hitting the wall.

Oh. She’s behind the door.

She’s hiding.

From her own boyfriend. Because she’s here, with me, and we didn’t tell him that part.

“Did you need something?” I ask, dusting off the seat of my pants.

“Nah. Saw your text about cleaning out the storage unit and I thought I’d see if you needed any help.”

“Seriously?” I ask before I can stop myself. Why the hell is he volunteering for manual labor?

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. Plus, you know, we haven’t hung out much lately.”

“Oh.” I flick a glance at the door. Zoey’s leaning over just enough that I can see her eyes, and she slowly shakes her head, confirming what I already know—she doesn’t want to be seen. “Um, no thanks,” I say. “Actually, I was going to listen to my iPod.” I tap my back pocket. Even though it’s not actually there.

“Dude, for real? You’re going to clean this whole place yourself?”

I nod, my eyes wide and hopefully sincere. “Yep. I could use the exercise.”

Liam chokes back laughter. “All right then. Suit yourself.”

“Yep. I will.”

I will suit myself? What does that even mean?

I stand in the middle of the room as he walks away, pausing to reach over and grab the doorknob. He glances at me over his shoulder as clicks the door shut behind him.

Revealing Zoey.

“Holy shit, that was close,” she says.

“Why’d you hide behind the door?” I whisper. “I could have played it off! We’re allowed to be friends. But then you’re all cowering behind a door, and if you popped up five minutes later,
that
looks suspicious.”

“I don’t know! It kind of swung over and covered me up, and I just went with it!”

We dissolve into giggles, and I flop down on top of one of the collapsed boxes. “If you hadn’t hidden, we could’ve had help.”

“And now we’re stuck in here all by ourselves. For …
hours … ” she says, her voice trailing off mischievously as she grabs a box, slides it up next to me, and plops down.

I turn my head to meet her eyes and our noses almost brush.

And then we kiss, and I think perhaps this room will get cleaned out another day.

ZOEY

“So … why are we here again?” I ask as I plop down on the old wooden park bench.

“It’s a surprise,” Olivia says, twisting around to face me, pulling one knee up on the bench.

We’re in the middle of Wright Park on a Sunday morning and I’m not sure why.

“If I’d known we were coming here I would have invited Carolyn,” I say. “I’m pretty sure she’d live here if she could.”

“We’re not staying.” Olivia digs into her enormous handbag and pulls out a
Cosmo
magazine.

“Uh, we came here to read magazines? Because, you know, I didn’t bring one.”

“No. I just needed someplace to sit for a minute, and my brother is home so I didn’t want to go there.”

“Okaaaaaay,” I say, reaching over to rip a leaf off a nearby rhododendron. “So are you going to read me some makeup tips or something? Because, you know, that’s not really my idea of a good time.”

“No, silly. I have this for the quiz on page forty.”

I scrunch up my nose. “People actually do those things? I always thought they were stupid.”

“Shush,” Olivia says, pulling a pen out of her bag. “You’re just going to have to go along with this.”

“Um, okay.”

“Good. Favorite Restaurant?”

“Uhhh … Olive Garden.” I rip the rhododendron leaf in half, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.

She kind of snarls her lip. “If you could go
anywhere
, you’d seriously pick the freaking Olive Garden?”

“What?” I ask, surprised by her reaction. “I like the breadsticks.”

“You’re really lame.”

“Well, if we’re really talking
anywhere
, I actually like Jimmy Macs more. Does that make you feel better?”

“What’s Jimmy Macs?”

“A barbecue place in Federal Way. You can throw peanut shells on the ground. I’ve only been there once, but it was fun.”

“Okay then, I’m putting that one down. It sounds better than Olive Garden.”

I laugh and reach out, pinching her knee. Olivia leans away, half-closing the magazine. “No peeking.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

She sits up and clears her throat. “Okay. Now, describe your dream outfit.”

I try not to laugh. “Um, nice jeans and a funny T-shirt, I guess. Definitely not a skirt. I get my fill at Annie Wright.”

“Of course. And what about shoes or accessories?”

“Oh. Um, Converse. I want a pair of those Dr. Seuss ones. And some kind of chunky jewelry, I guess.”

“All right. Next question: favorite local attraction?”

I stare at the ground for a long moment, trying to decide. “The Pantages?”

She looks up from her magazine, her surprise evident. “You mean the theater?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been in there?”

I laugh. “What, I don’t look like the theater type? We went to that play freshman year, remember? During school hours? I really liked the building. It’s cool, with all the little balconies and carved woodwork and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah.” She scribbles it down, her pen scratching across the page. “Okay, if you could do one thing you’ve never done before, what would it be?”

“Graffiti,” I reply. “What kind of quiz is this? I thought they were always multiple choice.”

She ignores my question. “Of all things, graffiti? Seriously? I thought you’d say sky-diving or swimming with sharks or something more exotic.”

I shrug. “I walk by the Garage sometimes and it always looks fun.”

“Is that the parking garage place where everyone paints? Down on Broadway?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Okay.” Olivia scribbles it down, but as she’s writing, the magazine slips a little, revealing a lined sheet of paper.

“You’re not even writing in the magazine, are you? I knew this was a weird quiz.”

I reach for the magazine but she yanks it away. “That’s okay. I’m done,” she says, stuffing the
Cosmo
back into her bag and holding up the paper, revealing my list of answers in her perfect, swirly writing.

“What’s that?” Even though I know my own answers, I still reach out and grab it, my eyes glancing over the sheet as if it’ll explain what she’s up to.

“Our itinerary.”

“Huh?”

“First we’re going to the mall, and you’re going to get your dream outfit. Then we’ll go to Jimmy Macs for lunch, followed by … something at the Pantages. I don’t even know if they have any shows or whatever today. But after that, it’s graffiti time.”

My jaw drops. “You tricked me into telling you what I wanted to do? Why?”

Olivia beams. “Because if I was all
hey, let’s do everything you want to do
, you’d be lame and pick things you thought I’d want to do. And you wouldn’t let me buy you any clothes.”

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t need to buy—”

“HEY! You’re going along with this plan whether you like it or not,” Olivia says.

“Why?”

“Because you’re always worried about everyone else and not yourself. Today is about you. Accept this or I’ll punch you in the nose.” She stands up.

I smirk. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

She mutters something under her breath, then extends her hand. “Come on, the mall should be open by now.”

It takes me a minute to move, because I’m can’t stop staring at her with a mixture of surprise and awe.

No one’s ever done something this nice for me. Ever.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s do it.”

“Great. Your dream day starts now.”

OLIVIA

I shove open the double doors of the Pantages theater, blinking against the bright sunlight.

“That was amazing,” Zoey says, breathless. “I can’t even believe how graceful those women are. Or how flexible.”

“I’m surprised you were so into it,” I say, leading her down the sidewalk.

“Why, do I not look like the ballet type?” she says, motioning to her body with a wide grin. She’s wearing a pair of snug, deep blue jeans, a belt made from an old seat belt, and a bright yellow T-shirt sporting a green dinosaur with a speech bubble that says
all my friends are dead.
Her requisite “chunky jewelry” consists of a blue bracelet with giant blocky beads.

We couldn’t find the Dr. Seuss Chuck Taylors she was after, so she settled for a pair of tan camo ones. And now I know what I can get her for Christmas or her birthday or something.

I blink, realizing how far ahead I’m looking. Christmas is almost three months away. Her birthday’s not even until April.

The outfit seemed to have transformed her the moment she put it on, because she’s been smiling and laughing and embracing everything we’ve done so far, even if we were both a little underdressed for ballet at the Pantages. I always feel like I’m going back in time when I set foot in there—like I should be wearing some fancy old ball gown, and that when I leave I’m going to climb into a carriage, not a car.

We walk down the hill, side by side, toward where my car sits on Broadway Street. I pop the trunk and pull out a Home Depot plastic bag. The paint cans we bought clang together as I slam the drunk shut.

“I can’t believe we’re going to do this,” I say. “It seems like such a random thing.”

Zoey grins, grabbing the bag out of my hands. “I had no idea spray paint was so cheap. I probably would’ve done this sooner.”

“I call the pink,” I say.

“What exactly are you going to paint?”

“I have no idea.”

“And yet you know it will be pink.”

We walk the blocks between the Pantages and the Garage in just a few minutes, and soon I’m standing at the open side of the space, staring inward.

“Wow,” I say, walking to the first wall, where an enormous,
rainbow-colored face stares back at me. It looks Tribal or Aztec or something, with a huge headpiece and piercing dark eyes. “I had no idea this stuff would be so beautiful.”

“Look at this one,” Zoey says, pointing to the next section of the garage where a huge lion’s head, mouth open wide in an eternal roar, has been painted.

We wander farther into the space, taking in the urban art. “These people have serious talent,” I say.

“It’s don’t think I want to cover any of this up,” she says, spinning in a small circle. “We could do something on those posts, though.”

I turn to see where she’s pointing. There are four square posts in the center of the garage, about eighteen inches across on each side. “Yeah, let’s do that. I don’t want to paint over something with my kindergarten-level art. And those posts look like they haven’t been painted in a while.”