I’d always heard his family was mega, filthy rich, and supposedly had several more houses even bigger than the one he lives in now. And of course I’d heard all the crazy stories about his dad, but there were always so many rumors, so many insane legends — he killed a man, he robbed a bank, he embezzled a bunch of money, he was in the mob — that I just didn’t know what to believe. So I didn’t believe anything.

But I guess in the end, those stories were like a gazillion times more exciting than the true and boring fact of how his dad is just another greedy, rich bastard who wanted to be even richer.

Anyway, his mom ditched his dad, actually served him divorce papers during his first month in jail. Said there was no way she was living single for ten years minus time off for good behavior. So whenever Marc wanted to go see him, he had to get a ride with his uncle Mike (his dad’s brother). And they’d both have to endure a full-body cavity search before they were allowed inside.

Only Marc didn’t really say that part about the cavity search. He says that’s how it is for hard-core criminals, not wealthy nonviolent types like his dad. Apparently all they had to do was sign in and go look for his dad — who, by the way, was allowed to wear clean pressed khakis instead of an orange jumpsuit. And then they all sat around at these plastic tables and chairs, eating vending-machine snacks and talking face to face (as opposed to being separated by a sheet of bulletproof glass and having to use a phone).

Whatever. My version’s way better, way more dramatic. And I even told him he could show me a picture and I’d

still choose to believe my story over his.

So he goes, “Oh yeah, and you’re not allowed to take pictures either/’

So I go, “See ? In my version, they let you do that.”

Anyway, I guess his mom became a major pill-popping heavy drinker, although she may have been one even before all that I mean, it’s kind of unclear but it really sounds like it And oh yeah, now she’s apparently married to husband number three, and each one has been even more rich (and more messed up) than the one before.

So I went, “Is that why you drive that old Camaro, cuz you hate money?”

But he just laughed and said, “I drive an old Camaro cuz I like old cars. What, would you like me better if I drove a Porsche?”

And then I — damn, I can’t believe I said this (!) but then I go, “I can’t imagine liking you any more than I already do!!!!” Seriously! I could die! And I thought I would! I mean it just slipped out before I could stop it.

But he just looked at me all serious and said, “I liked you from the very first moment I saw you.”

Which is kind of like you had me at hello” but better, because it’s real, and spontaneous, and not from a movie.

So then I laughed, because, please, the first time he saw me goes all the way back to fifth grade. Right before his mom started sending him away to all of those private schools.

But when I reminded him of that, he just said, “I know.”

Sometimes when I’m reading Zoë’s diary I need to take little breaks. I mean, part of me is anxious to move forward, and just burn through the pages as fast as I can. But the other part feels a little overwhelmed, like all of my senses are completely filled up, and I just really need to set it down, close my eyes, and try to regroup.

Though I guess I regrouped for too long, because the next thing I know, the sun is set, my room is dark, and Zoë’s diary is gone.

“Who’s there?” I sit up frantically, rubbing my eyes. “What are you doing?” I ask, making an unsuccessful swipe for the book.

“What’s this?” Abby asks, flipping through the pages, her eyes on the lookout for something good. “Are you holding out on me? Is this some kind of love journal, where you write down all of your heartfelt feelings for Parker?” She laughs, playing her version of keep-away.

I just look at her, forcing myself to take slow deep breaths, forcing myself to stay calm. “Abby, please. I’m serious. I really need that back,” I say, struggling for patience as she scans the pages, though luckily without really reading. “Come on, Abby, please,” I beg. “It used to be Zoë’s.”

I feel bad when it works. When I see her face go from gleeful to grave the second she hears my sister’s name.

But I had to get it back, and it’s not like she left me with any other choice.

Tm sorry,” she says, shutting the book and handing it to me. “Honestly, I didn’t know.” She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes wide and sad.

“It’s okay,” I say, sliding it back under my bed while giving her the “good sport” shrug. “Let’s go study downstairs.”

Eighteen

July 4

Fireworks! In the air, on the ground, vibrating all around

Exploding in a profusion of color and sound

We lay on the soft wet grass, staring up at a sky so lit

A moment so perfect — / closed my eyes to save it —

Then later, quiet, peaceful, just him and me

Two hearts reaching for infinity.

Carly was pissed I didn’t go to her party — assumed it was because of her being all happy and hooked up with Stephen. Please, I could give a shit about all that. I mean, seriously. Whatever. I tried to tell her I’d already made plans, but it just made it worse. She got all hostile and hurt and accused me of ditching her for Marc!

“You’ve totally changed since you hooked up with him! You’ve ditched everyone else just so you can be with him,” she yelled.

I just held the phone and rolled my eyes, because no way was I getting sucked into her self-righteous not-so-mellow-drama.

So then she goes, “Everyone’s talking about it, and I’m only telling you this because you’re my best friend and I love you like a sister.”

“Oh, is that why you stole my boyfriend?” I asked, which I know was stupid since it’s not like I care. I guess I just couldn’t stand to listen to her stupid, fake, best-friends-forever-and-ever-and-ever bullshit speech, especially since it’s no longer true.

So she goes. “You were over Stephen and you know it I can’t believe you’re acting like such a bitch, over a guy!”

But I didn’t say anything. Seriously, I refused to get sucked in any further.

So then she goes, “Seriously, Zoë, I’m worried about you. Everyone’s worried about you. I mean, how well do you even know him? ’Cause lye heard some pretty scary stories about his private school years. Why do you think he had to enroll in public again? It’s because he had no choice, nobody else would take him. Honestly, I think that whole quiet and mysterious act is totally played. Because the truth is, he’s just weird. And I know you know what everyone says about his family, right? I mean, they’re bad news. It’s like, he shows up at parties, but then barely even talks to anyone. He’s got all that money but he drives that old, beater car. He’s like some rich-ass grease monkey, and his mom is like a total pharm-hound boozaholic, not to mention she’s been married like a zillion times, not to mention how his dad’s supposed to get out of jail anytime now and Marc will probably go live with him — a convicted felon! A former prisoner! I mean, have you even thought about any of this?”

I know I shouldn’t have let her get to me, I know I should’ve just ignored it, but I couldn’t just let all that go. So I said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything you just said is all rumors and bullshit! None of it’s true! And if you were my friend then you would believe me, not judge me, and stand by me no matter what!”

But she just goes, “Sorry Zoë, but I just can’t do that.”

So I go, “Then you know what, Carly? I guess you’re not really my friend.”

When I hung up I felt pretty bad, I mean, we really did used to be best friends. But then I used to think I had a lot of friends. I used to think everyone loved me and cared about me, and only wanted the best for me. So it feels pretty bad to know they’re all talking shit about me instead.

But still, if I’m forced to choose, and apparently I am, then I choose Marc. And it’s not like I owe Carly or anyone else an explanation for that.

Because if you’re gonna make someone choose, then you shouldn’t be surprised when they don’t choose you.

July 7

Almost got caught taking a catnap at work today. Big time, serious close call. Normally I’m way more careful about stuff like that — / even set the alarm on the computer for ten minutes before the appt ends. But I guess I just didn’t hear it go off, cuz the next thing I knew Doctor Freud was standing over me, fingers scraping against his graying old scraggle chin, going, “Zoë? Are you okay?”

Luckily, I was slumped so far down my face was practically in my lap, so without even flinching I just opened my eyes, reached down, and grabbed the pen that had fallen on the ground. Then I looked up at him and smiled and said, “Yeah, I was just looking for this.” Then I held up that blue ballpoint, like it was solid evidence of a hard day’s work. And even though I don’t really think he bought it, he still just nodded, and then headed for the can. And by the time he got back his next appt was already there.

But the truth is, I was exhausted from Marc. And the fact that he spent the night last night! Seriously — the whole, entire, wonderful, glorious, outrageous, world-changing, life-altering night!

Since Echo left for her annual “Cerebral Campers” week or whatever they call that Camp Brainiac thing she goes to every year, Marc scaled the tree, came in through her room, crept down the hall, and spent the whole night with me until I heard both my parents making their way down the stairs in the morning.