Alyson ël - Saving Zoë

Marc and I just went almost ten days without seeing each other, and I can still hardly believe it. I mean, it’s not like we actually broke up or anything, since we talked on the phone and stuff. I guess it’s more like things got so intense so fast that we both feel we need a little cool down. Or at least I do. I’m not really sure how he feels about it, since it’s not like anything was ever actually said.

I mean, after that awful dinner, well, I guess I just started thinking about how I’ve ditched all my friends, and it made me feel bad. It’s like, just because Marc likes being a loner doesn’t mean I do too. So basically I just spent the last ten days working during the day and hanging with Carly and Paula at night.

At first they gave me a bunch of shit for ditching them like that. But then after, it was like we’d been hanging out the whole entire summer and I’d never really left. I didn’t say anything about meeting Marc’s mom though. I mean, of course they asked if Id been to the house and stuff, cuz pretty much everyone always wants to know about that. And since I didn’t want to lie I said yes. But then I pretty much left it at that, and any details I did give were totally vague.

Anyway, hanging with them just made me realize how much I missed them. It also made me realize how I’m way too young to keep getting so tied down all the time. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still totally and completely love Marc. But sometimes I just need to hang out and have a little fun with my friends.

All day yesterday I was at Carly’s, setting up my very own page on this Web site where you post pictures of yourself, list all of your favorite things like bands, movies, etc., and try to collect as many friends as possible so you can feel all popular and famous or whatever. And since Carly’s been on there for practically ever, she’s been bugging me this whole entire time to get on there too, so I finally gave in.

At first it seemed kind of dumb since I can just call her on her cell if I need to leave a message or even send a picture. But then she goes, “What if my ringer’s off?”

So I said, “Then I’ll text you.”

And she went, “Forget it. You have no idea how much better this is, because then everyone can see what you write and what you’re doing and saying and stuff.”

Which, to be honest, also sounded pretty lame. I mean, I know it’s probably old fashioned to even write in a journal when the rest of the world is blogging. But maybe I don’t want all these strangers to know what I’m thinking, saying, and doing, you know?

But then she said, “Uh, hello? What do you think it’s gonna be like when you’re famous? I mean, you think Jessica Simpson gets any privacy?”

She had a point.

Then she goes, “You always talk about how you want to be a model, or actress, or whatever, but if you’re that attached to your privacy then maybe you should find a new dream.”

So, long story short, I signed on, decorated my space, uploaded some photos, and even though it practically took all day, now I totally get it. Now I totally get what she’s been talking about because it’s so completely addicting! It’s like, within seconds of uploading my first few photos I had like a hundred people asking to be my friend! Okay, maybe most of them were guys, but whatever. And the thing is, all I used are these three stupid little cell phone photos that Paula snapped of me one day when I was laying by her pool.

In one, I’m in my white bikini and I’m laying on the lounger, drinking a beer. In another I’m pretty much doing the same thing, only smiling. And in the third I’m standing up and smiling with my top off. (But only because I didn’t want strap marks, and my hands are strategically placed so it’s not like you can see anything.)

And I’m thinking, Jeez, if I get all this attention just from these cheesy little cell phone photos, who knows what could happen if I posted some really good, like really professional photos there. You know something sophisticated and classy but a little bit sexy, and yet still kind of innocent too. Since Carly says that all the big New York and L.A. agents are always trolling around on there, scoping for fresh, new faces.

I’m not sure how she actually knows all that, but still, it sounds very, very likely.

But then she also said that I probably shouldn’t tell

Marc because he’ll definitely totally freak.

And even though I just rolled my eyes and refused to comment, I’m actually thinking she’s right.

When I close Zoë’s diary I feel a little sick. Though I know I have no one to blame but myself. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t already lived through all this. So I shouldn’t be surprised where it leads.

I shove it back under my mattress, finished with it for now, not willing to claim it in any way.

But at least I know that Marc didn’t lie. Not to my parents, and not to the police. He’d stuck by his story the entire time, never once wavering, even though his alibi has always been shaky.

He said he was waiting at the park, down by the lake, where they always used to sit. That he just hung out, doing his homework, and waiting ’til well after dark. But when she didn’t come back, he tried calling her cell a bunch of times, only she never answered. And since her phone was never recovered, it took a few days for the cops to confirm that.

“Still,” they said. “You could’ve stood right there, over the body, making those calls. You know, to cover. Because you panicked. Because you saw what you’d done to her, saw her lying there like that, and you freaked. Come on, you can tell us. We’re here to help you. So the sooner you confess, the better.”

Marc refused a lawyer, refused to change his story. He just handed over her backpack and said the only reason he even had it was because she’d left it with him as proof she’d return.

It’s weird how the police uncovered her life a lot quicker than her body. How within just a few days they knew most all of her secrets — about the Web page, the photo shoot, and her increasingly volatile relationship with Marc. They even interviewed her friends — Carly, Paula, practically everyone she knew. And believe me, they were all too eager to spill the beans on some things, while completely clamming up on others. But the one thing they all had in common is that every one of them pointed the finger at Marc. Saying how they were always suspicious of his loner ways and his completely messed up family.

“He isolated Zoë.”

“He kept her all to himself and totally freaked when she tried to pull away.”

But none of it’s true. None of it matches anything I’ve read.

And you’d think that Carly, of all people, would’ve been above that. Especially since she was Zoë’s best friend. But the truth is, it took her awhile to finally give them the more important details, and I always wondered who she was trying to protect — Zoë or herself?

I mean, she’s the one who pushed it. She’s the one who encouraged her to go. Not that I think it’s her fault or anything, because clearly it was Zoë’s choice in the end. Though I guess it explains why she tries so hard to avoid me at school, and how she can barely manage to look me in the eye when we pass in the halls.

And yeah, so maybe Marc is kind of a loner. I mean, so what? That doesn’t prove anything. That doesn’t make him guilty of anything other than having the rare ability to be comfortable just being by himself. Not to mention that it’s that exact quality, aside from his sexy good looks, that attracted Zoë to him in the first place. It’s what made her want him even more.

Though I do know that he hated all of that modeling stuff, and Zoë’s celebrity ambitions. He thought that whole world was sleazy and shallow and awful. That it took naive hungry people and built them way up before spitting them right out again. So it’s probably true that he would’ve freaked if he’d known about those pictures. But that’s why Zoë kept it hidden. And by the time he found out, it was already too late.

It took six long months to catch the guy who did it. But only because he tried to do it again. He lured the victim to the exact same location using the exact same M.O. And just like with Zoë, instead of packing a camera, he brought a knife.

He left a six-inch scar across that poor girl’s neck. But hey, at least she got to keep her head. My sister wasn’t so lucky.

And it was that, they said, that finally took her.

And even though they caught him red-handed (trust me, no pun intended), not one thing changed for Marc. And those six months he spent as a suspect may as well have been a conviction. I mean, maybe he didn’t go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. But then again, he didn’t have to.

Our town became his jailer.

At first I was worried how Parker would act. Would he be angry, dismissive, sad, happy, euphoric, grateful?

But then I decided not to care.

And it’s not because I was the least bit proud of the way I’d handled things. To be honest, I wasn’t proud of much of anything I’d done, it was more like now that it was over, I was over it too.

Though I was determined to deal with Teresa. I mean, I still had no idea what her motive might be, not to mention why she insisted on even hanging with me in the first place. And I needed her to know, once and for all, that she was wrong about me, that no matter what she thought, she and I were totally different, we had nothing in common, we were nothing alike. And that any secrets I may have had, I was now more than willing to blow right open.