Unwritten
Page 15
“I’m sorry,” I offer, grabbing her case. “But hey, at least you get to spend vacation eating takeout and watching TV with us. Who could ask for more?”
Zoey finally cracks a grin. “I guess that doesn’t suck.”
She follows me inside. “Where’s Tegan?” she asks.
I pause. “With the others. They went to visit the graves,” I add quietly.
Zoey’s eyes widen. “Shit, I totally forgot. That’s today, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Three years.”
She reaches out and awkwardly pats my arm. “I’m really sorry.”
Most people say it because they’re supposed to, but I can see in Zoey’s face, she really means it.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat awkwardly, looking around. “Did you come from the airport? You want something to eat?”
“Yes!” Zoey practically yells. “Please, oh my God, I turned straight around in a cab for the airport, and you know I can’t eat on planes because I get sick at the smallest turbulence, and then…”
I tune out her weird babbling and head for the kitchen. As usual, it’s pretty much a disaster zone. Even with the housekeeper we hired to come in every week, there’s nothing left in the fridge but beer, water, and a couple of moldy-looking takeout containers.
“I guess we’re going out,” I say, slamming it shut. I turn back to Zoey. “Burgers OK?”
“Sure. Yes. I mean, thanks.” She blushes, looking away.
I figure she must be embarrassed about showing up on our doorstep. “Don’t worry,” I reassure her, heading back to the front door. “Tegan will be thrilled you’re here. One more vote over the TV remote, you guys could even beat me if Dex doesn’t show.”
Zoey perks up. “How’s his band doing?” she asks, following me to the car. “Tegan says he’s cutting a demo for some big-shot producer.”
“That’s the plan. But you know this town,” I add, holding the passenger door open for her. “It’s all talk until it happens.” I go around to the driver’s side and get in.
“What about you?” she asks. “Book any more commercials?”
I shake my head. “Nothing since that walk-on in a sneaker ad.” I reverse out of the driveway. “But I have an audition for a play next week, I think it could be something pretty cool. I know theater isn’t big in LA, but…”
“I think that’s great,” Zoey exclaims. “Hey, work is work, and you’re getting experience. That’s the point.”
“Right,” I nod. “And you never know who’s going to see it. It’s a long shot, but it only takes one lucky break.”
“Like John Wayne getting discovered working in the prop department,” Zoey beams. “And Marilyn Monroe being spotted on the factory line.”
I chuckle. “If I could time travel back to the fifties and start hauling boxes, I’d be set!”
We go for burgers at Norma’s, my favorite casual joint just off Hollywood Boulevard. They have black-and-white photos of old school movie stars framed on the walls, and even though it’s cheesy, I kind of like the reminders of the fame and fortune that could be right around the corner. Making it as an actor is a one-in-a-million shot, I know, but being right here in the middle of all the history, it makes me feel like that could be me, one day.
“Oh my God, I love you,” Zoey groans, practically devouring her burger in three bites. “For the food, I mean,” she says quickly.
I grin, and steal some of her fries. “Hey, this is on you. I’m still bussing tables to make a living.”
“My pleasure.” Zoey rolls her eyes. “My parents transferred, like, a thousand bucks guilt money into my account. Told me to buy myself whatever I wanted for Christmas.”
She stops, suddenly looking panicked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bitching about them,” she gulps. “I know I’m lucky.”
“Hey, it’s OK.” I wave off her guilt. “I know they suck.”
Zoey blinks, then breaks into a delighted smile. “Yup. They suck!”
I watch as she inhales the rest of her food—and flags down the waitress for another order of fries. The last time I saw her was over the summer; she stayed with us most of August and spent every day at the beach with Tegan, doing whatever teenage girls do with their lipgloss and hair ties and endless supply of bad reality TV. It was only a few months ago, but I swear there’s something different about her now.
“Did you cut your hair?” I ask, studying her closer.
Zoey shakes her head. Her blonde hair is framing her face in a messy cloud, and her eyes seem bluer than normal.
My gaze drifts lower. She’s wearing a T-shirt and hoodie with jeans, still as gangly as always, and maybe it’s just me, but her shirt seems…fuller than normal.
Shit.
I snap my head up. What the hell are you doing checking out Zoey? She’s just a kid!
“So what’s new with you?” I blurt, trying to get my thoughts away from their dangerously hormonal track. “How’s school? Figuring out algebra OK?”
Zoey rolls her eyes. “That was eighth grade. They’re already lecturing us about SATs and college applications.”
“Oh yeah?”
Zoey shrugs. “I don’t know what I want to do just yet. Part of me thinks college will be just like high school, and I’ve already had enough to last a lifetime.”
Zoey finally cracks a grin. “I guess that doesn’t suck.”
She follows me inside. “Where’s Tegan?” she asks.
I pause. “With the others. They went to visit the graves,” I add quietly.
Zoey’s eyes widen. “Shit, I totally forgot. That’s today, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Three years.”
She reaches out and awkwardly pats my arm. “I’m really sorry.”
Most people say it because they’re supposed to, but I can see in Zoey’s face, she really means it.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat awkwardly, looking around. “Did you come from the airport? You want something to eat?”
“Yes!” Zoey practically yells. “Please, oh my God, I turned straight around in a cab for the airport, and you know I can’t eat on planes because I get sick at the smallest turbulence, and then…”
I tune out her weird babbling and head for the kitchen. As usual, it’s pretty much a disaster zone. Even with the housekeeper we hired to come in every week, there’s nothing left in the fridge but beer, water, and a couple of moldy-looking takeout containers.
“I guess we’re going out,” I say, slamming it shut. I turn back to Zoey. “Burgers OK?”
“Sure. Yes. I mean, thanks.” She blushes, looking away.
I figure she must be embarrassed about showing up on our doorstep. “Don’t worry,” I reassure her, heading back to the front door. “Tegan will be thrilled you’re here. One more vote over the TV remote, you guys could even beat me if Dex doesn’t show.”
Zoey perks up. “How’s his band doing?” she asks, following me to the car. “Tegan says he’s cutting a demo for some big-shot producer.”
“That’s the plan. But you know this town,” I add, holding the passenger door open for her. “It’s all talk until it happens.” I go around to the driver’s side and get in.
“What about you?” she asks. “Book any more commercials?”
I shake my head. “Nothing since that walk-on in a sneaker ad.” I reverse out of the driveway. “But I have an audition for a play next week, I think it could be something pretty cool. I know theater isn’t big in LA, but…”
“I think that’s great,” Zoey exclaims. “Hey, work is work, and you’re getting experience. That’s the point.”
“Right,” I nod. “And you never know who’s going to see it. It’s a long shot, but it only takes one lucky break.”
“Like John Wayne getting discovered working in the prop department,” Zoey beams. “And Marilyn Monroe being spotted on the factory line.”
I chuckle. “If I could time travel back to the fifties and start hauling boxes, I’d be set!”
We go for burgers at Norma’s, my favorite casual joint just off Hollywood Boulevard. They have black-and-white photos of old school movie stars framed on the walls, and even though it’s cheesy, I kind of like the reminders of the fame and fortune that could be right around the corner. Making it as an actor is a one-in-a-million shot, I know, but being right here in the middle of all the history, it makes me feel like that could be me, one day.
“Oh my God, I love you,” Zoey groans, practically devouring her burger in three bites. “For the food, I mean,” she says quickly.
I grin, and steal some of her fries. “Hey, this is on you. I’m still bussing tables to make a living.”
“My pleasure.” Zoey rolls her eyes. “My parents transferred, like, a thousand bucks guilt money into my account. Told me to buy myself whatever I wanted for Christmas.”
She stops, suddenly looking panicked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bitching about them,” she gulps. “I know I’m lucky.”
“Hey, it’s OK.” I wave off her guilt. “I know they suck.”
Zoey blinks, then breaks into a delighted smile. “Yup. They suck!”
I watch as she inhales the rest of her food—and flags down the waitress for another order of fries. The last time I saw her was over the summer; she stayed with us most of August and spent every day at the beach with Tegan, doing whatever teenage girls do with their lipgloss and hair ties and endless supply of bad reality TV. It was only a few months ago, but I swear there’s something different about her now.
“Did you cut your hair?” I ask, studying her closer.
Zoey shakes her head. Her blonde hair is framing her face in a messy cloud, and her eyes seem bluer than normal.
My gaze drifts lower. She’s wearing a T-shirt and hoodie with jeans, still as gangly as always, and maybe it’s just me, but her shirt seems…fuller than normal.
Shit.
I snap my head up. What the hell are you doing checking out Zoey? She’s just a kid!
“So what’s new with you?” I blurt, trying to get my thoughts away from their dangerously hormonal track. “How’s school? Figuring out algebra OK?”
Zoey rolls her eyes. “That was eighth grade. They’re already lecturing us about SATs and college applications.”
“Oh yeah?”
Zoey shrugs. “I don’t know what I want to do just yet. Part of me thinks college will be just like high school, and I’ve already had enough to last a lifetime.”
