"I'm so sorry about all of this," she tells me, right before she starts the snowmobile. She tells me this every single day.
And I say what I say every single day, "I know."
My mom drops me off at school. She's commandeered Yoko, which is totally unfair.
"Hurry. You're late."
I rush through the doors as the bell rings and try to get to homeroom, but Nick catches me by the arm and pulls me into the gym supply closet. Soccer balls and nets surround us. The air smells like leather sports equipment and mold and Nick. We have to stand close. I look up into his face. There's stubble on his chin, rough edges to the straight lines of him.
"Jay Dahlberg's doing better," he says. His eyes are dark and sad. "He doesn't remember anything.
Devyn's parents say it's his brain's way of protecting him."
I swallow. "That's good."
"Everyone thinks Megan has moved away. Nobody knows what happened-that Betty killed her. And they think that Ian was kidnapped by the same guy who got Jay. His family is out of control, going on CNN, Fox News, everything," I stare at a Scoreboard. There is no score, just blank places where the numbers should be. There's no winners, no losers, nothing.
"Zara?" his voice sounds gruffs. "I'm sorry."
"About what?" I shrug like I have no clue.
"When I freaked about your father."
My eyes meet his eyes.
"You were a jerk," I say.
His hands move to my cheeks. "I'm sorry."
I pull away, but I can only go an inch before I bump into lacrosse sticks, not that I really want to go any farther. "Nope. No way. You do not get to kiss me yet."
He pouts.
"Do you admit that my idea of how to trap the pixies using iron was good?" I say using my best lawyer voice.
"I do."
"Do you admit that you are not the only person, or half-person genetically, that can save other sentient beings?"
He crinkles his nose. "I do."
"And do you admit that you have a bad temper, a cute car, and a nice girlfriend?"
I hold my breath.
"I have an amazing girlfriend," he says. And then he kisses me, which is, you have to admit, the perfect boyfriend thing to do. The kiss is soft and speckling like star promises in a night sky. I stretch into it, wishing that I could hold onto it forever, even though I know that kisses can't last forever-can they?
But it's not kisses ending that really scares me.
No. The only thing that scares me now is me. The Zara I might become. The Zara I don't ever want to be.
Everybody has fears, right? But how many of us have my fear?
Enough, it seems. Because there's a name for it.
Autophobia fear of oneself