Chapter Three

Let's Make A Deal

Zoe's POV

Well, my mom finally put me to work. Its just hanging flyers up a bunch of places, but it's better than sitting reading a boring magazine for the fifth time. After the cowboy left, things had gotten even duller. The parade of wannabes was lessening, which meant it was getting later, and we would probably be leaving soon, a fact that I was infinitely grateful for.

"Zoe?" I heard my mom call.

I looked up, "Is it time to leave?" I asked, trying not to sound as anxious as I was to get the hell out of there.

"Not quite. But you're dad's on the phone." I jumped up, knocking over the fliers.

"I'll pick them up as soon as I get off the phone." I say quickly before my mom can chastise me. Then I run directly into her office.

There is a picture of the family on her desk. Weird, considering they're divorced, that she would want to keep that 'happy family' picture there. Personally, it would kill me to look at it everyday, a reminder of how we used to be.

I took a deep breath and picked up her office phone, "Dad?" I asked.

"Hello Zoe." His voice was gruff and businesslike, as though he were talking to a colleague, not his daughter, "How are you?"

I wanted to tell him how miserable I was and how much I missed him, but I didn't want to sound whiney. We used to be so close; I could tell him anything. Lately though, he had just been so distant, and I didn't want to do anything to make him mad at me or disappointed in me or just anything that might push him away more. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Busy." He responded, "I just wanted to check in."

"Well that's very-"

"Listen, Zoe, I have to go. Can you say goodbye to your mom for me?"

Wow, that was short. Why had he even bothered calling if he was going to hang up within thirty seconds. "Yeah, sure." I said, trying to sound less taken aback then I felt, "Um, I love you."

"Bye." I heard a dial tone and sighed. It didn't mean anything that he hadn't said it back. He had been in a hurry. Probably some big emergency. In fact, it was considerate of him to take the time to check in. Yep, just keep rationalizing it Zoe. I tried to ignore the thought. I wasn't rationalizing, I was being realistic. It would be great if parents could be there for their kids twenty-four seven, but life didn't work like that. They had to have jobs, and sometimes those jobs were more time-consuming than one would like. It was nobody's fault. And he had called, so, that's a victory.

"You're off the phone already?" my mom asked as I came back into the room.

"Well, he had to go, but he said to say goodbye to you."

"Oh, how thoughtful." My mom said sarcastically. I bent down and started picking the rest of the fliers up, "Zoe, actually, could you leave the fliers. I'm starving. Would you mind running to the sandwich shop next-door and getting me a sandwich. Wheat bread, lettuce, tomatoes, no cheese or-"

"Nothing fattening. I got it." I say. Like I don't know my mom worries about that stuff; I've only lived with the woman my whole life, and since dad moved out, it's just the two of us. I know her better than I wish I did.

Anyway, she nods and gives me some money, "You can get something too if you like." She says it like its and afterthought. Like she totally forgot I'm going to need to eat at some point. God, I miss dad.

"Gee, thanks."

The line at the sandwich shop isn't long. It's pretty short actually, and the guy at the counter is nice, which is good, because this sandwich run thing will probably become a regular part of my 'volunteering' routine.

"Here you go." He says, handing me the sandwich.

"Thanks," I say. I actually mean it. This is a break from being there, and while I know if I dawdle too long, my mom will have my head, it is nice to be somewhere other than that stupid reception room for a few minutes. "Actually, can I also get a diet coke?" I say, figuring if I get a drink I can sit for a while at one of the tables. He nods, adds it to the bill, and motions to the freezer. I grab a diet coke and take a seat. The place is kind of dead, so I start talking to him. Not like I have anything better to do, and he's nicer than the people mom works with, "So, how long have you worked here?" I ask.

"Own, actually, and I bought this place about six years ago."

"Cool," I say, taking a sip, "So, did you always want to own a sandwich shop, or …"

He laughs, "No, I don't figure a lot of little boys dream about that. Just sort of ended up here but, I like it."

"Do you cut the meat yourself?" This time I'm actually curious. Being a butcher must be kind of like surgery, only, since it's dead, you don't have to be as careful. Still, if I could get a part-time job here, it might just get me out of PR duty, and from the looks of things, it's about as close to surgery as I'm going to get this summer.

"Yeah. Why, you got some sort of restriction?"

I shake my head, "No, but, um, any chance you're hiring?"

He frowns, "It's a family business, and we're pretty well staffed actually, but if that changes…"

I nod. I can tell he's humoring me.

"Well, thanks for the soda, sandwiches and company."

"Anytime," he says with a nod.

I start to head out and I almost run over a boy carrying a box of something.

"Sorry." We both say. I help him with the box. Once we put it, I get a good look at him. He's around my age, and kind of cute, curly brown hair, brown eyes, dimples.

He smiles at me, "Sorry." He repeats, but he says it differently, and I get the impression that he was checking out how I look to. I blush in spite of myself. God, what is with me today? You'd think I never met a cute guy before.

"It was my fault." I say, "I should have been paying better attention."

"Well, I should have too."

"How could you? You had a big box blocking your line of vision? I had nothing, and yet-"

"How about we agree to disagree on who should apologize then, and just say that whoever it was, we just accept?"

I smile, "Works for me."

"I'm Roy." He says, putting his hand out.

"Zoe," I say, "Um, I've got to get going, but it was nice meeting you."

He nods, "You coming back again?"

I smile at his boldness, "Probably. I'm sandwich run girl for a place nearby."

He smiles, then his voice drops to a whisper, "Well, try to come by around three in the afternoon. My dad goes out so I work the register. I'll give you a discount."

"Why would you do a thing like that?" I ask flirtatiously.

He shrugged, "Don't tell my dad, but the prices here are way too high. He's robbing people."

I giggle, "Oh, so you do that for everybody while your working?"

He starts to lose his boldness. He's squirming a little and looking all awkward and nervous. It is beyond adorable, "Well, I just thought-"

"I'm not saying I'm turning down the offer. I guess we'll just have to see."

He nods, "I guess we will."

When I get back, I see that cowboy from earlier trying to get in, "Look, I was here earlier, and I left somethin'." He sounds kind of desperate. He has this look on his face like a kicked puppy. I can't imagine how you could turn somebody down when they look like that.

She just shakes her head, "Sorry, no visitors or musicians after hours without an appointment."

God, she was a pain. Real bitch this receptionist. This proves it.

"He's with me." I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

He turns to look at me, surprised. Whether he's surprised to see me, surprised that I'm helping him, or surprised that I might have the power to help him, I can't tell, but there it is.

The receptionist rolls her eyes like the condescending bitch she is, but she let's us by.

I walk past breezily, pretending like I do this all the time, and he follows me. I don't see my mom anywhere, which I am kind of grateful for. I do see the fliers on the floor so I go to pick them up.

"Thanks." I hear from behind me. I nod without turning around and bend down to get the fliers. A couple of seconds later, I see a pair of hands near mine on the floor, "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks, but you don't have to-"

"It's the least I could do."

We both stand, and he hands me the fliers I gathered. His eyes meet mine, and I feel a shiver. Good thing? Bad thing? I'm not sure, but my initial reaction is to turn away, and hey, I have to put the fliers up anyway. I grab a bunch of thumbtacks and start on the fliers, "So, what did you leave?"

"What?"

I look at him, and his eyes dodge my gaze for some reason, "You said you left something-"

"Oh, that. Yeah. It's, uh, my wallet."

"Oh." I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. Something about how upset he was made me think I was in for a heartstring-pulling kind of story, like he left the last photo he had of his dead father or something.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just, it seemed like it was a bigger deal than that."

"What d'ya mean?"

I shrug, "Well, it's just a wallet."

He shoots me a look that makes me uncomfortable, "It's got $400 in it. Which, for the record, is all I got." There is an edge to his voice when he says it.

I turn and stare at him, shocked. "You mean, like, all you have spending cash, or …?"

"No, I mean like all I got. And I had to clean a lot of tables to get it. Took a while to save it up."

My mind is just flashing a does-not-compute sign over and over again.

"But, I mean, when you go back to … Bluebird?" I try, unable to remember.

"Bluebell." He says with a scoff.

"Right. Well, when you get back there, your parents can help you out, right?"

He stares at me like I'm a Martian, "You think if they could afford to give me that much, I would have spent seven months waiting tables at a dive bar?"

"I didn't know you did. And I thought minors can't-"

"Serve. You can still work at a bar."

"What about child labor laws." He just shrugs, "So you really only have four hundred bucks? And you think that that's a lot of money?"

By this point his face is pretty red. I cannot tell if he is more irritated, or embarrassed. My mind keeps telling my mouth to shut up, but I'm just so flummoxed. I mean, I've seen like, hobos and beggars on the streets of Manhattan, but this guy has clothes, he doesn't reek, he doesn't look malnourished. I'm not shallow. Honest. I've just never really met somebody who would freak out about losing a few hundred bucks. It just never seemed like a lot of money.

He turns away from me and heads towards the bathrooms. I sigh, put the fliers down, and head in the same direction, "Wait." I say as I try to catch up with him. He doesn't stop, just disappears into the men's room. Shit.

I look down at my heels. You never know what you might find in a boys room, and I do not want to ruin my shoes. Then, I look at the door. He better not be using a urinal; I will never be able to erase that image. Slowly, I push the door open.

"Hello." I call cautiously. At first, I don't see him.

"You shouldn't be in here. Not unless you're hidin' a penis under that pretty little skirt of yours."

I look down. He's looking under the stalls. I wince, thinking of how dirty the floors are. Then, reluctantly, I drop down to his level, trying to touch the floor as little as possible, "I'm guessing you lost your wallet in here?"

"Yep."

"And here I thought you were just trying to get away from me."

"I didn't say I wasn't."

I sigh, "Look, I'm sorry, okay. It's just … unusual for me."

"Yeah, I'll bet. So, what, you're some rich princess from some snooty family who only rub elbows with each other and pretend like the rest of us don't exist?"

"As far as nicknames go, I think I preferred Mystery Girl." I say, trying for humor. He just scoffs, "I really didn't mean to insult you. At least let me help you look for-"

"I'm not some charity case!" He shoots at me.

That's it. This is ridiculous. This guy doesn't want my help. I don't know why I felt guilty in the first place. He's clearly an ass.

I stand and brush my skirt off, "Fine. Whatever."

I spend the next ten minutes taking my frustration and anger out on innocent thumbtacks, staples, and corkboards. Yeah, sure, maybe I should have handled it different. I'm only human, and a teenager no less. One misstep, and suddenly, I'm Marie Antoinette!

"Hey." I hear behind me. I ignore him, stapling another paper on the wall, "I, uh, I found it." He says sheepishly.

"Good for you." I respond, making no attempt to sound pleasant.

"Well, uh, thanks again for, you know, lettin' me in." I nod, but don't look at him, "Listen, I'm sorry, okay. The money thing, it's a … it's a sore point with me."

"Well, how am I to know that?" I snap, turning toward him.

"You're not. I was just … overly sensitive." I gape at him. This is a pretty pathetic apology, and I can tell by the look on his face that he knows it, "look, let me make it up to you."

Okay, now I'm curious. Make it up to me, "How?" I ask.

"Let me take you out." Wow. Was not expecting that. "Tomorrow night. I'll, uh, use the money in my wallet." He smiles at me. It's sort of a smirk, but it's also sort of hopeful, maybe even a little nervous. I don't know. How can a person with such an expressive face be so hard to read?

"You've got to be kidding me." I say" Are you serious?"

I notice his face fall for a millisecond, but then the smirk returns, "As a heart attack." I just gape at him. Is he serious? He can't be serious? Seriously? Okay, I'm starting to sound like a valley girl now. I need to switch gears. "Come on. It'll be fun, I promise."

I'll be honest, for a second, I consider it. I'm not a big dater, but I have dated, and I've enjoyed it … most of the time. And he is charming with hypnotizing eyes and a nice smile when it's genuine. He's sort of fun to talk to, ad definitely the most exciting thing to happen to me this summer. And he doesn't know anything about me, so I could be whomever I wanted. But he comes off kind of like a player, which is always bad news. He's a musician, and what's more, one who might end up working with my mother. Aside from that, he lives in a southern town that I've never even heard of, and if he can't get a record deal, he's probably going right back there. If he does get a record deal, he'll be traveling all the time and … I know, I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. He just seems like the kind of guy who could charm a girl easily, and if I fell for him, and he left … "In your dreams, cowboy."

"I'd enjoy that," he says, smirking again.

I smile and shake my head, "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"

He shrugs, "I figure most people are. Their just too polite to say it."

I laugh. He's definitely funny, and lord knows I could use a laugh now. Maybe I should reconsider. I mean, who says it has to be so big a deal. It could just be some fun summer fling. I could fling. I could totally fling. I could become a full-fledged flinger if I wanted.

"See that, you enjoy my company." Whoa, that was weird. Is he like, a mind reader or something? Then I remember that I laughed at his joke, "What harm could one date do?" A lot. It could do a lot of harm.

Once I finish with the fliers, I figure I should call my mom to find out where the hell she is. My heel catches on something, and I stumble. The cowboy catches me. I feel like I'm in some cheesy movie; I did not think cliché's like that happen in real life.

If this were a movie, I would look up into his eyes and feel a connection or something, but this is real life, and that is so not going to happen.

"Whoa, you okay there?" I glance up without thinking. Crap!

I try to dodge his gaze, but I can feel him looking at me. There is slight concern in his eyes, which is kind of cute. I mean, I just tripped. It's not like I even fell or anything. He made sure of that. He caught me. But I don't care. I won't care. I could easily have caught myself.

His hands are on my arms, holding me steady. My skin tingles where he touches it. He has strong hands too; I can tell. And he's strong, holding me up, because I can feel myself weakening, and if he weren't holding me here, I think I'd probably collapse.

My head tells me to step out of his grasp and away from him, but my legs won't move. My throat is dry. When did that happen? Finally, I force myself to step back. "Yeah, I'm fine." I say, trying to sound as in control as I can, "Thanks."

He nods. I can still feel his eyes boring into me, and I can't not look up. The way he's looking at me, nobody's ever looked at me like that before. I shiver a little, and apparently, it's noticeable, because he asks if I'm cold. Before I can respond, he's draping his jacket over my shoulders. I turn around, and I'm right up against him. How does this keep happening?

"Thanks." I say. He just nods. We just stay like that for a minute or so, and then, I notice his head start to drop down to my level. A part of me I screaming how this is insane, how I don't even know this guy, and what kind of pervert kisses a girl who he met less than twelve hours ago and doesn't even know the name of. The other part of me wants to let him, wants to taste him and feel his lips on mine. I guess I'll never know if I would have let him though, because before his head reaches my level, I hear my mom call my name. I jump, and he does too, though I think he's more reacting to my reaction than her voice.

Quickly, I shed the jacket and hand it back to him. "Thanks." I repeat, this time more urgently. He looks at me confused, but takes the jacket.

My mom comes out of her office, "Zoe. Where were you?"

I turn to her, "I was here. Where were you?"

"I … had to step out." Great. She has a new sex-toy. That'll be fun.

"Yeah, well, I guess while you were 'stepping out,' I came back." I say, folding my arms.

She looks at me, and then notices that I'm not alone.

"Who is this?" she asks.

He steps forward, extending his hand, "Wade Kinsella, ma'am." Right, Wade. That's his name, "I, well, my band played for you earlier today."

"Right." she says in a way the clearly implies she has no recognition, "Well, we'll be in touch." He nods, "Why are you still here?"

"He left something important here by accident. I let him in." I say before either one of them says something stupid. I don't want him getting in trouble, or getting me in trouble, and I don't really want him knowing she's my mom, or what connection I have to this place. I don't know why exactly. There was just something sort of appealing and exciting about being mystery girl.

"Oh, well, the sandwiches-"

"Are in the fridge. You're welcome for that by the way."

She nods indifferently, "Did you get anything for yourself?"

"I already ate." I lie. Like I want to sit through an awkward lunch that by this point would be dinner anyway.

"All right, well, we should talk. Meet me in my office after-"

"Sure, whatever." Sometimes, when you know where people are going, it just saves time to cut them off. I am not trying to be mean. It's just a fact.

After she leaves, I turn back to Wade. "You should probably get going."

"Tryin' to get rid of me?" he asks cheekily, "listen, how 'bout I make you a deal?"

"Depends. What kind of deal?"

"Well, New York is a big place, right? There are so many people, the odds of two strangers like us randomly runnin' into each aren't huge. So, I figure, if, after I leave here today, you and I see each other again, we call it a sign, and then you go out with me."

"I don't know that you can call that a sign. I mean, one is just a point, two is a line, three is a pattern."

He looks confused for a second, then shakes his head, "Fine, three then. If, within the next month, you and I randomly run into each other three times, you'll let me take you out."

"You don't give up, do you?"

He shrugs, "What can I say, I got a feelin' 'bout this. 'Sides, I know you want to go out as much as I do."

"Do not."

"Say what you want, but I saw your face just now."

"Just when?"

"When we were standin' close. I almost kissed you and, you uh, you almost let me."

"I did not!" well, maybe not. But even if it was true, he still doesn't have a right to just say that.

His eyebrows go up questioningly, "Really? You sure you want to stick with that story?" he's wearing that cocky smirk again. I roll my eyes. Then, he starts to advance towards me. I back up a little. He smiles, "Why you backin' away? Scared of bein' proved wrong?"

"Maybe I just don't want you breathing all over me."

He chuckles, "That is the lamest excuse I have ever heard."

He advances again, and I duck to the side to avoid ending up in a corner. He tries a few more times, and I keep dodging him but the smirk never leaves his face. It's like some bizarre game of tag, and he's loving it. And I kind of am too. I start to giggle; I just can't help it. His smile grows to a full-fledged grin.

"Zoe!" my mom calls.

I brush a strand of hair from my face and try to calm my giggling, "I have to-" I point in the direction of the office, giving him an apologetic smile.

He nods, "So, what do ya say?"

"About what?"

"My proposition."

I have to think for a second. Then I remember, three chance meetings, "Okay."

"Yeah?" he seems a little surprised, but his eyes light up. He's trying to play it cool, but I can tell he really wanted me to say yes.

I giggle again and nod, "Yes really. What, you want me to take it back?" I tease.

He shakes his head, "No ma'am. All right, well, I'll see you around," he pauses, and then catches my gaze, "Zoe."