Zip, Zero, Zilch
Page 7

Friday thinks about it a minute. “Peck was there?”
“Ding-ding-ding!” Pete cries. “Give the girl a cookie!” He scrubs the top of her head as he walks by her.
“That must be why Emilio just called.”
I sit up. “What did Emilio want?”
“To invite us all to dinner tomorrow night.” She says it casually, but I can see her watching me out of the corner of her eye.
“What did you say?” Please say yes. Please say yes.
“I told him we would all be there.”
The clamp around my heart eases a little. “You did?”
She nods. Then she holds out her hand so I can give her five. “You’re welcome,” she says.
I grin. “Thank you.”
My brothers go to the back of the shop to get their supplies together. I can’t do tats because I just took a pain pill, and that wouldn’t be fair to the customers. I don’t do sloppy tats. Ever.
I get to my feet and put my crutches under me. “I’m going to go find a bed to crawl into,” I say.
“Hopefully, it’ll be your own,” Paul says, glaring at me.
Of course it’ll be my own. I have my eye set on a girl who doesn’t want me. But until I’m over her, I’m not even going to try to get her off my mind.
“You going to the apartment?” Paul asks.
I just got an apartment near his and Friday’s. They had plenty of room for me in my old room at their place, but I’m too old to live with my parents. Not to mention the fact that there are rugrats climbing the walls twenty-four/seven. You can’t even take a nap at their place. It’s wonderful when it’s wonderful, but it’s exhausting when it’s exhausting.
I grew up in a big family, so I’m used to the noise. But sometimes I just want to kick back in my boxers and watch some TV without anyone picking on me about the fact that I love cooking shows. And I want to make cupcakes without having to make a hundred of them at a time. I want my own oven and my own bed.
I kiss Friday on the forehead and tell everyone goodbye.
“Why don’t you let me drive you?” Paul asks. He’s already yanking his keys from his pocket.
“No,” I say, and I hobble toward the door. “You have kids to get home to. And Friday to do.” I grin at him over my shoulder.
He smiles at her. “I sure hope so,” he says. Then he smacks her on the ass.
When the camera crew is here, they eat that shit up. It makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little.
But it makes me envious, too. I want that.
I stick my head back in the door. “What time tomorrow?” I ask.
“Eight,” she says.
I nod.
“She might like it if you bring cupcakes,” Friday says. She waggles her eyebrows at me.
Peck doesn’t like cupcakes. I think she’s the only person in the world who doesn’t like my cupcakes.
One day, I’m going to get her to eat one. One day.
Peck
I sit out on the fire escape and try to avoid the Reeds and their offspring. I know it’s rude of me, but my wrist is hurting like crazy. I didn’t break it, but I did sprain it. It’s in a splint, and I’m not supposed to use it. I have to wear the splint for a few days and then I just need to rest it.
Imagine that. A drummer who can’t use her wrist. The record label we signed with is already having a shit fit. I can’t say I blame them. They invested a lot of money in us. More money than I thought I would ever see in a lifetime.
When you come from nothing, you expect nothing. Yes, Emilio and Marta have money, but we have always felt like it’s their money, and not our money. Yes, they’re our parents, but they instilled in us a sense of discipline and the value of hard work.
I don’t need much. I need to know my sisters are taken care of. I need to know Emilio and Marta are all right. And I need to know that my birth mother is nowhere near me.
The door opens behind me, and I turn to look to see who’s coming out on the deck. It’s almost winter, and it’s cold, which means that only smokers end up outside. I don’t smoke. But Emilio sneaks outside sometimes when he thinks Marta’s not looking.
But it’s not Emilio. I lower my feet from where they were resting on the table in front of me.
“Don’t get up,” Sam says. “I promise not to talk to you.”
He gets closer, and then hooks his crutches in one hand, hops two steps on one foot, and drops down heavily into a chair beside me. It’s the only other chair out there, so I guess he didn’t have a choice but to sit there. Right next to me.
He doesn’t say a word.
For a few minutes, he sits quietly, and I get more and more nervous. He grunts and adjusts his leg, propping it on the table.
I pull my drumsticks out of my back pocket and start to tap on the arm of the chair, making a rhythm that matches one of our new songs.
“Did you hurt yourself yesterday?” I ask, my breath billowing in front of us.
“Nah,” he says. “It’s fine.”
I gnaw on my fingernail and try to think of what to say to him. Finally, I just say, “Thank you.”
His head jerks up. “For what?” he asks softly.
“For helping us yesterday. You shouldn’t have done that.”
He heaves a sigh. “You should know by now that I would do just about anything for you.”
“Sam…”
“Shh,” he says. “Stop making me talk to you. I promised to be quiet.”