9. Dotty
Chapter 9
Dotty
O fficially, I hate social media. The comments have been vicious. Girls pointing out my every flaw. Men commenting on my body.
I wish I could say the one good thing is that my parents saw the news and reached out. But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. I shouldn’t let it all hurt so much, but my heart is raw. The bright spot in all of it is that Zac texts me every morning. He calls me his beautiful girl. He says he’s crazy about me.
I know he’s playing the part, like he was when he dragged me into the woods and started kissing me. Kisses that left my panties damp and my body aching for his touch. But I’m not his, and this is a fantasy I’m living.
“What’s wrong?” Sadie asks quietly when I enter her bakery an hour before our book club meeting. The other girls aren’t here yet. I needed time to catch up with my bestie. We’ve barely talked since the news broke even though she’s been dying to know the details.
To my embarrassment, I burst into tears. She ushers me into the back of the bakery, so her customers don’t see her friend having a complete meltdown. She gestures at Barrett to handle the tables. He hangs around a lot. Ever since the two of them got together, I rarely see them apart. It’s so sweet and so romantic.
“Spill it,” Sadie says when we’re in the commercial kitchen. She’s shoved a jelly donut and a coffee at me.
I take a bite of the donut and sniff. “I’m not really dating Zac.”
She makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t offer any commentary on the fact that I’ve been lying to everyone. “Is that what has you feeling sad?”
“People suck,” I explain. I pass her my phone. “Do you see these comments?”
She flicks through them, seeing the fans that are picking me apart. My hair isn’t pretty enough. My body isn’t skinny enough. My face isn’t clear enough. Don’t they realize I look in the mirror and already see those flaws?
“Why do they feel the need to comment like that?”
“They’re jealous,” Sadie explains. “They want him, and you got him. You’re competition now.”
I shake my head. “I never wanted to compete.”
She passes me back my phone. “Fuck those people, Dotty. You’re amazing. You know that.”
I blow out a deep breath. “I’ve been working extra hard on my meditations about self-acceptance. But it still doesn’t come easy. Now, when I go outside, I’m thinking about my hair and my makeup. I’m wondering if everyone else is paying attention to what I eat, or how much I eat.” I shake my head.
“But that’s not the only thing bothering you,” Sadie presses, sensing my feelings before I can even articulate them fully.
I take another bite of the jelly donut to give myself a second to think. “It’s just that…I like Zac.”
She nods as if she expected that. She knows that a girl would have to be crazy not to have feelings for Zac Maple. He’s big, bearded, and so very burly. That barrel chest. The way his stomach jiggles when he laughs. Those big, hairy knuckles and his strong hands.
“And I don’t want to get my heart broken,” I finish. I’m a coward, and I’m not sure what hurts worse: that I’m so scared, or that I’m admitting it to my best friend. Not that she would ever judge me. Sadie and I can talk about anything without judgement. Every girl needs a friend like her.
A dreamy look flits across her expression, and I know she’s thinking of Barrett. “What if he doesn’t break your heart? What if he heals you in ways you never even imagined?”
I hadn’t considered that one before. I’ve been so focused on how this could end badly that I never even stopped to consider what could happen if I let myself fall.
I’m still thinking about Sadie’s question two days later when I show up at Zac’s place for our interview. He answers the door wearing a faded flannel shirt. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his expression lights up the moment he sees me.
My heart skips a beat, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I shift from foot to foot.
“I’m here for the interview,” I say, like I didn’t confirm it with him this morning. He told me I was welcome anytime, but I wanted to finish my work at the newspaper before I came over.
He opens the door and gestures me into the house. I glance again at the formal dining room with the big table and six chairs. Will he have four kids one day? Does he want kids, or is the table for entertaining his brothers?
“Where do you want to set up?” I ask, forcing myself to stop wondering about Zac Maple’s future procreation plans. That would make a heck of an interview question.
“I find I’m most honest and at ease in the bedroom,” he answers.
“Have your eyes always been that brown?” I shake my head and step into the kitchen, placing my bag on the breakfast nook. “The kitchen is fine.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he mutters and slides into the bench across from me. His belly bumps the table, and I love that he doesn’t make an effort to suck his gut in. I love how confident he is in his skin—whether he’s performing on stage or hanging out with me. “Alright, let’s get this game of twenty questions started. But I have a rule.”
“You don’t get to make the rules. This is my interview,” I point out, rummaging in my bag for my recorder. I’ll record our words on both my phone and the dedicated recorder.
“My rule is that for every question you ask me, I get to ask you one,” he continues as if I didn’t object.
“You’re not interviewing me,” I remind him.
“It’s important I know facts about my girlfriend. What if someone asks me your favorite flower? I should know those things.”
I scowl at him, taking the seat across from him. “Fine, but I get two questions to your one. Are you ready?”
“For you, always,” he answers with a wink.
I pull up the questions I neatly printed on a sheet of copy paper. I could have left the questions as a list on my phone, but I can’t deny that it made me feel like a real reporter to print them. “You’ve said before that you picked up a guitar for the first time when you were fifteen. Did you play any instruments before that?”
I don’t miss the change in his expression. He’s guarding something. Zac has secrets. “No.”
“What made you pick up the guitar then?”
“Just wanted to be popular,” he answers. It’s the same thing he’s always said in interviews. But after getting to spend time around him, I know two things. The first is that he’s lying and the second is that he doesn’t care about being popular.
Every time I’ve been out with Zac, people approach him constantly. But he’s as happy to fade from the spotlight and let someone else have it.
“What are you hiding?”
“It’s my turn for a question,” he answers with an easy smile. “Why did you go into reporting?”
“To be popular,” I deadpan.
He chuckles. “Touché.”
“Should I put that down as the reason you tried out for the movie too?”
He stands from the table, bumping it with his belly again. He moves to the pantry, swinging open the door. “Do you want some dinner?”
“I want an interview,” I answer, frustration bleeding into my tone.
“Afraid breakfast is my specialty, but I can also make a mean can of soup.” He steps from the pantry and holds up a can of tomato soup.
He’s not going to do this. He was lying all this time. He’s been stringing me along, but he had no intention of giving me a good interview.
I turn off the recorder and gather my things with jerky movements. “I’ll take a rain check on the soup.”
I’m halfway out the door when he grabs my elbow to stop me.
I turn to look at him, and I see the raw pain flash across his expression. “I was in the hospital,” his voice is hoarse. “That’s when I picked up the guitar.”
Martha said he doesn’t go to the hospital. Did something bad happen to him once? Is that why he’s so hesitant to talk about this?
“Zac…” I start.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know but don’t ask me about that.”
I nod, suddenly understanding why he’s playful and casual in interviews. That’s not his personality. He doesn’t want to let the world see his wounded places.
Given the side of social media I’ve seen this past week, I can’t fault him for that. Instead, I find myself wanting to protect Zac. Clearing my throat, I ask, “What if we start the interview over again?”