Chapter 16 Zara
Zara
Zara needed to get away.
Again.
Home was supposed to be her escape, but then Hektor followed her here. Not only that, he somehow managed to convince her parents to help him.
It was infuriating
But a tiny, very tiny part of her was thrilled.
I can’t get hurt again.
Whenever her heart sparked with any bit of warmth toward him, she forced herself to remember that cold emptiness from him.
She hated to admit it; she was being worn down.
Seeing him put on those ridiculous shiny gold shorts and fight in that ring.
Spending time with her father, who seemed to be having a good time on their adventures.
Charming her usually skeptical and uptight mother.
And of course, that speech as he offered her the feather.
Slowly, but surely, he was chipping away at walls.
Perhaps it wasn’t a physical escape Zara needed, but a mental one.
Rather than feeling sorry for herself, she needed to keep busy. Not just a distraction, but somewhere to put her energy where it mattered.
And so instead of moping at home like she’d been doing since she got here, she decided to do something productive with her time.
“That rainbow is beautiful, Isabella,” Zara said as she glanced over the nine-year-old’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Miss Zara.” She grinned up at her with a toothy smile. “And thank you for teaching us to paint.”
“Of course.”
Getting her old volunteer position back at Franklin Park Elementary was a breeze. Thankfully, the arts department still had the same coordinator, Mr. Nelson. He’d been the one who had recruited Zara back in her senior year. He was thrilled when she had called and asked if she could come in.
“Miss Zara?”
A hand shot up—a little boy with thick glasses in the back. The after-school program was for the entire elementary school so students of all ages could attend, and he seemed to be the youngest of the group, probably first grade.
She walked over to him. “Yes…?”
“Freddie,” he said.
“Freddie. Do you have a question?”
“Yes, Miss Zara.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been painting for at least an hour now. But look.” He nodded at his canvas. “I’m still no good.”
“Hmm.” Zara was tempted to comfort the boy or placate him, but she could sense how serious he was about his question. So she thought for a moment before speaking. “Have you ever painted before today?”
“No.”
“I see.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “Well, Freddie, do you know those famous athletes on TV? The basketball players, baseball players?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you think they got so good at their sport?”
“Practice?”
“Exactly. And painting is the same way. You can’t expect to become a great artist after one session.” She gave his painting a serious, thoughtful look. “I think if you work hard and practice, you could become good at this.”
Owlish eyes blinked at her. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
He turned back to his canvas. “Alright. Thank you, Miss Zara.”
“You’re welcome.”
Zara continued to walk around, answering questions and giving advice to the students. She glanced at the clock.
Five more minutes.
She wished she had five more hours.
She just wasn’t ready to go home yet.
As she made her way to the front of the classroom, the door swung open. “Mr. Nelson, you’re—oh. Mom? Dad?”
Sure enough, it was her parents who came in, followed by Mr. Nelson.
“Hey, honey,” Mom greeted. “How’s class? I hope you don’t mind us dropping in.”
“Not at all.” She wiped her hands down her jeans and approached them. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course, mija,” Dad said. “But your mom had business with the principal, and I thought I’d tag along and then we could come see you.”
“Oh right. The charity auction.”
“Thank you again for all your efforts, Mrs. Chura, Mr. Chura,” Mr. Nelson said. “We need those funds badly, otherwise, these kids won’t be able to come here after school anymore.”
“It’s our pleasure,” her mother assured him. “We need to keep the arts alive, right Robby?”
“Yes. Someone has to nurture that young talent. You’re doing a great job, Mr. Nelson.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind. I’m glad Zara decided to come back, even for a short while.” Mr. Nelson shot her a hopeful expression. “Maybe longer?”
“Well—”
“Mija,” her dad interrupted. “If you’re almost done here, could you help me unload some paintings from the car?”
“Paintings? I thought those got picked up a couple days ago?”
“Oh, these are different paintings,” he said with a nervous laugh.
Zara narrowed her eyes at her father.
Something was up.
She never used her powers on her family, but she didn’t need them now as her father could be transparent as glass.
Was he hiding something?
“Zara?” Mom said. “Anything the matter?”
“What? Oh, nothing.” Maybe she was just being paranoid. “Um, sure, Papá, I can help you. Let me finish up here.”
“It’s good, I can do that,” Mr. Nelson said. “Go and help your father.”
“Sure.”
After she said goodbye to the kids and promised she’d return the next day, Zara followed her father out of the classroom.
“Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Me?” He put on an innocent expression. “No, nothing to tell.” Looping his arm through hers, he tugged her along.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Since he was acting so suspiciously, Zara was tempted to use her powers to check his intentions, but she knew it wouldn’t work. As her father, she knew he would only have good intentions towards her.
“Yes, yes, mija.” He patted her arm. “I’m fine. Just walk and talk with me while we go to the car.”
“Sure, but what do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing. I mean, how was your day?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Tell me about your students.”
“Well….”
Seeing as he genuinely wanted to know, Zara told him about her session with the kids, about the kids who stood out, the ones who were shy, the outspoken ones.
This was a good idea, she thought in the back of her head.
She was giving back to the community, helping others, and she didn’t have to think about anything—or anyone—else.
“…and he was so adorable, I swear, with his thick glasses and his—” She stopped short, glancing around. “Hey, we aren’t in the parking lot.”
She had allowed her father to lead her as they walked arm-in-arm, and since she was too busy telling him about the kids, she barely noticed where they were going.
“Papá,” she said in a warning voice. “What’s going on? Why are we in the high school football field?”
The smell of damp earth and cut grass reminded Zara of her own high school days.
Aluminum bleachers flanked either side of the field and in the middle, members of the school's marching band milled about in their finery, chatting with each other or playing scales to warm up as they waited for instructions from their leader.
“Mija, you know my intentions are good, right?”
She pivoted to face him. “Yes.”
“And I would never lie to you.”
“Uh-huh.” Her patience was running thin. “What is this about?”
“Well…” Grabbing her shoulders, he spun her around to face the field. “There.”
The marching was now in full formation. The band leader stood in front, his baton raised as he blew a whistle, signaling for the members to start the play.
Zara’s nose wrinkled as the first few notes of a familiar tune began to play. “Is that…”
“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You?” Her father had the biggest smile on his face. “Yes. From yours and your mother’s favorite movie.”
“I know. But I don’t understand.” She shook her head in confusion. “What’s going on?”
She froze when a voice rang out from the speakers, low and suspiciously familiar, singing along with the band.
“Hektor?”
Her head whipped around, trying to find him, until she spotted the tall, hulking figure on, where else, but the bleachers?
Just like in the movie.
She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gods, is he dancing?”
Well, it looked like an approximation of what a dance should be, but she couldn’t blame him.
Watching his tall frame try to move in rhythm with a song was like seeing those inflatable tube men waving out from used car lots.
His tail swished clumsily behind as he swayed to the music and stumbled over the words.
Papá tsked and shook his head. “He should stick to…whatever it is Drakkons do best. But it’s okay, mija, you should have enough artistic genes to pass on.”
“Pass…on?” Her gaze remained stuck to Hector’s. “To whom?”
“Your kids.”
Zara swallowed hard, trying to push the lump growing in her throat. Warmth filled her chest, spreading across her body, enveloping her like a warm blanket on a frosty day.
Hektor powered through the song, dancing and singing with all his heart. He even jumped down from the bleachers, landed on the field and then ran around the band as they marched along.
As the song neared its end, he made his way to her, their gazes locking. They never broke contact the entire time. When he stood in front of her as he sang the last line, he never did take his eyes off her.
“Hektor…”
He handed the mic to Papá with a nod of thanks. “Zara, please. Will you listen to what I have to say? After this, I promise you, if you tell me to go away I shall never darken your door again.”
She could only nod as the lump in her throat grew thicker.
“Back in Drakkoria, I was confused and unsure, but not because I didn’t love you.
I could explain it with so many words, we could be here all day.
I could talk about how I was raised, how Drakkon culture had made it difficult for me to speak about my feelings.
” He took a deep breath. “But those would just be excuses. The truth is, I was afraid of my own feelings. That I would be hurt again. But this time, with you, I couldn’t let it happen again because it would be different. ”
“H-how?”
“Because you could hurt me more. Hurt me deeper. Because I love you.”
Before she could react, he took her hand and placed it on his chest.
“Someone once said to me that the heart cannot lie. So, Zara. What does my heart tell you?”
The urge to pull her hand back was strong.