The Unofficial Zack Warren Fan Club by J.C. Isabella Read Free Book Online Page B

front.
    The wood floors were painted a soft glossy white, and the windows draped with silky blue fabric. I pulled the cords on the drapes to open them wide, staring at a sky heavy with thunderclouds.
    The previous owners left some of their furniture, like the big whicker bench I sat on to watch the storm roll in. Most of the stuff was really nice. A few pieces were original to the house. I found a gilded mirror wrapped in an old sheet in my closet. Mom had Glenn put it in the living room to be hung above the fireplace.
    At the sound of footsteps I froze, hoping the person walked right by my hiding place.
    “Nice.” Zack sauntered in, eyeing the room. “Very airy.”
    I didn’t respond.
    He took a long drink from a bottle of water I’d left sitting on the window ledge.
    I glared. “That’s mine.”
    “Finders keepers, Baker.”
    I jumped off the bench and snatched it from him, finishing off the rest of the water, tying not to think that his lips just touched the same place.
    We fell silent, watching a line of dark thunderclouds hovering over the grassy field behind the house. It really was beautiful, and flat. You could put a car in neutral and leave it without worrying about it going anywhere, except maybe down. The green looked squishy, and did I mention, swampy?
    I ran into the living room, tearing through one of the boxes I’d yet to haul up the stairs and found my camera, back into the sunroom, pushed open the French doors and walked to the edge of the porch. The sunset peeked between the black clouds and over the treetops in the distance, shedding a warm orangey glow. I snapped a few pictures.
    “You like photography?” Zack came out onto the porch.
    “I love it.” And I let my guard down, just a little. “When I look through the lens it’s magical, another world where you can freeze time and capture images the human eye misses.”
    Zack gave me a genuine smile. There was nothing behind it, no humor or mocking, no irritation. It was mind melting. Thinking coherently afterwards was near impossible. “Cool.”
    I held out the camera. “You want to try?”
    “No, that’s alright.”
    “Come on, it’s not hard.”
    He stepped forward and took the camera. Facing the sunset he snapped a picture.
    “I guess it does look different.” He handed it back to me. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Baker.”
    “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know me.”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    I was about to take his picture before he noticed, when I spotted something blue out of the corner of my eye. “We have a pool!”
    “That’s the best thing I’ve heard you say all day.”
    We went back into the house once it stared raining and found our parents making dinner, Glenn’s famous baked chicken.
    I didn’t see how the chicken could be famous. He’d only cooked it for us once before.
    Zack and I were given the lovely task of unloading boxes marked for the kitchen while the chicken and veggies had a party in the oven.
    Once I found the plates, and the bird was golden-brown, we ate standing up. Our new dining room table was in a box still unassembled. Glenn’s table from his house was too small, and the one at my house covered with paint from mom’s late night dates with a brush and easel.
    Glenn asked my mom to keep regular hours. Sleep at night and paint during the day, unless it was going to drive her crazy. It would, eventually. But she was too occupied with her new husband to care about pottery and paintings. I could tell by how happy she was, and giggly. And my mom is so not the giggly type.
    “How are things going?” mom passed out napkins.
    “Good,” Zack said automatically.
    “Just good?” Glenn asked as he ate a drumstick. He also had other rules, like no painting in undesignated areas, being the big one, and no peanuts in the house, since he is severely allergic. Mom was going to have to get used to having an art studio, which suited me just fine. I could walk around and not worry