“Zoe? Zoe!”
Zoe started awake. At the foot of her bed the speakers had fallen silent; Papa Roach was over. She sat up and popped out her iPod.
“Zo-eee!” Her mother hammered on the door, rattling the wood loudly.
Zoe sighed and swung her legs out of bed. “What, Mom?” she called back boredly.
“Can I come in?”
Oh boy, this was gonna be a bad one. “Yeah, okay.”
The door opened and Zoe’s mom came in.
She was a tired old muppet of forty years. Her once vibrant fur, so much like Zoe’s, was turning grey and her large, gentle eyes sagged with stress. She often pinched the flab under her arms regretfully. As a young muppet she’d been tight and shapely, but her youthful beauty had long since been buried under the weight of the years.
“Zoe, dear,” she said wearily. “We need to talk.”
Zoe turned away from her and rolled her eyes. Here it comes, she thought.
“I got a call from Mr. Jenkins earlier. He said you were smoking on the steps of a building down at the south end.”
“What?” said Zoe sharply. Her best chance was to pretend.
She heard a creak as her mother settled down on her bed. “Zoe, we’ve been over this. I don’t want you—”
“Mr. Jenkins is a blind old man,” Zoe sneered. “He probably saw someone who looked like me.”
“With Bert and Elmo?” her mom demanded. “Zoe, you know I don’t like either of those boys—”
“You don’t know them,” Zoe argued. “They’re really nice guys.”
“Nice boys who smoke and loiter by abandoned buildings? Do you realize how much trouble they could get you in?”
Zoe’s answer was a sulky silence.
“I’ve talked to Elmo’s parents,” her mother went on.
Horror shot through Zoe. “You what?” she said very quickly, straightening and turning to look at her mother.
“He’s grounded,” her mom said. “Now, I’m not going to ground you, but I think it’s best you stay away from Elmo…for a while.”
“Mom!” Zoe wailed. “How could you do this to me?”
“Zoe, you have your senior year and then college coming up—you don’t need any bad influences or black marks on your record now. By the way,” she added sternly, “Have you started applying to any colleges yet?”
Zoe turned away from her. “No,” she muttered. She had actually applied to several art schools, and was planning to send away to more, but no way was she going to tell Mom that. Mom wanted her to go into some high-paying career so Zoe could get rich and she could live her golden years in comfort, certain of support from her wealthy daughter. She was constantly pressuring the girl to do well in math and science, which Zoe absolutely hated and did poorly at. Meanwhile she ran a disapproving eye over Zoe’s art scores, discouraged her daughter liked that best.
“Well, get hopping,” her mother said. Her voice was falsely cheery, covering the dam of stress straining to break forth. “Deadlines close faster than you can imagine.”
Zoe just nodded.
Her mom cast her a dissatisfied look before moving to the doorway. “I’ll be making dinner,” she said before closing the door behind her.
Zoe nodded again.
Sesame High, like the rest of the street, was dying. Many families had moved away, depleting the population; the granite steps and brick walls were graffitied and covered with names and swearwords etched into them. Several windows had had rocks hurled through them; the glass was patched with peeling duct tape. Inside, the bathrooms were messy, many of the mirrors cracked, the toilets clogged, and the sinks dysfunctional. Dust gathered on dirty desks in long-unused classrooms that the two old janitors never bothered to look in on.
Zoe had had the same locker since freshman year, B32. Elmo’s locker was a couple down, B34. He was already there, tossing folders inside (they would most likely not come out until the end of the year).
“Hey, Elmo,” she greeted him.
“Hey, Zoe,” he said in a bored voice, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and slamming his locker shut. He turned to her, but before he could speak, someone else said:
“Hey, Elmo.”
Zoe looked around. Walking towards them, carrying a frilly little bag over one shoulder, was Abby Cadabby.
“Try not to puke,” Zoe muttered to Elmo, but she noticed he had suddenly straightened, and there was a gleam of interest in his eyes.
Abby was dressed in a stunningly tight black skirt that hugged her perfect waist and a black shirt whose collar dipped low enough to reveal her cleavage. For Abby Cadabby had some cleavage. Her breasts swelled out grandly and jiggled with her every step like giant, floppy water balloons. Drawing attention to her upper chest area was a large silver skull pendant on a black cord around her neck. The skull rested just above her breasts, on her soft-looking pink fur. Her green and purple hair, something most muppets didn’t have, was tied in a carelessly good-looking ponytail to one side of her head. When she tossed it Zoe thought she saw silver sparkles catch the light. Judging by the way Elmo’s eyes widened, he’d seen them, too.
Abby smiled, her full cheeks dimpling prettily. “Hi, Zoe.”
Zoe crossed her arms and said nothing.
Abby sashayed up to Elmo. Despite her leather high-heeled boots she still only came up to Zoe’s shoulder, and only to Elmo’s chest. However, he didn’t seem to mind looking at her. Looking down her shirt, rather.
“Hi,” he said dazedly.
If Zoe had pushed so close to him, Elmo would have shoved her away, claiming he needed his personal space.
“I was wondering about the rave next Saturday,” Abby purred.
“Rave?” said Elmo. “What rave?”
Zoe barely caught her whispered words. “The one at the old stadium.”
Elmo looked surprised, but he quickly covered it. “Um, sure, I’m going. Yeah, I’ll be there fo’ sho’.”
Abby winked at him. “I heard they’re bringing X.”
Elmo’s eyes widened, and Zoe felt her heart stir with unease. Pot was one thing—but X? Would he dare?
“I’ll see you there, then,” Abby said, fluttering her eyelashes. “As she walked away, she cast a seducing look over her shoulder at Elmo.
Zoe felt anger burn inside her.
“Where do you want to hang after school?” she asked him, trying to distract herself from the nauseating image of Abby the slut.
Overhead the bell rang, and hall traffic instantly began to increase.
“Actually,” Elmo replied distractedly, “I have a lot of homework and stuff…not today, Zoe.” He started to walk away.
“It’s only the first day of school!” Zoe called after him, but he had already blended in with the crowd.
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