Breathe, Annie, Breathe (17 page)

I sit up straight, and the sight of him wipes the scowl clean off my face. He’s wearing long red board shorts, a cheesy neon green tank, and flip-flops. Sunglasses sit perched on top of his head. I don’t know if his outfit makes me want to die laughing or fan myself. It’s ridiculous, yet ridiculously attractive too.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m here to beat you at something else. Now, I know you’re interested in being a nurse, but I think I can hold my own.” With a wicked grin, he holds up the board game Operation.

“Bring. It. On.”

We sprawl out on the floor with the game between us. I go first, carefully extracting the butterfly from the cartoon man’s stomach. Then Jeremiah plucks out the broken heart. My turn to get the wishbone.

“Why didn’t you come to the party?” he asks quietly.

I glance up.
Because
you
scare
me
. “This morning’s run was hard. I just wanted to relax and not have to be social.”

He opens a bag of Swedish fish he brought and offers me one. I choose an orange fish. “I wish you had come—I wanted to show you around our house…but this is good too.”

“Yeah, most guys I know
love
playing Operation on Saturday nights.”

He chuckles. “You know what I meant. I like hanging out with my friend.”

“I like hanging out with my friend too.”

Soon it’s down to the wire. If I remove the wrenched ankle without hitting the board, I’ll win. I worry on my lip, my hand shaking as I descend toward the ankle. I grab the wrench with my tweezers and slowly start to pull up when I bang against the board. It buzzes loudly.

“Dammit!” I say, and before I can even pout, Jeremiah plucks the wrenched ankle out with the tweezers, winning the game.

“Arrrgggh!” I pound my fist on the floor, cracking him up.

With the game over, we decide to watch a movie. He scrolls through my iTunes while I flick off the overhead fluorescent light and turn on my desk lamp.

“What is all this crap?” he says. “
Dirty
Dancing
?
The
Notebook
?
Legally
Blonde
?
Twilight
?!”

“Hey! Those are good movies.”

“Oh my God,
Sisterhood
of
the
Traveling
Pants
?”

“Jeremiah Brown.”

“
A
Walk
to
Remember
?!”

“If you don’t behave, I’m gonna send you right home.”

“Yeah, that’s the scariest threat ever. You’d be sending me to a bathing suit party.”

“I know you’d rather stay here with me.”

Crap. Where did that come from?

“Fine,” he says with a smirk. “We’ll watch
Mean
Girls
, whatever that is.”

He positions my laptop at an angle where we can both see it, then lies back on my bed, pulls his glasses from his pocket, and slips them onto his nose. I sit Indian style and lean over onto my knees. The room is quiet, except for the movie, our breathing, our laughing.

Jeremiah folds his hands behind his head. “Man, these girls are bitches.”

“I know, genius. That’s why it’s called
Mean
Girls
.”

Without a warning, he yanks me back against his chest. “Watch the movie with me,” he whispers.

“That’s what we’re doing.” Deep down I know what he really means, and that makes my heart beat wildly, but I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. My thoughts and pulse are racing.

He arranges me under his arm, and I wrap my trembling hand around his middle, cozying up to him. He feels warm, but I’m shaking like it’s snowing. It’s hard work to control my breathing. We lie together in silence for what feels like hours just watching the movie, until I feel him dragging his fingertips gently up and down my arm. Up and down my spine. Is his hand shaking?

Is this what adult relationships are like? You just touch someone without first laying down the boundaries? I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship except for with Kyle, and it was slow moving and had barriers to cross. First handholding, first kiss, first make-out session, first time he took off my shirt. And with Jeremiah, I feel lost, like during personal training when I don’t know what the next exercise will be. It’s scary not knowing what’s coming.

I’m not ready for a new relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever want one again. I don’t want to have that conversation with Jeremiah. But I don’t want him to stop tracing his fingertips up and down my arm, either. It feels soft and smooth and tingly. And being pressed up against him is
sweltering
.

That’s when the door opens to reveal Iggy holding what appears to be a mandolin.

“Kelsey, are you in here? Did you steal my cheetah-print bra—Oops. I didn’t know you had somebody over, Annie. Why didn’t you tie the jump rope to the door?”

“Jump rope?” Jeremiah asks, lifting his head to get a look at her.

“Did somebody steal the jump rope?” she asks, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I knew this would happen. I can’t wait to tell Kelsey.”

“Iggy,” I say, choking back a laugh. “Could you please excuse us? We’re watching a movie.”

Her mouth forms an O. “I get it. I’ll put the jump rope on the doorknob for you.”

“No!” I say.

“Fine.” She slams the door shut.

Jeremiah raises an eyebrow. “Is the jump rope your suite’s code for sexiling?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah.”

“Mason and I have a code too,” he says. “We’re supposed to knock five times. If one of us has a girl over, we yell ‘Get lost, loser!’”

“Why don’t you hang something from the door? Kelsey says that’s what people normally do.”

“Your roommate Iggy got it right. One time Mason hung a sock on our doorknob. Someone stole the sock…and I walked in on him and some girl butt naked.”

“Ew.”

“You’re telling me.” Jeremiah takes his knit cap off, tosses it on the floor, and runs a hand through his messy hair, not meeting my eyes. His Adam’s apple shifts as he swallows. “Want to finish the movie?”

“Um, sure.”

We lie back down on the bed. And my heart starts rocketing out of my chest toward the moon. My breathing becomes labored. Not taking his eyes off the screen, he pulls me onto his chest and squeezes my shoulder. And I want him so bad I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in the tips of my toes, in the palms of my hands, in all sorts of other tingly places. He caresses my back. I feel dampness between my legs. It would be so easy to take what I need from him, but that’s not fair because what if he wants more than just the physical?

Frankly, I shouldn’t even let him touch me. I’ll just end up hurting him.

I gently push him away. “My roommate’s gonna be back soon.”

We sit up together, the tension hanging over the room like a haze, and right then, Vanessa opens the door. A bright smile flickers on her face when she sees us together. “Whoops! Sorry to interrupt.” She closes the door and disappears within seconds.

Jeremiah glances over at me, smiles, and drags a hand through his hair. He digs his phone out of his pocket of those bright red shorts and checks the screen. “I probably should go. Got an early run tomorrow.”

“But you raced today!”

He shrugs. “I gotta train hard if I want to keep winning.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“What? Run?”

“Do all these crazy races. I mean, I hurt so much after every single long run, and you do them constantly.”

“It’s my job.”

I shake my head, incredulous. “How far are you running in the morning?”

“Ten miles, but then I’m doing a few hours of training on a bike. I’m planning on trying a motocross race soon.”

I’ve heard Nick and Evan talk about those races because they repair bikes down at Caldwell’s. Sometimes people fall off and break their legs. Sometimes they get run over by other contestants. Sometimes they get thrown thirty feet. Sometimes they die.

I sit up straight, my body rigid as a brick wall. “Jeremiah, why would you do that?”

“I have to find new stuff to do.” He pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear and touches my neck.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I say quietly. “Why can’t you just keep doing regular races?”

He starts tapping his foot nervously. “Because they aren’t as much fun for me anymore. I need more. Not even marathons challenge me.”

I clench my fists. “So you don’t think doing the Country Music Marathon is worth anything?”

“I didn’t say that at all,” he replies in a soft voice. “Hardly anyone has what it takes to do a marathon. And you’re tougher than nails. You keep getting faster and faster, and I can tell how strong you are. You are going to pimp the Country Music Marathon’s ass.”

“Uhh.” I mouth “pimp the Country Music Marathon’s ass,” making Jeremiah laugh quietly. “I don’t even know what that means,” I say.

“Neither do I.”

I pinch the top of my nose.
Breathe
. I care about my friend. I really do. I don’t want to see him hurt. I can’t lose someone else. “I really wish you wouldn’t do this motocross thing. Please, Jere.”

He lifts his knit cap off the floor and puts it on. “It sucks that you’re trying to tell me what to do.”

That makes me feel shitty. But he’s right. I’m the last person who has the right to tell him to change. It’s not like we’re dating.

“But I’ll do it for you,” he says sincerely. He turns his gaze to me, to my lips, and I know what he’s thinking. Me asking this of him will make things a lot more serious between us. Do friends change who they are at their core for each other? That’s not healthy. But neither is motocross…

“You don’t have to quit on my account. I just want you to take care of yourself, Jeremiah.”

“I will.” He pats my hand and stands up to collect Operation. “This was fun. You want to hang out tomorrow afternoon when I get back?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you.”

I walk him to the door, where he gives me a quick hug good night, and when I curl up in bed later, I can still smell his cologne lingering in the air.

“Let’s get matching sweatshirts!”

“No, Jere,” I say. It’s Sunday afternoon, Jeremiah arrived at my dorm room unscathed, and now we’re at the school bookstore. “We’re here to buy my books.”

He picks up an MTSU snow globe and shakes it. “C’mon. I’ll get a blue one and you’ll get a red one and then we’ll match like old people on the beach.”

“Fine, we’ll get matching sweatshirts as long as yours is pink.”

That shuts him up.

The bookstore is huge and books are piled everywhere. I touch my throat. It’s a little overwhelming. I take my course and book lists from my purse and begin searching through the stacks.

“Here’s your biology book,” Jeremiah says and drops it into the basket he’s carrying for me. Holy crap, it’s $100!

Most of my general education courses this semester involve science and math, but for some unknown reason I have to take an art class. The art history textbook costs $175, is bigger than a large pizza box, and must weigh twenty-five pounds. I place it back on the shelf—I can’t afford that whatsoever. I guess I’ll check online later to see if I can get it for cheap on eBay. Otherwise, maybe I’ll have to find a different type of art class. But paint supplies and brushes and canvas can’t be cheap either.

In the line to pay for my biology and calculus books, Jeremiah examines all the crappy trinkets and goodies they try to get people to buy while waiting. I bet he would love joining Mom for a fishing expedition through the $1 bins at Target.

“Oh, check this out,” he says. He finds an MTSU troll keychain with pink hair. “You need this.”

“I don’t need a troll doll,” I say with a laugh.

“You’re getting it.” He tosses it into the basket.

The girl behind us, who only has one book in her hand, glances into our basket. “Don’t tell me you’re actually buying your books?” she asks, incredulous.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I say.

“Who actually reads their books for class? You should only bother reading if you have a test coming up or a paper to write. And then you could just borrow the book from somebody in class or the library.”

I peer up at Jeremiah to get his opinion. He shakes his head at the girl. “Annie, the biggest problem you have with buying these books is hauling them back to your dorm. They’re heavy as hell.”

“That’s not a problem. That’s what you’re here for.” I nudge his side, making him laugh.

The girl behind us huffs and starts playing with her phone, taking quick peeks at Jeremiah. He yawns, ignoring her. I bet she wishes she hadn’t tried to embarrass me now.

“Besides,” Jeremiah starts, “you can sell these books back to the bookstore at the end of the semester, and you can use the money for Christmas presents.”

“Good to know,” I say. “Will you help me carry the books back at the end of the semester too?”

“Of course. And then you can turn around and buy my Christmas gift. I got a hankering for some matching sweatshirts.”

I playfully smack his arm and the girl behind us huffs again. She must be jealous of happy people. I smile at Jeremiah, who’s busy looking at a rubber chicken wearing a tiny MTSU jersey. He really does make me happy. Being around him clears my head just like running does.

When we lug my bags of books through my bedroom door, we discover Vanessa chatting with Rory over the computer. Thank God they aren’t having Skype sex or something.

I plop my keys and new troll keychain down on my desk. Jeremiah insisted on buying it for me. He named it Jay-Z for some unknown reason.

“What is that?” Vanessa ask.

“A troll keychain,” I say. “Named Jay-Z.”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Jeremiah grins.

Vanessa holds the troll up to the screen. “Ror, isn’t this keychain hideous?”

“No, he’s right—it’s awesome,” Rory replies. “Can you get me one of those, babe?”

Vanessa takes Rory and her computer into the kitchenette. I think she wants to give us alone time.

I turn on some music and take the books out of my bags to line them up on the bookshelf. Jeremiah turns his attention to his phone and starts texting away. When he plops down on my bed, his track pants ride up, revealing a thick white bandage wrapped around his lower leg.

A bandage…

I rush to kneel next to it. “What happened?” I gently touch the bandage and he winces. Whatever the injury is, it’s tender.

His face flushes as he bends to remove my hand from his leg. “It’s nothing.”

“What did you do?”

“What you told me not to do,” he says quietly.

“Motocross?”

A curt nod.

How stupid of me to think he’d show up unscathed. When has he ever been known to do that? “Tell me what’s wrong with your leg,” I say, staring at the bandage.

“Burned it on the bike.”

I clench my eyes shut. Goddammit. What if he breaks his leg next time? Or loses it? I bury my face in the heels of my hands until I feel him gently touching my shoulder.

“I’m all right. I accidentally knocked my leg into the metal when I was getting off. It was an amateur move. Probably because I am an amateur—”

“Are you going to do motocross again?” I interrupt.

“No. If it upsets you, I promise I won’t.”

“How can I believe that?”

“Because this is better than motocross.”

“What is?”

A pause. Drums his fingers on his knee. “Just sitting here with you.”

God…hearing that is scarier than him BASE jumping off the Empire State Building.

“Hey,” he says quietly, sliding off the bed to sit next to me on the floor. Our shoulders touch. A shiver slivers up my spine. “My leg’ll be fine.”

“Jere? I think you should go.”

“Why?”

A tear trickles out of my eye. I quickly brush it away. “This is too much.”

“I promise I’ll never do motocross again—”

“That’s not it!”

He cups my cheek with his hand, and my stupid cheek leans into him without my permission, and then our foreheads are pressed together. Our breathing races. He smells so good.

But the bandage on his leg kills the mood.

“I think you should go,” I mumble.

Jeremiah pats my thigh twice, then checks his phone. “I have to go anyway. My fraternity has its chapter meetings on Sunday nights, and I have to put on my good shirt and tie.”

He stands, stretches out a hand, and lifts me to my feet before walking to the door. “I’ll text you.”

I shake my head at the carpet. “Please don’t.”

His face crumples. “Annie, it was an accident. It won’t happen again—”

“You don’t understand. I don’t want to lose you—”

“You won’t—”

“How can you be so sure? I’ve already lost…” My voice trails off.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Jeremiah asks quietly, looking unsure.

“No, I don’t. How can you not understand how your doing motocross makes me feel?”

“How am I supposed to know how you feel? You never talk about him and what happened. I don’t even know how he die—”

“I’m not talking about him!”

“Friends tell each other how they feel. And we’re friends, Annie. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” Jeremiah’s voice is soft.

“I don’t want to lose you—”

“So you’re pushing me away? Just like my mom?”

“I need to be alone. Please.”

He shuts his eyes and lets out a long breath. “Fine. I guess I’ll see you around.”

And then he’s gone.

•••

College is different.

At home, I went to my room when I needed alone time. Now I have a roommate with an addiction to online videos. Every five seconds, Vanessa wants to show me a cat riding a Roomba, a whale chasing a boat, or a goat bleating like Taylor Swift. When Vanessa’s not YouTube-ing, she’s Skyping with Rory. She stays up until 3:00 a.m. most nights, doing everything from fixing her hair to doing sit-ups and weird yoga poses, and I like to be in bed by 11:00 p.m. in order to go running in the mornings before class. Sometimes I just want complete silence so I can read my trashy medical thriller. (Why can’t the doctor and the rogue FBI agent just do it already?!)

On my fourth night in the dorms, I decide to buy earplugs. I love Vanessa because she’s so nice, but God, having a roommate can be annoying. It could be worse, I guess. I could have Iggy and her mandolin.

But even if Vanessa were silent, I’d still have the crazy screaming people in the hallways to contend with. Two guys got into an argument because one drank the other’s Snapple. A couple broke up in the common room because he cheated with the girl who runs the projector in his film class. Our neighbors live for blasting electroclash music. Kelsey and Iggy got into a fight because Kelsey didn’t clean her hair out of the shower drain.

“Do you think hair clumps are against the Baha’i faith or something?” I asked Vanessa, who sniggered.

Classes are different from high school too. Instead of having homework every single night, we have a few major tests and term papers per semester. Only five hundred kids went to Hundred Oaks, but here at MTSU, I’m in a psychology lecture with over three hundred. At least Colton is in the class with me. That makes it not so overwhelming.

The reading assignments for all classes are long and tough. Sometimes I have no idea what I’m reading. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it through four years of this crazy hard coursework. I make plans to go visit my teachers during office hours.

After classes on the first day, I went to the Professional Health Sciences office. I saw online they were hiring for a part-time office assistant. Vanessa suggested that instead of changing my major from undecided to physical therapy or nursing right away (apparently her brother changed his major, like, three times and warned her not to worry about it until later), I should try to get a work-study job at the school, so I can see what it’s like
and
start earning money. I’d been stressing about how to pay for books along with Matt’s training program dues for this October.

The physical therapy office itself reminded me a lot of the gym where Matt works. The place was full of mini trampolines, medicine balls, and nutrition posters. I met a nice guy, Michael, who rocks these red-rimmed rectangular glasses and has black studs in each ear.

“I’m here to apply for the job?” I said with a shaky voice.

He smiled as he handed me an application, and I filled it out. After I talked with the office coordinator, explained that I’ve been working steadily as a waitress for over two years, and told her how important exercise has become to me, she hired me on the spot. Sure, with the office’s minimum wage I won’t be making good money like I did at the Roadhouse, but I feel great that I have a way to make some cash and will hopefully learn something too.

I love the late afternoons after classes when the heat has died down. Vanessa, Kelsey, and I like to lie out on towels on the quad, just talking and studying. They giggle when guys whistle at us. And even though Kelsey and I haven’t talked about our past, everything seems okay. I love having friends again.

I keep wishing Jeremiah would walk by and challenge me to a game of Parcheesi or something. But he doesn’t.

Jeremiah and I only text each other twice during my first week, and we never make plans to meet up again. I texted to see if he wanted to run together one morning or evening and he replied:
We don’t run the same speed. It makes no sense to train together.

I took a literal step back when I read that text. Fine, I thought. He’s right. I would just slow him down.

But honestly? I scared him off. He isn’t jumping to see me anymore. I find myself looking for him on campus, at the gym, at the bagel place, on the quad between classes. With 30,000 kids at this school, it seems impossible to just run into him. How is it possible that I miss him so much…but I’m scared of him at the same time?

Mom always said I depended on Kyle too much:
a
guy
should
fit
into
your
life, Annie, not become it.
I don’t want to depend on Jeremiah like that. I go to dinner with Kelsey, Vanessa, and Colton every night, and on Wednesday, I grab a coffee with Michael after he trained me for my new job.

But I still miss my friend.

Maybe that
rush
Jeremiah told me about applies to friends too. Maybe he lost that feeling of flying with me. Maybe that’s why he’s barely paid attention to me this week.

I mean, I asked him to give up something he loves just because it scares
me
. Me, somebody who has given him nothing except friendship. Am I being selfish? Yeah. But I don’t want him to get hurt.

On the Friday night before my first twenty-mile run—the farthest distance Kyle ever ran—instead of carbo-loading with Jeremiah, I find myself driving back to Franklin to the drive-in movie theater.
Grease
is playing tonight. Kyle and I loved watching this movie together. I loved the songs and he loved when Sandy wore the hot leather outfit and smoked a cigarette at the end.

God, I miss the way things used to be. I buy a small popcorn, sit on the hood of my car, and use my thumb to wipe away the tears.