Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Annabel

“Wow! This is like really good,” I say when I finish reading Kennedy’s first submission to his editor.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he teases.

“Please! I’m not surprised in the least. Do you honestly think I would agree to become life coach to someone less than brilliant?”

“So, that’s what you are to me? My life coach?” he asks, turning his attention momentarily from the road and staring me down.

“Tricky. Tricky,” I reply, shifting in my seat. “I take it there’s something you wish to talk about?” I’m not sure if I’m ready discuss what happened or didn’t happen last night.

Kennedy shrugs. “I don’t have anything pressing to discuss if you don’t.”

I furrow my brow, knowing full well the game he’s playing here. It became very clear during the stunt on the cliff that Kennedy thinks I have a hard time expressing myself, and he means to push me to do so the entire trip.

The thing is, I’m not really sure what I’m feeling. I want to trust Kennedy, I do. But there are so many red flags. The drinking and the smoking and the girls. The fact that he’s only applying for the internships because I’m making him. He rarely takes anything seriously. Besides, the last thing I’m looking for is to get all wrapped up in someone before heading to school, and yet, I find myself unable to stop thinking about what it would be like if I did let myself go there.

Right now all I know for sure is that I hope tonight’s hotel has two beds, so I don’t have to make any more difficult decisions. The smart choice would be to keep things completely platonic between us, but I’m not sure I’m able to think straight when I’m lying with him like that.

“Were you able to talk to Grams today?” he asks, changing the subject. I’m not sure if Kennedy does it to spare me or to emphasize that unless I bring up what’s going on with us, he certainly isn’t going to. Always running when things get difficult.

“Yeah, she sounded like she was having a good day. She said Mom managed to get the twins off to day care without anyone losing a limb, and that the house is still standing. Sounds like they actually might make it through the week.”

“Feeling a little better about going off to school, then?” he asks.

Another question I don’t know how to answer. Even if I’m not sure whether I want Kennedy and me to move past the friend zone, I do know, without any kind of doubt, that I’ll miss our time together when I go to college. So now the concept of school doesn’t just involve leaving my family but leaving him as well.

“Let’s see if they make it through the week first,” I answer. “How many hours of driving we got left today?” I ask, doing a bit of subject-changing myself.

“Another two. There’s this small town outside of Delaware. We’ll stop there for the night. Drive a couple hours in the morning, and then we’ll be setting up our tent before noon.”

Right. I forgot. Living in a tent for three days. Great.

“I figure we wouldn’t push it these two driving days. It’s gonna be quite the party at the festival. Best if we relax while we can.”

I swallow. Quite the party? I hadn’t really contemplated what a three-day music festival entailed. Reading over Kennedy’s article with the waitress really opened my eyes. Sure, I’d read about Woodstock before, but that all seemed so removed from my plane of existence. I think modern-day music festivals involve more than flower garlands and fringe. What if Kennedy found me totally lame when we got there? I wasn’t the dancing type or drinking type or drug type. I was the girl happy with her camera and maybe a good book.

I wasn’t a festival girl.

“I need to piss,” Kennedy declares, breaking my train of thought.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I reply.

“We’re just asexual buddies, right? That’s something I share with all my asexual buddies,” he counters.

“Oh, so you have a lot of asexual buddies, do you?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Aww, don’t get jealous, Le Chat, none of them are quite as special as you are,” he says. He taps me under the chin.

I laugh and grab at his hand.

“Whoa there! If you wanted me to hold that hand of yours again, all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m good.” I drop his hand. If he wants to play this proverbial round of gender-reversed
Lysistrata
, then so be it. Two can play this game. And when I play, I play to win. Always.

“Oh, I bet you are,” he replies with a smirk.

Challenge accepted.

Kennedy pulls into the parking lot of a dilapidated gas station with what appears to be a general store. “Where the Hades are we exactly?”

“What? You’ve never been to Middle of Nowhere, Virginia?”

“Nope,” I reply, nervously eyeing my surroundings.

“I think it would be a good idea if you come in the store with me,” he says. I spot a pair of gentlemen in overalls spitting tobacco and staring at us like we’re made out of moonshine and deer jerky.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” I say, unclicking my seat belt.

Inside the store is a collection of the most random items I’ve ever seen housed under one roof. Everything from pink plastic lawn flamingos to re-creations of Picasso paintings. It’s like the owner of the store went to every yard sale held within fifty miles for the past fifty years, bought everything he laid his eyes on, and placed it all in this store. It only takes me the three minutes Kennedy spends in the bathroom to realize I’ve entered Oz.

“This place is rad, huh?” Kennedy asks, coming up behind me.

“Assuming you’re done relieving yourself, can we go now?” I ask. I feel a little uncomfortable about the row of decapitated doll heads that stare at me from behind Kennedy.

“Not. So. Fast. It’s been, like, a whole eight hours since we’ve had a dare.”

“Oh, heck, no. There’s no dare that could come from this place that I would be comfortable with,” I argue. On the shelf under the doll heads is a collection of old Scientology books. I shudder.

“When will you just trust that I’m not trying to trick you into something you don’t want to do? I asked you to
Sound of Music
it and tell the mountains how you felt about your boyfriend—”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I interrupt.

“That’s right. Ex-boyfriend. I didn’t dare you to break up with him. I just dared you to do some yelling. Afterward was your choice. And then last night, I just dared you to move a little closer. You decided you wanted to cuddle.”

My mouth drops open. “That’s not how I remember it going down.”

“Stop stalling once again, Annabel Lee, and let me propose my dare.”

“Ugh. Fine. But if it involves anything with banjos or animal carcasses, I’m done with the dares,” I warn.

“For dare number three, I get to choose any outfit from over there”—he points to a few racks of clothes in the back that look mostly made up of camo—“and you have to wear it.”

I shrug. “Okay. No big deal. As long as I get to thoroughly search them for any sign of bugs, we’re good.” Clearly, he has failed to notice how very little I care about looking fashionable.

“I wasn’t done. And then you have to get someone’s number while in it,” he finishes with a devilish grin and a waggle of the eyebrows.

“You want me to get some guy’s number?” I ask, feeling a bit perplexed. I’m not understanding what game Kennedy is playing here. If last night was any kind of indication as to what he wanted, I wouldn’t think he would dare me to go flirt with another man.

Had I totally misread everything? Was he playing me fast and loose like he did all the other girls? No wonder I had trust issues.

Kennedy reaches down and gently pulls on a strand of hair that’s come loose from my ponytail. “That is the dare if you’re brave enough to accept it. If not, say good-bye to the
Emporia News.
”

“Tell me, did you come up with this dare because you didn’t think I would have the balls to do it, or because you don’t think I could complete it if I’m wearing a ridiculous outfit?” I tuck the loose strand of hair back into place.

“I came up with it because I think you need to get back on the horse,” he replies, hooking a finger around one of the loops of my jeans and pulling me close.

My heartbeat quickens a little, but I refuse to let him get the best of me. “Oh, you want me to get back on the horse and ride it, huh?” I lean in to him. Toe to toe, so close that if we were any nearer to each other we would give the old man watching behind the counter a real show. “Trust me when I say this, Kennedy, no matter what crazy getup you put me in, I can and will get any man I desire. Game on, buddy.”

“Is that so, Le Chat?” he whispers, tugging again on my pant loop.

“I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I really love to win,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel. I do love to win, but when it comes to seduction, I consider myself a real novice.

The only real love affair I’ve had was with Jason. I’ve only been with one man. Kennedy could probably fill out multiple one-night stand bingo cards.

“Well, good! It’s settled,” he says. He abruptly pulls away from me. “I can’t wait to see what kind of game you spit.”

“Yeah, me too,” I mumble under my breath as I follow Kennedy toward the racks of clothes.

By the time Kennedy is done with me, I look like Rainbow Brite and G.I. Joe had a baby. I’m wearing a camo T-shirt that’s two sizes too big, acid-washed skinny jeans, and a multicolor tutu.

“You know, for this dare to be fair, we have to be someplace where people actually exist. Because for the past two hours, you’re the only boy I’ve seen, and I wouldn’t want to ruin our asexual friendship by trying to…what did you call it? Spit my game at you,” I say, tapping my fingers furiously against the passenger-side window.

As the end of the day nears, I’m less and less certain that I can actually pull this off. If I were wearing a little black dress and had my hair done, maybe I could find some desperate guy and get it done without need of any real skill or game, as Kennedy called it. But wearing this, combined with my complete and utter lack of game? Well, the whole thing is starting to feel a bit impossible.

“Good thing we need dinner before heading to the hotel. I know the perfect little bar. I always stop here before the fest,” he says.

When Kennedy said “little bar,” he wasn’t lying. Barely bigger than the mobile units they had to bring and set up behind the school when the Henderson family’s quadruplets started having children of their own, the bar, which someone thought would be funny to call Wrong Turn, is filled to the brim with pool tables, barstools, and people from all walks of life. Now it makes sense what Kennedy said about stopping here before he went to the festival. More than half of the people jammed into the small, smoky room seem to be the type who put going to music festivals as a top priority on their to-do list while people like me are busy trying to finally finish reading
War and Peace
.

Despite my show of hubris earlier in the day, I’m even less certain now that I’m actually going to be able to pull this off. Even with the wild outfit, I’m definitely not like any of the people in here. If I had a dollar for every head of dreadlocks that’s passed us since we sauntered up to the bar, I’d at least be able to buy books for my first semester of school. And when did wearing glitter past the age of three become a thing? If a girl isn’t sporting the hippie look, she’s scantily clad in tiny shorts and some sort of bra/tank-top combo, skin covered in the Arts and Crafts section of Walmart.

“You want something to drink?” Kennedy yells over the music, which has changed from what I can only describe as a jam band who probably never learned how to say multi-syllabic words to some sort of techno jam where the elusive beat refuses to drop.

“Whiskey,” I call out.

Kennedy clearly wasn’t expecting this response. With what I can only call magic, he manages to flag down a bartender and return with one shot of whiskey and one whiskey ginger. Clearly this isn’t the type of place that checks ID. Theoretically, this dive bar probably sees this volume of people only once a year before the festival, so it’s not surprising that suddenly everyone in the room is celebrating a birthday…or a few in some cases.

Kennedy slides a drink my way. I furrow my brow and hold up the glass. “What’s this?” I ask, taking a sniff of the concoction.

“Whiskey ginger.”

“I thought I said I wanted a whiskey.”

“Well, yeah, you did. I just assumed you wanted it cut with something.”

I snatch the shot glass from his hand and throw it back. It burns all the way down, but if my grandmother taught me anything sitting on that porch, it’s sometimes all you need is a little liquid courage. Kennedy’s eyes go wide.

He reaches for the whiskey ginger, but I snatch it up before he can. “Since you offered…” I tease before chugging it.

“Holy shit balls, Annabel Lee.” Kennedy laughs. “Shall I get you another one…while I get one for myself? Since you drank, you know, both of them.”

“I mean, if you’re getting one, you might as well get two,” I reply, feeling the warmth from the whiskey run over my skin. “While you do that, I’m going to go piss.” I point toward what is either a bathroom or broom closet, but since I doubt this place actually has any brooms, I’m guessing bathroom.

“And, yes, I said piss. You can say that to your asexual buddy,” I add. Without another word and a simple flip of the hair, I leave Kennedy at the bar. I don’t look back to see if my little jab had any impact.

Once in the bathroom, I get to work fixing my other problem. The dare. There’s no way I’m going to pick anyone up wearing this getup. At least not in its present state. I dig in my purse for my Leatherman—Grandma insisted I take one with me on the trip. I doubt she imagined this particular moment when she suggested I might need it, but useful all the same. I go to work cutting off the bottom half of my much-too-large camo shirt and making a small tear at the collar, so I’m able to rip it a bit and show some cleavage. Usually, I would be totally against this sort of behavior. Demeaning myself to get a boy’s attention? Yeah. Right. But this is war, and I’m not going to lose to Kennedy. This is a high-stakes game we’re playing. Backing out of a dare meant Kennedy would drop one of the internships. Losing a dare meant mortification. The Horsey Back. There was mention of having to wear a T-shirt with a picture of me wearing this outfit on it during my freshman orientation if I didn’t win. And we never, never backed away from the consequences of a Horsey Back. Some promises would always be sacred.