Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (7 page)

But I can’t explain all that to Kennedy.

“Don’t you dare do that to me, Annabel Lee,” he warns, wagging a finger in my face.

“Do what?”

“The smile-and-nod thing girls do. I’ve been around enough girls to know a smile and a nod is the nonverbal equivalent to an ‘I’m fine.’ I’m not trying to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. I just think you have a gift that needs to be shared.”

“I’m sure you are well versed in girls,” I counter, finding it easier to jab a little bit at the rumors that run wild about Kennedy than to talk about my photography.

“Watch the claws, Le Chat,” Kennedy says.

“Sorry. That was rude. There’s just so many things one hears…”

Kennedy takes a step closer to me and then another one. God, when did he get so tall? So lean? Those muscles? Not too big. Just big enough to know he could open all the jars of pickles. That blond hair that manages to look good even in fluorescent light. He could reach out and touch me if he wanted to. “If there’s something you want to know, all you have to do is ask. Though I do find it a bit off that a girl with a boyfriend is suddenly so interested in my dealings with the opposite sex.”

“I’m not interested,” I spit out as fast as I can, not understanding why my voice hitches at the end.

“What’s his name?”

“Whose?” I ask.

“The boy you’re dating.”

Shit. His name. What’s his name? Why the hell can’t I remember his name? It’s not really fair…all these questions he’s throwing at me. Staring at me like that. And it’s so late. And I’m so tired. “Jason?” I ask.

Kennedy raises an eyebrow. “Annabel Lee, are you asking me if your boyfriend’s name is Jason? I kind of think you should know the name of the boy you’re dating,” he replies, and if I’m not crazy, I think he’s leaning closer to me.

“No, I’m not asking his name,” I reply, shoving him away from me before moving to the opposite side of the dimly lit, suddenly cramped room.

“Whoa, kitty, I was just asking his name,” Kennedy replies, holding up his hands in surrender. He proceeds to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

This Kennedy, this Kennedy who asks whatever question pops into his mind and does whatever he wants…this Kennedy is so different from my Kennedy. It’s like we somehow switched personalities after the accident. Like the accident put me in the dark and brought him out into the light. How fair is that?

“May I make one little observation?” Kennedy asks.

“Depends on the nature of said observation,” I reply with a scowl. Kennedy has this way of making me feel special and like a real buffoon all at once.

“If he was doing it right, you’d remember his name.”

Jaw meet ground. Ground meet jaw.

He has no right to pass judgment on Jason. Jason has been there for me. Not Kennedy. “If you must know, it’s perfectly adequate, and I’m not likely to take sex advice from someone who would stick it in anything with a good set of tits who smiled at him.”

Kennedy lets out a low whistle. “Feisty when we talk about the boyfriend, huh? I wasn’t talking about sex. I was talking about being in a relationship. That’s where your mind decided to go. And just so you know, I’m an equal opportunist when it comes to boobs. I like all boobs. Big…small—”

“Look, I think it’s about time for me to get back. I have a really busy day today,” I interrupt. Mostly because listening to Kennedy talk about all the boobs he’s touched twists up my stomach so badly that I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose some organs at any second.

I don’t know if it’s my tone or what he reads on my face, but Kennedy nods. After making sure to clean up all of the evidence of our break-in, we trek back to the car in silence. What once was comfortable between us has turned otherwise, and I’m not exactly sure why.

Something lives in the air that moves around us, and I want to run from it and embrace it all at the same time.

“Look, if I offended you back there, I’m really sorry,” Kennedy says, breaking the silence once we’ve reached the car. “I know I kind of kidnapped you tonight with the help of the coolest grams I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and you’ve been really awesome about it, all things considered, so if I said something stupid, I’m really—”

“Don’t. Please, I’m just tired. It was fun. Really,” I interrupt.

Despite the verbal truce, the ride home is tense. As I see my house in the distance, I’m not sure if I’m sad or relieved. The only thing that’s certain is that when Kennedy puts the car into park, I find it hard to open the door to leave. “So, are you feeling inspired?” I ask, forcing a laugh in an attempt to weaken this odd electricity that seems to trap us.

Kennedy looks at me for a while without speaking, and I feel the current, the jolting, static-filled buzz, pulling me across the console toward him. “Oh, hell, yes, Annabel Lee, I’m feeling inspired.”

His hands move to unclick his seat belt, and I know right then and there that something could happen, something not in my plan. I pull back, free myself from the belt keeping me in the car, a car that might just become the scene of a huge life mistake, and push open the door. It’s not until I’m safely outside the car with the door shut that I can bear to look at him. If Kennedy’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. And that just makes me feel silly once again.

“Thanks for the adventure, Le Chat,” he says.

“I think it’d be good if you go back to calling me Annabel,” I say quietly.

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” he replies as he clicks back in his seat belt. “See you around, Annabel.”

“See you around, Kennedy.”

I try calling Jason the minute I close the front door.

But he doesn’t answer.

Chapter Nine

Kennedy

At this point, I’d rather Annabel yank my balls clean off than continue with the silent treatment. I had ten years of it, and I can’t go back to that place. Ever since our late-night rendezvous, she’s avoided me like a free airline ticket to Zika-ridden South America. I know I royally fucked up. Again. I had made that move to kiss her back in my truck. I know she is well aware of all the rumors that surround me about girls. I mean, there
have
been girls, but the numbers and frequency of said girls are wildly exaggerated. But why would she believe me if I told her that when I tried to kiss her, a girl with a boyfriend nonetheless?

I just couldn’t fucking help it. It was like voodoo. Or magic. Or destiny was with us that night. It wasn’t like I had planned for any of that to happen. I just wanted my friend back, and then I realized that friend was amazing and hot and all the things that musicians write power ballads about.

The only time I see her now is during class, and she does everything she can to not talk to me without actually appearing to be giving me the silent treatment. But I know when a girl’s giving me the brush-off. I’ll say hey or try to crack a joke, and her response is more shoe salesman than friend.

It’s not like I expected us to immediately be best buds, but I know something happened between us that night two weeks ago. Something good, and, yeah, sure, for the better portion of that night I let thoughts of pressing my mouth against that bottom lip of hers mess up my mind a bit, but it was more than that. There was a connection. Artist to artist. I mean, shit, I wrote like a madman when I got home that night. I couldn’t stop the words flowing from me.

So a few days later when class came back around, I tried talking to her, and while she replied, her responses were all too polite. Like I just found out I had a terminal disease or something. More like she thought I was the disease that was going to fuck up her perfect little life.

But whether she saw it or not, her life was far from that. And as I stared at her class after class, I made my mind up to do something about it. The old Annabel is still in there. I know she is.

And that’s how I became stalker dude.

I bend down to make sure the laces of my running shoes are tied. At least, I think they’re running shoes. I bought them from Walmart under the sign that said
Athletics
. Having turned into a “Hide Your Daughters” Lifetime movie, I have watched Annabel run this path the past three mornings. After trying unsuccessfully to talk to her in class, I figured this was my next best option. Of course, I’m pretty sure I haven’t run since middle school, so it’s looking like a 50 percent chance I’ll get a restraining order issued against me and a 50 percent chance I’ll end up dying of a heart attack, and all to talk to a girl who probably thinks I’m just a screwup.

I want to prove to her that I’m not. Talk to her about my writing. Share with her that maybe, one day, it could make me into someone. That I’m not just a construction worker living in a room above the bookshop my old elementary school teacher owns. Maybe one day I could start my own blog or magazine. I don’t know what I could do, but I do know, after spending some time with Annabel, I feel like I could do
something.

Waiting for Annabel to run past me, I realize I should probably stretch or something, but even that feels like an algebra equation right about now. It’s not that I have two left feet or anything, but I write for an online music blog, which means that most nights my diet consists of hot fries and Dr Pepper. And while working construction keeps me fit, running is a whole other thing. It has to be hard-core if Annabel Lee does it. She doesn’t half-ass anything.

If I thought Annabel Lee looked good talking about music with the moonlight illuminating that red hair of hers, it’s nothing compared to how she looks running. Holy shit balls. I mean, I’ve seen her run before. There was that wonderful cheery-sunshiny moment when I honked at her during her morning run, and she flipped me the bird. But that was before I let myself really see the girl. Damn, I sure am looking now.

Gone are the jeans and band shirt. Tank tops might just be Kanye’s greatest creation. Legs that seem to go on forever. Boobs, well, jeesh, I could write a whole opera about those boobs…but even more alluring is the look on her face. She is in the zone. She is digging it. And she isn’t doing it for anyone but herself.

She doesn’t even notice me standing on the corner staring at her like a real creeper. Which means I am going to have to actually run to speak to her. I could just yell out to her, but then I remember about the honking, and I’d rather risk the heart attack.

She’s fast. Like cheetah fast. Like
Mom heard you were smoking pot behind the supermarket and you had to rush home to destroy your stash
fast.

I’m not going to be able to reach her unless I get moving, push harder. The closer I get, the more I realize that even if I did scream out as I fell to my death, she wouldn’t hear me. The music from her headphones is so loud I can almost make out the words from a good fifty feet back.

Bean’s Little Catherine. Holy shit. She is listening to Bean’s Little Catherine. Musical steroids does the trick. Soon, I’m right at her side. She yelps when she sees me, skidding to a stop. “Wha-what, what the hell are you doing?” she asks, not even sounding a bit out of breath.

“I-I…you know…run…the run thing,” I manage between pants.

“The run thing?” She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you do ‘the run thing’?” she says, using air quotes.

If I open my mouth to utilize actual words, I’m pretty sure I’ll puke. So instead, I start jogging. For a moment, I can’t hear her behind me, and I’m afraid she’s turned back toward her house. But then she’s next to me.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” she notes.

Despite the fire now raging in my chest, I manage to give her the thumbs-up. Clearly Annabel knows it’s a lie, so mercifully she stops running. “Yeah, you look like a regular Usain Bolt,” she comments, crossing her arms over her chest.

My legs feel like Jell-O, and I’m pretty sure the shoes I bought at Walmart are actually death traps made by the Chinese as part of an evil plan to make all cheap Americans immobile before they attack. I try to speak, but I’m certain it would still be all about the puke. I place my hands on my knees and close my eyes.

“Hey, are you going to be okay?” she asks. “Here, why don’t you drink some of this water?”

I open my eyes, mostly because I’m curious as to where she’s been hiding a water bottle. Much to my disappointment, she pulls a small bottle from a utility belt around her waist. I grab the water and gulp it down.

“Easy there, buddy. Don’t drink it too fast, or you’ll get sick all over those sweet kicks of yours.”

So, the girl has jokes. There’s that old Annabel who never let my ability to charm just about anyone go to my head.

“You know…I just drank after you. That means we practically made out,” I counter when I can actually form words.

Annabel’s face reddens as she snatches the bottle back from my hand. “I’ve got to go. See you around.”

“Whoa. Wait,” I plead, grabbing her elbow before she can run like the wind. With a sigh, she turns around and faces me. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop with the innuendos. Clearly, they make you uncomfortable.”

“Th-they…don’t make me uncomfortable,” she stammers.

“They do. So let’s just forget that I’m a dude and you’re a chick and start pretending we are two asexual beings who enjoy each other’s company. Can we at least try that, Le Chat? It’ll be just like we’re back in elementary school.”

I’m damn near begging the girl.

Annabel bites down on her lip and starts kicking at the cement below her. If I have even a remote hope of seeing Annabel as nothing more than an asexual artist, then I might have to tell her to stop with the lip. Because between that and the tank top, I’m in real trouble.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay,” she says quietly.

“Aww, don’t sound so excited, or you’ll give yourself a heart attack,” I say, throwing an arm around her shoulder. Mostly because I’m afraid without her support, I’ll fall to the ground.

“Says the boy who couldn’t run half a mile without looking like he was going to get sick,” she counters.

“You noticed that, huh?” I ask, scratching at the back of my head.

“I notice a great many things. Isn’t that why you like me?”

“It is indeed, Le Chat. It is indeed. Now, could we maybe go sit on that curb over there for a minute before I drag you down to the ground with me?”

“Sure, weakling,” she says with a laugh, leading me to take a seat.

“Good Kanye, Annabel, you actually do that whole running thing for fun?” I ask. I lie back on the grass, shielding my eyes from the sun by throwing an arm over my face.

“Good Kanye? As in Kanye West?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug. “Hey, I’m a music guy. And if he keeps going around Twitter saying he’s lord of all things with a beat, I find it best to just believe it before he smites me with carpal tunnel syndrome,” I say with a wink. “But let’s not talk about my faith issues. You really like this running thing?”

“I love it.”

“You love torture. Kinky…in a totally asexual way, of course.”

“You’re so funny,” she replies drily. “And I don’t think of it as torture. It’s my own bit of personal freedom. When I’m out there running, I’m not competing against anyone else. Just myself. If I have a good run, it’s thanks to me. If I have a bad run, it’s my fault. I’m in control.”

“Well, it sure feels like torture to me,” I groan.

“Why were you out here, anyway? And where the Hades did you get those ridiculous shoes?” she asks, poking me in the side, so I’ll look at her.

With a grunt, I pull myself back up to a sitting position. “I was out here to see you, of course. As for the shoes, they’re courtesy of Walmart.”

Annabel’s eyes go wide. “Please tell me you’re lying. The next thing you’ll say is today’s the first time you’ve run in them.”

“And that would be bad…?”

“Oh no,” she squeals, covering her face with her hands. “The blisters you’re going to have later will be terrible! What were you thinking?!”

“That I needed to talk to you.” There it was, plain and simple. No reason to lie about it. “Look, I know things got weird the other night. But that’s not an entirely bad thing. I think we could both use a little weird in our lives. And like I said, no more inappropriate comments. I promise. You have a boyfriend, and I totally respect that. After we chilled that night, I banged out my entries. And let’s not forget the amazing pictures you took. So, let’s muse it up while we can before you jet off to school.”

Three weeks was all we had left before she was gone, and knowing Annabel with all of her goals and dreams, I doubted she would be coming back. If I had any chance of fixing my friendship with her, making amends, it needed to happen now. I couldn’t let all those
other
feelings and urges get in the way.

Annabel takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah, sorry. Things have just been really hectic at home.”

“Grams?”

“Yes.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

I hesitate briefly before reaching over and grabbing her hand. I only paused because I didn’t want her to think I was making a move, but I would do it for any friend, so I took her hand in mine anyway. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Annabel. She seems like a real hell of a lady.”

“She’s amazing,” she agrees.

“Maybe she’ll bounce back. Seems like she’s got a lot of fight in her.”

“I used to think that she could beat anything. Every time she took a turn for the worse, she came back. But I’m not sure this time. She’s sleeping more and more.”

“Which means you’re sleeping less and less,” I say, noticing the hint of dark circles under her eyes.

Annabel nods. “I offered to defer another year, but she went crazy. Cursed me out in German, even. Which she only does when she’s really mad. But how can I go? She won’t even talk to me right now.”

I’m not going to lie. The thought that Annabel might stay makes me feel good. Like, awesome. But what kind of dick would I be if I didn’t push her to do what’s best for her, and that means her getting the heck out of here? “You can’t stay, Le Chat. It’s time for you to go.” I give her hand a squeeze.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Annabel says, pulling her hand from mine.

“Then let’s not talk about this anymore,” I reply. I know talking about things like this is hard for her, so I’ll take what I can get. Hell, I’m happy we’re exchanging complete sentences at this point. When she’s ready to talk, I’ll be here. This time and for as long as she’ll have me.

“So, what do you want to do? Go for another run?” she jokes.

“Now who’s the funny one? I have a way better idea. Let’s go get your camera and take some fucking pictures,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It’s time to cheer this chick up.

Annabel’s face pales. “You want to go to my house?”

“I’ll wait outside if you want me to. I know the shoes are atrocious, but I never thought they would bar me from entering any establishment,” I reply, feigning hurt.

“Well, they
are
really bad. I mean, really, really bad. But no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just my house has gotten a little bonkers since the last time you were inside.”

The last time I was inside, her brother was still alive, and we were best friends. Only one of those things I could get back, and I would do anything I had to do to make
something
right for her. This I could fix.

I clear my throat. “If there is one thing you should know about me, Annabel Lee, it’s that I love me some bonkers. So let’s go. Besides, we’ll pop in only long enough to get your camera, and then we can jet.”

“Maybe ‘bonkers’ isn’t a strong enough adjective. I have toddler twin brothers who I’m convinced hold daily meetings planning my demise, and then there’s Grandma who, well, you’ve seen her colorful personality for yourself. The place is always a mess and—”

“Then I’ll wait outside. Seriously. Stop worrying. Now, quit being so lazy, get off your ass, and let’s go get your camera,” I say. Managing to stand up, I hold my hand out to her.