Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (11 page)

I’m not sure why, but my eyes fill with tears.

“And you need to go because I can’t,” she continues. She takes the glass of whiskey from my hand and brings it to her mouth. After a long sip, she turns her attention back to me.

“But what if…”

“If I die while you’re gone?”

I nod.

“Then I die. At least you’ll be having a hell of a time. Which is what I want for you. Always. God saved you the day of that accident, and I don’t need you wasting the time he gave you.”

The tears are free-flowing now. Grandma puts down the glass and pulls me into her arms. “It’s okay to cry, Annabel Lee. Right now, it’s okay to cry.”

And so I do, and she does as well.

Once all the crying is done, Grandma takes my hands and leads me back into the house. She shuffles over to the hallway table where we keep the mail and hands me a thick white envelope. “Now, about Kennedy. I got you some leverage.”

I raise an eyebrow, having no idea what Grandma means. But knowing her, it’s got to be good.

Chapter Eleven

Kennedy

Not even Bob Dylan is working.

“Livid” is not the word to describe the mood I am currently drowning in. That fucking prick. That small-dicked assweed. I have done nothing but work my butt off for that man, and he thinks just because I don’t have the best reputation in town, he can treat me any way he wants? Fuck no. I’d rather eat ramen noodles for the rest of my life than put up with that.

When I got home from work, I tried just about everything to shake off the crap mood I was in. First, I tried writing, but when I opened my email to see the available article topics, I found an email from my editor asking about the music festival. Which only reminded me that I wasn’t going, and that Annabel was probably jetting off to college soon. That just made me feel even worse, considering there wasn’t a damn thing settled between us. At first, all I wanted was to talk to her, but now I want so much more.

I thought about calling up some of my buddies to get high, but that’s exactly what people like my boss expected of me, so I crossed it off my list. Then I tried listening to all my faves, but even the King of Folk himself wasn’t doing the trick.

So when Annabel texted to see if she could come over and sign the cover art paperwork, I almost said no. I was feeling more Hulk than Captain America at the moment, and I didn’t want to rage out on her, since I felt like I could punch a wall. But then the thought of not seeing her felt worse, so I agreed.

There’s a quiet knock on my bedroom door, and I’m still not sure I made the right choice. I had texted Annabel to just come on up when she got here. Mrs. Peterson always keeps a spare key under a stone bunny next to the door. Everyone in town knows about the key.

Now that she’s here, I wish I would have taken a few seconds to clean up my room. Annabel’s room was hospital clean. Like mental hospital clean. And my room looks kinda like a tornado swept through a convenience store: empty pizza boxes, chip bags, and soda cans everywhere.

“One second,” I call out, suddenly feeling panicked. I run around the room, throwing as much of the trash under my bed and in my closet as I can. I turn down Bob’s lamenting and open the door.

For a girl who spends more time studying than going to the mall, Annabel always has this way of looking effortlessly cute. Like now, she’s wearing a Daughters of the American Revolution shirt with jeans, and her hair’s tied to the side with a blue-and-white polka-dot ribbon. I take note that this is the third time she’s worn a shirt with something to do with history.

Her cheeks redden a little when she sees me, and I half wonder if my fly is down or something. But her eyes are, like, laser-locked onto me, so there’s no way to check without her noticing. “What’s up, Le Chat?” I try to say casually, but my voice sounds all epileptic.

Annabel shrugs. “Not much,” she replies. She plays with a loose string on the hem of her shirt.

“You going to come in or just stand there awkwardly in the doorway?” I tease, trying to break the heavy tension between us.

“Are you going to invite me in or just stand there awkwardly in your room?” she counters.

I grin. “Nicely done. Come on in,” I reply.

“So, is this where all the magic happens?” she asks as she walks into my bedroom. I raise an eyebrow and her cheeks go from pink to atomic red. “I mean like writing. W-writing magic,” she stammers.

“I saw your eyes dart over to my bed when you walked in,” I reply smugly.

“You wish,” she counters, rolling her eyes. “Now, I believe we have some business to conduct.”

“I’m ready for the business when you are,” I say, crossing my room and taking a seat on the bed. It’s easier for me like this. The joking. It’s better than telling her I don’t want her to leave. That I’d give anything to escape with her for a few days and listen to music. To get lost with her.

“What happened to being asexual beings?” Annabel reminds me.

I clear my throat and pop up from the bed. “You’re right. Whatever was I thinking?” I reply, taking on an air of mock seriousness. “Let’s get this paperwork signed, young lady,” I continue. I pantomime straightening a tie as I walk over to my desk to get the documents she needs. “Now, you’ll need to sign here and here,” I say, handing her a pen.

“You can’t honestly expect me to sign without reading it?” Annabel asks.

“Of course not. How very foolish of me,” I reply. I move back over to my bed and plop down. Knowing Annabel, she’ll read every word. Twice.

About a half hour later, Annabel signs the paperwork. “Seems pretty legit,” she says.

“Congratulations, you’re officially a paid photographer,” I reply, taking the papers from her and offering her a fist bump.

Annabel bites on her bottom lip and shakes her head, fist bumping me back.

“Shall we celebrate? I think Mrs. Peterson has a five-dollar bottle of wine behind the counter. She says she’s saving it for the day a famous author walks in.”

“Maybe you’ll be that famous author one day.”

Now I’m the one all red in the face. “Doubtful,” I reply, scratching the back of my neck.

“Fine. Play the modesty card. I’ll pass on the wine, since our business isn’t done,” Annabel replies. She crosses her arms and leans against my desk.

“Is that so?”

“I have a proposition for you.” She’s all seriousness, and I’m not entirely sure I shouldn’t be afraid right now. “I will go to the music festival with you—”

“Holy shit, Annabel! That’s literally like the best news I’ve had all day,” I nearly shout, jumping off the bed. “Seriously, this is—”

“Wait.” Annabel halts me only seconds before I hug her. “I’ll go on one condition.”

My stomach drops. Deal-making with Annabel Lee sounds about as much fun as deal-making with Mussolini. There’s no way I’m walking away from this negotiation as the winner. I swallow. “All right. Hit me with it.” Annabel starts digging in her purse. “There’s no need to pull out a gun, Le Chat. I said I would listen to your proposition.”

“Very funny,” she replies, taking out an envelope and handing it to me.

“The Broadchurch internship,” I read aloud. I look up at Annabel. “What’s this?” I ask, feeling very much like I’m being set up. I’ve been in this position before. I can’t count how many times the guidance counselor yanked me into her office senior year to lament the fact that I wasn’t going to college, or the number of times Mrs. Peterson slipped college brochures under my door.

“It’s part of my deal. You apply for this, and I’ll go to the music festival with you.”

“No deal,” I reply, throwing the envelope on my desk. “School is not my thing.”

“Well, if you took two minutes to actually open it and read it, you would see that it’s not a school application,” Annabel snaps. She grabs the envelope off the desk. “It’s an internship at the
Richmond Times-Dispatch
for the Arts and Entertainment section.”

“Come on, Annabel. Another thing I don’t like? Wasting my time. Why would I want to apply for that? You really think they’re going to take someone who doesn’t have a degree in journalism?” I scoff. The last thing I need today is someone reminding me, again, of all my shortcomings. Besides, if I didn’t get it…failing in front of Annabel Lee wasn’t an option.

“Um, yeah, I do. The entry form clearly says that a college degree isn’t required. They’re looking for new talent, and they don’t care where that talent comes from as long as it’s talent.”

“That’s just something they say to appear hip. The only person they’re going to hire for that internship is some yuppie grad student who has family ties to the company. That’s how this shit works.”

“You’re scared you’re not good enough,” Annabel charges.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why you don’t try. That’s why you keep writing for a music blog with such a small readership. You sit there and talk about how important writing is to you, but here comes a chance to actually make something of yourself, and you won’t even try.”

“Please don’t lecture me, Annabel. I’m not in the mood.” My head’s starting to hurt, and the urge to call my friends and disappear for a few hours has become stronger.

“No way. You don’t get to walk into my life and shake it all up, making me reevaluate all of these things, and then sit there afraid of taking chances yourself!” She takes a deep breath. “You keep making me remember what life was before. Who I was back then. Maybe it’s time you remember who you were, too. Stop being so scared of putting yourself out there.”

“I’m not afraid,” I argue, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. The pounding is getting worse. She isn’t going to let this go.

Annabel grabs my hands and forces me to look at her. “You’re afraid to go for it because if you don’t get it, you think that makes everyone in this town right. I heard what your boss said to you today.”

Oh. Shit. If I didn’t feel terrible about the whole damn thing before, I certainly do now. There was Annabel Lee, who’s probably never been yelled at her whole adult life or failed at anything, watching me get reamed by a total prick. No wonder she was here talking about internships; she probably thought of me as nothing more than a charity case. Another problem she needed to fix.

“Please just drop it,” I say.

“All you have to do is fill out the application, submit some sample pieces, and you could spend the next year of your life writing in Richmond.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go spend the next year of my life in Richmond.”

“Or maybe you don’t want to see who you can be outside of this place.”

“And you do?” I ask.

“I’m not saying I’m not scared. I’m trying. I offered to go to the festival, and I started packing for college today,” she replies.

For a moment, I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “So, you’re going, then? To school?”

Annabel nods.

We both just sit there and stare at each other. And I know what I have to say next. “All right, Annabel Lee. You win. I’ll apply.” I agree not because I think I have a chance in hell of getting the internship, but because I know I’ll probably never get this time with her again.

Annabel’s whole face lights up, and I know I’ve made the right choice. “I found a few more internships that you also qualify for. Not as fancy at this one, but still worth trying.”

“Whoa, girl! I agreed to one. You can’t change the deal on me,” I reply.

“We never shook on it, and what’s the difference between applying for one and applying for five?”

God, this girl is an overachiever.

“There’s a big difference. If you get to change the deal, then so do I,” I counter.

Fear flashes in Annabel’s eyes, and that’s why I have to up the ante. She’s about to go off to college. The real world. She’s been so lost in all her responsibilities and studies that I doubt she completely understands what that even means. She’s not ready. You always read about those kids who never had a drink in high school who get alcohol poisoning at their first frat party. Annabel Lee Sumter hasn’t really lived at all.

“I’ll fill out all the applications you want me to on one condition.” Annabel bites down on that bottom lip of hers, and I thank Kanye for the moment I saw that damn picture of the trash cans. “You have to complete seven dares in seven days. No back-outs. No talking your way out of it. You have to do them.”

Her mouth drops open.

I’ll get my Annabel back. I’ll get her back.

“Now, before you get your panties in a twist, I promise all dares will be reasonable. You will come home with all your limbs, and I would never ask you to do anything that you’d be ashamed to tell Grams about,” I assure her.

She’s still standing there speechless. “It will be such a great article,” I add, trying to use work to cover my real intention of forcing her out of her comfort zone. “You’ve never been to a music festival, and you’re about to go off to college. It’s a real coming-of-age story. You want me to apply for these internships, right? That means that I will have to submit a piece to go with the application. This would be great! You used to love the dares.”

I can see the hesitation in Annabel’s eyes—the battle between not wanting for one second to let go of control, and the need to fix me. She bites down on that damn luscious bottom lip of hers
again
, and I know what she’s about to say next…

Annabel takes a deep breath and holds out her hand for me to shake. “We have ourselves a deal…on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I’m allowed two double-dog dares for your seven dares.”

Fuck.

Annabel grins, and there’s a hint of recklessness in her eyes.

Holy. Kanye.

“Deal.”

Chapter Twelve

Annabel

I’m not even entirely sure we’ll be making it to the music festival. As we get farther away from home, Kennedy’s car seems less like a cool vintage truck and more like a death trap devised to make sure I actually never make it to college. The noises it has made, a plethora of gurgles and squeals, are not normal. And that was before we hit the mountains of western Virginia.

“You going to make it over there, Le Chat?” Kennedy asks, glancing at me, smiling. No doubt, he finds it amusing that I am white-knuckling the door and am about two seconds from puking. I manage to nod, but even that small movement feels like it’s too much. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat.

“Never really thought you were the type to get carsick,” he muses. “Remember that time I dared you to ride the Whirley Burley ten times in a row? You managed to hold it together then.”

“I’m not. At least I didn’t know I was. But heck, I’ve never driven through the mountains in a rejected Hot Wheels car, so you can’t really hold it against me,” I snap.

Kennedy simply chuckles. It’s one of my favorite things about him. I know I’m not always the easiest person to be around, but he never seems bothered by it. Even back when all I wanted to do was raise hell, he was right next to me grinning.

“I’m sorry,” I reply, opening my eyes and looking at him.

Kennedy reaches over and squeezes my leg. “Don’t even worry about it. Now, why don’t we take your mind off of all that vomity goodness you’re feeling and talk about the dare rules?”

If Kennedy is hoping to make me feel better, he picked the wrong topic. The farther we get from home, the more I begin to worry about the nature of Kennedy’s dares. I’m not that old Annabel he wants me to be.

“So, there are consequences if you refuse a dare. For every dare you flat-out won’t do, I drop applying to an internship,” he continues. I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off. “No arguments on that, Le Chat. Now, if you do a dare and fail at it, then I get Horsey Backs.”

I gulp. Horsey Backs were always embarrassing. Once when we were little, I had hung out at Kennedy’s apartment when his mom was at work. We ended up watching
The Godfather
. We didn’t really understand any of the story. All we knew was someone did something bad to make some guy mad, and he ended up with a horse head in his bed. And Horsey Backs were created. When Kennedy failed to undo the screws in our substitute teacher’s rolling chair, I made him let me cut his hair.

Horsey Backs were all about humiliation.

“What about the double-dog dares?” I ask. “I get two.”

He nods. “I do recall you saying that. So…”

“If you turn down one of my double-dog dares, I get to fix something in your life…and you have to let me.”

“Wait. What?”

“Yep. If I want to reorganize your closet or make you buy a whole new wardrobe,” I say, eyeing his usual combination of worn jeans and cotton T-shirt, “then I get to. You could be dressing in khakis and polos for the rest of your life. Or maybe, I’ll make you call up all those poor girls you neglected and apologi—”

Kennedy swerves the car without reason. I groan and close my eyes, settling back against the seat. “You’re cruel.”

“Says the girl planning on putting me in polos. There’s a really cool lookout up a ways. We’ll stop there and let you get some fresh air. Get you out of this rejected Hot Wheels car,” he says with a wink. “So…” Kennedy ponders after a brief silence.

“So…” I reply.

“Can’t imagine Jason was thrilled about this trip,” he ponders aloud.

“I didn’t exactly tell him,” I admit. “He’s been pulling documents for some big case. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Despite our earlier discussion on the subject, Kennedy doesn’t say anything in reply to my admission. Instead, he just nods. He reaches forward and searches for something on his iPhone, careful to keep his eyes on the road. It’s like he knows where each and every album is stored by heart. The sounds of Bean’s Little Catherine fill the car. Kennedy flashes me a grin and starts singing at the top of his lungs.

He reaches over and lightly pinches my arm, waggling his eyebrows. And before I know it, I’m singing right along with him. Neither one of us messes up a single word.

…

“Holy shiitake,” I blurt out upon seeing the view from the lookout.

“You know, you’re away from the twins, you can actually say the word ‘shit,’” Kennedy teases.

“You say that, but I still think they can somehow hear when I cuss, and I don’t want to come back from this trip owing a billion dollars to the Cursey Word Jar,” I reply.

“So…you like?” Kennedy asks, pointing toward the view.

“Um, yes, very much,” I say, feeling a bit overwhelmed by it, in fact. “You almost forget that places like this exist. You get so caught up in life that you just don’t remember how small you are in the grand scheme of things.”

The view is unbelievable. Looking out over the bluff, I see only an ocean of mountains melting into the sky. Nothing but trees and rock and sky. I forget there is a road behind me. I forget there is anything behind me. There is simply this and us. “Would you mind if I took a few pictures?” I ask.

“Way ahead of you,” he replies, holding my camera in his hand. I’m not sure when he went back to the car to get it. I hadn’t noticed him leaving my side. I take the camera and get to work. I snap and snap and snap. It’s like a Monet painting come to life.

It almost reminds me of this one time the twins got into finger paints when no one was paying attention. By the time we finally discovered they had raided the arts and crafts closet, the entire living room wall was covered in paints. There was a certain magic to their chaos, a mixing of colors without any worry if they complemented one another. My parents didn’t wash off the paint for months.

I’m not sure how long I take pictures, but Kennedy just lets me lose myself in it. He’s so quiet that I almost forget he’s there. When I finally pull my eye from the viewfinder, I spot him sitting on a small rock, staring at me.

There’s something about that stare, the way he looks at me sometimes, that causes everything inside me to tighten. Nervously, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry if I took too long. It’s just so beautiful.”

“I have your first dare,” he replies abruptly.

I gulp. “Here? Now? I thought you said I would be returning with all of my limbs intact,” I reply with a nervous laugh, looking over the side of the cliff.

“I’m not going to ask you to rappel down the side, Annabel,” he says. He stands up from the rock and moves toward me.

“Well, that’s a relief,” I say, still feeling all jittery.

Kennedy walks behind me and places his arms on my shoulders. “What I am going to ask you to do is much scarier,” he whispers into my ear. I bite down hard on my bottom lip. Kennedy slowly turns me around, so I am facing the abyss once again. My skin is buzzing, almost like I can feel his cells calling out to my own.

“What do you want me to do?” I whisper back, feeling, in that moment, like I’d do just about anything that he asked of me. Something about being so far away from home together, on top of the world, makes me feel a bit reckless.

Just as I’m about to lean back into Kennedy, he removes his hands from my shoulders and takes a few steps away from me. He clears his throat. “For your first dare, we’re going to have it out about a few things. No avoiding issues. We’re going to talk. For real.”

“Wait. What?” I ask, spinning around to face him.

“You heard me. We’re going to talk about the accident. About how I treated you,” he demands. “You agreed to the dares, so let’s get to it. And before you say no, for every dare you don’t do, remember that’s one internship I won’t apply to.”

I feel like he’s pushed me right over the edge of the cliff. Tears prick at my eyes.

“Annabel Lee,” he says when I don’t speak. “God, I’m so sorry.”

I close my eyes, hoping to stop the feeling that I’m plummeting to my death. “It’s fine. It was like a million freakin’ years ago. What kind of person holds on to something like that? We were just kids,” I spit out as fast as I can. I take a deep breath, and when I’m sure the traitorous tears have crawled back inside, I open my eyes. Except now it’s Kennedy who’s near tears.

“It’s not fucking okay, Annabel. Don’t let me off that easily. Punch me in the face or something. Kick me in the balls. I mean…not too hard. I might want kids one day. But damn, you are at least owed one swift kick. Just know I never meant to hurt you. I was scared. I felt like fate had this thing where, you know, it had to keep taking stuff from me. Like my dad. Like all the other kids had dads and homes and families, and I didn’t get any of that. And I loved you most of all, and, you know, so after the accident, I thought, no way. I can’t go through that again.”

He loved me most of all?

I swallow. Not sure what to say. His words seemed like enough and not nearly enough all at the same time. I clear my throat. “Like I said…a million years ago.”

“Annabel, please,” he begs. Except I’m not sure what he’s begging for.

“I don’t want to do this,” I mumble, crossing my arms and unable to look at him.

“If we don’t talk about these things, this is all we will ever be.”

“And what’s wrong with this?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“Annabel,” he says softly.

I can’t. I just can’t. If we started talking about it, all of it, nothing and everything would change at once. The scars wouldn’t go away, but they would be split the fuck open, and I couldn’t deal with that. Not right now with Grandma sick and things with Jason all weird.

“Stop being such a chicken,” he replies softly, reaching and grabbing on to my hand. He holds it so tight, I worry I’ll lose circulation. “Where’s the girl who taught me to be brave all those years ago?”

My eyes go all dry and prickly again. I blink furiously. Yanking my hand away from his, I glare. “Fine! Let’s talk about it! You want to know how it felt when you stopped coming around? I felt real loneliness, the kind that almost destroys you. I think it did destroy me. At least who I was, and part of me wants to hate you for that. But I can’t hate you, and then I hate myself for not being able to. I shouldn’t forgive you. Not for that. It wasn’t the accident that changed my world, it was not having you in it.”

The tears are coming down my face so fast and furious I can barely see. My breath comes out all wonky, and my words are punctuated by wild gasps. “And then you come back in my life, and you make me laugh and feel these things, these parts of myself I haven’t been able to sense in so long, and then I feel so mad that we went forever without each other.”

“I don’t care that you were a kid. You should have been there for me. I don’t know if I can ever fully forgive that,” I finally admit.

Kennedy moves to reach for me but thinks better of it. “You don’t ever have to forgive me, Annabel, if you don’t want to. And I’m not sure what it’s worth, but I’m here now.”

I nod numbly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “This was a terrible fucking dare.”

“It’s not done. I said there were things we needed to talk about. We need to talk about Jason.” My mouth falls open. “You can do it, Le Chat. You need to do it. It’s just me, you, and the mountains. Nothing to fear.”

I pull myself up, so I am standing as straight as possible. “I’m not scared,” I affirm. I’m really not. Not anymore. Not about the truth. I take a deep breath and turn to face the mountains in front of me. “I am not happy that things with Jason feel a bit weird,” I say to the vast ranges before me, because these words aren’t meant for Kennedy.

I take a deep breath before speaking even louder. “It makes me sad. It’s like neither one of us is happy, but neither one of us wants to be the one to end it. If I break up with him, I’m hurting the person who was always there for me. I keep hoping he’ll do it. But hoping he doesn’t at the same time. I’m scared of being by myself again. And I think he might like someone else. I’m not sure. This girl he interns with. Not that I have any room to sit on any kind of high horse. But when did we get like this? And how long are we both going to let it continue?”

I’m nearly out of breath by the time I’m done. The exertion combined with the emotions of earlier and the heat of midsummer has covered me in sweat. I slowly turn to look at Kennedy, who stares at me wide-eyed.

“Too much?” I ask nervously.

Kennedy shakes his head slowly.

I roll my eyes. “I told you it was a stupid dare,” I reply, feeling pretty foolish as I trudge back to the car.

“I think it was the perfect first dare.” He kicks at my foot with his. “Come on, admit it. It felt great to get it all out, didn’t it?” Even though I screamed at him and told him that I might not be able to forgive him, he still sees the importance of my confessions. Truly putting myself before him. Being there for me.

We drive in a comfortable silence after that. It’s only when we stop at a gas station once we’ve cleared the mountains that we speak again. “Do you want anything?” he asks, nodding toward the convenience store.

I shake my head. “I’m good.” And it’s true. I am good. I feel good for the first time in a long while. I pull out my phone from my purse and check for service. I haven’t had any bars since first entering the mountains.

Kennedy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, setting it on the roof of the car. “I have three bars,” he says. “I’m going to leave this here…if you need to call someone and let him know exactly how you feel. You don’t owe anyone anything. Except yourself, Annabel. You owe yourself happiness.”

Without another word, Kennedy turns and heads into the store. For a few moments, I just sit there and stare at the phone. I know what he wants me to do; I just need to figure out what I want to do.

But the truth is I knew what I wanted to do the moment I started yelling on the top of the bluff.

“So…?” Kennedy says once we’re back on the road.

“So…what?” I tease.

“You’re killing me, Le Chat!” Kennedy groans. “Did you break up with Jason?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.