The Apocalypse (30 page)

An hour later, Hannah had to admit that she felt better. She'd washed her hair and soaked in the bathtub for about forty-five minutes. After getting out, she dressed, dried her hair, and then pulled it into a ponytail. Peering into the mirror, Hannah studied her blue eyes. They were still a little puffy, a giveaway that she'd been crying, but hopefully, no one else would notice. She quickly applied some makeup, hoping it would hide any signs of her upset.

Her stomach rumbled most demandingly, and Hannah finally made her way downstairs. A quick glimpse into the living room almost made her want to dry-heave, as Isaac and Jake were in there playing
a
video game. Silently and undetected, Hannah slipped into the empty kitchen and quietly searched for a suitable breakfast.

"Aww, dude! You're owning!"

Fighting the strongest desire to scowl, Hannah ignored the male voices that floated into the kitchen from the living room. She very quietly poured some Frosted Flakes into a bowl, covered them with milk, and devoured the food violently. While Hannah couldn't entirely explain her very foul mood, she wholly blamed Jake. He had, after all, embarrassed her and bent her pride all out of shape. Even if she should have expected his reaction after being so bold, she—

No. No, Hannah decided, she was
not
going to relive the previous night. She was going to eat her breakfast and go back to her room. There, she was going to do anything
but
think about Jake. If she had to go through everything in her closet just to make sure that all of her clothes were hung up in the same exact direction, she would do
that
instead of thinking about
him
.

At this point, she'd even rip her fingernails out if it meant not thinking about Jake.

"Oh, watch out for that—aw, man. You died."

"I've still got a higher score than you." Jake's voice. It made Hannah's stomach flip. He sounded so…normal. "Try to beat it. You'll fail."

Spooning her cereal faster, Hannah imagined that the food was Jake and that her teeth were tearing him apart. So much for not thinking about him. How could he sound like his regular self when she was so torn up?
Easily
, Hannah admitted to herself.
He's not the one who acted so stupidly last night. I'm the one who's humiliated.

Having finished her cereal, Hannah went to the pantry and looked around. Pop-Tarts. Those always ensured a happy day, no matter what those Toaster Strudel commercials said. She took out a package of Cookie Dough Pop-Tarts, poured herself some more milk, and tried to tune out the guys' talking.

The harder she tried, the less it worked.

Isaac sighed loudly. "Jeez! This game sucks. Let's do Guitar Hero instead."

"Sore loser," Jake laughed. "Think we'll wake up your sister with it?"

Hannah's ears seemed to stick up like a dog's might, and she could feel her eyes widen. Jake had mentioned her! And he hadn't sounded like he hated her! Actually, he'd sounded a little nervous, as if waking her up would be bad. That made him a good friend, right? Or did that just make him someone who didn't want to see her?

"She's up," Isaac responded, sounding almost matter-of-fact. "Didn't you hear the water running earlier? Mom's at the store, so it had to be Han."

There seemed to be a pause. "Oh. No, I didn't."

Hannah could hear the music on the gaming system change, proving that the guys had switched games. But what she was more interested in knowing was if Jake was going to retreat home now that he knew she was creeping around somewhere. However, as much as she wanted to know what he was feeling or thinking, Hannah just as much wanted to be careless about it.

"You thirsty?" Isaac suddenly, presumably talking to Jake.

"Yeah, actually."

Hannah cringed instantly. If she hurried, she could hide in the pantry and not have to deal with seeing Jake—or being seen by him. But if she saw Jake, maybe he'd just be his normal self, which would allow Hannah to forget about the previous night. Worst case scenario was Jake ignoring her, since Hannah doubted that Isaac would let her be murdered in his presence.

"We've got orange Powerade," Isaac was saying as he walked into the kitchen. Hannah kept her head down, focusing on her Pop-Tart as though it was an original piece from Bach. "I bet I can chug more than you can."

Jake scoffed. "Undoubtedly. The orange blows."

"Yeah, well, I like it," Isaac replied, mildly defensive. His eyes landed on Hannah, and he offered her a little smile. "Hey, Han."

She didn't
look
up. "Hey."

"Tell Jake that the orange Powerade is incredible," Isaac commanded, opening up the refrigerator door and digging around inside. "I mean, it might not be much coming from the human garbage disposal, but at least back me up."

Quickly, Hannah grabbed a large piece of her Pop-Tart and pushed it into her mouth, giving herself the excuse of being unable to talk with her mouth full. What she'd also stupidly done was scarf down the rest of her breakfast, leaving her with nothing to stare at in lieu of looking up. So she pretended to scoop crumbs into the wrapper and remained silent.

Isaac set a bottle of orange Powerade on the countertop and spoke to Jake. "What do you want to drink?"

Having scooped up any crumbs, Hannah stood and moved to the garbage can, ready to throw away her breakfast remains and escape upstairs. Perhaps the pantry had been a better idea, since Jake hadn't greeted her or anything.

Isaac's voice cut the air again. "Jake?"

Realizing that Jake hadn't replied to Isaac (or spoken a single word, really), Hannah risked a quick glance at him. Jake was casually looking out the window into the backyard, but Isaac repeating his name made Jake look away from it. When he did, he met Hannah's eyes, which widened as she realized it. She swallowed; her stomach felt like a hurricane was raging inside of it. For close to thirty seconds, Hannah and Jake merely stared at each other in silence.

"Uh, guys?" Opening his Powerade, Isaac stepped between them, breaking their eye contact, and wrinkled his forehead. "What's going down?"

Jake relaxed suddenly—Hannah barely saw the rapid transformation—and moved toward the refrigerator easily. "Nothing," he answered, sounding calm. "You have any bottled water?"

Suspicion still shone brightly in Isaac's eyes as he looked back and forth between Hannah and Jake. "Probably." He frowned a little, but Hannah didn't
stick
around to wait for him to say anything. Feeling like a cowering fool, Hannah scrambled from the kitchen, trying her best to appear calm and collected but doubting that she was abundantly successful.

Halfway to the stairs, Hannah realized that she'd started holding her breath, and it wasn't until she was locked away in her bedroom that she let the shaky breath out. Things were totally awkward between her and Jake, and that, more than anything, she bitterly realized, hurt her more than anything else.

. . .

"Ten beautiful girls stand before me, but, unfortunately, one of them has to go home," Tyra Banks announced from the television in Hannah's bedroom. For the last two and half hours, Hannah had watched nothing but
America's
Next Top Model
, and she'd been comforted to see that watching the silly drama actually took her mind off things.

Who needed a psychiatrist when there was cheesy reality TV?

A sudden knock on her bedroom door made Hannah tear her eyes away from the television screen. The knocker tried to open the door, and Hannah couldn't resist smirking when the lock didn't give, despite the person's obvious frustration with it.

"Hannah, let me in!" Isaac hissed moodily. He rattled the doorknob and added, "I know where the key is, so just open the freaking door."

Rolling her eyes, Hannah got up, unlocked the door, and returned to her bed so swiftly that she impressed herself. It was remarkable how fluid her movements could be even after lazing around in bed for most of the day. "What do you want?" she asked as Isaac flopped onto her bed. "And where's that key?"

Isaac smiled. "Secret." A low sigh came from deep inside his chest, his smile fading thoughtfully. "Did you and Jake have
a
fight?" he asked bluntly. "I think you guys had a fight. Tell me everything."

Hannah raised her eyebrows, hoping a pissy expression would intimidate Isaac into leaving. Why she was naïve enough to even hope for that, she wasn't sure. "We didn't have a fight," she answered honestly. Her heart skipped a beat before the beating grew faster. "Why would you think that?"

"If tension was arsenic, we would have all died down there in the kitchen."

Fidgeting as discreetly as possible, Hannah shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should ask Jake about it instead."

Isaac glanced somewhere to Hannah's right, but she didn't bother checking to see what he was looking at. "I did."

"You did?" Hannah repeated, her heart's pace quickening again. She forced herself to stay calm. "Well? What'd he say?"

"He went home," Isaac answered flatly. A car beeped its horn from the driveway, and Isaac stood from the bed. "I'm going to Seth's for awhile. When I get back, I want an explanation. Something happened."

Hannah merely shrugged innocently and fixed her eyes on Isaac's eyes. If he wanted a staring contest, she'd more than happily compete. In fact, she continued meeting his eyes sternly until the car horn was impatiently blown again; then Isaac sighed and left, but not before muttering something darkly under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'PMS.'

Hannah muted her television and listened closely. When she heard Isaac lock the front door behind him, she relaxed with a long sigh. Stupid Isaac. Hannah shook her head slowly and then turned the volume up on the television, just in time to hear the departing wails of a wannabe-model who'd been eliminated from the competition. It was probably more than a little sadistic of her, but Hannah was so grateful that someone else was crying for a change that she had to smile.

Just then, her cell phone began vibrating obnoxiously on her bedside table. She really didn't feel like talking to anyone, but to keep the phone from vibrating off the table and onto the floor, Hannah picked up the phone and checked the caller id. Honestly, she'd expected it to be Isaac, spitefully calling to warn her that he still wanted an explanation.

But it was Jake.

Hannah's world froze, and the passing of three seconds felt like the passing of three lifetimes. Cautiously, Hannah muted her television again and picked up her phone. She flipped it open, took a deep breath, accepted the call, and held the phone to her ear. Just because she'd answered didn't mean she had to talk to him. Oh no.
He
called
her
;
he
could do the talking, and
she'd
do the listening.

What surprised Hannah was that Jake seemed to have the same idea because he was silent as well. She turned her head and glanced at her clock; silently, she watched the digital numbers change as the minutes passed. After six minutes, Hannah began to think that maybe Jake had hung up. She glanced at her phone and saw that she was still connected; as soon as she situated her phone back against her ear, she heard Jake sigh. He sounded frustrated, and frustrated Jake sounded sexy.

Hannah winced even as she thought it. He really was too good looking for his own good. Images from the night before flashed through Hannah's mind, and she wanted to cry all over again from humiliation. But she refused to. Between Greg and Jake, she'd cried way too many times since Formal. Instead, she un-muted her television and turned the volume up; maybe Jake would appreciate models complaining to their professional photographers as much as she did.

For some reason, she doubted that.

Another four minutes passed. Hannah seriously considered hanging up.

Shawty had them Apple Bottom jeans (jeans), boots with the fur (with the fur)…