I Heart You, You Haunt Me (5 page)

Cold Shoulder

When I get home,

it’s late.

And the house is

freaking

freezing.

It feels like

I live

in an igloo.

I grab a blanket from the closet

and wrap it around my shoulders.

I head to the kitchen.

Every

single

cupboard

door

is open.

“Jackson,” I whisper.

“I’m home.”

The CD player turns on.

My stomach does

a somersault.

I listen,

trying to

place it.

Got it.

Don’t Leave Me

by Green Day.

Freaky Saturday

“Are you mad at me for going?”

No response.

Although I don’t know

what kind of response

I expected

exactly.

“Jackson, I can’t stay home all the time.

“Besides, Mom and Dad would get suspicious

if I never went anywhere.

“I don’t want them to know about you and me.

“They’d think I’m crazy.”

All the cupboard doors

slam shut

at the

exact

same time.

Now my stomach

does a

backhand flip.

Messing with Me

“I’m going to bed,

Jackson.

I’m tired.

Good night.”

I walk up the stairs.

I feel him

following me.

I tremble

as I feel cold air,

or is it breath,

on the back

of my neck.

I open the door to my room

and gasp.

My panties

and bras

and socks

and nighties

have been flung

all over

my room.

That’s My Boy

I stand there for a minute

and then

I close the door

and smile.

My smile turns into

giggles.

I belly flop

onto my bed,

splashing panties

everywhere.

This is
so
Jackson.

He gets mad.

He throws a little tantrum.

We laugh about it.

I remember

the time

I decided to go

to the day spa

with my girlfriends

instead of hanging

with him.

He waited outside the spa

until we walked up.

He pulled me aside,

all pissed off,

and told me

I
totally
ruined his day.

He said, “I had something special planned.”

“Special?” I asked,

wondering what exactly
that
meant.

He shrugged

and pulled two

basketball tickets

out of his pocket.

I burst out laughing and

punched him in the arm.

“Basketball is
not
special!”

He couldn’t help it.

He started laughing too.

Then he pulled me

into his arms

and whispered

in my ear,

“I just love you so much.

I want to be with you always.”

It’s like I can hear him

repeating those words now.

I go to work

putting all the stuff back

where it belongs.

The room starts to warm up,

which makes

the ice in the igloo

start to

m

e

l

t

and I whisper into

the silence of the night,

“I want to be with you always too.”

Like a warm summer breeze

in my head,

I hear his words.

This is so hard for me, Ava.

I want it to be like it was before.

I’ll try to be more understanding.

Please forgive me?

Like he even

has to ask.

The Sea of Love

When exhaustion

finally hits me,

I fall into bed.

It’s not long

before I’m in that

strange place

between asleep

and awake,

where you might

fall off a cliff

or find a stranger

chasing you.

But tonight,

waiting for me

behind the magical

curtain of dreams,

there’s Jackson,

as clear as the

sparkling silver tips

of the sea

that surround the boat

we’re rocking in.

We face each other,

the full moon

so iridescent,

it reminds me of

the glow-in-the-dark planets

I used to have

on my ceiling.

We stand there

in peaceful darkness,

not talking,

not touching,

but feeling

volts of electricity

charging through our veins.

When he finally

reaches out

to touch me,

the energy

is so intense,

I jump.

He pulls me to him

and kisses me,

his lips

so soft,

so delicious,

so
real,

I can’t help

but reach up

and touch them

with my fingers.

And once I feel his skin

beneath my fingers,

I want more.

It’s like he’s a map

and I’m trying to find

my way home.

While we kiss,

my hands travel

across his chest,

down his arms,

to his hands,

where our

fingers

intertwine.

We raise

our hands

in the air

above us,

victorious in love,

only to let go

and push ourselves

together

even closer.

When we

release our lips,

we both

g a s p

for air.

Then,

he cradles my body

as he ever-so-gently

lays my

q

u

i

v

e

r

i

i

g

body

down.

Our eyes locked,

my finger

traces his jaw.

Before I can say

I love you,

I’m swimming

in the

warm sea

of his

kisses

once again.

Question of the Way

Can a girl

lose her

virginity

to a

ghost?

Christmas in Paris

It’s Sunday morning

and Dad takes me out

for breakfast.

I get pancakes with strawberries

and whipped cream.

Dad orders pigs in a blanket.

We both have coffee

with sugar.

Lots and lots of sugar.

Dad talks about Paris

and how he’d love to take me

and Mom there

someday.

He says I’d love the Eiffel Tower,

the Arc de Triomphe,

the Louvre,

the cafés, the shopping.

“Let’s go at Christmastime,” he says.

I think of my three best friends.

They would
love
to go to Paris.

Why not me?

Maybe it’s because

Paris is
really

far away

and we would have to

stay away from home

for a
really

long time.

You Lift Me Up

On the way home

Dad drives past the place

where the city’s festival

is held every spring.

Jackson took me

to the carnival.

We rock-and-rolled

on the roller coaster

and French-kissed

on the merry-go-round

and laughed hysterically

on the hammerhead.

We ate corn dogs

and curly fries

and raspberry scones.

“I want one of those!” I said,

pointing to the big stuffed teddy bears

hanging above the

MILK CAN SOFTBALL TOSS.

Jackson stuck his chest out

and said, “No problem!”

Twenty dollars later

I was stuck with

a teeny-tiny

yellow

stuffed

snake.

“How appropriate,” Jackson told me.

“These guys are so slimy.

’Step right up!

We’ll take all your money,

and even better,

make you look like a loser

in front of your girlfriend!’”

I laughed

and told him

I loved my

teeny-tiny snake

and who needs

a big, old teddy bear

anyway,

when I have a perfectly

good boyfriend

to cuddle with.

With his last dollar,

he turned to the man

selling balloons

and bought me

a red one.

“A balloon
and
a snake?

This is my lucky day!”

But as he reached out

to hand me the balloon,

I didn’t quite have a grip

on the string.

As we watched          and away,

the balloon         up

float        up

up

Jackson whispered into my ear,

“Ava,

you are my helium.”

He was always good

at making the best of things.

Daddy’s Little Girl

The tears roll down my face,

without notice,

without effort,

but with feeling.

I thought I was done crying.

I mean, Jackson’s come back to me.

And yet, there won’t be

any more days

like that day

at the carnival.

Jackson may be back,

but those days

are gone

forever.

Dad looks over at me.

And then he turns away.

He doesn’t say

anything.

What’s he thinking?

That this is all for the best,

because when you’re fifteen,

you shouldn’t be so serious,

like he and Mom told me a few months ago?

Mom and Dad liked Jackson.

I know they did.

He stayed for dinner sometimes

and he made them laugh,

telling stories about his brother and sister

and the pranks they played on one another.

But my parents worried.

“You’re so young ...”

“You’re spending too much time together....”

“How serious is it...”

I look at Dad.

He looks at me

again.

Then his hand reaches up

and wipes the tears away,

without notice,

without effort,

but with feeling.

“I remember when you were little,” he says,

“you’d fall down and scrape your knee.

And you’d come running over to me, crying and crying.”

“Then you’d kiss it,” I tell him,

“and make it better.”

I remember too.

It was
so
easy then.

“I know you loved him a lot.

And I wish I could make this better.”

So
that’s

what he was

thinking.

“I love you, Dad.”

I Do What I Have to Do

The real estate business

slows down in the summer.

Mom is home

more and more.

Jackson’s there

less and less.

So I endure the long days

to enjoy the sweet

but silent

nights

where he often visits

in my dreams.

I tried to talk once,

to tell him

how sorry I feel.

But he covered my lips

with his

and that was that.

At least in my dreams

I have his soothing touch.

Even in the silence,

my heart overflows

with the love

that is all

Jackson’s.

I wake later

and later

and later

each day.

I search the cupboards

and drawers

for the pills

Mom gave me

so I might

sleep all the time

like I did before.

But I can’t find them.

Don’t Be Blue

“Come with me,” Mom says.

“To the library.

Books and summertime

go together.”

“No.

I don’t feel well.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot.

Maybe we should take you to the doctor.”

“I’m fine, Mom.

Just have a cold or something.”

So, she leaves without me.

The CD player turns on

You’re The One,
by Sugarcult.

A blue bouncy ball

rolls across the floor.

I pick it up.

There’s scribbled writing,

hard to read.

I figure out it says:

Don’t be blue.

I love you!

Let the Sunshine In

The doorbell rings.

Surprise!

I’m in my ratty robe

with pictures of sunglasses

splattered on the fabric.

I peek out and see

Cali, Zoe, and Jessa.

When I open the door,

Jessa says,

“Dude, you look like shit.”

That’s Jessa.

Always telling it like it is.

They don’t wait for me

to invite them in.

They each give me a hug,

then plop themselves

on the couch.

“So.

What’s new?” I ask.

“I got a puppy,” Cali says.

“A cockapoo. I named him Gumball.”

“Gumball?” I ask.

“He’s
so
cute,” Zoe says.

“But even bigger news is Cali met someone,” Jessa blurts out.

“You did?” I ask.

“He was a senior last year,” Cali says.

“But it’s still early in the game.

I have to work on him some more.

Get him to ask me out.”

As she talks,

I notice how gorgeous

they all look

in their tank tops

and shorts,

their tan legs

and painted toes.

They look

how California girls

should look

in the summer.

I glance down

at myself.

I’ve got sunglasses

on my robe.

And that’s about it

for me.