The Illusion of Annabella (10 page)

I scratch my nose to keep from grinning. “Don’t take it personally. Cece’s just that way. If you really want her, keep trying. It’s what she wants.”

“Are you friends with her?”

“I used to be.” I clamp my jaw down, realizing how true my words are. That we’re not friends anymore, because I chose to run away from her, too. How many things can I run from before I won’t have anything at all? Shaking the thought from my head, I move to step around him. “Sorry, but I need to go.”

“No, wait.” Luca looks over at his mom then back to me. “Okay, I’m going to give you a head’s up. She’s not going to give up until you accept the ride, so you might as well just let us take you home. And if you try to walk off right now, she’s just going to chase you down. And trust me, as funny as that sounds, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

I drag my teeth over my lip, suffocating a laugh. “She’s done that to you before.”

“Oh, yeah. Many, many times.”

“What were you doing that she needed to chase you?”

He cracks his knuckles, shifting his weight. “Let’s just say I used to like to run away a lot.”

Run away like I do, or does he mean something else by that?

I eye him over, trying to read him. “It’s really not that big of a deal. I’m not really running away. Just trying to get home, and it’s only a couple of miles away.”

“Yeah, but she’ll still chase you down, so you might as well just get in the car, save yourself the embarrassment, and enjoy the free air conditioning.” He takes in my outfit with a slow, deliberate gaze. “So, is the sweater and leather jacket some rebellious family uniform? Because I’m pretty sure your sister was wearing one yesterday, and it was equally warm outside.”

“No, I just like sweaters and leather jackets.” I glance over his scuffed boots, dark denim jeans, and plaid shirt. “And like your outfit’s any better. Long-sleeve plaid. Yeah, that screams warm weather.”

“Hey, I have my sleeves pushed up. And besides, the weather is freakishly weird around here, something I didn’t realize until now. I mean, one minute it’s raining. The next it’s seventy-five degrees. It doesn’t make any sense.” He waves his hands around, talking animatedly, and I have to bite back another giggle because he looks so cute doing it. “Either be warm or cold, but not back and forth. It’s confusing and makes me miss LA.” He sighs, his arms falling to the side. “And just so you know, I don’t always dress like this. I just had a meeting I needed to dress up for.”

I peer down the street lined with quaint secondhand shops, a cozy café, and a travel agency. Thankfully, Cece and Ben are gone. “What kind of meeting?”

He scratches at his arm and frowns. “One with my dad. It was a job interview actually.”

I remember the other night how I saw the man crying on the porch and wonder if that was his dad. “Where does your dad work?”

“He bought the hobby store on the corner and is fixing it up. The grand opening is in a few days. I had an,” he makes air quotes, “interview so he could make sure I’m qualified to work there.”

“Your dad made you interview for a job . . . That’s kind of harsh. My dad never made me interview when I decided to work at his store.” My heart tightens in my chest at the mention of my dad and how nice of a guy he was.

“Yeah, it sucks, but that’s just how he is, and honestly, we’ve never really gotten along. I wouldn’t even bother working at his store, but I need the money for college and stuff,” he says, unwinding a bit. “As much as I love my parents, I can’t wait to be out on my own. And not in Honeyton. No offense, but this town’s a little strange.”

“None taken.” I used to be okay living in this town at one time in my life, but now, too many people know my family’s story. Whenever we walk around or attend town events anymore, I feel like I’m in the hallways of school, like everyone is staring at us. “My sister went to college overseas . . .” I have no idea why I’m telling him this—telling him anything at all. It’s like my lips have taken on a life of their own and have taken freedom in telling everything they know to the guy who knows nothing about my history.

“That’s really freaking cool,” he says. “What’s she studying?”

“Cooking. She wants to be a chef one day. She’s really good at it, too. She used to bake wedding cakes for people around town before she left.”

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you going to college?”

Am I going to college? A seemingly simple question and one I used to have an answer to.

But now, all I know is that I want to get away from this town and everyone who knows me.  The easiest route would be just to go to some random college. My parents set up a fund for each of us, but the plan to major in dance and then perform with a company is no longer an option, no matter how much my mom and dad tried to help me make that dream come true.

I remember when I got a call from the administrator at the university about two weeks after the funeral. She had called to reschedule because we had missed our appointment.

“What was the date of the appointment?” I had asked, strangling the phone to death.

“Let me check.” The sound of keys clicking flowed through the receiver. “June sixth.”

June sixth. The day of my birthday. My surprise.

“So, do you want to reschedule?” she asked. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah . . . And no, I can’t attend anymore.” I dropped the phone and sank to the floor, unable to breathe as I stare down at the hideous scars on my leg.

I’m never going to be able to dance again.

“Anna, are you okay?” Luca waves his hand in front of my face.

I jerk back, realizing my eyes have watered up. “I’m fine. I just have allergies.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeves. “Were you saying something?”

“Nothing important.” He studies me for a moment or two with his brows knit. “I was just asking you what was up with that giant bronze gnome in the center of the park. I thought it was really creepy and wondered why the hell they put it there.”

I have no idea how we went from talking about college to talking about a gnome, and almost wonder if he’s intentionally giving me a subject change, letting me off the hook with his question about the future. “That’s not a gnome. That’s a statue of Theodore Tessingture. He was like the first mayor of Honeyton or something . . . There’s a plaque that explains his story. Go read it if you want to know.”

“Wait. That was a
person
? His body was seriously disproportioned compared to his legs and arms.”

“He’s just a little stumpy.”

His eyes round. “Stumpy is an overstatement. I seriously thought it was an enlarged gnome or maybe even an Oompa Loompa.”

A laugh escapes my lips, and my eyes snap wide open as I slap my hand over my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking confused and a little curious.

“Nothing.” My clipped tone causes him to wince. But I can’t help my rudeness. He made me laugh, and I think I might hate him for it. “I have to go.” I turn to leave, ready to run back to my house, pop a few more pills, and plummet further into my guilt.

I don’t deserve to be here laughing.

His fingers fold around my arm and a shiver courses through me. “Just get in the car, okay? I’m with my mom. It’s way too hot for you to be walking on your . . .”

I look back at him with my eyes narrowed, and he promptly releases my arm. I open my mouth to ask him just how much he knows about my leg, about me. Has he heard the story of the girl who breathed dancing and the accident that forever stole her air away? The girl who now wanders around, gasping for a simple breath of air.

“Just get in the car, please.” He uses that adorable half smile on me again. “You’ll be doing us a favor if you do.”

My lips part to refuse his request. No matter how cute he is, I won’t accept a ride—won’t accept that I need one. “Luca I—”

“Ready to go?” Tammy interrupts, dropping her phone into her purse. “My car’s parked out back of your family’s store, Annabella.”

For the hundredth time since the accident, I wish I could literally run. I took it for granted. Moving quickly. Having an easy escape.

“Fine,” I agree reluctantly.

She smiles cheerfully as we make our way back toward the parking lot. “So, how long has your family lived in Honeyton?” she asks me.

“Since before I was born,” I say, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand.

“It’s such a lovely town,” she remarks, taking in all the old fashion stores and secondhand shops around us. “Although, I do miss some of the perks of a L.A., like being able to find any store you want, or takeout. God, I miss takeout.”

“Why’d you move here then?” I ask. “I mean, it sounds like you liked L.A. a lot.”

Silence settles between us as Tammy stares out at the road, and Luca massages the back of his neck. Our shoes crunch against the gravel and fill up the quiet. But the hourly town bell tolls, overlapping the stillness.

“We just needed a change of scenery,” Tammy says after the bells done chiming twelve times. She strains a smile as she glances at me. “My husband and I actually drove through Honeyton during one of these crazy road trips we used to take when we were first married. And we sometimes came out here during the summers and rented a place for a couple of weeks.” She dazes off into empty space then quickly blinks. “But anyway, I’ve always loved how secluded it was, and it seemed like the perfect place to live and raise kids.”

“How many kids do you have?” I ask as we stop beside to a red Honda Civic.

She hastily shakes her head, digging through her purse. “Oh, no . . . Luca’s an only child . . . but I still think of him as my little boy sometimes.” Her voice is off-pitch.

Avoiding eye contact with me, Luca scratches at his arm, seeming as nervous as his mom.

Strange
. And somehow, the moment kind of reminds me of when my mom got into the car that day.

“Okay, let’s get you out of the sun.” Tammy presses the key fob and the locks click.

Fully agreeing with her, I climb into the backseat and close the door. The air is more stifling inside the car, and I fan my hand in front of my face as Tammy turns on the ignition and cranks up the air conditioning. I breathe in the coolness, hugging the book to my chest, but stiffen when Luca slides into the backseat with me, bringing in with him the smell of his cologne and that half smile that I can’t seem to stop staring at.

I drop the book to my lap, slide as close to the door as possible, and reach over my shoulder for the seatbelt. “What’re you doing?”

The corners of his mouth tease upward as he buckles up without taking his eyes off me, giving me his undivided attention. “Sitting here in the car. What’re you doing?”

“But why are you sitting in the back?” The lock clicks into place and suddenly I feel so . . . trapped. He smells so good and he keeps looking at me like he thinks I’m pretty and like he wants to get to know me. All I want to do is dive out of the car, run from how excited my body’s reaction to slide closer, my fingers itching to tousle his hair into place, and my lips need to tell him stuff I don’t want to. “I mean, don’t you want to sit in the front? It’s probably cooler up there”

“Seems as good of a place to sit as anywhere else.” He relaxes back in the seat with his hands tucked behind his head. “Besides, it’s not every day that I get to sit this close to someone so pretty.”

I blink at him then shake my head. “You’re so weird. Seriously, what’s with all the pretty comments?"

“What? I’m just being truthful.”

I roll my eyes, but wince when I feel my cheeks flush. “I think you might be as blind as Cece. Seriously. Because there’s no way you could possibly think hey, there’s a girl with purple hair, sitting in sweaty, oversized clothes, and, man, does she look pretty.”

“Why not?” he challenges. When I stutter for a response, he grins. “Besides, there’s more to you than just your looks, even if you don’t want me to think so.”

His question makes me pause, and I mean
really
pause, to the point where I overthink my whole entire existence.

Looking really pleased with himself, he wrestles his arms out from the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Underneath it, he’s wearing Pink Floyd t-shirt.