“I want to break into the lab and develop these pictures,” I nearly yell. Because the only thing I’m desperate for is for him to stop that particular line of teasing. It does something weird to my stomach, and it makes me feel like I should call Jason again. Like I should promise to watch any of those old classic law movies he’s always begging me to see with him. Like I should offer to watch a whole marathon of them.
The car begins to slow down as Kennedy pulls his foot from the gas pedal. No doubt in shock. He turns his head to look at me, and his eyes go wide. I’m biting on my bottom lip so hard, I’m sure I’m going to bite straight through. Kennedy swallows and quickly turns his eyes back to the road. The car begins to accelerate. “One night with me and you’re ready to turn into a real badass lawbreaker,” he muses.
“I used to school you on how to be a real badass lawbreaker.”
“I remember,” he says quietly.
“You think I’m nuts. Don’t you?” I ask, looking out my window.
“I think you’re an artist,” he replies quietly.
That weirdness with my stomach is back. I pull tightly on my seat belt because suddenly my hands feel all jittery and trembling. “So, are we going to do it?”
“You know the three magic words,” he replies, all hints of seriousness gone.
I roll my eyes. “Really?”
Kennedy presses his lips together and nods.
I sigh. “Fine…I dare you.”
“Yes! I need a little breaking and entering in my life,” Kennedy replies.
“If you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to do it.” I’m getting a little nervous about the idea of committing a crime myself. This isn’t elementary school, where the worst that can happen is we end up in the principal’s office.
“Hell yeah, we’re going to do it. I brought you out here tonight to inspire me, so if my muse wants to break some laws, then we are going to break some laws. Now, are you sure about this?”
I gulp and nod. “Heck yes, I am,” I reply a little shakily. “I’ll be the Bonnie to your Clyde.”
“And you said you didn’t want nicknames.” Kennedy gives me a grin and a wink.
I smile up at him and settle back into my seat as he drives into town. For some reason, knowing I’m about to break a rule suddenly feels really, and I mean really, good. And I haven’t felt this particular high in a very long time.
“There’s no way this is going to work,” Kennedy whispers from behind me. It takes all my might to suppress the shudder that threatens to overtake me as his breath tickles the back of my neck.
In that moment, I swear to cancel my subscription to Cosmo.
“Of course it is,” I reply, going to work on the lock with the bobby pin. Belltown, being the small Podunk town that it is, doesn’t see the need for high-tech security systems, so most buildings have simple locks and bolts.
“I have so many questions, Annabel. Starting with why do you have a bundle of bobby pins in your pocket? And how the hell do you know how to pick a lock?”
“Because I always like to be prepared,” I answer, “and because my grandma is a very interesting lady who has taught me very interesting things.” And with that, the door opens.
“I think I may be in love with your grandma,” Kennedy deadpans.
I roll my eyes and grab the fabric of his shirt near his abdomen, yanking him into the building. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”
We walk in silence down the dark and empty hallway toward the lab. I should be nervous, petrified, but I’m not. I can’t remember the last time I felt so excited, so ready for what was next.
The silence continues as we go to work setting up the materials we’ll need to develop the film. There’s a beautiful synchronicity to our movements. We move together without the need for words, each one knowing what the other is doing, what the other is wanting, without having to speak it. This was the way it always had been when we executed our dares.
“You ready?” Kennedy asks quietly as he hands me the film.
Suddenly, all the nerves I’d been suppressing rush over me, and I feel a bit like I’m going to throw up all over the darkroom. Which wouldn’t be convenient at all considering I broke in here, and then someone could test my puke for DNA, and I would end up in jail…all my dreams of getting out of this town and working for the Smithsonian dashed forever. I was already off schedule according to my life plan, a ten-page document I started working on when I got home from the hospital.
“You still with me, Bonnie?” Kennedy asks, touching my arm.
I nod.
“Still want to do this?”
“I’m afraid,” I admit before I can stop myself. Kennedy blinks furiously for a few moments. Looking at me like I was speaking another language. Old Annabel didn’t know words like “afraid”; this Annabel knew all about them.
“Of what?” he finally asks.
I bite on my lip and shake my head. I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t know where to start.
“Of what?” he asks again.
“Mostly of disappointing you. These pictures being crap,” I answer.
Kennedy stares down at me, and I can’t read what he’s thinking. He narrows his eyes slightly and then turns away. He begins loading his camera with film.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Ssssh, be quiet,” he insists. He walks over to me, camera under his arm, and gently tugs on my hand. All I can think of as his skin touches mine is that I hope my hand isn’t as sweaty as it feels.
He pulls me out of the darkroom, shutting the door behind us in order to protect my film. He raises the camera to his eyes and begins to snap away.
“What are you doing?” I ask, nervously tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps clicking away. I feel like every inch of my skin begins to itch as his camera moves over my body. But then there is something melodic about the way he snaps his pictures. The beats between the clicks. The way he glides from one position to another in the room. It lulls me into an almost hypnotic trance, and all the nerves go away. I no longer feel like a victim trapped under his gaze, but I do feel something.
It takes me a moment to realize the snapping has stopped. Kennedy is staring straight at me, his camera frozen in the air. I should look away, but I get lost gazing at him. I don’t quite know how to read what’s behind his eyes anymore. Not like I used to be able to do.
Kennedy is the first to break our stare-down. He clears his throat and holds up his camera. “Shall we go make some art, Le Chat?”
I nod, a little numb.
As we go to work developing the film, I start to hum the Bean’s Little Catherine song we discovered earlier in the night. Kennedy joins in, and I can’t help but take note of the fact that he actually has a good voice. Much deeper than I expected. I swear I can feel it rumble and move about my chest. The vibrations running through my veins to the tips of my fingers. Dancing across my ribs along the way.
The pictures slowly start to come to life in between our notes, and I nearly lose my ability to breathe as they do.
“They’re beautiful,” Kennedy whispers beside me. And they are. His and mine. In both the pictures that I took and the ones he did, there is a certain rawness. The film doesn’t cage in the emotions like a painting in a museum you can’t touch. Instead, the pictures almost overwhelm the viewer with the emotions. And while I have to admit mine showcase a greater technical skill, thematically, Kennedy’s are rather impressive as well.
“It’s embarrassing, my picture,” I admit, pulling it from the solution and hanging it up.
“I didn’t think I was that bad at photography,” Kennedy deflects, going to work on pulling the rest of the pictures out and hanging them to dry.
“You know that’s not what I mean. Seeing myself like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable,” I continue.
“Annabel Lee, there is nothing about you in that picture that is even a bit embarrass
ing. You’re mesmerizing.”
In all my life, no one has ever used the word “mesmerizing” to describe me. “Are you high?” I joke, feeling a bit uneasy with the compliment. Not because I doubt his sincerity but because I don’t know how to respond. The more time I spend with Kennedy, the less sure I am about how to conduct myself. He says things I’ve never heard, and when I’m with him I want to do things I haven’t thought of doing in a long time. Wild things. Things nowhere in my plan.
Things I shouldn’t want to do with a boy who hurt me like Kennedy did. I keep getting swept away, forgetting about that dark time. Letting the ease of our banter pull me under, drowning me in forgetfulness and nostalgia all at once. Breaking into photo labs, late-night drives, laughing with Kennedy…this is what my life should have been, would have been, if it hadn’t been for the accident.
And maybe for one night, I can let myself pretend we are those Kennedy and Annabel. Not the broken Kennedy and Annabel we became.
“Very funny,” Kennedy says, interrupting my thoughts. “And no, never when I’m working. Now, let’s talk about your photos. The way you caught the light,” he says, pointing to my favorite picture, “is really fucking fantastic. I wanted to kill you when you were taking these, but now I’m stoked you did. You got it. The whole damn moment. And when I saw you standing there looking at me, afraid, I got it, too. That’s why I started taking your picture. I understood what you were going for. Art is about being buck-ass naked. You recognized that in the record store.”
“Buck-Ass Naked will definitely be the name of my first art exhibit,” I joke, feeling the warmth return to my cheeks as I look at him and speak the words “ass” and “naked.”
“It really should, Le Chat. Have you ever actually thought about that? Opening an exhibit?” Kennedy asks as he goes to work cleaning up our mess.
“Um. No. Not really my thing. I just take pictures for fun.”
“As someone who has witnessed you work, I wouldn’t call it fun. Powerful? Hell yes. Intense? Hot damn. Fun is a selfie stick in a convalescent home. Seriously, you should consider it.”
Kennedy thought I was some sort of artistic genius when the truth was I didn’t even pull my camera from its bag unless there was an assignment to complete. The plan was to major in history. I only took photography because it would fill the art course I needed, finding it ridiculous that schools still made students fulfill an art requirement when they didn’t even like art. A time-saver. That was all it was supposed to be.
But when I took pictures, I lost track of time. And if there was one thing I learned from life, it’s that every second counts. I have too many responsibilities to tend to and too many goals to reach to give in to the magic that taking photos created. There wasn’t enough time to waste time. You just didn’t know when a drunk driver would hit you dead-on. Or when the car you were driving in would catch fire minutes after the accident. Your brother passed out next to you. His seat belt stuck. You desperately trying to get him out. Having to climb over his body as the flames licked at your back. You just didn’t know when the stuff you thought only happened in cheesy movies would actually happen to you.
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 wi
thout 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.
Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart Page 7