Jake: What’s your email address? I have your photo.
I sat on my bed, tapping my toes, anticipation fueling my quick reply.
Me: [email protected]
Leaning back against the pillows, I stared at my screen, and while I waited, the excitement I felt shifted to nervous energy. What if the image was nothing more than a boring, standard snapshot because Jake didn’t actually care about how my pictures looked?
Jake: How original. ;)
Oh…I never pegged him for the kind of guy to use an emoticon, especially a winky face—but wait, was he calling me clichéd?
Me: It’s professional and appropriate. Would it be better if my email was [email protected]?
Jake: Ha! No. I’m just giving you shit. I’ll send the photo in a few.
Chuckling to myself, I rolled onto my stomach before looking over to Kat’s side of the dorm. She was still fast asleep, hidden between her overly plump pink duvet and a mountain of pillows. She’d always been a heavy sleeper, always the first to pass out during our childhood sleepovers.
Me: How come it took you three weeks to reply to my first message?
I gnawed at my lower lip for a few long, anxious minutes until he typed something back.
Jake: I didn’t want to meet you.
Ouch.
Jake: I think if you were me, you’d understand not wanting to meet the person who got your seventeen-year-old sister’s heart after she died. Right?
Double ouch.
Me: Right. So why accept? Why agree to meet me? To do this.
Jake: I saw your name, saw your face, and changed my mind.
Me: You changed your mind because of my face?
Jake: I didn’t say that. Don’t let anything go to your head.
My cheeks burned, and I was thankful he couldn’t see it.
Me: So you changed your mind? Just like that?
Jake: Just. Like. That.
My pulse thrummed much too fast as I attempted to dissect his answer, but got nowhere. And pressing him to explain likely wouldn’t get me far, either.
Me: Thanks again for doing this. And for sitting through my entire tattoo session.
Jake: No problem. I like tattoos. But I’ll admit, watching someone else get one is more fun than getting one yourself.
Me: Because someone else’s pain is enjoyable for you?
Okay, probably not the best thing to say, but I hit enter before thinking better of it. And the longer it took for him to reply, the more I worried I’d said the wrong thing.
Jake: It was actually a first for me, the whole watching someone else get tattooed. I wish Emily had asked me to tag along when she got hers.
I heaved out a sigh, but before I had time to type a single word, he sent another message.
Jake: But being there with you almost felt like being there with her. It was…nice. Comforting in a way, I guess. You know?
An ache filled my gut, because I did know. I touched a hand to my chest, felt the rough scar through my shirt, felt my heart lub-dub below my palm.
Me: I’m really glad you came with me.
All he said back was “incoming,” and a second later, my email notification went off. It took only seconds to open my laptop and download the image he’d taken inside the tattoo shop.
It looked eerily like Emily’s, and despite being in pain for a solid two hours, I appeared to be nothing but happy.
Pulling the laptop closer, I brought up my newly created Tumblr account. I uploaded the photo and finished it off with a quote and a few hashtags.
How can you sleep at night when the sound of the clock is ticking away our time? #FirstTattoo #ThatHurt #Artsy
Get a tattoo—done.
Me: It’s perfect. Thank you.
Jake: No problem. What’s next?
Me: What about this one?
I attached the photo I’d saved from Emily’s page. In it, she sat in front of a gorgeous black piano, thin fingers stretched over black and white keys. This was Jake’s photograph, and it was striking.
His response came fifteen minutes later.
Jake: If you’re free Thursday, meet me at the Student Rec Center at 7 p.m. Second floor. Near the purple-and-gold chair.
…
He wasn’t kidding about the chair. Gold stripes shimmered next to the deep purple velvet.
I was still staring at it with a silly grin when I heard a voice.
“You’re early.” Jake’s words made me jump. I turned in time to see his steely eyes brighten a bit. “A good start.”
He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, straight-faced and still as a statue. My heart thumped erratically, and I rubbed my palms against my jeans as I walked toward him.
“What would late have meant? A bad start?”
He licked his lips, then twisted them to one side. “It’s, well…I decided I would wait nine minutes past seven and then I would leave. People are always late. Figured you would be, too.” He cocked his head. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
I stepped back, clamped my hands together in front of me, and squeezed my fingers tight. “Hey, wait. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, you know.” That was why I asked first. I thought yes meant yes. “You don’t need an excuse if you don’t want to take any more photos.” Maybe I did freak him out after all. Or maybe he’d decided being around me reminded him too much of Emily and it wasn’t nice like he’d previously thought.
Part of me wanted to turn around and leave before he could respond.
“It’s not that.” He pushed off the wall, took a few slow steps toward me. “Sorry, it’s—” One hand ran through his hair. “It’s a bad habit.”
Either I was completely stupid or…he wasn’t making any sense. “What’s a bad habit?”
His eyes bounced back and forth from the ceiling to my eyes, narrowing all the while. “Sometimes I give people deadlines I know they won’t keep.”
I always thought that jaw-falling-open expression was bullshit, because really, who lets their jaw hang open like that for more than two seconds? “Why would you do that? To prove a point?”
Jake tipped his head, and his cheeks dimpled with a slow smile. “Guess I don’t know.”
“Oh…okay.”
“This way.” He placed a hand gingerly against my lower back, nodding down the hall.
His fingers fell away and before I had time to react, he took off walking, and I hurried to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“You didn’t know there was a piano on this floor?”
I shook my head, but he wasn’t looking to see anyway. “I’ve only been on campus for two weeks.” There were a lot of things I didn’t know yet. And I’d only been to the Student Recreation Center twice so far.
We rounded a corner, and Jake nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “There is.”
I’d been too busy staring at him to notice the area we’d arrived at. Two of the walls were glass. Long couches lined the sides, and a black piano sat in the back corner. It was a weird thing for a university to have. At least in the rec center. If it were in the arts building, then sure, it might’ve made sense.
Jake slowed his step, but continued moving. “Students will come in here and play sometimes. Some are amazing. The rest suck.”
“Like karaoke.”
He looked at me, his lips twitching. “Exactly.”
I did a slow turn, taking in the artwork on the walls. It was a fancy-shmancy, out-of-place living room—that probably cost way too much money.
He meandered toward the back, where the hulking instrument sat. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He looked sad—like his Facebook photo. “You’re really going to do all those things on her website? Dyeing your hair, camping, graffitiing?”
He must’ve looked at Emily’s Tumblr more since I originally showed him. Those were a lot of specifics to remember from her posts. I nodded, then averted my gaze toward the ground, taking in his dark jeans and dark boots. “Yes,” I
said. “All of them. But I don’t know anything about the piano, so I can’t replicate the photo exactly.”
Jake smiled briefly, like it broke through without his consent, and it took a moment to notice and shove it away. “You only need to look like you’re playing. It’s just a picture, right?” he said, motioning to the piano.
I nodded and he sat on the bench, spun around, and placed his fingers on the keys. “It’s easy to fake it for a photograph. I’ll show you.”
So, was I supposed to sit next to him? Like, right next to him? Or was I supposed to stand and observe over his shoulders?
Jake twisted his head. “It doesn’t bite. I promise.”
So I was supposed to sit.
I left a foot of space between us, but the bench was small and I was close enough to smell him—lemon and mint. Fresh. Light. Distracting.
“I’ve always wanted to play,” I said, resting my fingers on the keys. “But growing up, piano lessons never made the cut.”
“You can’t read sheet music then?”
“Not unless it’s all in English.” Of course it wasn’t, but I didn’t remember a thing from my elementary music classes.
His real, unedited smile looked so nice on him. Full lips curved upward, pressing in on his smile lines and creasing around his eyes, which didn’t look quite so dark. Could’ve been the lighting in the room, but I was a firm believer that eyes change colors. Okay, only a little bit.
“You taught your sister,” I said.
“She had three lessons.”
“But you can play.” When he nodded, I added, “Will you play something for me?”
Jake blinked. “Like what?”
“Your choice.”
“All right.” He tapped on his jeans as he thought. Then slowly, he moved his hands into place and started playing.
I recognized the song after six notes. “‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?”
He grinned, continuing to play. “You said it was my choice, right?”
Sure. But I figured he would play something more…advanced. Something that would’ve shown off his talent—the talent I assumed he had. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
He finished the short tune, and the last note lingered in the air around us. “Emily knew how to play that song. But it was only because she’d memorized which keys to hit and when.”
“Like when you memorize something for a test, but don’t really know the material, because you didn’t learn it?”
That earned me a laugh. “Just like that.”
My chest tightened when he caught me gawking at him. “The only musical talent I have is playing ‘Hot Cross Buns’ on the recorder.” I fiddled my fingers in the air in front of me, pretending to play.
“World’s easiest song on the world’s easiest instrument. I’m impressed.”
My stomach fluttered. “Are you making fun of me now? Because that wasn’t part of the deal.”
He returned my smile. “I wouldn’t do that.”
I didn’t believe him.
“How do you like campus?”
He hadn’t asked me any personal questions before—other than about the list of done-its. Even though this was a normal thing to ask, I wasn’t expecting the shift.
“It’s nice,” I said. “Nice not being at home. Food on campus isn’t great, but whatever.”
He nodded, trailing one finger down the length of the piano. His arm brushed against mine, sending tingly waves of heat through my chest.
“Do you live on campus?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual.
“I have an apartment off campus, actually. Got it a few months ago. I lived in the dorms the first two years. They’re all right, as far as campus housing goes.” He tipped his head, the lines on his forehead deepening with a look I wanted to understand. “If you’re interested in piano lessons…I could teach you.”
Anticipation bounced around inside me at the thought of spending more time with Jake. “Are you going to let me pay you for those?”
“I told you before, I don’t want your money.” He pressed down on one of the keys, and a low note echoed and faded. “Besides, Emily always wanted to actually learn. If I teach you…”
I could fill in the blanks of his unfinished sentence. If he taught me to play, the part of Emily that still existed beneath my rib cage could learn to play, too. A done-it she never got to really do. But I thought back to his earlier comment: let’s get this over with. Was being around me “nice” or not? Maybe he couldn’t decide, either…
“You don’t need to give me lessons,” I said. “You’re already doing enough for me.”
He pressed another key. “I want to.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Rubbing my sweaty palms over my jeans, I nodded. “Piano lessons sound great.”
“I’ll bring sheet music next time, but you can at least learn the basics now.” Jake grinned at the face I made. “It’s really simple. The first thing you should know is the pattern,” he said, moving his fingers down the line of keys. “Three black. Then two. Then three. And so on.”
“Sure.” Simple enough so far.
“This direction is down the keyboard.” He pressed the keys on the right and moved left, continuing to press in rapid succession. The notes grew progressively lower. “And this is up the keyboard.” His left hand stretched out in front of me as he leaned closer, reaching for the other end. He punched the notes from that direction. “With me so far?” I nodded. “Okay. This is where the note middle C is.”
I looked at the key. “Okay…”
“We’ll get to those. But this is where the first finger position is.”
Oh boy.
“Maybe we’ll save the basics for next time,” he said with a low laugh.
I tried to smile and gave a laugh that sounded like crackling Rice Krispies. Not so cute. “Good idea.”
“How about we save this done-it for later then. You can pick out another one since I’m here and I have my camera.” His right hand stretched out in front of me, playing a slow rhythm on the keys. He wasn’t watching his fingers though. He was watching me, golden locks framing his face, and I wanted to take a picture of him.
“You want to save this one for later?” Despite my best attempts to sound indifferent, uncertainty clouded my voice.
“That way, you won’t have to fake it for the photograph.”
“Okay. Why don’t we…put glow sticks in a pool and go swimming? That done-it sounds ridiculously awesome.”
He tipped his head and grinned. “Yeah, that Cheez-It does sound like fun.”
“Stop!” I laughed, brushing hair behind my ears. “You can’t keep calling it that.”
“Guess you need to find a better name then, yeah?”
“Uh-huh. But anyway, what do you mean it sounds like fun? You took the photograph of Emily with the glow-stick-ified pool.”
“Right, but I didn’t get to go swimming. You know…my apartment complex has a pool. And I’ve seen glow sticks at the store down the road.”
“Oh?” I said it slowly, my chest tightening, lungs working overtime to drag in enough air. Tension wound a giant knot in my gut, and I stared stupidly at him. If I thought getting a tattoo was embarrassing, the glow sticks done-it might be worse.
“Can you not swim?” he said.
I wasn’t exactly proud of the sound that came out of my mouth. “I can swim.”
Of course that made him smile.
“You didn’t say anything. Thought maybe I’d hit a sore spot.”
“You didn’t. I can swim.” Sure, it was seventy degrees out—not exactly pool-diving weather. And this meant getting in a swimsuit and jumping into a pool filled with sticks that glow—with Jake—but it was on the list.
He slid off the bench and stood. “You don’t want to go swimming?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just…” Looking for excuses. “Maybe I don’t need to be in the picture,” I said, standing and aw
kwardly moving my legs around the bench. “Emily wasn’t in the shot… Never mind. Let’s do it.”
He grinned. “Good. Besides, if we don’t go swimming, how will we get the glow sticks out?”
Oh. Yeah.
This might be ten shades of awkward, but since he seemed genuinely interested in this—in me?—it couldn’t be that hard.
“I’ll have to stop at my dorm. To get something to swim in,” I said.
“That’s cool. Let’s go.”
I tried to act nonchalant, like I always had boys I barely knew come back to my place with me. I didn’t want him to think I was like that, though—like I did this kind of thing all the time.
Get a grip, Audra.
The walk to my dorm room was spent mostly in silence, but I was okay with the quiet. It didn’t feel weird like it did in the coffee shop, and from the way he looked up at the sky, I’d say he was content, too.
Outside my door, I stuck the key in the lock. Oh man. He was going to see all of my stuff. Kat and I kept everything clean so it wasn’t like he’d see week-old food wrappers and dirty laundry everywhere. No big deal.
I held my breath as I pushed the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Uhhh, okay,” I mumbled to myself, trying to remember where I put the one swimsuit I looked good in. “You can sit. If you want. Or whatever.”
A moment later, my bed creaked and he said, “Nice comforter.” Jake ran his hands over it as though it were truly something worth admiring. “Is this a breaking-the-ice tactic for when guys stop by?”
I opened and closed my mouth, then opened it again, zeroing in on his beautiful lips twisting into a grin. “Um. What?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His tone was half matter-of-fact, half amused. “It’s an interesting conversation piece.”
My bedspread…as a conversation piece? No. God, no. It was from the third grade and covered in white and pink unicorns. I’d begged and pleaded for it and never once saw the need to get rid of it. Until now. It wasn’t quite so cute anymore.
Spreading my arms wide, I smiled, hoping to divert his attention from my reddening cheeks. “Actually, you’re the first one I’ve tested it out on. Looks like it works, huh?”
The Heartbeat Hypothesis Page 3