The Illusion of Annabella

  “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.

  The shirt reminds me of my dad, and knots ravel in my chest. He used to listen to them all the time. In fact, I was listening to them the day of the accident, right before my mom drove out to the antique store.

  Luca tracks my gaze to his shirt. “You ever listen to them?”

  I slowly shake my head. “No. Never.”

  He cocks a brow, giving me a skeptical look.

  “I swear haven’t.” I feel the need to make him believe my lie, because it makes it easier to lie to myself.

  “Okay, you haven’t then. But it’d be cool if you had. It’s a really cool band.” He still sounds doubtful that I haven’t heard of the band, and the accusation in his tone flusters me.

  I want to look away from him, but I can’t bring myself to. It’s creeping me out because I swear it’s like he knows the old me . . .

  “So, what do you like to do for fun, Annabella?” Tammy interrupts our moment as she drives onto the road, slipping on a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Or do you go by Anna? I think I heard your brother call you that.”

  “When did you talk to my brother?” I ask her, still staring at Luca who’s staring at me with curiosity in his eyes.

  “For a little bit yesterday evening, and also this morning. He’s a very lovely young man. That’s how I knew your family owned the bookstore.” She adjusts the rearview mirror, angling it right at me.

  Mascara and eyeliner are melting down my face, and my skin looks pallid. Oh, my God, I feel so mortified. I want to wipe the mess away with my fingertips, but force myself to place my hands on my lap. I can’t be that girl who cares if a guy sees her looking like a mess. If I’m her, then I’ll be the girl who loves glitter. Who dreams. Who worships her mother. Who was a dancer . . .

  Tears threaten to seep out and I start counting my breaths, crossing my fingers we’ll get home soon where my pills will be waiting for me.

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Don’t cry.

  “Your brother also told me you like to dance,” Tammy says, and I just about lose it, right there in the car. Start sobbing like a freak. “I think that’s great,” she continues, seeming oblivious to my meltdown. “I used to dance myself. That was quite a while ago, though. I’m not even sure I could do it anymore—it’s been so long.”

  The sunlight burns against my eyes as I stare unblinkingly out the window. “I used to dance but not anymore.” I pinch the side of my leg, stab my nails into the fabric of my jeans, bite down on my tongue, seeking pain strong enough to erase the agony stirring inside me.

  “Oh. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  I don’t utter a word. Can’t. Can barely breathe.

  “Hey, Mom. Weren’t you supposed to call dad when we were heading back to the house,” Luca says, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d guess he was giving me a break from her questioning.

  “Shit, I forgot.” She grabs her phone from her purse and dials a number.

  While she’s chatting with Luca’s dad, Luca inches closer to me in the seat. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I bob my head up and down. “If I knew she was going to ask all these question, I would’ve just walked home.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says in a low, quiet tone. “She’s really bad at sensing when people don’t want to talk about stuff.”

  “I think I would’ve been better off getting chased down the street,” I admit, picking at my fingernails with my head tipped down.

  “You say that now, but until you’ve lived the full experience, you don’t get how embarrassing it can be.” He pauses, taking a breath or two. “You want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  I give him an are-you-insane look. “Why would I? I don’t even know you.”

  “I know, and I honestly don’t really expect you to open up to me,” he says, offering me a timid smile. “But since we’re at that awkward new friends phase, I figure I could ask.”

  “You’re seriously the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Now I know that’s not true. Not when you’ve met my mom.”

  “She doesn’t seem that—” I say, but he holds up a hand, silencing me.

  “Just give it a minute,” he tells me, looking at his mom who’s still talking on the phone.

  “Of course I want you to have an opinion,” she says. “It’s your store, too, sweetie.” She pauses, and Luca spreads his hands apart in front of him, as if signaling a grand finale. “But wouldn’t it be really amazing if we all dressed up like puppets and did a life size puppet show. Luca could be part of it, too, and I could make our outfits out of those matching doll Halloween costumes we wore a couple of years ago.” She smacks her hand against the steering wheel, getting even more excited. “I could even bedazzle them up, put some rhinestones and sparkles on them.”

  Luca eases back in the seat, propping his foot onto his knee. “And there you go.”

  “She’s not that bad,” I say, but deep down, I want to laugh at her excitement over doll costumes, rhinestones, and puppet shows.

  “Not that bad.” He gapes at me. “Anna, she’s going to make me wear a doll costume.”

  “So.” I find this conversation way too amusing. “There’s guy dolls, too, you know.”

  “With rhinestones,” he adds, staring at me unfathomably. “And sparkles.”

  “Rhinestones and sparkles can be cool,” I say. “In their own glittery way.”

  He examines me with suspicion in his eyes. “You’re speaking from experience. I can tell.” He wags a finger at me. “Admit, you secretly like rhinestones and sparkly things.”

  “I so do not,” I say in horror. “I hate stuff like that.”

  “I bet you even secretly like all that stuff,” he continues on, ignoring me. “I bet late at night, when you think everyone is asleep, you trade your boots and leather jacket for pink, glittery dresses.”

  “No, I don’t.” My nerves are so frazzled I can’t think straight. “Luca, I’m not like that anymore.”

  “Anymore?” he questions, and waits for me to answer.

  But I simply shake my head and fix my attention on the ranch-style houses, the trees outside, the people wandering around the streets. Everything is buzzing with life. I miss that feeling.

  Luca must sense that he’s triggered a nerve because he remains quiet.

  By the time we reach our neighborhood, a cringe-worthy silence has built between the three of us. I’m so relieved to be home that I bail out of the car a little too eagerly, roll
my ankle, and fall down on the concrete.

  “Oh, my goodness, are you okay?” Tammy rushes over, fussing over me.

  “I’m fine.” I motion at her to get away as I stumble to my feet. “Thanks for the ride.” I don’t look at either of them as I round the fence between our properties.

  “Hey, Anna.” Luca jogs after me, and I want to run from him, but have no choice but to stop. “I’m sorry if I upset you in the car. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m fine.” I swallow hard at the lie. “Look, I have to go. I need to check up on my brother and sisters.” Another lie. So many are piling up that I wonder if I won’t be able to discern fact from fiction.

  “Okay.” He seems a little upset, but waves at me before heading back down the driveway.

  I have the craziest urge to chase after him, beg him to joke around with me more, let myself have what I used to want. But instead I turn for door and walk away.

  By the time I make it inside, blood has soaked through the knee of my jeans, and my skin is on fire.

  Not bothering to clean up the wound, I climb the stairs, fishing out my phone from inside my pocket. I have three missed texts. One from Miller, one from Cece, and one from Jessamine, my older sister. Every once in a while she tries to check in, but I never reply because I don’t really have anything to say to her.

  I read Miller’s first, knowing it’ll be easier to handle.

  Miller: Hey, it’s me. Just seein’ if u wanna come over and hang. I know things were intense yesterday so I thought we could just chill and take it easy for the night. Maybe go c that movie you’ve been wanting to c. That one about that guy and girl who go on that trip. I could even pick u up.

  I have no idea what movie he’s talking about since we’ve never discussed my likes and dislikes. More than likely he’s getting me mixed up with someone else, probably another girl.

  Mentally preparing myself, I switch to Cece’s message.

  Cece: Hey, I was looking through this old box of photos for my mom and found one of you and me that we took that the party last June. Remember how much fun we had that night dancing? I really miss that . . . But anyway, I just wanted to say hi. I know things have been really awkward and u say u don’t want to talk, but I really think we should, especially after the other day. I saw the look on your face in class when I was talking to Ben. This thing with him isn’t what u think. We’re just friends. I promise I won’t do that to u . . . Please, just call me okay. Maybe we can get together over xmas break or something!

  My heart squeezes at the exclamation point at the end. Totally a Cece thing to do, and it makes me sad, makes me miss things I don’t want to miss.

  With unsteady fingers, I move to the final one.

  Jessamine: Hey, it’s me. I haven’t heard from u in a while. Loki texted me the other day and said there was a lot of stuff going on and wanted me to talk to u. Call me, Anna. U never pick up when I call. Pleaz. I want to help.

  “No, you don’t. Trust me,” I mutter to the screen. “You’re better off away in London—far, far away from this mess I’ve created.”

  I don’t reply to any of the texts. Ignoring the yelling coming from the family room, I go straight up to my bedroom. I flop down on my bed with the book and fan through the pages again but stop at the inside back cover. An envelope is taped to it with Dennis scribbled across the front. I gulp. Dennis who? I want to find out the answer, yet I hesitate. The handwriting resembles my mother’s. My mom the liar. The cheater. Dead in her grave, buried with her secrets, only she left some of them here with me.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m filled with so much hate all the time.

  “God, I hate myself.” Tears threaten to pour out, and I chuck the book across the room and bury my face into a pillow, smothering a scream until the anger is locked back inside me again. But no matter how hard I fight back the rage, this time I can’t seem to get myself under control. I need to get out of here. Get away from a house haunted by memories and glitter. Where my dreams of dancing started. Where I used to be a happy person, used to be so much more than what I am now.

  I open Miller’s message and my fingers hover over the keypad.

  Me: Yeah, come pick me up.

  Miller: Sweet. What’s your address?

  Giving him my address means handing over a real piece of my life. That’s not what Miller’s for, but I really want to leave and my leg aches way too much to be walking around.

  Sucking in a breath, I text him my address, then change my clothes, preparing to run away again.

  Chapter Nine

  Shards of Broken Glass

  On my way outside to meet Miller, Zhara comes barreling out of the family room. “Where are you going?”

  “Out.” I dodge to the right to swing around her but she sidesteps and blocks my path. Without directly looking at her, I grab onto the banister. “Zhara, move out of my way.”

  She shakes her head. “I . . . I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, you can. Now move.” I move to step around her again, but she sidesteps, getting in my way again. Frustration bursts inside me because she’s blocking my escape to freedom and the pills downstairs that I plan on taking. “Zhara, seriously. Get out of my way before I make you move.”

  Her cat eyes widen. “Loki texted me and told me not to let you go anywhere . . . I don’t want to get in trouble if you leave.”

  “You won’t get into trouble.” I push her aside to squeeze by.

  “Anna! Please don’t leave! I don’t want to get into trouble,” she says, chasing after me.

  “Take a look around you.” I motion at the empty house. “No one here cares what we do.”

  “That’s not true!” She sniffles. “Mom and Dad used to. And Loki cares now. And so do I.”

  “Yeah, well, Loki’s not here.” I start down the stairs, my focus on one thing—the bottle of pills in the cupboard.

  “How can you be so mean and uncaring all the time?” she asks, looking at me like she has no clue who I am anymore. “You used to be so nice.”

  I descend the stairway, gripping onto the railing to keep weight off my scarred leg. “I used to be a lot of things.”

  “You can still be those things,” she says, shuffling after me. “I know some things are different, but you still have me, Loki, and Nik who want to help you get through this. Even Alexis would probably help.”

  “I don’t need help from anyone.” I leave her veering toward tears and duck into the kitchen to pop a pill. Then I sit on the porch to wait for Miller.

  Right as the pills are kicking in, I spot his truck bumping up the street.

  The exhaust backfires when he pulls up to the garage, and Mrs. Fefferson from across the street shakes her head in dismay. I head down the driveway, but stop when I notice Luca watching me from his front yard. I don’t like how he’s looking at me, as if he’s worried and . . . Well, disappointed.