The Illusion of Annabella Read online

  Growing restless, I open my eyes and move over to a short bookshelf in the corner where my dad kept a collection of older books that he was too in love with to sell. I lower myself to the floor and skim my fingers along the titles on the bottom row. Most of the titles I don’t recognize—my dad had an oddly unique taste in books—but there are a few that I know by heart because he took the time to read them to me. Stories of princesses and magical kingdoms. He was such a good dad, and how did I repay him? By lying to him in his final moments in life.

  I’m so sorry, Dad.

  I draw in a breath and clumsily get to my feet, but a thick, leather book with no title or author catches my attention. I slide it out and open it on my lap. My breath catches in my throat. The pages are covered with my father’s handwriting.

  “He kept a journal,” I say aloud to myself. But as I fan through the pages, I realize my father’s journal endeavor was short lived because he only managed to fill up three pages.

  I thrum my fingers against the page, wondering what to do with book. I want to read it. I want to burn it. I want to hug it and never let it go.

  With trembling hands, I slam the book shut and hoist myself to my feet. I write Loki a note on a post-it, stick it on the office entryway where he can find it, and sneak out the back door with the book. I hike across the gravel parking lot toward the street. A cloud of smoke circles around me as I pass by the drearily dressed group that always seems to be smoking near the garbage cans. When I reach the sidewalk, something catches my attention in my peripheral vision.

  Just down the street, Cece is leaning against Ben’s red lifted truck, twisting a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants over her leotard, which means she just got out of ballet class. She has her flirty smile on and keeps biting her lip.

  Guess they really are together.

  I feel the slightest sting in my heart, but don’t react, won’t become that girl. Cece can do whatever she wants and so can Ben.

  Ripping my gaze off them, I veer left toward the block my house is on. I have to move slowly; otherwise my leg won’t make the four mile walk home. Back when I helped my dad at the store, I’d sometimes pop in my earbuds and dance my way home. Yeah, people looked at me strangely, but I was too wrapped up in my own world to care. There was something freeing about dancing around in a world that was packed with so many people just walking around. It was probably the most abnormal thing I’ve ever done, and the toes on my good leg ache to relive those days of being so free, so at peace with who I was. But the toes on my bad leg are numb and my leg can barely handle walking anymore.

  I don’t make it very far down the sidewalk before my muscles start spasming. Sometimes this happens and between the ache and the sweater and leather jacket I’m wearing, I grow exhausted quickly.

  Sinking down onto the curb, I lay my head on my lap. I’m so sweaty that my clothes are sticking to my skin. How wonderful would it be if the world opened up and swallowed me whole?

  “Annabella?”

  I tilt my head and my eyelashes flutter against the sunlight.

  Tammy, the new neighbor, is staring down at me with concern. “Oh, honey, are you all right? You look sick.”

  She’s wearing a red sleeveless dress that matches her lipstick and black boots and hoop earrings. Again, she reminds me so much of my mom that my heart skips a beat. But beneath the fashionable outfit, is she really like my mom? Does she lie to her husband? Does she have Luca lie for her?

  “I’m fine,” I reply, hugging the book against my chest.

  Her brows knit. “Honey, why are you sitting on the curb? Are you hurt?”

  Sighing, I raise my head. “I was just walking home and needed to take a break. I’m good, though. Totally refreshed and ready to go.”

  Refusing to set the book down, I attempt to stand without using my hands, but end up falling right back down on my ass.

  “Oh, my goodness.” She flails her hand around, waving at someone in the parking lot. “Luca, come help me get Annabella up.”

  Oh, my God, no way is that about to happen. Walking with a limp is bad enough.

  Gritting through the pain, I shift forward, and putting way too much weight on my bad leg, trip to my feet. Searing pain clenches in my muscles and tears sting at my eyes, but I’m standing and that’s all that matters.

  Tammy looks back at me with pity in her eyes. “Let me give you a ride home, okay.” Her gaze falls to my leg.

  She knows what happened to me.

  “It’s only a couple more miles.” I lift my foot to walk away, but the blinding pain shifts to full-on, knock-my-breath-out-of me throbbing. My jaw clenches, and I end up biting my tongue. The foul taste of rust fills my mouth, and my eyes water.

  Gripping onto the post of a street sign, I inhale deeply and force the waterworks to stay put. When Tammy answers her phone, I breathe in relief. Now’s my chance to get away.

  “Here, let me help you.” Luca steps in front of me and blocks my escape. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. I have the silly urge again to run my fingers through it and fix it back into place.

  I shuffle away from him. “I said I’m fine. Yeah, I have a messed up leg, but I know how to walk.”

  He freezes, his hands suspended in midair. “I was actually going to offer to carry the book for you.”

  I try to decipher if he’s for real or not. “What is this? 1950? Guys don’t carry books for girls anymore.”

  His lips tug into a lopsided grin. “This guy does.”

  I bite down on my lip, resisting back a smile. “That was really lame.”

  He chuckles, his cheeks tinting pink. “I know. Sorry. I’m blaming it on the move here. It’s thrown me off my game.”

  I tuck the book underneath my arm. “Sounds like an excuse to me. Maybe you never really had any game to begin with.” I internally cringe at the playful edge in my voice.

  “Maybe you’re right.” He massages the back of his neck as he stares at the ground. “Now everything’s suddenly making sense. No wonder every girl I tried to talk to ran off.” A smile rises as his hands drop to his sides. “Just like you did earlier.”

  I remember how he called me pretty. How he assumed that I like sweet, nice guys. “I wasn’t running away from you. Just something you said.” I instantly replay my words. Why am I being so honest?

  “It was the cocky, douche bag remark, wasn’t it?”

  “Kind of.”

  “I’m really not a douche bag. I promise.”

  “But you’re cocky,” I speculate.

  He wavers, pulling a reluctant face. “I have my moments sometimes, but I also have my un-cocky moments, too.”

  “What kind of word is un-cocky?”

  “The super cool kind.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re a sometimes cocky, sometimes un-cocky, book carrying, awkward phase loving kind of guy that makes up his own words.”

  He points a finger at me. “You’ve been paying attention.”

  “No, you’ve made me pay attention by refusing to leave me alone.” I aim to sound annoyed but come off more amused than anything.

  “I know. It’s kind of a defense mechanism when I get really nervous,” he says with a sigh. A pucker forms at his brows. “Usually, it doesn’t work, though, and people end up running in the other direction.” He glances over my shoulder at something. “Like that girl over there. I tried to charm her with my awesome social skills, but either she’s blind or she was pretending to be.”

  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 h
ead, 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.