Griffin hands me a charm with a cupcake on it.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Thanks. I’m touched.”
He grins. “It’s for Ally. Give it to Jazz. I know they still see each other, right?”
He curls his fingers in his hair. “Look, she doesn’t have to say it’s from me. In fact, tell her not to say it’s from me. I just saw it and it made me think of Ally … but I don’t want a deal made about it.”
He walks away. Because he really doesn’t want a deal made about it. He just saw it and yeah, obviously cupcakes remind him of Ally (probably everything reminds him of Ally) but she used to bake him treats all the time and leave them in his locker. She did that even before they got together. (She used to be his stalker.)
… Now she’s his werewolf.
I stare at the charm in my hand and think about dropping if off at Jazz’s, but it’s late. Too late to show up at her house with this handy, convenient excuse. I’m tempted though. Wayyy too tempted.
Instead, I sit down to finally do my anger-management writing assignment.
In the middle of my writing, Griffin text me: ‘Did you give your girlfriend the cupcake yet?’
I ran a hand through my hair, knowing he’s baiting me (with a grin)—‘Jazz isn’t my girlfriend.’
He writes back, ‘Man, tell it to your heart.’
Yeah, no kidding.
Okay, this isn’t really news—and I discovered it fairly early on (even in middle school when I was oblivious to almost everything)—I wanted Jazz for a girlfriend. I know, stupid. Right? We had a good thing going—being friends. So, I went out with girls. And had to break up with tons of them. Tons. Because they wanted me to dump Jazz as a close friend. Which, of course, I would never do. So, the girls would dump me. Well, okay, not really. I mean, I would end up having to do the dumping—usually. But it was because they would turn into nagging witches, saying: “It’s me or Jazz.”
Well … it was always Jazz. It would always be Jazz. And yeah, girls didn’t like that so much. I got why. I did. If Jazz called me—I dropped whatever I was doing. Can’t say the same about my ‘girlfriends’ calls. But really, they wouldn’t have even been my ‘girlfriends’ except girls expect that—that title. So, I’d give it to my favorite. (I mean, my favorite next to romance-off-limits Jazz.) It was just a system. Not saying it was right. Or fair. It just was. My system. And it worked, pretty much. If you call ‘working’ lasting at the most a month or two. Which I don’t really. But still, that was it—my system.
But since Jazz went into that friggin’ freaky coma my ‘system’ is broken.
Which is a big no kidding.
But it’s still driving me nuts.
CHAPTER 10
I see Jazz across the school’s crowded hallway. Man, she was not supposed to come back yet. She doesn’t look so good. In fact, she looks like she’s going down any second.
For a moment, I just watch her while my friends are yapping at me at my locker. I have no idea what they’re even saying anymore.
People keep waving their hands in front of my face trying to get my attention, I’m vaguely aware of that, but my eyes are on Jazz and they won’t leave.
School hasn’t even started yet and she already looks like she needs a nap. Or an ambulance. There is no way she’s going to make it through the whole day.
My feet travel over to her before my brain is even fully aware that I’m going to silently ditch my friends in the middle of their conversations. Then I’m here. At Jazz’s elbow, telling Eric to take off, my eyes glued to Jazz even as I mumble the request.
I want to hold her. Make everything okay. Make her okay. ‘Cause she’s shaking and I’m worried and I can’t handle my nightmares.
I have my arms around her before I even know what I’m doing. She’s kind of trembling, yet she melts into my arms. It feels so good. It’s embarrassing how good it feels.
So messed up.
“Jazz, what is it?” I whisper in her ear. “Should I go get the nurse?”
“No,” her warm breath heats up my skin. “Just keep holding me.”
Not a problem.
Only, then Gia comes stomping up next to us. Oh, her wrath.
She crosses her arms and her eyes narrow into slits, shooting daggers at us with her glare. Ice runs through me. I haven’t broken up with her yet and she doesn’t seem to know it’s coming. She just knows I care for Jazz more than her.
It’s enough to make smoke come out of her flaring pretty nostrils, probably mostly because she knows this scene is making her look bad. Letting everyone see my feelings are tangled up in Jazz. She can’t take that. People knowing. It’s a secret she keeps bottled up—only lets explode in private—with cakes crashing on the wall, and bitter words uttered under her heated breath, sliding through her pretty lips even between kisses.
I know I owe it to her to explain the scene—as much to the crowd now looking on, as to her—she’s still my girlfriend, we just had an ‘anniversary.’ She’s my queen. That’s what she needs me to portray, so I’ll do it … until I can’t.
So, I explain through a hoarse, strangled sentence that isn’t quite true, “Jazz is sick—or something.”
The words are true. It’s the sentiment that’s not. I’d hold her no matter what—if she wanted me to, I’d hold her until we die.
But she is sick—or something. That part is scarily true.
“I’m going to go back home,” Jazz says, trying to push me away.
I know she’s doing the pushing because of Gia. She doesn’t want me to get ‘in trouble’ with another girlfriend.
But there’s no way I’m letting her go.
“Okay,” I tell her, smoothing down her hair. “I’ll walk you home.”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay.” She’s still trying to push me away. “I’m okay,” she tries assuring me. “I just want to be alone.”
Her words kind of slug me, ‘cause I’m a in a strange, fragile state when it comes to her right now. So even though I know she’s just avoiding a scene, and Gia’s scary wrath, for a moment her words make me flinch.
And the moment is all she needs. She squirms out of my hands and she’s racing down the hall.
CHAPTER 11
It takes me more than an impatient moment to placate Gia. More time than I’m willing to spare. But she has a hold of my arms and keeps begging me in tight-lipped whispers not to go after Jazz.
As if that is even conceivable.
She knows it’s not. Man, anyone would know it’s not.
By the time I get to go after Jazz, she’s considerably ahead of me.
I don’t get why when I call after her, it makes her run.
I tilt my head, watching her take off. Then chase after her.
I find her in her yard.
On the ground.
Unconscious.
CHAPTER 12
My heart exploding, I call Jazz’s doctor. I picked her up, and carried her into her house. The doctor’s card was on the front table, saying call him in the event of an emergency. This seems like a friggin’ emergency.
… He doesn’t seem to think so though. He says she’s overexerted herself and needs rest.
Still feeling chilled, I put her in her bed. Kiss her forehead. I want to curl up with her, just to keep hearing her heartbeat, ‘cause I’m terrified it’s going to stop. But the doctor sounded so calm. So … unworried.
He doesn’t have nightmares about her dying. Obviously.
He doesn’t worry that he’s going to lose his best friend.
Instead of getting in bed with her like a creeper, I just sit close to her. Watching her sleep.
I want to stay, but I have a mid-term I can’t miss.
Still, I stay until the very last minute that I can spare. Then I race back to school to blow my test. ‘Cause there’s no way I can concentrate.
CHAPTER 13
Gia texts me after the mid-term as I’m walking to my locker. ‘Did you miss history because of Jaz
z?’
‘Yes. She was unconscious.’
‘Wow.’ Gia texts back after longer than one would think. Well, I think, but my heart was in my throat, so maybe I’m not a good judge. Finally she asks, ‘Is she okay?’
‘Supposedly.’
Gia: ‘I took notes for you in class.’
Me: ‘Thanks.’
Gia: ‘Did Bianca borrow your notes again in Spanish class?’
She always asks about that. Like letting a girl borrow my notes means I plan to cheat on her.
‘I missed Spanish too.’
No reply. But I can see her grinding her teeth.
I turn and walk the other way.
In pre-calc Bianca sashays up to me as I’m busy staring at nothing. She waves a hand in front of my face. I blink, then glance blurrily up at her, snapping out of my Jazz-in-another-coma worry-filled daze.
“You weren’t in Spanish class,” Bianca tells me in a purr. “Do you want to come over to my house after school? I can catch you up on what you missed.”
Okay, it is possible Gia is right about one thing—Bianca does seem to be trying to get with me. Her flirting, fluttering eyelashes kind of might be saying that. Or maybe her hand caressing my thigh. I move leg away from her. “No, sorry, I can’t. Me and my girlfriend have plans.”
She pulls her rebuffed hand back with shock, her face reddening, not used to being shot down, I guess. Now her flirting eyes scowl and turn into a glare. “Your girlfriend?” She says it with a scoffing edge in her voice, “—and would that be Gia … or Jazz?”
‘Well, not you,’ I want to tell her. But don’t bother. “Look, I’m busy,” I say instead.
She makes a growl noise, then huffs away.
I text Gia, ‘I don’t think Bianca will be borrowing my Spanish notes anymore.’
She’s quick to answer this time: ‘Good.’
Bianca glares at me for the rest of class.
I guess it’s safe to say I don’t get girls. Well, I get them (almost any time I want, actually) but I don’t understand them.
In middle school, Jazz broke up two cheerleaders in a catfight over me. One of them was my girlfriend at the time, Sabrina. The other girl, Lacy, I’d lent a dollar. (Yeah, the fight was over me lending Lacy a dollar.) Apparently, you can’t do that in middle school when you have a girlfriend—you can’t lend another girl money. It causes a huge fight.
Jazz pulled the girls away from each other, explaining to Sabrina (my girlfriend) and all the other girls that were somehow thinking what I did was unthinkable and I should be shot, “He didn’t give Lacy the dollar because he’s a player. He gave her the dollar because she asked him for it—and he’s nice. You confuse him when you fight over him about stuff like this. He’s just … nice. That’s it. It doesn’t mean he’s in love. With either of you, probably. But Sabrina has those boy-drool-inducing curves that she likes to shove in his face. So, for today, he’ll let her call herself his ‘girlfriend’ … until some other girl throws something interesting in his face.”
Yeah. That about summed it up. But I’d truly only given Lacy the dollar ‘cause she asked me for it. That was it. Then she went around acting like I’d given her an engagement ring. But the confusing thing was, Sabrina acted that way too. And almost every other girl at my school.
So, what I got from that was—girls read goofy stuff into things. Stuff that isn’t there. It’s confusing though, when you’re completely innocent to be accused of stuff.
Not going to lie though, it’s just as confusing when the stuff your girlfriend is accusing the other girl of ends up to be totally true.
The whole thing has me scratching my head.
The Girl World—it’s a big drama-filled mystery.
CHAPTER 14
All day I’ve been trying to get a hold of Jazz, but I’d put her phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ before I left her house. I had only done it so she could sleep and not be disturbed. But now I’m disturbed. Big time. Because I can’t get a hold of her and it’s driving me nuts.
After hockey practice I finally break down and call her house. The first time I call, Renee, her stepsister, answers and tells me Jazz is still in her bed sleeping. After work, I call her house again. This time her mom answers, with the same answer—Jazz is asleep.
When I get home from work, Gia shows up at my house before I can dash over to Jazz’s, which is just as well, I guess. Since, well, the doctor said Jazz needs her rest. So, it’s not like I can go over there and wake her up. I can only watch her unconscious, like I did the whole time she was in her coma.
Her mom may not like that—me watching Jazz sleep, like a stalker. Face it, Jazz may not like that.
So, I let Gia coax me into eating some of the pizza she brought over, and try to focus on the history facts she’s trying to cram down me, since we have a test in that class tomorrow.
But when she tries snuggling and mackin’, at first I act like I’m stressing over the test—and that’s why I’m not in to it. But then later, I try to get in to it.
I mean, Jazz is my friend.
It’s not like we can be like I want. She made that pretty clear with Eric. She doesn’t date friends. She dates the whole freakin’ world, but not friends.
Anyway, I’m too intense about her right now. I don’t want to freak her out.
So, I try to be more attentive to my girlfriend.
Try to be a good boyfriend.
But face it, I’m a bad boyfriend.
The whole time we’re kissing, I’m fantasizing it’s Jazz.
CHAPTER 15
Finally, I drag my traitor lips away from Gia’s hungry mouth. It’s not fair to her—me getting all heated up because I’m pretending she’s Jazz.
I’m a wad.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Look, I appreciate you coming over,” I tell her honestly. “Thanks for the pizza, and the tutoring—and the mackin’ and everything. But my head’s swimming right now”—with thoughts of Jazz—“so, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Okay,” she says kind of pouty and hurt, so when she goes back to kissing me some more, I let her. But man if my thoughts don’t go right back to Jazz again.
This is so messed up.
When things start getting heavy again, I put my palms on her shoulders, gently inclining her away. “I think my mom’s home,” I lie. “I think I heard the garage door.”
Okay, I know it’s not polite or right to lie to your girlfriend. I know that. But a little bit ago I tried telling her the truth and it got me nowhere. My lie gets her moving—fast. She and my mom are not the best of friends.
I know I need to break up with her. I know it’s lame to come up with lies to keep your girlfriend off you. I’m aware of this. All of it. But I also know that I need to think about my words and come up with something soft. I need to actually be able to think. I can’t do that at the moment. I need to see Jazz. Conscious. Then my brain might start actually working again. Maybe.
CHAPTER 16
Once Gia finally leaves (look, I know I’m making it sound like I don’t like Gia, but I do. Obviously. It’s just I like Jazz more—and since the coma, it’s just become blaringly clear. But the situation is twisted because I’m unclear what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I can kiss Gia. I’m not supposed to kiss Jazz. So, that’s an issue. One that keeps me from saying things I know I should, like “It’s time to break up.” Also, you have to admit, those are mean words to say to a girl that brought you a pizza and is trying to keep you from failing a class that you might actually fail without her because your mind has been preoccupied on another girl—even if that girl was in a coma for a great deal of the time you were focused on her; when you found out you can’t live without her. See, things like that—they get to you. They make you do dumb things.) Anyway, once Gia left, I went over to Jazz’s.
But, here’s the thing, it was late. So, I didn’t use the front door like a normal person. Instead, I climbed the tree that’s in between our windows—Jazz’s an
d mine. It’s pretty insane, actually.
So now here I am, at Jazz’s window, watching her playing the guitar. Like a total stalker, I just watch her a minute feeling all mushy. Then I tap at her window. She jumps sky-high and my heart freaks cuz I’m worried she’s going to go into another coma from shock.
Actually, everything makes me worry she’s going to go into another coma these days. The fainting thing this afternoon did not help alleviate that fear whatsoever, but neither does seeing her jump to the ceiling now. (I’m a train wreck.)
However, once Jazz sees it’s me, she gets that look in her eyes. That look that makes my heart speed up and makes me practically fall out of the tree. (I love that look. So much.) It says, “Wow, you are the most desirable person my eyes could ever gaze upon.”
She might give that look to all the guys. But I like to think, nope. That look is just for me.
She smiles and I smile back. (Probably all dopey.) Then I climb in her window. I used to do this all the time—crawl through her window to her room. But I haven’t done it for years. Things have changed. Like now all I can think about is kissing her. That thought used to never cross my mind. Well, hardly ever. Now it’s all I can think about. Her soft pink lips, feeling them on mine. (I probably shouldn’t have done this.)
I keep trying to remind myself: I have a girlfriend.
Also, I try to keep at the front of my mind: Jazz, is your best friend, dude. Don’t mess it up.
But man, her lips look soft.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Jazz informs me, referring to my weird, unexpected window-move. She doesn’t seem too upset about it though.
Please Love Me Back Page 14
