Playlist: Save My Heart by Jason Reeves

Word Prompt: Speedy

Plot Generator—Idea Completion: Head in the clouds.

Chapter 12

After Katie and Greg leave, I start right in on my math homework, trying to make up old assignments. Garrett's too drunk to drive, so he'll leave first thing in the morning. He's got to be at work by nine and it's a long drive, but he should be fine.

I lie on my bed, working through a problem when an ice cold something or other smacks against my calf. I kick it away.

"What are you doing, Oops? I'm bored," Garrett announces, sitting atop my notebook. Nice. He slurps his beer.

"Homework."

"I thought you were supposed to be chasing Sex Legs around."

"I am, but Mom thinks I have to learn this stuff, too. Do I?"

"Yep, all engineers gotta get through loads of math. That's still what you want to do, right?"

"Yeah." I close my textbook.

"Good. You don't want to end up like Dad—a slave to his job."

"No kidding."

"And you want to be just like your big brother, don't ya?" He says it in a baby voice and ruffles my hair. Such a dork.

"Not really," I say, and he jumps on me, pinning my elbows behind my back. Dammit, I filled out a little this year, but he's still got so much muscle mass on me.

"You do. Say it." He's dangerously close to my ear. I'm terrified he'll spit.

"Yes, I want to be just like you. There, okay?"

"Better," he says, getting to his knees and pulling my picture of Bella off my shelf. "She is so hot. Like really. You do her yet?"

"No."

"Loser," he says, laughing. "You gotta get on that speedy fast before someone else does."

"It's not that I don't want to. Things just haven't been right. I mean, we haven't even started anything yet. Not officially."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"It's not complicated. You tell her how you feel?"

"Yeah."

"You tell her she's pretty and you want her and whatever?"

"Yeah."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know." I don't, and I do. It's confusing.

"Did you ask her out?"

"No."

Garrett shakes his head. "You're a tool. You care about her, you think she's hot, you chase her around the damn ball field, but you haven't even asked her to be your girlfriend? That's just balls out stupid."

"Shut up!" is all I can think to say, because dammit! He's right. I haven't even asked her out. What is wrong with me? First, I didn't ask her to prom, and now this. I've got to get on this.

Garrett walks my room, beer in hand, rifling through my stuff. "Mom and Dad'll make it."

"You think?" I ask, flopping onto my back.

"They do this every ten years or so. Mom gets sick of not being appreciated, Dad blames his job, she talks about priorities, and he schlumps around like a loser. They always figure it out."

"She's never moved before, though."

"True, and you are older. Maybe she was just waiting for us to grow up."

"Maybe she's waiting for Dad to grow up."

"Touché, little bro. Maybe you're not as dumb and slow as I thought you were."

I ignore the last jab. "I think he's getting it."

"It's about time. You'd think with how old he is and how long he's been married he'd have picked it up at a faster pace, but no."

"Well, what about you? You getting married anytime soon?"

"Pssh. That ship sailed a long time ago."

"You're not even thirty, Garrett."

"Yeah, but all the good ones are taken."

"Like who?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Ah, there is a who. Who is she?"

"It doesn't matter. She's gone. I messed up too many times. Like Dad, I guess, only my girl didn't have the patience of a saint."

"Like Mom."

"Yeah," he says through a thick laugh.

"Why are relationships so hard?"

"Because girls are in charge of them." He leaves me with a punch to the thigh and slams my door shut.

-NSID-

In the morning I'm greeted by a giggling Mom and a groping-her Dad in the kitchen. I handle that long enough to get some cereal and take it to my room. I'm glad they're talking and doing whatever else it is they're doing, but just no.

"They're disgusting; it reminds me of my childhood," Garrett says in his work clothes, drinking coffee in my doorway. I gather my stuff, getting ready for school. "Well, I'm out. Don't miss me too much."

"That's not a problem," I say without looking up.

"Whatever." Garrett enters my room, leans up against the window pane and announces, "You can see right into Sex Legs's room from here. Lucky you. All I see from my apartment is a dumpster."

I peek out my window beside him. There's Bella; it's no big deal. She's adamant about closing her blinds when she needs to. There are no free shows, that's for sure. Right now, she's doing the same as me, gathering stuff for her backpack. She has something in her hand.

My phone moos, forcing me to look away. It's Bella.

Pick me up? –B

Be right there. –E

"I gotta go. Bella wants me," I say smugly and grab my keys.

"Go get her, Edward. And be better than us," he says, motioning toward the kitchen where Dad is.

I nod and head to Bella's, full of faith that everything will be all right eventually.

-NSID-

My head's in the clouds all week as Bella and I make loads of progress. Her guard's down, and we're just us again. It's so simple and nice. It's also nice that she's spending less time with Jake.

Prom is this weekend. The girls are excited, including Bella who's made it a point to hang out more with Charlotte and Jane, even though they're too elated (and creepy) for her tastes. Apparently, they're getting together the night of for some girl bonding where they put their hair in curlers, wear lingerie, and have tickle fights. But that could just be my imagination.

I decide after prom I'm going to try to make things official by asking Bella out. I figure it would be too weird for everyone involved if Jake took my girlfriend to prom. I could ask Bella to back out of it, but it's all set. She has her dress (that I picked out) and everything.

Saturday night during dinner, Dad's suspiciously giddy. He keeps looking at his phone and giggling. I can't be around all this happiness when Bella's at prom with some other dude she likes. So after the fourth time, I snap. "What is so funny?"

Dad clears his throat and closes his phone. "Um, nothing. Your mom and I were having a conversation."

"And you can't wait until after dinner? Can't we make the Sunday dinner rule about phones at the table a constant? That would be great, thanks."

"Are you okay, Edward?"

"Fine," I say.

"You can talk to me."

"Right," I say sarcastically, knowing I'm being rude but also satisfied I have someone to take my anger out on.

"Is this about Bella?"

"No!"

He drops his fork, finishes off his drink, and folds his hands in front of him. He stares, and he won't look away.

"Today's prom," I tell him.

He blinks.

"Bella went, and I didn't. That's all."

"But you like her?" he asks.

"It's more than that."

"Well, someone really wise once said to me, 'then do something about it.'"

He's so right, but I'm not going to ruin her prom. I've ruined everything else. So I sit with my dad and convince myself that my parents know nothing about sexting.

We finish our meal and watch the end of a game together while Dad glances at his phone occasionally. It's not too late and I'm still pretty irritated, so I decide to blow off some steam at the batting cages. It's either that or eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and watch Nick at Nite. And that's just wrong.

On the drive there, my phone chimes. I pick it up, glancing at the screen.

Renee sent this to me. Focus on the pretty girl. I love you, honey. Mom.

I click the link, take a turn, and check out the photo quickly. Bella's all done up, ready for prom, hanging on Jake's arm.

I turn off my radio to be alone with my thoughts. I look one last time as I pull into the parking lot and nearly run over the cement block since I'm not paying attention. I need to put my phone in the backseat when I drive.

I pay the cashier and set up. I grip my bat, strong and tight, before swinging away, making a dent in my baseballs.

This ball's Jake.

Crack!

Garrett and his mostly stupid advice.

Crack!

My dad and his inability to let go of things that don't matter.

Crack!

And me, who can't seem to do the right thing at the right time. Why didn't I ask her to prom?

Crack!
Crack!
Crack!

"Woo! You're on a roll!"

I spin on the spot, and a ball whirs past me. Bella's fingers curl around the chain link fence. Through it, I see the girl I grew up with, who gives me her lemons at restaurants, and knows that I like iced tea in my mom's flower cup. Only she's not the same girl. She's a woman.

I thought she looked beautiful in her dress at the mall, but it's nothing compared to this. Her hair's curly—half up, half down—and her eyes have something shiny on them that make them look amazing. I follow the slit of her dress and spy sparkly heels. I knew she'd find that twirling seven-year-old. A huge smile spreads over my face.

"You're gorgeous!" I blurt. As far as blurting goes, which I do often, it's not a bad blurt.

She laughs and pushes the gate open, hitting the button to stop the pitching machine.

"Can I hit?" she asks, reaching for my bat.

"In that?"

"It's not like the non-sleeves will hinder my movement."

"All right." I hand it over, but she doesn't take it. She grips my shoulder and leans down, pulling her heels off, giving me a great view down her dress.

She takes the bat and sets herself up. "Hit it, will ya?" She points to the button.

I hand her my helmet, and she laughs. "I can't put that thing on; it'll ruin my hair."

"Are you going back to the dance?"

"No."

"Then who're you trying to impress?" I ask, looking around. "We're the last two people here besides the manager."

"Fine," she says.

I place it on her head, then push start.

I watch in awe as she smacks the hell out of a few pitches while wearing a prom dress and my helmet. There's no mistaking it. I love her. I'm in love with her. I have to tell her soon.

The machine stops, and she hands me my helmet, satisfied with herself. "That's how you do it, Cullen."

"I could take a lesson or two from you."

"Or two?"

"Maybe more."

"I'll hold you to that."

"What are you gonna teach me first?"

"I dunno. Here." She gives me a coy grin and holds the bat out to me but pulls it away when I reach for it. How she makes that stupid game sexy, I'll never know, but she does.

We exit the cage, gather my things, load them in my car, and decide to take a walk. Bella's heels dangle from her fingertips as we head to the adjacent park. I keep stealing glances at her and smiling like a loon. She's so pretty, it's disarming.

Some teenage girls in a nearby car blast music from the stereo, and suddenly, all I want to do is dance with Bella, hold her in my arms.

"Did you have fun?" I ask. I hope she did even though I couldn't be there.

"Yeah."

"Did you dance a lot?"

"A little."

"Are you tired?

"No."

"One more dance?"

"What?" She stops and turns, catching my eyes.

"C'mon, dance with me." I tug her arm and drag her to me in a dance position, swaying to the pop ballad the girls are singing along with. It's not the stuff of romance so much as convenience and desire, but I don't care; Bella's in my arms, and she's not pulling away.

"So who won king and queen?" I ask, twirling her under my arm in the open soccer field.

"Who do you think?"

"Jasper and Alice. Of course. How long have they been together?"

"Seventh grade."

"That's a long time."

"That could've been us," Bella whispers. "She was my lab partner in science, and she had a big, secret crush. I bugged her and bugged her until we decided on a trade. I'd tell her my crush and she'd tell me hers."

"And?"

"She was the first person who knew I was falling for Edward Cullen."

I grin, proud of the fact that she's liked me for so long. It feels good to be liked, desired, especially by someone as amazing as Bella. "That was the year you got your braces off."

Bella's shocked expression makes me laugh. "I do know some things. I told you I know you. I also know that that's the year you kicked Eric in the crotch because he snapped your bra."

"He was being so gross," she says defensively.

"I know. I just wish you would've told me. I would've kicked his ass. Then again, I wish you would've told me a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you liked me. In a more than neighborly way."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"Are you?"

"I like you, neighbor." She giggles nervously, so I bring her in closer, holding her against my chest. She smells amazing. Vanilla mixed with something else, something stronger, more alluring.

There's a lull in the music and our conversation. We simply hold each other, close and intimate, in the warm air of the park. I run my hands up her arms, making her shiver. I cup her face and stroke my thumb over the apple of her cheek. Her smile is soft, like her. Her eyes open and honest. This is my Bella. Not Jake's. Not her team's. Mine.

"You got a ballpark for me yet?"

"Mmm, Chase," she whispers.

"Isn't that the last one?"

"Maybe."

I lean in but catch her eyes last minute, seeking permission. They say yes, but I decide to play with her. This is fun and the anticipation—exciting.

"How long are you gonna make me wait?" I ask, and as soon as her eyes drop, I know I've hit a line drive into my own face. She pulls away from me slowly, and her eyes harden. "No, Bella, I didn't mean . . . I wasn't talking about sex, I—"

"I know what you were talking about," she says sternly.

"I was kidding. I was—"

"You were kidding?" She throws her hands out wide, incredulous. "You know how long I waited for you? Do have any idea how it felt day in and day out watching you fall all over these other girls? Do you know how many times you've broken up with a girl and I thought this is it, this is my chance? Only it never happened because you never wanted me. And now that you do, you think I'll just fall into your arms in your own time, on your own conditions. Well, I don't think so." She turns and walks away.

I start walking after her across the damp field. "Bella, wait!"

But she doesn't. Her walk turns into a jog.

"I'm sorry," I yell. "I'm an idiot. I didn't think. I'm sorry. Please, Bella, please stop." I catch up to her and pull on her arm. She whirls around, eyes blazing.

"I left prom early for you. I came here tonight to tell you I was wrong to wait, that I'm ready. To tell you I made a mistake, that I didn't like Jake like I thought I did. That I wanted to be with you. But you've just confirmed what I've thought all along: you're not ready. You might never be. We can't do this. It will never work."

"It will work. Why would you think that? I want to be with you. I was going to ask you out after prom. I want to be your boyfriend."

"I don't care what you want any more." She wipes an angry tear from her cheek, and I feel like the world's biggest asshole. How did we end up here like this? Me and my stupid mouth.

Her shoulders slump, defeated, and she shifts her weight from foot to foot. "I'm tired of caring about what you want. I'm exhausted. You exhaust me, and I . . . you know why I'm not with you?"

"Yeah, because of Jake."

"Not because of Jake. It's because I don't trust you with my heart. Jake is kind and sweet. He's safe. But not safe enough, because he couldn't keep me from thinking about you. And I hate you for it. I hate you."

The words pierce hard and hurt, but it doesn't matter because she's hurting, too. I have no clue how to fix this. It was a joke. A joke made in poor taste at a poor time. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry. What can I . . . just tell me what to do."

She drops her eyes to her bare feet. They look so small in the grass, partially hidden by blue silky fabric that matches the dark sky. "You've done enough," she says and turns, throwing herself into a full sprint, running from me.