Annabeth Neverending (18 page)

Along the way, I admire the fancy old hotels on the bluff, places we could never afford to stay: all
-
inclusive wood
-
and
-
stone resorts, built during the turn of the nineteenth century. According to Mrs. Lansing, they’re remnants of another time, “The Guilded Age.” Lately I’ve been feeling equally anachronistic. At least now I know there was a place where I once belonged.

I open the passenger
-
side window and breath in deeply, relishing the ocean air. Even though the sky is a mottled gray and foam
-
laced ocean waves are smacking the shore with a vengeance, there are a surprising number of locals milling about on the boardwalk.

But the area surrounding Nubble is a different story. With winter winds tormenting the coast, the perimeter’s a ghost town. It feels like there’s nobody in the whole world but the two of us. Under the overcast sky, we exit C. J.’s vehicle and step off the overlook. We make our way through the jagged brown rocks that stretch across the channel like a cobblestone street.

I note a few drops of water have infiltrated the toe of my boot, which means there’s a leak forming. But I don’t mind if I get soaked. Lately, I’ve wondered if I was reincarnated into an oceanside life because my previous incarnation was so woefully arid.

The white
-
and
-
black structure, which is exactly what you’d think of when imagining a Maine lighthouse, is situated on a tiny island a few hundred feet offshore. Waves crash in, exploding as they hit the boulders, showering us with spray. I lick my wet lips and taste the salty residue. My mouth is puckering, just ripe for the kissing.

“Let’s go to the island and take a closer look.”

“Why not?” I ask, even though the answer is spelled out on all the posted signs prohibiting the activity.

C. J. grabs my hand to help guide me along. The waves creep up higher and higher as we find ourselves jumping from rock to rock to evade their angry crashing. Today, the ocean seems to be exhibiting quite a temper. Dodging the water is kind of fun, in a wet, dangerous way.

We scale the slippery cliffs of the miniscule island and half climb, half walk to the top of its plateau. We stand here, looking out over the picturesque York coastline. One I typically take for granted.

“Funny. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I’ve never been up here,” I admit. “Sometimes it’s nice to see things from a new perspective.”

“This is amazing. You’re amazing,” says C. J. as he tucks a curl of wayward hair behind my ear.

“Amazing like how, exactly?” We’re surrounded by water, might as well go fishing.

C. J. doesn’t miss a beat, even though most boys would be taken off guard when asked such a point
-
blank question. But then, he’s used to this type of behavior coming from me…or Ana.

“Well, you’re funny, beautiful, smart, and you can draw a mean hieroglyphic. You’re the ideal girl.”

“It’s hard to argue with such sound logic.”

C. J. smiles in response but doesn’t make a move. I’m holding back to allow him the honor. I know it’s old
-
fashioned. I guess it’s the ancient Egyptian in me. Maybe if I make it obvious enough, he’ll do…something. Once I read in a beat
-
up
Seventeen
magazine at the flea market that you should make your lips available in order to get a guy to kiss you. Lips seek out other lips, I suppose.

Finally, C. J. leans toward me. I’m beginning to feel like every other moment I’ve had to suffer through has been leading up to this one. Like every road had no chance but to converge upon this.

That’s why Gabriel never kissed me. Fate wanted me to save that privilege for C. J. He hesitates, so I lift my head. That way, he needn’t fear that he’s misinterpreted my intentions. And it seems like maybe, just maybe, he’s about to kiss me. To make it easy on him, I even angle my head perfectly. But he does not give me the satisfaction.

What a tease!

“So, why did you bring me here?” I ask.

We’re standing close
—
alarmingly close. And yet…He keeps me waiting.

“No reason,” he says.

I look down, not wanting him to see my frustration, even though it has to be written all over my face, which C. J. tenderly takes hold of and lifts up toward his. He puts his fingers under my chin and strokes my cheek with his thumb. Then…then…C. J. slowly, gently brushes his lips over mine. At first, he’s tentative, but then he lets go completely, and I give in as well. My mouth, melding with his
—
it’s second nature.

In time, we come up for air, panting with desire.

“Well, maybe one.”

And before long, lips are pressing against each other once more.

I’m grateful that his arms are around me, because he’s holding me up. I’ve gone limp. I no longer have control of my extremities, of my heart. I cleave to him. Finding out that I’ve been reincarnated has taken its toll on me. Yes, it’s brought me thrills, but it’s also brought me fear. C. J. is my buoy in a sea of drowning insecurity. He’s my anchor in a simmering ocean of doubt. I nuzzle my head into his side.

This isn’t just our first kiss; this is my first kiss. And it was worth the wait. I’ll never get enough of him. He fulfills me in ways Gabriel can’t.

Even now…Why am I thinking of Gabriel?

18

G
abriel has a done an admirable job of avoiding me, but seeing as we work at the same antique stand, it was only a matter of time before we were scheduled together. Mrs. Lansing and I set up shop in anticipation of his arrival, which I’m dreading. I don’t want to be faced with what could have been, even if I’m contented with what currently is.

“It’s your life, I suppose,” Mrs. Lansing says disappointedly. Though Mrs. Lansing has repeatedly told me that she’s not the least bit happy, that I’m making a huge mistake.

“He’s the one who broke up with me,” I remind her, and it pains me every time I’m forced to utter the words.

This shuts her down. What else is there left to say?

While I man our table, pondering Gabriel’s eventual appearance, and how hard it will be to avoid his baby blues, his cocksure smirk, Kerry appears.

“What a surprise,” I say with sincere shock.

“Well, you talk about this place enough. I figured I’d stop by.”

Kerry shuffles through our inventory with a gloved hand. She acts as though she’s serious about buying something, but that seems unlikely. Ever since she found out where I work, all she’s done is mock my job, referring to it as garbage picking and Dumpster diving.

“Isn’t it too cold for an outdoor flea market?” Kerry asks with disdain.

“Antique lovers are a dedicated bunch. They’re willing to brave the elements,” I say with pride, even though the number of tables participating in the flea has thinned out a bit since the fall.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” I ask.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she replies cryptically.

Mrs. Lansing walks past me, mumbling under her breath. “She’s even less convincing than Bernadette.”

That’s when it dawns on me that lately, every time I turn around, Kerry is there. Which is weird, because I used to have to hunt her down outside of practice. It was like she was too important to be reachable or available. Yet, here she is at the flea market. And I get the impression that I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried.

Is she waiting for something?

Kerry bats her eyelashes. Usually she acts like being her friend is the ultimate favor she can bestow
—
and yet, by her standards, she’s kissing up to me. She must be trying to get to C. J. After all, he is the best thing to come to our school since…ever. Maybe she doesn’t realize that what C. J. and I feel for each other is mutual, and that no matter how many girls are after him
—
including her, I guess
—
I called dibs almost three thousand years ago.

“Here’s the deal. I am totally into Gabriel,” says Kerry.

Did I just hear that right, or is that some sort of a delayed side effect? Hearing loss caused by the ankh?

I’m kind of wishing that right now.

And here I thought she was my friend. It was obvious that she found him attractive when they first met. Who wouldn’t? But they have absolutely nothing in common. They’re polar opposites when it comes down to it. But Kerry has a tendency to get caught up in looks more than anything else (though Billy’s appeal is puzzling). Whereas I like to delve deep below the surface. I just lucked out that both Gabriel and C. J. happen to be what she’d call “smokin’ hotties with bodies that don’t stop.”

Why didn’t I catch Kerry’s crush sooner? I should’ve, but I’m too fixated on C. J. to think clearly. He’s like a fog after a rainstorm, clouding my mind with his presence. Whereas Gabriel is the lightning, full of danger and excitement. I can’t really blame her for liking him. But that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.

“Gabriel Danvers? He’s not your type.”

And of course, he’s not mine either. Though I can’t help but get a little…turned on, when he comes to mind. That’s normal, right? He’s smart; he’s sexy. And I’m a red
-
blooded teenage girl, after all. It doesn’t mean that there’s something profound or meaningful there…anymore. Just as I continue to grapple with these constantly reemerging feelings for Gabriel, here comes Kerry, trying to upend things further.

In many ways, throwing him to Kerry would simplify everything. Then he’d be out of the equation for good. Not that he ever had a chance. This is no love triangle. It’s a love…line? No, circle. Because just like our reincarnated existences, C. J. and I will go on forever. I will continue to tell myself this as many times as necessary.

Gabriel can always say no.

The upside is, if they were together, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about choosing C. J. And it’s not like she’s a consolation prize. She’s driven; she’s confident. To put it mildly. And she does have aqua
-
blue eyes, pale
-
blond hair, and a megawatt smile. I’m sure I could sell her as easily to Gabriel as he pawns antiques to unsuspecting tourists. I just hope he doesn’t hold the fact that she’s my friend against her.

“Hot is my type,” she says in adoration. I’ve never seen her seem so enamored. Usually she discards boys with the same regard as last year’s wardrobe.

“I don’t know, Kerry. He’s…a bad boy,” I say warningly, the words curdling in my mouth.

“All the better,” she insists. Why can’t she learn?

Like I’m one to talk.

Mrs. Lansing, who’s standing nearby, sneers. I look at her reproachfully, and she gets the hint, choosing to hang back and go over her books.

“I just don’t think you should get involved with him,” I say with insistence.

“So in other words, you still like him and don’t want me to get too close.”

“No, that isn’t it at all. Gabriel and I didn’t work out. Besides, I’m with his brother now,” I respond fervently, knowing that it sounds pretty messed up, me switching one brother for another.

“All the more reason for you to help me. Gabriel’s heart must be broken, and I can help pick up the pieces. He’ll be forever grateful that I was there for him. To heal him, you know? Please, talk me up to him?”

“Maybe. I guess.”

“Where is he anyway?” Kerry asks, as though it’s her right to know his every move.

“He’s not working today.”

“Then we’ll discuss this later,” Kerry replies, rushing off without even turning to say good
-
bye.

“Annabeth, we both know he’ll be here any minute,” says Mrs. Lansing accusingly once Kerry’s fully out of earshot.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t have to be,” I say.

Mrs. Lansing gives me a judgmental look with her deep brown eyes.

“It has nothing to do with him. It’s her. I just don’t want Kerry here, underfoot, cramping my style. She can have York High, but the flea market is mine.”

“Right,” she mutters, though I can tell she isn’t sold.

Then, Gabriel materializes, wearing a thick navy pea coat, making him reminiscent of a sailor, having just missed the episode with Kerry by moments. I stare at him and remember how my daydream felt, with the two of us on the floor in the projection room. It was steamy, sensual. It was something that I need to stop revisiting.

“What’s up?” he asks, trying so hard to act like he doesn’t care that he must care.

I hope/don’t hope.

Things are so strained between us that I busy myself by sorting apothecary bottles. I can’t decide whether or not I should divide them by size or color. Size…color…size…color…equally good choices, but I’m not sure which I’ll ever pick. It’s a toss
-
up, really.

I can’t figure out what to say next because discussing our own relationship is such a loaded topic. And so I spill out the first thing that comes to mind, even though having me set him up with a friend is probably that last thing that Gabriel would ever want or consider.

“Kerry was just here, professing her love for you.”

Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind the idea. Even though, now that I’ve mentioned it aloud, I do.

“Cheerleader Kerry?”

“Hello. We’re on pompons,” I remind him.

If only Gabriel’s daydream kissing wasn’t so…beyond. But I controlled everything in that fantasy, so in a way, my subconscious mind was really just making out with itself. Which is why it doesn’t matter that it was more satisfying than my kiss with C. J.!

Gabriel leans right over me to grab an errant price tag. It causes every image from my dream to flip through my mind. He brushes against my arm, and his touch is dizzying. Even through my many layers of winter wear, it makes me frantic for more. And yet, I pull away abruptly to avoid further contact.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…,” he blurts.

Gabriel looks saddened by my reflexive movement. If only he knew the real reason why, he wouldn’t be insulted.

“Kerry’s really into me, huh?” Gabriel ponders this while stroking a nonexistent beard on his squared
-
off chin. “If she’s willing, I’m willing.”

“You don’t have to date her just because I suggested it. No need to feel obligated or anything,” I point out so breezily that it must sound pathetic.

“I don’t.”

“Great. Sounds like everything is working out for everyone,” I reply with the falsest of false smiles.

Gabriel nods, though I’m not feeling like it’s working out for me. But I try to make a good show of it nonetheless. Even though the thought of him with someone else pulls at my heartstrings, threatening to break them altogether.

C. J. and I are exclusive, a real couple, the kind that walks to school hand in hand, sits side by side at lunch, pores over outdated reference books about ancient Egypt together. That’s why it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to formally introduce our families, as evidenced by a kind dinner invitation from C. J.’s parents.

But I’m worried about how C. J.’s father and stepmother will respond to me, even though this is the ordinary, expected next step. Given the fact that C. J. and I are meant for each other, my relationship with his parents is paramount. What I fear most is that Gabriel will ruin things simply by showing up, but C. J. assures me that Gabriel has some sort of social house event he’s attending instead. This makes me rest easy
—
er. Though I still worry that I’ll get thrown a curveball I can’t handle.

After a nerve
-
wracking walk over, C. J.’s parents greet us at the door, and my twitch threatens to appear. I don’t want to globalize any one meal too much, but they do say that you only have one chance at making a first impression. Well, in any given lifetime, that is.

Richard, the patriarch, is the picture of a military man, with a dark brown buzz cut and steel
-
gray eyes. The stepmother, Dora, seems considerably younger, fitting the description of a stereotypical “replacement wife” perfectly, with a French manicure on her nails, gobs of makeup on her skin, and loads of product in her processed
-
blond hair.

The night kicks off with the shaking of hands and patting of shoulders. We share some polite smiles and friendly greetings. He calls my folks “Sir” and “Ma’am” and knows all the right things to say, like: “I don’t want to distract Annabeth from her studies” and “I would never text while driving.”

It’s obvious that my parents love C. J. And what’s not to love? He’s good
-
looking, a star athlete, and a straight A student. I’m sure if my folks had the chance, they’d trade me for him, and nobody would blame them.

Everything seems to be going well. My mom manages to keep her neuroses in check. Even Howie is behaving and seems like something of a human being. Just when it seems like things couldn’t go any better, and I unclench the muscles in my stomach just a bit, Gabriel arrives with a bag of dirty laundry slung over his shoulder. He looks (or least pretends to be) surprised. Even though I’m anything but.

“Oh, was this tonight? I just stopped by to wash some clothes,” he says, hemming and hawing a bit before agreeing to stay for dinner, even though I’m convinced he did this on purpose.

“I thought you had a…thing right now,” I say, trying not to sound too conspiratorial.

“It was canceled,” says Gabriel, but it’s overly convenient.

I think he’s here to ruin this. Why do I find that so flattering?

“The more, the merrier!” I exclaim, even though I don’t mean it. Or do I?

We take our seats. C. J. pushes in my chair at the knotted pine dinner table. He sits next to me, while Gabriel positions himself across from me. He avoids direct eye contact at all costs. There’s something about the way Gabriel keeps darting his eyes in the opposite direction…Well, that’s more uncomfortable than if he were to look straight at me.

His presence still poses problems for me. Having Gabriel in the same room makes me quiver a little. Is it fear or arousal? And why can’t I differentiate between the two? He somehow touches that innermost part of me without touching me at all.

I can’t be near him without wanting him to put his arms around me, without hoping he’ll put his lips upon mine, without dying to have him press himself against me, even though C. J. has me totally fulfilled in the most cosmic of ways.

“I’m so happy to finally meet the girl who’s stolen C. J.’s heart,” Dora says, sounding genuinely moved by our relationship.