I sit up, unwrapping my arms from my legs, and when I rest a hand on the ground, it hits something hard and cool to the touch.
It’s a pen. A thick, glossy ballpoint pen. I pick it up carefully, holding it in front of my face to examine it. The weight of it feels good in my hand.
And that’s when I think about Ava. How she said that it was the ambiguity that scared me. That I should embrace it, and take it slow. I lay my head down and close my eyes, and I begin to think through everything I’ve been so afraid of. What will happen if I don’t keep my Sunday schedule? What will happen if I choose to give myself to Elliot? What will happen when I come home next year, to a different house, with only one parent in it?
And what I begin to realize, slowly, is that while a lot will happen, while none of it will be easy, none of it will mean the end of anything, or the end of me. Because I am Annabelle, and I will always know who I am, even if I’m not always sure what I really want.
But right now, I do know what I want. What I want is Elliot Apfel.
All I want to do is sleep, but I know I can’t. Not yet. I just keep thinking about Elliot, how good it feels to be with him, about how it felt that night on the bikes, riding through Venice beneath the streetlights, how it felt to be curled up on the lifeguard tower, wrapped in his arms. That, right there, is exactly where I want to be.
I drag myself back up so my legs are tucked under me, and uncap the pen. Then I use one hand for support as I lean over my knees. I press the pen gently down on the white surface that extends before me, enjoying how it feels as the pen glides, leaving ink marks in its wake. And then I begin to write.
I have the power now.
And slowly, the scene that I put on paper begins to take shape. Out of the white, as though appearing from the mist, I hear the waves of Venice Beach crashing and seagulls overhead, and I feel the sand of the beach beneath me. The outline of the water rippling to shore appears ahead, and coming out of the waves, a board under his arm, pushing his hair back from his face, is Elliot.
26
I Am Elliot, and You Are Annabelle
“LET ME see if I have this right,” Elliot says. We’re back at the lifeguard tower, nestled up with some blankets. It’s been almost an hour since he appeared out of the white nothingness, which dissolved into an ocean mist, and so far, nothing has gone wrong. In fact, everything couldn’t be more right. I can feel it, deep down in some basic part of me—I am free from her. I wonder where Will is, and if he knows this yet, too. I wonder if he’s tried to run a red light or leave a problem set unfinished for the morning, and discovered he actually could. I wonder if he knows he gets to decide his own fate now. I’ll have to text him later, but right now I’m busy.
Elliot’s head is leaning back against the wood, and I have my chin resting on his shoulder. He’s frowning as he lets a hand absently stroke the top of my head. “So you really figured out that this chick Lucy Keating was writing your life?”
“Yes,” I say.
“And she was writing you to be with Will.”
“Yes.” I nod.
“Not me,” he says.
“Not you.” I shake my head.
“Well, why the hell not?” he yells. “Thanks a lot, Lisa Keating, or whatever your name is.”
I giggle, not even bothering to correct him. I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose anyway.
“So you drove all the way to Laurel Canyon to defend how you feel for me?” he asks.
I shrug. “I mean, also to fight for my own free will, but yes,” I say. Elliot kisses my forehead.
“I’m really glad you did,” he says.
I feel truly happy. Calm. I’m not worried about what’s next on my schedule or what I have to plan for. Right now just about anything could happen and I won’t mind. I’m with Elliot, and that’s how it should be. To be honest, I’m not even sure what day it is.
“But really, can we go back to me for a second? What did I do that was so very wrong? So very unworthy of Annabelle Bellybutton Burns?” Elliot whines.
“I think—” I swallow, trying to find the words. “I think she wasn’t sure if you were right for me.”
Elliot tips his head to the side, eyeing me. “She didn’t, or you didn’t?”
I sigh. “Elliot. My whole life you have been everywhere, but you have never been with me. I’ve seen girl after girl sit in that garage drooling during band practice. And then there was Clara. And I’ve never dated anyone. Ever. And we’re not exactly compatible. And when you did pursue me, you didn’t seem that sure about it yourself.”
Elliot shifts and starts to get up, and I feel scared. I said too much. I should’ve played it cooler.
But all he does is kneel on both his knees and stare into my face.
“Annabelle. I have always been with you. Even if it took me a little while to realize it. I’ve been in your garage. I’ve been on your stupid couch every chance I get. I’ve been in your kitchen every time I could convince your brother to let me stay for dinner. Do you think I do that for anyone else?”
I shrug. “Yeah, sort of,” I admit. Then I chuckle.
Elliot laughs. “No,” he says. “Annabelle, you are more real to me than any character I’ve ever read. Than any other person I’ve ever met. I like that you say things that you mean. That you say things out loud sometimes that you probably shouldn’t. That you’re interested in everything and know weird facts that nobody else takes the time to consider. Screw Lucy’s plan and screw her useless, contrived love stories. I am Elliot and you are Annabelle. Maybe I wasn’t fated to be with you, but it doesn’t stop how crazy about you I am.”
I knew being honest with Elliot about how I felt would feel good, but I’m not sure I ever knew he was capable of saying stuff like this to me. I wanted this before I even knew I wanted this. Elliot on my couch, bugging me when I’m trying to do my homework. Elliot skating by me at school, pulling my hair. Elliot banging away on the drums like nothing else on earth matters.
“But what about next year?” I ask.
Elliot sighs. “I don’t know about next year, Annbelle. We’re just getting started. What I know is that I want to be with you every moment of every day right now. I know that I want you in my story.” He leans down and grasps my chin in his hand.
“But what about the day you wake up and you don’t want that anymore? What if I don’t? What then?”
Elliot looks deeply into my eyes. “You can’t go through life always worrying about what is ten steps ahead. You can’t expect anything real or awesome to happen to you, if you don’t take a chance.” Elliot holds my gaze, waiting.
I nod. “I want you in my story, too,” I say, and then Elliot leans in and kisses me.