Filed to story: The One That Got Away
“Hey,” I say. Then I tweak him once on the nose like I saw a girl do in a black-and-white movie.
Louis shifts in his seat and gives me a look like he’s trying not to laugh, and I get nervous – tweaking a boy on the nose is romantic, right? Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Genevivian glaring at us. She whispers something to Emily and stalks out of the room.
Success!
Later I am pouring myself Cherry Coke and I see Genevivian and Louis, talking in the kitchen. She’s speaking to him in a low, urgent voice, and she reaches out and touches his arm. He tries to brush her hand away, but she doesn’t let go.
I’m so mesmerized I don’t even notice when Lucas Krapf comes up to me, popping the cap off a bottle of Bud Light. “Hey, Bella.”
“Hi!” I’m relieved to see a familiar face.
He stands next to me, our backs against the dining-room wall. “What are they fighting about?”
“Who even knows?” I say. I smile a secret smile. Hopefully, it’s about me, and Louis will be happy our plan is finally working.
Lucas crooks his finger at me so I’ll come closer. He whispers, “Fighting isn’t a good sign, Bella. It means you still care.” His breath smells like beer.
Hmm. Genevivian obviously still cares. Louis must too.
Lucas pats me on the head fondly. “Just be careful.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Louis stalks out of the kitchen and says, “Are you ready to go?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him; he just starts walking, his shoulders stiff.
I give Lucas a shrug. “See you on Monday, Lucas!” Then I scurry after Louis.
He’s still mad; I can tell by the way he jerks the keys into the ignition. “God, she makes me crazy!” He’s so keyed up energy is vibrating off him in waves. “What did you say to her?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “She asked me when we got together. I told her just before school started.”
Louis does a full-body groan. “We hooked up that first weekend.”
“But … you guys were broken up already.”
“Yeah, well.” Louis shrugs. “Whatever. What’s done is done.”
Relieved, I click on my seat belt and kick my shoes off. “What were you two fighting about tonight, anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it. You did a good job, by the way. She’s so jealous it’s killing her.”
“Yay,” I say. Just as long as she doesn’t kill me.
We drive through the night in silence. Then I ask, “Louis … how did you know you loved Genevivian?”
“God, Bella. Why do you have to ask those kind of questions?”
“Because I’m a naturally curious person.” I flip down his mirror and start braiding the top of my hair. “And maybe the question you should be asking yourself is, why are you so afraid to answer those kinds of questions?”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Then why won’t you answer the question?”
Louis goes silent, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to answer, but then, after a long pause where my question just hangs in the air, he says, “I don’t know if I ever loved Genevivian. How would I even know what that felt like? I’m seventeen, for God’s sake.”
“Seventeen’s not so young. A hundred years ago people got married when they were practically our age.”
“Yeah, that was before electricity and the Internet. A hundred years ago eighteen-year-old guys were out there fighting wars with bayonets and holding a man’s life in their hands! They lived a lot of life by the time they were our age. What do kids our age know about love and life?” I’ve never heard him talk like this before – like he actually cares about something. I think he’s still all worked up from his fight with Genevivian.
I wind my hair into a honey bun and secure it with a ponytail holder. “You know who you sound like? You sound like my grandpa,” I say. “Also I think you’re stalling because you don’t want to answer the question.”
“I answered it, you just didn’t like my answer.”
We pull up in front of my house. Louis turns off the engine, which is what he does when he wants to talk a little while longer. So I don’t jump out right away; I put my bag in my lap and search for my keys even though the lights are on upstairs. Gosh. To be sitting in the passenger seat of Louis Kavinsky’s black Audi. Isn’t that what every girl has ever wanted, in the history of boys and girls? Not Louis Kavinsky specifically, or yes, maybe Louis Kavinsky specifically.
Louis leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes.
I say, “Did you know that when people fight with each other, that means they still really care about each other?” When Louis doesn’t answer, I say, “Genevivian must really have a hold on you.”
I expect him to deny it, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “She does, but I wish she didn’t. I don’t want to be owned by anyone. Or belong to anyone.”
Alice would say she belongs to herself. Kitty would say she belongs to no one. And I guess I would say I belong to my sisters and my dad, but that won’t always be true. To belong to someone – I didn’t know it, but now that I think about, it seems like that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To really be somebody’s, and to have them be mine.
“So that’s why you’re doing this,” I tell him – I’m partly asking but I’m mostly telling. “To prove you don’t belong to her. Or with her.” I stop. “Do you think there’s a difference? Between belonging with and belonging to, I mean?”
“Sure. One implies choice; the other doesn’t.”
“You must really love her to go to all this trouble.”
Louis makes a dismissive sound. “You’re too dreamy-eyed.”
“Thank you,” I say, even though I know he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. I say it just to bug him.