The Best of Fools (Jane Austen Book 2) (17 page)

No Donovan.

Lightning cracked and shot through the sky, hitting a tree maybe fifty yards away from me. I breathed rapidly and froze in place. My fear wasn't irrational. I could
die
. Thunder rocked the sky.
Move legs, move
. I closed my eyes and told myself to
run
the hell out of there. Too many trees. Too many prime targets for a bolt of lightning.
Will power, will power. One, two, GO!
I sprinted for my car. Rubber tires. Roof. Just needed to make it to the car.

I tripped and landed on my hands and knees, then grabbed my knee as the wind shoved the rain sideways at my face. I stood and tried to jog, but it looked more like I was bouncing like a cracked up Tigger. I just wanted to get to the rubber tires before another streak of lightning decided to come down and electrocute my head.

But Donovan....

Maybe he was waiting for me back at the car.

I wobbled out of the woods and stopped. Right there in my tracks. A zig-zag of light flashed in the distance, lighting the clouds as it killed the arms of another poor tree. And more thunder. Quicker now. Closer together.

But I couldn't move.

I stared at the tracks the tires made when he left....

When he left me.

In the storm.

Alone.

Hands still at my sides, I walked to my car and saw a note on the window. Ink seeped through the drenched paper, forming blue rivers that poured from each letter.

You said you were fine.

I sighed as I sat in my car and dried the note with the heater. I would save it. Just like I saved everything Donovan ever gave me. Good or bad. Sweet or angry.

I turned my wipers on and waited, hands in my lap. My phone beeped with an email. Then a text. Then another text. I turned the music up. And up. And up. Until the phone could no longer be heard. Then I drove away, over the same mud tracks Donovan's car created when he left.

Nicholas Sparks, my ass.

All of his girls get kissed in the rain.

Jane Austen?

She gets abandoned.

I sat on the floor in the corner of my room. In one hand I held the letter Donovan put on my car, in the other I held the shoe box filled with stuff he'd given or written me over the years. I hadn't moved from that position since I got home. Three hours ago.

I hurt him so many times and he was the last person I wanted to hurt. Something told me I hurt him again, but I didn't understand why. He didn't love me anymore. That's what he said over and over. He got over me years ago. I remember when it happened. Things between us became more natural and comfortable. When he had a thing for me he was a little more shy and way more protective of me. If a guy so much as looked in my direction, Donovan was poised and ready for action. Not that I'd give them the time of day either.

See, I kinda lied a little.

To Alistair, I mean.

I told him I'd kissed plenty of guys, but it's not true. My first kiss was with Donovan. The summer before ninth grade. We were in his pool all day until the street lights came on, then we got out and sat on the edge with one towel wrapped around both of us. He shivered and laughed about it, then I laughed at him laughing at himself.

Next thing I knew he wasn't laughing anymore. His face moved closer to mine. Mirrored in the waves of the pool, the night sky sparkled and the almost full moon lit the tops of the trees.

And his face.

He forced my to look at him. I turned, but kept my eyes on the pool.

"Jazz," he whispered. "I'm going to kiss you right now, whether you like it or not."

My pulse probably stopped for a few seconds. I just kept looking at that water.

He moved closer and put his hand on my neck. I wanted to jump into the pool and avoid it. But then his thumb touched my cheek and his lips landed gracefully on mine. He tasted good. Really good. And I liked it.

He pulled away. "I couldn't stop myself."

I shivered. He gave me the rest of the towel, but I wasn't shivering from the cold. It was the heat.

"Sorry," he said. "I won't do it again unless you want me to."

That was my first and last kiss. I know a few modest girls from school who prided themselves on saving their first kiss for their wedding day. But for me? It was embarrassing. Everyone, including Donovan, believed I had kissed at least ten other guys. One of those mumbling, "Oh, yeah, yeah ... no, really ... yeah, I've kissed
plenty
of guys," kinda things.

So add liar to the list of horrible things about Jane Austen.

No, not
that
Jane Austen.

I sighed. Why did I suddenly hate myself?

I wanted to enjoy my first kiss with an amazing guy. I wanted to kiss other guys. I really wanted to be different. Better. I wanted to be normal, you know. Either that or confident enough to stop lying about my life.

But it's like I had this huge concrete wall between me and guys and not enough desire to break it down.

Zoe tapped on the wall that separated our otherwise completely opened rooms.

"Hey," I said, quickly hiding the box under my bed and standing as though I didn't have anything to hide.

She moved the curtain out of the way and walked in. "Just checking in on you. Is everything going okay with the sewing stuff?"

"The boutique is fine." I nodded and sat on my bed. "How are you?"

"I'm doing better. My parents had this bright idea to do family counseling and it was an absolute nightmare. Why are you all wet?"

"Got caught in the storm." I pulled my hair into a loose bun. "You said you have issues with your brother, but what about your parents?"

"They're okay. They just ... they like side with him a lot and so that's never fun."

"How's their marriage?"

"Normal."

"Wish I were normal."

She laughed quietly. "What?"

"People always assume that I'm going to be some kind of boy crazy nutcase because my parents are insanely romantic and ... then there's my name. Sometimes having really good parents is hard too."

"Why?"

"Just all these expectations. My own expectations, but they literally haunt me."

"When your guy comes he'll be even better than whatever you expect."

"No." I laughed. "It's not that. It's that I have such high expectations for whatever being in love should be like that I don't even want to try. I can't let people in. The perfect guy could come along and I'll lose him. I can't do it. It's weird."

"That is weird." She shook her head. "Really weird."

"Okay, it's not that weird. I'm just saying."

"It's funny you always say that about your name."

"Why?"

"Well, you read about Jane Austen in school, right?"

"A little."

She stared at me for a second, then smiled. "You're totally serious."

I nodded.

"You're pretty similar to Jane though. She was all tomboyish and believed women shouldn't be all crazy about love."

"I'm not a tomboy. I wear dresses and stuff." Speaking of that, I needed to get out of my wet clothes.

She smiled and pointed to my chest. "I mean that."

"Huh? You're saying I'm flat chested?"

She laughed. "No. Your heart. You're a little wild. It just means ... like ... how do I say it ... it's like you're the type of girl to be more insecure about your personality and stuff than your looks."

I laughed. "Oh. Okay. I guess that's true."

"And ... your underwear is Batman underwear." She shook her head. "Wow."

I tossed my shirt to the hamper and grabbed my pajamas. Yes, the Batman.

"Your bra too?" she said. "They actually make Batman bras. Okay, so yeah, wow."

I smiled. "And now." I slipped my pants on. "Time for the Batman pajamas, baby."

"Whoever you find, if you find someone, will need to be a Batman fan, because if not they are
not
going to find you attractive."

"Zoe." I tried not to laugh. "You do realize that seventy-five percent of the things you say are extremely rude?"

She shrugged. "Like what?"

I waved it off. "Never mind."

"Hey, I got something for you." She handed me a jar. "Stick your finger in there and taste it."

I opened it and put some honey on my tongue. "Uh ... what?" I ate another hefty finger full. "What is this heavenly thing?"

"My friend Nicole gave me some local honey. I knew you'd like it."

I licked my lips. "It's incredible. Seriously the best honey I've ever tasted. I'm not even kidding."

"It's really good."

"Man, those must be some bees." I sat on my bed again. "Thank you."

"No problem." She slapped her leg. "I better get going. Meeting Nicole for dinner in a few. Want me to bring leftovers? Or better yet, want to come?"

"Nah. I think I've decided to stay home tonight and write my bucket list."

"Okay, I'll see you later tonight then."

I grabbed my sketch pad and followed her down the steps. She left and I got comfy on the couch, then started writing in no real order:

1.) Learn the violin

2.) Write and—

My phone beeped. An email.

Jane.

Alistair again. Not tonight. Not after everything with Donovan. I wanted to focus on my bucket list. On the way home from being abandoned by Donovan I had this intense urge to accomplish something and I thought ... what if I died tomorrow? I never liked the idea of a bucket list before. Some list to taunt you while you try to survive. Always making you feel like a failure. Then you die.

I wasn't so interested in that, but now I had a different perspective. Now I wanted to enjoy life and make time for new things, new adventures.

So, back to my list:

2.) Write and compose—

Beep. Buzz.

I know you think about me too. Sometimes. It's my accent, isn't it?

I smiled and picked up my phone, then wrote:
Don't waste your time with me.

I waited, hovered above
send
again, then erased. What if I tried? Just once. Maybe test the waters of flirting. I didn't need to marry him. Just a little fun.

I stared at the empty email. And ... realized I had no clue how to flirt.

So, what does one do when one knows nothing?

Trusty Internet search.

How to flirt with a guy.

A ton of options came up for flirting without making it obvious. So I clicked on the fourth. For some reason I don't trust the first result in a search engine. I read a few and pretty much decided I never wanted to be a flirt. With advice like "trip into him and say, 'Woowee, those pecs are so hard I felt like it was a wall," and sit in a chair, arch your back, and run your fingers through your hair ... um ... definitely not for me.

People actually do that?

Back to my blank email. I mumbled aloud, "How can I be myself without being myself?"

"Pretend he's Donovan," I responded to myself.

"Ah, yes!" I said. "Wait, no. I can't do that. I'll pretend he's Autumn."

"Autumn! How is she? Haven't seen her in a few days."

"Yeah, that's because everyone around you is dating someone while you sit at home and write your bucket list."

"Point taken."

"Not like I could date him anyway, he lives across the ocean."

Another voice cut in, "Jane??"

My dazed stare shot down to my phone screen. I did what anyone would do when caught talking to herself. I hung up the phone.

Then, she called back.

"Hey, Mom," I said, as normal as possible.

"Jane? You called, but it was all muffled. I thought it was Edward at first."

"Oh, yeah, I was—"

"You were talking to yourself again, weren't you?"

"Maybe."

"How are things going? Do you need any help?"

"Things are good. Maybe you could stop by when I decide to open the place up."

"You know I'll be there. Dad too. How much longer?"

"Maybe two weeks. Waiting for some graphic tees to get here and need to do a few last minute things. Oh, also I wanted to meet with the lawyer friend of Dad's. Can you text me his number when we hang up?"

We casually talked a few more minutes, then I was in the quiet again, staring at my phone screen, at Alistair's email address, at that pesky blank email, at that iPhone keyboard with endless possibilities.

Then ... my thumbs started.

And this is what came out:

Dear Alistair,

Have you ever made a bucket list? I've never done it before. Always thought they were so stupid, but I'm making one now. Curious what five things you'd like to do before you die.

Can't wait to see you when the leaves start to change colors. ;) Are you still coming?

Love,

Jane

Did you see it?
I put a winky face
and
said I couldn't wait to meet him
and
signed it
Love, Jane
. That is hardcore flirting in my world and it made me nervous as hell as I hit send.

But I hit send. I did it.

I flirted.

Moving on.

I almost finished writing number two on my list, but a sudden urge for sweets sent me to the refrigerator for a tall glass of milk and the chocolate chip cookies Zoe made the other day. Oh. Man. The girl may had been one of the most "out there" people I knew, but she could bake like you wouldn't believe.

Cookies and milk in hand, I went back to the couch and started to write when the phone beeped.