Annaleigh - Chapter Eleven

Annaleigh's Day - Continued

Please note this is a Rashomon-style tale and initial readers are getting a unique reading order selected via poll. I encourage readers to pick their own favorite narrator and continue the story from there!

Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten

Annaleigh — Four | Eight | Eleven

Joan — Five | Nine | Twelve

XI

Annaleigh’s Day - Continued

     When I got home from the record store, I tried really hard to regain the feeling I had the night before — when the weekend was still ahead of me and Nate had arrived and my dreams were going to come true. When I was in command.

     I did more breathing exercises, I took an anxiety pill, and I even considered calling my therapist — though I knew she’d berate me for not taking my anxiety pills regularly — before I thought better of it.

     I — Annaleigh Jones —  needed to get everything under control, to engineer my fate.

     And I thought, like I used to, what would Joan Hartley do in this situation?

     Of course, I knew Joan Hartley would have just strode straight up to Nate, said she loved him, shrugged her shoulders if he said he didn’t like her, and left to live the rest of her life. She was blunt and brave.

     So, really, it had to be what would Annaleigh — who needed to maintain her intrigue, because that’s all people valued about her — do?

     I would make my journal post, of course, with one of the songs Erin Brewster gave me, but there was no telling when Nate would see it. He could disappear for long stretches, especially when he was home with his family. 

     It didn’t seem immediate enough. 

     I wanted to put things in motion. 

     I needed him to choose me and not that other girl.

     I was also worried because Alex would be dropped off in another hour and I’d need to hang out with him and play surrogate parent. But I knew I was distracted. 

     Extremely distracted. 

     And he didn’t deserve that.

     I wandered into our kitchen, pulled open the snack fridge, and my eyes landed on leftover chocolate cake.

     The answer was obvious.

     I had to throw another party.

     The best party.

     I had to lure Nate in.

     I never throw back-to-back parties. They do take some amount of planning to execute to the degree I prefer. But I could certainly make some things happen fast.

     I sent a few gossipy people messages from my Sidekick. Then I went to my room, sat at my computer, and sent IMs to a few of my actual friends. I knew at least one of them would call Nate and take care of the invite for me. 

     Last, and most important, I called my grandmother and made sure Alex could stay another night. This took a little arm-twisting wherein I agreed I would join them for lunch tomorrow, but it was a small price to pay in the face of destiny.

     Everything was in motion. My anxiety meds were kicking in. I was becoming the puppetmaster. 

     — —

     Alex is as good of a twelve-year-old boy as you can expect from absent corporate parents.

     Honestly, I’m not sure why my parents decided to have a second child, especially when they already paid so little attention to the first one. And especially when 8 years had passed between having them. 

     When I reached my teens, and knew more about these things, I presumed Alex had been an accident, but there was certainly no way to confirm my suspicion. And I wasn’t the kind of noxious thirteen-year-old that would tell their five-year-old brother no one wanted him. So, I never focused on it.

     Now Alex is nearly thirteen himself, so it’s possible he’s figured it out on his own. But we certainly don’t talk about it. And Gran and Grandpa would consider the entire topic undignified. They’re rather proper and formal. They never even mention anything about our parents’ arrangement, though I’m sure they disapprove.

     At any rate, Alex has us, plus Miriam — when she drops by — and he doesn’t really know any other life.

     I keep him sheltered.

     I keep him safe.

     I love him, even if my parents don’t.

     — —

     My journal post was simple. I just put two words. “I’m yours.” And then I put “Transatlanticism” by Death Cab for Cutie as my currently listening track. It was such an obvious pick that I regretted asking Erin for help. 

     Her Interpol recommendation had great lyrics, but it wasn’t conveying what I wanted. 

     I wanted him to know I loved him. 

     I wanted him to end whatever thing he had going with his Boston girl. 

     I wanted him to drop everything and come to me, since I couldn’t come to him.

     After I made my post, it was time to orchestrate the party, call in some favors, and pick a killer outfit. 

     An irresistible outfit.

     Nate had to come to me.

     He had to.

Missed a section? Go back or hop around.

Move through the story:

Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten

Annaleigh — Four | Eight | Eleven

Joan — Five | Nine | Twelve