I Heart You, You Haunt Me Read online

  I heart you, You haunt me

  Also by Lisa Schroeder

  Far From You

  Chasing Brooklyn

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 2008 by Lisa Schroeder

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Mike Rosamilia The text of this book was set in MetaBook Roman.

  Manufactured in the United States of America First Simon Pulse edition January 2008

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Control Number 2007929118

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-5520-7

  ISBN-10:1-4169-5520-8

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-0734-3

  For Scott-

  I heart you

  Acknowledgments

  MY HEART OVERFLOWS WITH GRATITUDE FOR SO MANY PEOPLE!

  Sara Crowe—thank you for your belief in this book from the beginning, and for saying different is good. You’re the best!

  Michael del Rosario—what can I say except you are some kind of wonderful, and I so appreciate your enthusiasm.

  Jayme Carter, Tanya Seale, and Meg O’Hair—thank you for your willingness to read Ava and Jackson’s story, and for your ideas, your suggestions, and most of all, your encouragement.

  Lisa—thanks for creating my music to write by. You rock!

  Mrs. Smith, my favorite English teacher—I’m forever grateful for all that I learned from you.

  Margie and Dolores—thanks for being my biggest cheerleaders!

  To my mom, my dad, my brother, and the Schroeders—your love and support mean the world to me.

  Last but definitely not least, Scott, Sam, and Grant—I thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me do that which I love to do, and loving me every step of the way. It wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t have you.

  A Way of Black

  I’ve never

  been to a funeral

  until today.

  I see

  dazzling arrangements of

  red, yellow, and purple flowers

  with long, green stems.

  I see

  a stained-glass window with

  a white dove,

  a yellow sun,

  a blue sky.

  I see

  a gold cross,

  standing tall,

  shiny,

  brilliant.

  And I see

  black.

  Black dresses.

  Black pants.

  Black shoes.

  Black bibles.

  Black is my favorite color.

  Jackson asked me about it one time.

  “Ava, why don’t you like pink?

  Or yellow?

  Or blue?”

  “I love black,” I said.

  “It suits me.”

  “I suit you,” he said.

  And then he kissed me.

  I’m not so sure

  I love black

  anymore.

  Colorless

  And then,

  beyond the flowers,

  beneath the stained-glass window,

  beside the cross,

  I see

  the white casket.

  I see

  red, burning love

  disappear

  forever.

  Broken Promises

  My mom reaches over

  and pulls my hand

  from my mouth

  where I chew on

  the little flap of skin

  along the side of my thumb

  since I have no more nails

  left to chew on.

  An ugly habit.

  One I promised Jackson

  I would break.

  I wonder,

  do you have to keep a promise

  to a dead person?

  Mom holds my hand

  in hers as the

  music starts to play.

  Jackson’s

  smiling face

  appears on the screen

  as we hear Eric Clapton’s

  haunting song

  Tears in Heaven.

  It’s not long

  before tears in heaven

  make their way

  to my eyes,

  so I close them

  for a second.

  From out of nowhere,

  I’m in his car, by his side.

  Music playing.

  Windows rolled down.

  I kick off my shoes,

  put my bare feet on the dashboard

  and put my hand in his.

  “Never leave me, okay?” I say to him.

  “Okay,” he tells me.

  He squeezes my hand,

  like that seals the deal.

  My gaze

  returns to the

  beautiful boy

  on the screen

  while

  my thumb

  returns

  to my mouth.

  He broke his promise.

  I can break mine.

  I Will Always Remember

  The minister speaks.

  “It is hard when a young life is tragically cut short.

  “But we must celebrate the life that was Jackson’s.

  “Look around at the friends and the family

  who loved Jackson Montgomery.

  “You will keep the memory of him alive.”

  There is one memory

  that floods my brain

  every five minutes.

  It reminds me

  over

  and over

  and over again,

  I’m the reason

  my boyfriend

  is gone.

  Memories might keep him alive.

  But they might

  kill

  me.

  No Words

  After the service,

  people get in line

  to tell the family,

  “I’m sorry,”

  “He was so young,”

  and

  “Let me know if I can do anything.”

  I’m one of the

  first people

  in line

  because

  I want to get it over with.

  His mom is there

  and I try to say

  “I’m sorry”

  like I’m supposed to,

  but the words

  won’t come

  from my brain

  to my mouth

  like they’re supposed to.

  She looks at me

  and I feel her eyes

  piercing my heart,

  making it hurt

  even more.

  She probably blames me

  like I blame myself.

  I can’t blame her

  for that.

  She tries to smile.

  She asks politely,

  with no feeling,

  because she has to say

  something,

  “Are you okay, Ava?”

  I nod,

  but inside

  my heart is screaming

  and kicking

  and stomping,

  throwing a tantrum
r />   like a two-year-old

  because

  I am definitely

  not okay.

  She hugs me.

  A quick hug.

  A fake hug.

  An I’m-only-hugging-you-because-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do hug.

  Next,

  I hug

  the people

  Jackson loved

  most

  in the whole,

  wide

  world.

  His sister,

  then his brother.

  I tell myself

  to be strong.

  I should be strong

  for them.

  But I’m not.

  I sob

  into Daniel’s

  black jacket.

  “Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers.

  “You’re going to get through this.”

  Just like his brother,

  thinking about me,

  not himself.

  After that,

  I stand alone

  and wait for my mom

  so we can

  leave.

  There is no line of people coming up to me

  to say “I’m sorry”

  or “He was so young”

  or “Let me know if I can do anything.”

  It feels like everyone

  is looking at me.

  What are they thinking?

  Do I even want to know?

  And then,

  like an unexpected rain shower

  on a day that’s so dry

  you can’t breathe,

  there is Cali

  squeezing me tight

  and Jessa

  holding my hand

  and Zoe

  rubbing my back.

  In that moment,

  I realize

  a circle of love

  is ten times better

  than a procession

  of sorrys.

  The Boy

  Another procession.

  This time,

  a line of cars

  driving

  to the cemetery.

  Mom calls Dad

  on her cell.

  He’s on a business trip in Paris.

  He offered to come home.

  I told him it’d be okay.

  I have Mom, and besides,

  what could he do?

  I hear Mom say,

  “Beautiful service ...”

  “She’s hanging in there....”

  “Wish you could be here....”

  “Wanna talk to Ava?”

  I shake my head

  and wave my hand

  to tell her no.

  There’s nothing to say

  that she hasn’t said already.

  “I guess she’s tired right now....”

  I make myself

  drift back

  to a happier time.

  Jackson came to our school

  in the fall

  from a different school

  in a different town.

  He was the boy

  with the shaved head

  and the little goatee.

  He looked old

  for a junior.

  The four of us,

  Cali, Jessa, Zoe, and me,

  talked about him

  at lunch,

  eating tacos,

  Cali’s favorite food.

  “Maybe he had cancer,” Jessa said,

  “and lost his hair.”

  “That’s terrible,” Cali said.

  “Maybe he thinks bald is sexy,” Zoe said.

  “On him,” I said, “it is.”

  He Spiced Up My Life

  When you meet someone

  so different from yourself,

  in a good way,

  you don’t even have to kiss

  to have fireworks go off.

  It’s like fireworks

  in your heart

  all the time.

  I always wondered,

  do opposites really attract?

  Now I know for sure

  they do.

  I’d grown up

  going to the library as often

  as most people go

  to the grocery store.

  Jackson didn’t need to read

  about exciting people and places.

  He went out

  and found them,

  or created excitement himself

  if there wasn’t any

  to be found.

  The things I like are

  pretty simple.

  Burning CDs around themes,

  like Songs to Get Your Groove On and

  Tunes to Fix a Broken Heart;

  watching movies;

  baking cookies;

  and swimming.

  It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette,

  and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta.

  Alone, we were good.

  Together, we were fantastic.

  The Final Good—bye

  Ashes

  to

  ashes.

  Dust

  to

  dust.

  I think

  this is where

  I’m supposed to say

  good-bye.

  Is that what

  everyone’s thinking?

  Good-bye, Jackson?

  Rest in peace?

  That’s not what I’m thinking.

  I’m thinking,

  I hate good-byes.

  “Let us pray,” the minister says.

  Dear God,

  What can I do?

  He didn’t deserve this.

  Can’t we bring him back?

  Isn’t there anything that will bring him back?

  Please?

  Amen

  I look around.

  If tears

  could bring him back,

  there’d be enough

  to bring him back

  a hundred times.

  It’s Not Fair

  Mom takes my hand

  and leads me back

  to the car.

  All I can think about

  is how my boyfriend

  will soon be

  underground.

  He’ll be lying there

  alone

  in the dirt.

  Mom asks me

  if I want to go to the Montgomery house,

  where people will gather

  to eat

  and talk

  and remember.

  “I can’t believe people feel like eating.

  And talking.

  Those are the last things I want to do.”

  “Life goes on, honey,” Mom says.

  As we pull away,

  my eyes stay glued

  to the casket.

  It’s proof

  that sometimes

  life

  does

  not

  go

  on.

  As Two Names No More

  Ava + Jackson = true LOVE 4ever

  I Jackson

  J loves A

  A loves J

  Scribbles I made

  on my French notebook.

  I study the words

  on the purple notebook

  like I used to study

  Jackson’s face

  when he wasn’t looking.

  When we got home,

  Mom suggested

  I write down my feelings.

  Basically, keep a journal.

  But I can’t stop staring

  at those scribbles

  and thinking about how

  they used to be true.

  But not anymore.

  Now it’s just Ava.

  No more Jackson.

  No more true LOVE 4ever.

  I turn the

  tear-splattered cover.

  I put the pen to the page.

  All I can write is

  Jackson
/>   Jackson

  Jackson

  Jump In

  I started swimming

  about the time

  I traded my bottle

  for a sippy cup.

  Mom took me to

  a Baby and Me class

  at the pool.

  She said I was so natural

  in the water,

  she wondered

  if she’d actually given birth

  to a mermaid.

  By high school

  I was swimming competitively

  on the swim team.

  Jackson came

  and watched me swim

  many times.

  That’s where it started.

  “I dare you to jump off the high dive,” he said

  one day after practice.

  “You know I’m afraid of heights!”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m daring you.”

  I couldn’t

  disappoint

  my boyfriend.

  I climbed the ladder,

  making sure I didn’t look down.

  I inched my way

  to the edge of the board,

  then I crossed my fingers,

  closed my eyes,

  said a prayer,

  and

  jumped.

  My stomach flew

  to my throat

  as the air

  rushed

  around me

  and through me

  until

  I hit that water hard.

  “I did it!” I yelled

  as I climbed out of the pool.

  He brought me a towel and simply said,

  “That’s my girl.”

  Nothing to Do Now

  This summer,

  I could have made money

  at my second home.

  I could have sat by the pool

  in my suit,

  pretending to watch the kids,

  to guard lives,

  while I thought about

  him.

  But accidents happen that way.

  And my life doesn’t need any more

  accidents.

  So today I quit my job.

  Mom asks me, “What are you going to do all summer?”

  I just shrug.

  Lashing Out

  Nick,

  my ex-boyfriend,

  my boyfriend

  pre-Jackson,

  calls me.

  “Ava?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you.

  Are you okay?”

  “Nick, that’s a freaking ridiculous question.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nope. Not a thing.

  Good-bye, Nick.”

  Click.

  Crap, why did I do that?

  He was just trying to be nice.

  I’m such a jerk.

  Is being a jerk

  one of the five

  stages of grief?

  Wishful Thinking

  I’m sitting

  on the porch swing,