The Anatomical Shape of a Heart (31 page)

“Beatrix Adams,” he said. “You know I trust you with everything. The anatomical representation of my heart, my life … even my car.”

“You must really love me,” I said, matching my steps with his.

I knew he did, of course. We try not to say it casually too much, because we want it to mean something. Not just a throwaway phrase like “How's it going” or “See you later.” But when I'm in his arms, when we're alone, he whispers “I love you,” and those three words never stop amazing me. Never.

Without breaking our synchronized stride, he slid an arm around my shoulders and lowered his head to murmur near my ear. “Would you like me to remind you how much?”

Flutter-flutter. “I actually think I might.”

“Yeah?” A slow, dazzling smile lifted his cheeks, and then he came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk. “Oh! We need to stop by the house anyway. You can see our paintings hanging together, live in person.”

After the art show, Mrs. Vincent replaced her chair painting in the foyer of their house with my painting of Jillian. I got a little choked up when she showed me. I think it made the mayor sentimental, too, because he left the room awfully fast, and Mrs. Vincent says that's what he does when he gets emotional.

But my painting now had a partner. I'd seen a photo of it before the mayor's speech this afternoon, but I hadn't seen the real thing yet.

Before Jack admitted to his parents that he was the person behind all the Golden Apple graffiti, Jillian had given him one last word puzzle to decode. He'd never been able to execute the piece out in the city, obviously. When Jack found out Jillian had agreed to leave the hospital and move back in the house, he painted the tenth and final word for her as a “welcome home” gift.

BEGIN, FLY, BELONG, JUMP, TRUST, BLOOM, CELEBRATE, ENDURE, RISE …

And now LOVE.

The word was spray-painted onto a canvas, not a wall, and it was the smallest piece he'd ever done. But it was by far his best work. Jillian would adore it. I sure did.

“Come on,” he coaxed, dangling the car keys in front of my face as he wound one arm around my back to pull me closer. “You won't ever learn to drive if you stop trying. You know you want to.”

I totally did. I stood on my tiptoes, accepted the kiss he dropped on my lips, and snatched the keys out of his fingers. Feeling alive might just be a rush of adrenaline, but Jack had been right that first night on the Owl bus. It was definitely worth the risk.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is not my first published book, but it might be my favorite. And it wouldn't exist if my extraordinary agent, Laura Bradford, had not said, “Yo! You should consider writing YA.” (Or something slightly more professional.) It was excellent advice. Writing this book was like slipping into a comfortable coat. It just felt … right.

It felt even better after it landed in my editor's capable hands. Anna Roberto, your passion for teen fiction is infectious, and I feel unbelievably lucky to work with someone so thoughtful, smart, and talented. Thank you for making Bex and Jack even more
Bex and Jack
than they were before. Many heartfelt thanks to everyone else who works behind the scenes at Feiwel and Friends and Macmillan, and a special thanks to the legendary Liz Szabla, for believing in this book.

Much love to everyone else who read the manuscript in its infancy, including Veronica Buck, Janice Ming, Ann Aguirre, and especially Karina Cooper, who, upon finishing, called me up to shout enthusiastic praise and made me feel like I'd accomplished something truly amazing. Thanks also to Taryn Fagerness, Elv Moody, and Barbara K
ö
nig. And to all my readers who cheered when I told them I was traveling to YA Land, I wish I could bear-hug each and every one of you.

My biggest I'm-not-worthy acknowledgment goes out to my husband. You not only help brainstorm me out of treacherous plot holes, you're also my biggest fan. Thanks for believing in me all these years, again and again and again.