Page 6 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
He opens the door and climbs in uninvited. Adam is two hundred twenty pounds of pure muscle, but an accident with one of the eight-hundred-pound crab traps a couple of years ago left him with a limp; I’m sure he would’ve been at my truck window sooner if he could.
“You want to tell me why you ran out of the bar like that?” Adam asks. “’Cuz I know you don’t suddenly need to rush home to feed a dog you don’t own.”
I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
If there was anyone I could tell, it would be Adam. His family is Unangan, and they have their fair share of myths and superstitions. But growing up listening to old legends is still vastly different from truly believing that you’re afflicted with a centuries-old curse.
Besides, how does a grown man tell another that the tale of Romeo and Juliet is his gospel? That “the one” is real, and if she falls for me, she’ll die?
All my past loves—and losses—echo like horror stories in my head. If I get involved with Helene, she’ll have two years to live, at best. At worst, two days. And every ending is full of torture. I can still see and feel each of Juliet’s deaths as if they were my own.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“You okay, man?” Adam asks. “Seriously, you look green.”
I exhale heavily, trying to shake off the grievous burden of history.
“I’m a little under the weather, that’s all. Sorry to bail on the crew tonight.”
“I don’t buy it, Seabass.” Adam has never called me Sebastien. He’s the kind of guy who has a nickname for everyone, and because he’s got a perpetual grin etched onto his face, no one minds it.
“Don’t know what else to tell you,” I say with a shrug.
Adam sighs, but he’s used to me not saying much. He’s a solid friend, which is why he came out into the parking lot to check on me, but he’ll also respect my boundaries.
He punches me in the shoulder. “All right, man. But don’t be pissed when we ring up a fortune on your credit card.”
I manage a reluctant laugh. “Deal.”
“Get some rest. I’ll see you at port tomorrow.”
Adam jogs back into The Frosty Otter. I give myself another minute to gather myself, to think about what it means that Helene is here.
Then I start the engine for the long drive home and shift my thoughts to what I’m going to have to do to get rid of her.
HELENE
When I was in eighthgrade, I was cast in the school play as Juliet. I was over the moon, because I share a birthday with Juliet—the thirty-first of July—so I’d always felt a connection to her. Plus, Chad Akins, the most popular boy in school, was Romeo, and I was thrilled to get to be onstage with him.
But after the first rehearsal, I accidentally overheard him and his friends in the theater when they thought everyone else had already gone home.
“I can’t believe Helene Janssen’s gonna be Juliet,” Chad said. “She’s so fugly.”
“Seriously,” one of his guy friends said. “Dumpy as a potato sack. And that headgear! And inch-thick glasses that give her fish eyes.”
“And herperm,” a girl spat.
“Right?” Chad said. “Juliet should be someone super hot if Romeo’s gonna instantly fall in love with her, you know?”
But Ididn’tknow. (I was still naive enough then to believe the world was a meritocracy.) As I hid among the curtains in thewings, I wanted to shout at them:It’s not about looks! Romeo falls for Juliet because he sees something special in her—maybe the intelligence in her eyes or the confidence in the way she moves.
That special something I wanted someone to see in me someday.
Mostly, though, I just wanted to cry. Which I did, all the way home as I rode my bike, nearly crashing into several trees and stop signs because I could barely see through my tears.
When I finally got inside my house, I locked my bedroom door and hurled myself onto the mattress, burying my face in my pillows. I cried for hours, ignoring my mom’s and sister’s attempts to soothe me through the door.
