Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Arrow.
It’s a crazy name, isn’t it?
I always thought so.
Crazy and unique and completely his.
I can’t imagine anyone else having that name. I can’t imagine anyone else owning that name like he does.
He wears it.
In every part of his sculpted face and his sleek body.
From his arched and arrogant-looking eyebrows to his high cheekbones.
God, his cheekbones.
They’re so sharp and yet so gracefully made that they almost cast a shadow on his jaw. His very angular and slanting jaw.
And then there’s his body.
It’s not bulky or massive but muscled and trim. Tanned from running under the sun. Athletic. Built for speed and precision on the soccer field.
Actually, every part of him is built and designed with such careful precision. Like someone up there decided to take their time with him. They decided to sit down and pick up tools, hammers and chisels so they could sculpt him and chip away at him and make him stunning.
That’s what he is.
Arrow Carlisle, the love of my life, is stunning.
Always has been, ever since he was fifteen and I was ten, and I saw him for the first time.
Even though it was eight years ago, I remember everything.
I can tell you that it was early morning and the sunlight was streaming through the window like laser beams. Everything was bathed in yellow in that room, the kitchen to be specific. Orange, even.
I was wedged between a china cabinet and the wall, sitting on the floor, my knees hugged to my chest. I had a blanket wrapped around myself and yet, I was cold.
So cold.
I’d made rounds of the entire house, trying to find a spot where I could find some warmth, but so far, I’d been unsuccessful.
But then, he burst through the kitchen door, all sweaty and panting.
I remember thinking that he was tall. And that when he moved through the space, the sunlight rippled. The rays cast tiny patterns on his tall form.
He made a beeline to the sink and turned on the tap. He threw water over his face, his neck, and he did it so violently, with such agitated gestures that a few drops landed on my cheek.
I flinched automatically, thinking that it would feel cold.
But it didn’t.
The water that he touched with his hands, that landed on me, did not feel cold at all. In fact, it made me feel warm.
His whole presence made me feel warm.
Like he was the sun or something.
My sun.
After he was done with washing his face, he bent toward the fridge and took out a juice carton. He proceeded to gulp half of it before he realized someone was watching him.
He whipped his eyes over to me, where I was hiding, all crouched and trying to make myself into a ball to preserve the warmth in my body.
He frowned and I sort of smiled.
Because his eyes were blue. They made me think of summer and sunshine and melting in the grass while catching the sun.
“Don’t tell my mom,” he said, motioning to the juice carton. “She gets upset when people drink right out of the carton.” And then he frowned even harder, taking me in completely. “Are you cold?”
I wanted to answer him. I wanted to tell him that his secret was safe with me. That I’d never tell on him in a million years for breaking his mom’s rule.
And then I wanted to tell him that no, I wasn’t cold.
That somehow, he made all the cold go away with his sun-struck hair and sweaty, tanned skin and summer-blue eyes.
I wish I had.
I really, really wish that I had said something. Because when the moment passed, I never got the chance to tell him.
Because in a split second, everything changed.
The whole course of my life.
And his, too.
Because just then my sister walked in, Sarah, and he turned to look at her and he never looked away.
He hasn’t looked away from her since that moment.
So basically, in the last eight years that I’ve known him, he’s only looked at me with his full focus that one time. Since then, his focus has been on my sister.
The love of his life.
I can’t really say for sure if the moment in the kitchen was when I fell in love with him.
I mean, I was freaking cold and scared after my mom’s death. We’d just moved into a new house, a new town. Before then we’d only heard about the Carlisles in passing. We’d never met them because my mom and Leah had always been busy with their careers.
And a boy strangely made me feel warm for the first time in weeks.
I’m pretty sure that meant falling in love in my ten-year-old brain.
But now that I’m older and I have more perspective, I’m not sure. Maybe it happened in the coming days.
When I’d see him come back from his run and dutifully pull out a glass from the cabinet and pour juice in it before drinking.
Or when I’d see him cleaning up after himself after each meal, picking up his laundry, his soccer cleats, even though they had a maid who could do those things.
Or when I’d see him fix things around the house – especially the heat one day – even though again, they could call a guy if they wanted to.
It made my heart race that even at the age of fifteen, he was the man of the house.
His dad died in a sudden plane crash when he was seven. And in the coming days, I found out that he took that very seriously, his dad’s death, the responsibility that came with it, the fact that he wanted to walk in his father’s shoes.
My own father had left my sister and my mother just after I was born because he couldn’t handle responsibility. So this was all new to me.
I’d never met anyone like Arrow Carlisle before.
Someone who was so serious and determined and focused. Not only around the house but at his school too. On top of being a straight-A student, Arrow was also their soccer superstar.
Honestly though, it isn’t surprising at all because A, Arrow’s dad was a pro soccer player himself.
And B, Arrow would spend hours practicing at the school. He’d spend hours watching game tapes in his room, and sometimes I’d find him dribbling the ball in the backyard, practicing drills and exercising before a big game.
Soccer was and is his life. He was born into it.
So I don’t know when I fell in love with him.
All I know is that when I was falling in love with Arrow, he was falling in love with someone else.
With my sister, Sarah.
And they are perfect for each other.
Perfect.
They’re both the same age.
They are both good-looking and popular. Both of them have high ambitions and goals.
In fact, they’re so perfect for each other, so devoted, that when Leah had objections about her son dating her ward, they did everything to convince her.
Leah made rule after rule, gave them strict schedules and ultimatums about grades and hanging out together with their bedroom doors open, and they aced every test she put forth.
Again, not a surprise, they’re both excellent test takers.
They even went to the same college. When Arrow got a scholarship for playing soccer at a college in California, Sarah made sure to end up at the same school. They even picked out an apartment off campus so they could live together.
And when Arrow graduated a semester early – no surprise there; he’s a genius – and got picked the January of last year to go pro and play for the LA Galaxy, they continued their relationship long distance.
Not only that, Sarah made sure to complete her degree in Public Relations and follow him to LA, a few months later.
Now, she works with the PR firm that represents Arrow’s team.
See? They’re perfect for each other.
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
They’ve conquered every obstacle in their path to get to this point where they have a nice, expensive apartment in LA. He plays the game he loves and she has a bright future in PR.
They belong together.
So where do I fit in?
What is my role here, other than being this evil, witchy girl who wants her older sister’s boyfriend?
I don’t think I have any role except to be the villain in their love story.
The girl who has violated all the codes.
The betrayer.
Who feels warm at the sight of her sister’s boyfriend. Who shivers when he smirks. Whose heart fills with an immense joy when she sees him on TV, scoring a goal and who wants to fly over to him and hug him and tell him how wonderful he is.
How freaking amazing.
Some girls fall in love and a boy catches them. He waits for them at the bottom of the cliff with open arms.
And then there are other girls.
Girls like me.
We’re the girls in love with the boys who belong to someone else. We’re the girls in doomed love.
When girls like us fall, there’s no one to catch us. Least of all that boy for whom we’ve taken the fall.
We’re the girls with secrets and witchy hearts.
We’re the girls who listen to sad songs.
Who slow dance to them with tears streaming down our faces, even as a smile lingers on our lips.
Who cry in our pillows at night and who ride our sunshine-yellow bicycle along the empty, desolate, miserable places, where no one goes.
We’re the girls who run away in the middle of the night.
Like I was doing.
Because I’d overheard a conversation between Leah and him. Well, only Leah’s side of it, but I heard enough to understand that Arrow was getting ready to propose to Sarah. He’d bought a ring and everything.
That’s when I decided to run.
Because they’re getting married.
Married.
I mean, I always knew that they would. But something about the talk of a ring really shook me up.
Arrow was going to propose to my sister.
She would obviously say yes, and they’d have a wedding day. Kids and a family.
Like a voyeur, I’ve been there for every moment of their love story.
I’ve watched them fall in love. I’ve watched them be in love for years.
I’ve watched them go out on dates, go to the prom together.
I’ve watched them hanging out together in the backyard.
I’ve heard them whisper and talk out in the hallway, just by my bedroom.
I’ve watched them leave for California. I’ve watched them when they’d come to visit over the holidays.