Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart by Tiffany Truitt Page B

element of surprise beats numbers any day. Redheaded demon number two falls to the ground, scrambling to get the string off his face while demon number one turns his attention to me. The little monster’s gonna charge me straight on.
    Before he can get close, Annabel latches onto his belt loop and pulls him down to the ground. And she pulls out the oldest big sister trick in the book—she starts to tickle him. Demon number two runs toward Annabel giggling, and she reaches up to catch him before he plows directly into her. They may have won the battle, thrown her off with their surprise attack, but there is no way she isn’t going to win this war. I mean, this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about.
    Soon, it’s a giant, loud, tickling mess of fun, and I can’t help but chuckle. As crazy as she said it was, and it certainly does seem to be exactly that, it’s clear Annabel loves it. Loves them.
    “What the hell is all that noise?’ a voice booms from the front door.
    “Grandma!” the twins scream in unison.
    And with that, Annabel is free from her attackers.
    “Slow down, boys. Remember, you can’t be so rough with Grandma,” Annabel warns, climbing to her feet. There’s a sense of urgency to her voice, and I can tell she’s legit worried the two kids are going to hurt her grams.
    “Don’t make me spray you again,” I call out, quite ready to do so if the need arises. Besides, it was kind of fun.
    “If it isn’t the midnight caller,” Grams yells out to me, wrapping each of her arms around one of the boys, both of whom stare up at her like she’s the one who checks Santa Claus’s list…twice.
    “Good morning, Grams,” I say with a small wave and a smile, hoping to dazzle the woman who taught Annabel all her spit and all her fire. The woman who had every right to kill me for breaking her granddaughter’s heart.
    “I was just getting my camera, Grandma, and then we’re going to be heading out,” Annabel chimes in. But it becomes super apparent that Grams is working real hard at ignoring her. It kind of bums me out to see how sad this makes Annabel, but I also get where Grams is coming from. Annabel shouldn’t just stop living ’cause she’s dying. That isn’t what the whole thing is about.
    “How about you come in for some Mtn Dew Code Red? Isn’t that what all the boys drink? It’s what that Jason of hers does,” Grams suggests, gently shoving the twins into the house and motioning me in behind them.
    “Sounds great!” I exclaim. I nearly run to the front door, so I can make it inside before Annabel can stop me. I’m super interested to see how the house has changed. “But I’ll just take some water or coffee.”

    Thankful that she hasn’t pulled out a knife to stab me, I follow Grams into the kitchen. She’s moving at a turtle’s speed, but I know better than to move past her or, worse, offer her help. She would see it as an insult.
    “I can’t believe you called her Grams,” Annabel whispers to me.
    I shrug. “Always give the thing you fear a cute nickname to make it less scary, Le Chat.”
    “You’re an idiot.”
    “I know.”
    As I walk through the house, I notice just how different it is from the last time I visited. Gone is any kind of effort at organization or cleanliness. It’s not that it’s necessarily a mess; my apartment is a mess. It’s just that it looks lived-in. Whereas before, it looked like a house you see in a commercial for cleaning products. Empty walls are now covered in pictures of Annabel and Grams and the twins. Artwork, both drawn on paper and directly on the wall in some cases, decorates the home like confetti at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
    And there are lots and lots of pictures of Stephen. Pictures of him as a baby, a toddler, a young adult, and then nothing. A timeline cut short by fate and all her vengeance.
    I can’t look at his pictures too long, so I try to keep my eyes down as we enter the kitchen. I plop down on a stool next to