Love Bug

prologue

The symptoms began showing at age thirteen, and the first time I felt it was during a Union.

I was sitting at the back row, looking over the crowd of people in clean-cut suits and cocktail dresses mingling together, when I felt my heartbeat begin to slam wildly against my ribcage.

Instinctively, I clutched at my chest, worried that my heart would jump out and grow two legs. The action had created a variant of odd emotions coursing through my veins that it would not be a surprise. Admittedly, it was strange yet gratefully satisfying, sudden yet mostly anticipated, confusing yet unyielding.

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed but so far, my sister, Arielle, and I had been the only occupants of our table for the last thirty minutes, and she was far too busy engaging Clifford or whatever-his-name is, into conversation.

Next, my palms began to sweat and I tried, honestly, to dispel the beads running down the tips of my fingers by swiping it down my slacks. Unfortunately, it only seemed to make matters worse.

"Ana, are you okay?" Arielle asked, looking over at me with worry in her eyes. "You've gone pale."

I shook my head and forced a smile, though I wasn't sure it was the least bit convincing. The boy who had caught my eye and caused my heartbeat to react unlikely and my palms to sweat like I was exposed to scorching sun, was once again in my line of vision.

Wesley Bretton stood a great deal away from me and though it was so, I could easily identify his dirty blonde hair, honey brown eyes, crooked nose, pursed lips, and angular jaw.

He was sitting by himself, his back to me, looking around at people with a curious expression on his face as though trying to decipher why the hell everyone seemed so happy at a Systematic event such as the Union.

"Ana?" Arielle called again.

"What?" I asked, willing my eyes to deviate from their current subject to turn towards my sister, my mouth ever so dry and my voice sounding hoarse even to my ears.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to get some water?"

I shook my head. "No," I said, making a move to get up. "I'll go fetch one myself."

I didn't tell her that the only reason I volunteered to do so was because the bar was unnecessarily closer to Wesley.

I manoeuvred through empty tables and abandoned chairs, my heart beating at a pace that even a galloping horse could not match.

"Water, please," I said to the bartender.

Close enough, I could see Wesley try to contain his boredom—or so it seems to me, anyway. Like any other teenager, he didn't  seem to appreciate being cornered into formal events when he could wander around the city at leisure and play with the kids in his neighbourhood.

Consciously, I became aware that I'm barely restraining myself; the distinct urge to walk up to him and introduce myself overwhelming, as I found that there was no better opportunity to strike up a conversation than now: the Union forming the best excuse possible to make his acquaintance.

I heaved a deep breath, laboured though it was because of the growing excitement blossoming in my stomach.

I could go there.

But even after when I've calmed my breathing and my glass has been emptied, I realised that I wouldn't.