Love? Maybe.

by Heather Hepler

  “The name’s Booger,” he says.

  “And you prefer that to Barry?” I ask. He sneers at me, or at least he tries to. He needs to work on it, though, because it just looks like he’s about to sneeze. “Can I have my book back?” I ask, reaching my hand across the table to where his sidekick is still holding it.

  “What are you going to give me for it?” He attempts another sneer, but this one makes him look like he’s in pain. I sigh.

  “Gum?” I ask. It’s the only thing I have in my bag besides books.

  “How about a kiss, beautiful?” It’s my turn to give a pained look. I’m not about to have my first kiss in The Pit with a guy named Booger. I try to think of something clever to say, something that will get my book back. Something that won’t hurt Booger’s pride and send my book into the nearest trash can. My chem book still smells minty-nasty from the chew glopped on it the last time I was in here.

  “Leave her alone.” The voice comes from the other side of one of the gutted cars they have scattered around the enormous room. Nearly everyone has been watching The Booger and Piper Show, mostly because there’s nothing else to do. Now everyone, including me, turns to look at the guy coming around the back of the car.

  “Why should I?” Booger asks, but his voice is definitely different. Less Booger. More Barry.

  “Because you’re not a total jerk.” The guy coming around the car is definitely not like these other guys. In fact, I’m not sure he’s even real. Because unless I’m starting to hallucinate from the fumes, the guy coming around the back of the car is Ben. Period. Donovan. Period.

  “Jerk?” Booger begins. He looks like he’s trying to figure out if this is worth the trouble. Apparently he decides it’s not. “We’re just messing around.” He looks at me for confirmation, but I don’t oblige. He reaches for my book. “Here,” he says, pushing it hard enough to send it off the table and onto the floor.

  “Thanks,” I say. I start to say Barry, but decide to just go along. “Booger.” He shrugs and heads back to the other side of the room, where they are starting up another game, this one involving a couple of long rubber tubes and a tire. I bend and retrieve my book, noting that there is now a big splotch of grease on the front. I gather my courage to say thank you to Ben Donovan, but he’s gone already back around to the other side of the car. I get up and walk across the shop, careful of the grease smears along the way. I’m not really sure why it suddenly matters—my boots are designed to keep out just about anything.

  When I circle the car, only the lower half of Ben Donovan is visible. His upper half is hidden under the car. “Thanks,” I say to his feet. There’s a clanging noise in response.

  “Dang it.” He rolls out from under the car. He stops when he sees me standing there.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I just wanted to—” For a moment I can’t remember what it is I wanted to do. I just stand there looking at him. He frowns at me, then rolls to one side to grab another wrench out of the toolbox.

  “Yes?” he says.

  “I just wanted to say thank you.” He stares at me. “So, um, thanks.” He nods and looks around again, clearly still wondering what I’m doing here. I watch him for one more awkward moment before turning to walk back to my table and more irrelevant words.

  “Hey, Piper,” he says from behind me. I turn to find him staring at me with a half smile on his face. “Nice boots.”

  I feel my face get red. “Thanks,” I say, because I have no idea what his half smile means. But it’s definitely still there, and just as I’m about to ask him what he wants, he shakes his head and slides back under the car. I stare until all I can see are the bottom of his coveralls and his shoes. I try to focus on my English homework, but all I can think is that Ben. Period. Donovan. Period. actually knows my name.

  Jillian is giving me “the look” again as I eat my lunch. Normally I have better manners, but I am starving and have only three minutes to shove food into my mouth before assembly. She’s eyeing me like I’m one of those nature shows where you just know the cute little bunny is about to get it, but you can’t stop watching.

  “So, The Plan—” she finally says. Claire nods, looking past her to where a group of upperclassmen is climbing the steps from the caff and heading into the auditorium.

  “Plan?” I ask around my last bite of veggie burger. I live for teasing Jillian.

  Jillian sighs. “The Valentine’s Day Plan. We now need to find three yummy guys.”

  I glance over at Claire, but she’s not paying attention. She’s still watching the stairs. Still looking for Stuart. “How about instead we find cupid and beat the stuffing out of him,” I say. “Or we could all wear black. You know, in protest.”

  “Why are you so anti-Valentine’s Day?” Jillian asks.

  “Don’t,” Claire says.

  “Don’t what?” Jillian asks.

  Claire looks over at me. “Too late.”

  I take a deep breath. “Valentine’s Day is just a capitalist scam, designed to make people currently in a relationship spend unnecessary money in a fruitless attempt to ensure undying love and devotion. For those of us not in a relationship, Valentine’s Day is simply added pressure to identify ourselves within the context of a romantic relationship, whipping us into a frenzy that only the presence of our soul mates can relieve.”

  Jillian rolls her eyes at me; Claire just shrugs. “I tried to warn you,” she says. A group of rugby players mounts the stairs. Stuart is in the middle of the group as if he’s hiding in their midst. He barely makes eye contact with Claire as he walks by.

  “See?” I say to Jillian. “Why should we celebrate a day that is devoted to heartbreak?”

  “I refuse to admit defeat,” Jillian says.

  Out of the corner of my eye I spot Jeremy lurking across the hall, probably trying to work up the nerve to say hello to Jillian. I smile in his direction, but Jillian glares at me and shakes her head. This of course makes me smile even more.

  “We should go in,” Claire says finally. “Afternoon assembly is about to start.”

  “I’ll meet you in there.” I notice that my hands are sort of gross from the veggie burger and probably I’m sort of grungy in general from my time in The Pit. Unfortunately, the closest restroom isn’t all that close. I have to actually go outside and over to the next building. Even more unfortunately, it’s raining. By the time I end up back in the main building, I’m pretty damp. Somehow, the twist my mother put in my hair is still holding up. But rubber boots + water + tile floor = an unbelievable amount of noise all in the form of loud squeaks that make it sound like I’m trying to smuggle a bunch of small rodents into the assembly.

  As if the day couldn’t get worse, the assembly has already started and Father Birch is up at the front leading everyone in an opening prayer. Claire and Jillian are about three rows down from where I’m standing at the back and they’ve left a seat for me on the aisle. I can do this. I walk carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. Once I hit the carpet, I think I’m home free. But wet boots can slip as easily on carpet as they can on tile. The heel of my left boot catches on the edge of the step and my foot slides out from under me. My arms start pinwheeling. My legs fly out at weird angles and I brace myself for impact. I probably would have ended up sprawled halfway down the stairs with the whole school staring at me if it weren’t for a pair of strong hands that manage to catch me before I hit the ground.

  “Careful.” The voice is low and soft and his breath is warm on my neck. I stand up unsteadily and make my way down one more step to where Jillian and Claire are sitting staring at me.

  “Holy sugar,” Jillian whispers in light of the fact that we’re in chapel. “That was Ben Donovan.” I shrug and both she and Claire look at me for a moment before turning their attention back to the front, where Father Birch is winding up the prayer. My cheeks still feel like they’re on fire. Okay, so maybe I’m not completely hardened to the concept of romance. Or maybe I’m still dizz
y from eating too quickly, almost falling on my head, and Ben Donovan’s warm breath on my neck.

  chapter five

  The time it takes to pick up one almost-six-year-old from kindergarten and one almost-five-year-old from preschool is only slightly shorter than the time it took modern man to put someone on the moon. After three return trips (the first to retrieve one mitten, the second because Lucy did have to go to the bathroom after all, and the third because Dom forgot that it was his week to take home Chi Chi the Chinchilla), we finally manage to make it down the sidewalk and to the bus stop. We stand shivering behind the windscreen, waiting for the bus that will take us to my mom’s shop. It’s walkable from the school on a good day, but that day isn’t today. Today, the wind is biting at us, making it scary cold, especially since this is Georgia. Here, you can bake cookies in your car in the summer (yes, we’ve tried it), and you can sometimes wear flip-flops in the winter.

  “Piper, I’m cold,” Lucy says for the seventh time. I look down and her teeth are actually chattering. I give up my scarf, twisting it around her neck and tucking the ends into the collar of her coat. Dominic refuses to zip up his coat, claiming he isn’t cold.

  “I’m hot,” he says. Dom would argue that the sky is actually pink with yellow polka dots if you let him. Finally the bus rounds the corner and heads our way. I dig our bus passes out of my coat pocket and shift the three backpacks I am shouldering to try and make them stop cutting into my neck. The doors open and several people spill out. I have to grab onto Dom’s hood to keep him from knocking into everyone as they walk past. Once aboard, Dom and Lucy shoot all the way to their favorite spot at the back, leaving me to juggle the passes, the backpacks, and Chi Chi’s cage.

  “Only service animals are allowed on the bus,” the driver says, pointing to a sign posted on the front. I think quickly. The last thing I want is to have to walk the dozen blocks into the wind, dragging Lucy and Dom along behind me.

  “This animal is being trained to retrieve objects for people.” The driver peers into the cage. “Small objects,” I say. He looks at my face, which is already flushed. I can see he doesn’t believe me. I mean, I wouldn’t believe me.

  “Go sit down,” he says, waving his hand toward the back.

  “Thank you,” I say. I start making my way toward the back, where Lucy and Dom are on their knees looking out the windows. When I’m halfway up the aisle, the bus lurches forward, sending me and Chi Chi sprawling to the floor. I push myself back to standing and peer into the cage. Chi Chi looks mad but unhurt. I wish I could say the same for me. Now, in addition to the run that wouldn’t quite stay shoved into my boot, my tights sport matching holes in the knees. I sigh and sink into the nearest seat. I set Chi Chi’s cage on my lap. Unfortunately I figure out too late that the dampness that is slowly leaking onto my legs through the air vents in the cage is not from the water tube. When the smell hits me, I realize that the spill scared Chi Chi more than he let on. And for the record, chinchilla pee is one of the worst smells you can imagine.

  My mother’s shop is called Lilly’s Flowers. It’s by far the nicest florist in Atlanta, mostly because my mom is a flower freak. A floraphilic. I hold the door open for Dom and Lucy as they race into the shop. My mother raises her eyebrows at me when she sees me. Not a good sign. Dom and Lucy run into the back, looking for the snack my mother always has laid out for them. I follow, letting our backpacks fall to the floor near the big walk-in refrigerator. I set Chi Chi’s cage on the floor. Once my mother finishes waiting on a woman wearing an enormous red hat that has purple feathers hanging off of it in every direction, she joins us.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” she says, smiling slightly. My mother is infinitely amusing. She tilts her head at me when I don’t smile back. “Hard day?” I nod and lean against the wall. I feel like I’ve run seven marathons. “Hungry?” she asks. I nod again. I’m beyond speech at the moment, something that seems to be disturbing her. I file that away for the future. Nothing like having a little ammunition at your disposal when your parent is driving you nuts. My mother goes into the walk-in and comes out with a couple of apples and a bag of Jan’s granola. My mother seems jittery and keeps fiddling with her earrings. She’s also wearing makeup. That can only mean one thing.

  “What time is Beau coming by?” I ask.

  “Four,” she says. The clock over the desk reads ten after.

  I look at Dom and Lucy who are using their straws to blow bubbles in their milk.

  “You sure he’s coming?” I ask softly. Beau is not exactly Mr. Dependable.

  “He said for sure this week.” I bite my apple in frustration. Even though he moved out of our house over a year ago and almost directly into another woman’s apartment, Mom still gets taken in by his charm. Just another example of the suckiness of love. Mom’s cell buzzes and she pulls it from her pocket. She flips it open.

  “Beau?” I ask. She nods and reads the message. Apparently Beau has also realized the benefit of texting.

  “He said he has some business to take care of,” Mom says.

  “This is the third week in a row he’s bailed on them.”

  “He’s just busy, Piper,” Mom says.

  “And you’re not?” She takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You have to stand up to him,” I say.

  “You don’t understand,” she says. I frown at my apple. I do understand. I understand that he’s just using her feelings for him to take advantage of her. “Can you take them home with you?” she asks. I nod, frowning. I had hoped to have a little peace at home, but obviously that’s not going to happen. I don’t say anything though. I know whatever I might say, I’ll regret. I sigh and start pulling my coat on again.

  Mom manages to get Lucy and Dom cleaned up and out the door in about a third of the time it would have taken me. “Thank you, Piper,” my mother says, holding the door for us. I just nod, still not trusting myself to say anything.

  Even though Dom and Lucy don’t mention their dad once on the walk home, it must be on their minds, because neither of them says anything at all. If there is anything worse than their constant bickering, it’s this. I’m sure there’s something in the big sister handbook about helping my younger brother and sister deal with life’s pitfalls better than I’m doing. I just don’t know what to say other than what I told Charlie. Divorce stinks.

  I’ve just settled onto the couch with my jar of peanut butter and a spoon when my cell buzzes. I look at the screen before answering. Claire.

  “Hey,” I say around a mouthful of peanut butter. I pray she’s feeling a little better.

  “He’s been cheating on me for months.”

  Okay. Deep breath. “How do you know this?” I ask.

  “Bonnie overheard Ellen talking to Tracy in the locker room after gym.” There seem to be two more layers of names, but I can’t keep up. Montrose has to be the center of the gossip universe. Really, the administration should make it one of our electives. “She overheard Kelly talking to Christi.”

  “Wait,” I say. “Which Christi?” There are four.

  “Christi Jacobs.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Anyway, Christi was telling Kelly about the present Stuart gave her for Christmas.” Claire sniffs hard again. “Christmas!” Ouch.

  “Jerk,” I say, dutifully. I may not be that familiar with the big sister handbook, but I’m a little clearer on the best friend one.

  “That’s not the worst part,” Claire says. “Do you know what he gave her?” I stay silent. I have no idea where this is going. “He gave her a locket.” A fresh wave of sobs pours through the phone. I sigh and close my eyes. Stuart just sealed my nomination for world’s worst boyfriend. Claire had been hinting around for months that she wanted this locket she had seen in Jump!, the secondhand store where we always shop. It even had a C engraved on it, which I guess is why it worked for Christi too.

  “He’s a moron, Claire,” I say, taking a page from Jillian’s book. “You don’t
need him. We are going to find you someone better,” I say.

  “You mean it?” Claire asks.

  “Yes,” I say. And I realize I do because my heart rate stays normal and my hands stay non-sweaty. Of course, I was totally willing to bust out a lie if I needed to. White lies are in chapter two of the best friend handbook. They are to be used sparingly and only under extreme circumstances. I’m pretty sure finding out your boyfriend of more than a year is a total jerk qualifies.

  “Listen,” I say. “Spend Friday night at my house.” I really should ask my mom first before I invite friends to stay over, but I think I can play the jilted love sympathy card with her. “I’ll call Jillian right now.” Claire offers a watery thank you before hanging up. I leave a message on Jillian’s cell, telling her about our planning meeting. I hang up just before I hear the sound of laughing followed by a big thud from upstairs. So much for dinner, I think, screwing the top back on the jar of peanut butter.