Heartbreakers and Fakers

by Cameron Lund

  And I couldn’t be happier.

  NOW

  THE FIRST DAY OF school is bright and sunny, crisp air that smells like promises. Olivia and I planned matching spirit day outfits months ago—bright red mini dresses and devil horns—but when I see it all laid out on my floor this morning, I don’t want to put it on. The girl who picked out those clothes feels like a different person.

  I rummage through my dresser and choose something else—jeans and the soft yellow T-shirt I wore to Disney. It smells a little bit like chlorine, like the moment on Splash Mountain when I squeezed Kai’s hand three times. I know I’ll catch hell for wearing a yellow shirt on spirit day, but I don’t actually care. The thing is, if I wear the wrong thing, the world won’t end. And there are so many other projects I want to spend my time on—so many other beautiful things I’m making just for me, because they make me happy.

  I’ve spent the last few weeks designing and sewing costumes for Sarah’s band. I made an iridescent purple jumpsuit for her, a giant matching tank top for Brian. We’re meeting up after school tonight and I’m going to surprise her with a cape I made—it’s soft and shiny and bright blue to match her hair. I made a scarf for Romina too, just in case. She’s been saving up for an electric cello, and I know she and Sarah have talked about her potentially joining the band.

  As I get dressed, I actually start laughing a little at the madness of it all. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, Kai said to me once. Don’t see you changing your mind anytime soon. I’m so glad to prove him wrong.

  My mom is in the kitchen when I get downstairs, pouring coffee into three thermoses. “Oh,” I say when I see her, stopping short in the doorframe. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  She sets down the coffeepot. “I called in. Going in late today. It’s my baby’s first day of senior year. Thought I could drop you off.”

  Before I can stop myself, I slide across the floor in my socks and throw my arms around her. I’m still not completely over everything that happened, but if there’s one thing I’m trying to get better at, it’s this: I don’t want to be so hung up on the idea of being angry that I don’t let myself forgive. And right now, my mom’s arms around me, squeezing me tight, the smell of coffee, and the chirping of birds outside the window—isn’t this the whole point?

  And then Seb is there too. “I want in,” he says, his strong arms wrapped around my back so I’m in the middle of a tight Harris sandwich. It’s so crazy how big he’s gotten—that his arms are strong now instead of scrawny, that his head is almost a full head above mine and my mom’s as we hug. He’s our little man now, and I’m proud of who he’s become. We don’t need my dad. We have each other. And I love our family just the way it is.

  “Okay, okay.” My mom pulls back and there are tears in her eyes. “We’re going to be late. Let’s get out of here!” She’s laughing and handing us our thermoses of coffee, and we gather our lunches and backpacks and hustle out to the car.

  We drive to school, pulling up to the parent drop-off. I know I should probably be embarrassed to be here—there are tiny green freshmen pouring out of all the other cars around us, and I feel like a giant. Seb gets out first, throwing a peace sign and slamming the back door behind him. Immediately, he’s swept into the crowd. I know I should get out of the car, but I can’t help but hesitate. It’s strange to be here with the babies and the school buses instead of catching a ride in Olivia’s green buggy. But my mom reaches over and squeezes my knee, and finally this feels so right. “I’m proud of you, baby girl. I mean it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and I pull it back out because my big ears aren’t going anywhere. “I’m going to do this more often, okay? I want to be here for you when you need me.”

  “Me too,” I say. “I was thinking maybe I could work some extra hours at Scoops too.” I run my hand along the hem of my jeans. “Help out a bit.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You’re still a kid. I want you to enjoy it.”

  “But I want to, Mom. I don’t want you to be so stressed out all the time.”

  She smiles. “Then whatever you want to do, you can do. But for now, school.” She pats my knee. “I’ll try to be home for dinner tonight, okay? So you can tell me all about it.”

  “Okay.” I open the car door. “I love you.” The words still feel new in my mouth, like I’m learning to speak a foreign language. But I like the way they feel. I want to practice saying them, want to get to the point where they’re comfortable.

  “Love you too, Penelope.” I can tell they’re still a little hard for my mom too, but I think that’s what’s so great about love: it’s something worth putting in the extra effort for. We’re both still learning how to be the kind of mother and daughter we’ve always wanted to be. And I actually kind of like the sound of my name when my mom says it. Penelope, the name she gave me when I was born, the name I’ve been trying to shed ever since Kai was an idiot and ruined it for me. But maybe now that I’ve forgiven Kai, the name can be mine again. It belongs to me. And when my mom says it, I don’t think of elementary school taunts, of leaving birthday parties early, of hiding myself in the spine of a book. When my mom says Penelope, it sounds like a song.

  I get out of the car, and then she drives away and I’m all alone. Scanning the parking lot, I find Olivia’s car parked in its usual spot, and feel a slight ache from the loss—the fact that it’s the last first day of high school we’ll ever have and we’re not together.

  Before I can change my mind, I turn away from the school entrance, walking across the field toward the tennis courts.

  Olivia is there with Katie, both wearing the red dresses and devil horns that were supposed to be mine. They’re taking pictures and laughing, posing in silly ways for the camera. Olivia sees me, and before I can turn away, our eyes meet. She stops laughing, the smile fades from her face, and her eyes narrow. She nudges Katie with her elbow, and then they’re both staring at me. So, fine, Olivia and I are never going to be best friends again. But maybe we don’t have to be enemies either. We can start fresh, be real with each other for the very first time.

  So instead of fleeing, or ignoring them, or pretending they don’t exist, I wave and walk forward onto the tennis courts. “It didn’t feel right not to help with the first-day-of-school pictures.” I chew my lip. “I mean, if you want my help?”

  Olivia studies me for a second. “You’re not dressed like you.”

  I look down at my shirt, a representation of one of my favorite moments. “Actually, I really am.”

  Olivia nods in Katie’s direction. “All right, get in there.”

  “Or . . . do you want me to take a picture of you two?”

  Olivia clutches her camera—her baby—tightly in her hands, but then sighs and hands it to me. It’s this little moment that makes me feel like maybe, potentially, things might get better. Olivia may not trust me completely anymore, but she trusts me enough for this.

  She moves beside Katie, and I take some pictures of the two of them, arms around each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “You were right about Jordan,” Olivia says, when I hand the camera back to her.

  “Oh yeah?” The relief I feel at her words is instantaneous.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’m fucking awesome, and I deserve a guy who knows it.” She chews her bottom lip, studies me for a second. “Maybe you could help me with my eyeliner sometime? I mean, now that I’m a single woman, I’m officially on the prowl.”

  “I’d like that.” I smile, turning away from them. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

  There are still a few minutes before class, so I leave them on the tennis courts and take a seat on the bench outside the senior section. I scan the parking lot and entryway for Kai, but I know he’s probably not here yet. Kai is late for everything—why wouldn’t he be late for the first day of senior year? I pull out my phon
e and send him a quick text. Late on your first day, Tanaka?

  He types back right away. Forgot my alarm. Fuck! You know me so well.

  I’m always early and you’re always late. Maybe one day we can meet right in the middle.

  I think we already have, he answers. I have a surprise for you.

  Then he sends me a picture. He’s dressed all in red—a red soccer jersey, red hearts painted onto his cheeks, a bright red senior spirit day top hat. I look down at my own faded yellow T-shirt and can’t help but laugh.

  I love it, I tell him. I start to type I love you, but then delete it. I’m not ready yet, and there’s too much to say. I told Jordan I loved him before it was real. I don’t want to make that mistake again. But I know it will come out eventually, the layers of meaning behind the phrase I love you, and they won’t just be empty words when I say them. But for now, I settle on this:

  Want to go swimming? Drive me to our spot after school?

  Skinny dipping????!!!

  Sure . . . why not? Let’s go skinny dipping

  Kai sends me a long row of exclamation points then, and I laugh and tuck my phone away in my pocket. The air is getting even warmer, so I lean back and close my eyes, letting the sun heat my face. And it’s peaceful, being here by myself, listening to the hustle and bustle of everyone else around me.

  I know I must look weird, but I don’t really care anymore. I’m comfortable right here in this moment. I’m happy. And the thing is—I’m not really alone at all. I have Kai, once he actually shows up. I know we’re going to be that annoying couple who is always making out against the lockers, but I also know I’m not going to worry too much about it, because making out with Kai is the greatest freaking thing in the entire world. I have Romina and Myriah, who I can’t wait to double-date with. I have Olivia—the real Olivia—who might be mine again someday, after we’ve both healed.

  But there are new friends too—friendships that don’t exist yet, friends who are still waiting to be discovered. There’s Sarah, who I’ll drag to the pep rally with me in a few minutes. There are those art classes I’ve been meaning to take, the school musical if I’m brave enough to try out this year.

  And there are the possibilities I haven’t even thought of yet—friends down the line, next year wherever I end up for college: friends in the dorms, on the quad, on vacation, in my future office at my future job. There’s an endless amount of birthdays, happy hours, brunches, weddings, trips to Thailand, or Australia, or France—future memories unfolding before me, waiting for me to reach out and grab them.

  The truth is that high school is such a small blip on my timeline. Life is too short to waste the whole thing worrying. Kai taught me that. And he’s right. Who cares if people are staring? The fact is, they probably aren’t even looking my way at all. No one else really gives a shit about what I’m doing but me.

  I know eventually I’ll have to get up. I have to find my locker, face my future, make senior year my bitch. This bench will always be here to return to when I need a minute to think. Maybe it will be my new spot, somewhere I can bring Kai to show him a little bit more of myself, someplace we can take sandwiches and eat our lunch, or just another spot to make out and drive ourselves crazy.

  But right now, it’s just for me.

  I reach into my backpack and pull out the book Kai gave me. The Giver. My book. Our book. I run my hand over the torn cover. And then I open to the first page and I start to read.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  They say your second book is the hardest to write—and that’s before dealing with a worldwide pandemic. This book will always remind me of the coronavirus, an amalgamation of all my hopes, fears, anxieties, and struggles during these wild months of 2020.

  While you might think being stuck alone in lockdown would make for good writing conditions (Fewer distractions! More time to work! No friends pressuring you to hang out!), it was incredibly difficult to get into a creative headspace while the world around me was falling apart. How do I write about these silly, privileged, mean little characters and their insignificant problems when there is so much else to worry about? How can I write about romance when there are truckloads of bodies, protests against the systemic racism in our country, a corrupt government that is actively standing in the way of progress?

  My answer to this is that art has always been a way to fight injustice, a way to bring attention to a cause, to disrupt and engage and delight. Art will always be important. So I tried to take my doubts and my anxieties at the state of the world and channel them into making my own art—creating in the way that makes me happy. And if I can bring a seed of hope, a few hours of escapism to just one reader, then this will all have been worth it.

  I truly could not have gotten through this year without the help and support of those around me. Even though I only got to speak to all of you through the screen of my computer, it meant so much.

  Thank you to my parents for listening to all my worries over the phone. I can’t wait to celebrate with you in person once we’re allowed. Thanks once again to Shirin Yim Leos and the rest of the Uninventables, especially those who helped me through early drafts of this book: Cady, Cassia, Chris, Jenn, Julie, and Leata. Thanks to the 2020 Visionaries for letting me vent and being my support system through this year, filling my life with laughter and memes and gifs and frondship from a safe distance away: Amanda, Irene, Jessica, and Remi. To the Roaring ’20s Debut group who were here for me through the wild and unexpected path of debuting during a pandemic when all the bookstores were closed. We did it!

  Thank you of course to my brilliant editor, Julie Rosenberg; my agent, Taylor Haggerty; my publicist, Olivia Russo; and the rest of the team at Razorbill/Penguin Teen: Felicity Vallence, Shannon Spann, and James Akinaka, as well as my cover designer, Kristin Boyle, and illustrator, Carolina Melis.

  Thank you, Justin. I could not have made it through quarantine without you.

  And thank you so much to my readers for making this all possible. The messages I got from you were the only thing that made being a published author feel real while being stuck in lockdown. To go full LotR nerd, I will end by saying that in this hellish year, you have all been a light in dark places when all other lights go out.

  Thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cameron Lund is a young adult author, singer/songwriter, and pizza enthusiast. Originally from the middle of the New Hampshire woods, she moved to the beach to study film at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and has stayed out west ever since. Her love of travel has taken her to more than twenty-five countries--there's nothing she loves more than writing while on an adventure somewhere, preferably with a view of a waterfall. Cameron is also the author of The Best Laid Plans. Find Cameron on Twitter and Instagram @camloond.

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