Heartbreakers

by Ali Novak

  “No offense, but what can you do?” It was nice and all for him to try, but if my brother—one of the two people in this world who knew me best—couldn’t help, then how could Oliver?

  He shrugged. “No clue, but talking about it isn’t going to hurt.”

  “What are you, my therapist?” I knew I sounded harsh, mean even, but I could feel the pull of the rip current again. Joining the band on tour was supposed to help me figure out what was bothering me, but so far all I felt was more confused.

  “Actually, I consider myself more a detective,” Oliver said, cracking a small smile. “Right now I’m working a case called The Mysterious Upset Stomach.” I looked at him, lips pinched tight, but he just raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Relax, Stella. I’m not going to judge you.”

  Ask yourself what you’re so afraid of…

  Finally, I sighed. “When Paul called me, I was super-excited,” I admitted. “I mean, jumping-up-and-down excited. The first person I went to tell was Cara, and I think—I think it was seeing her bedroom door that made me panic. She has all these pictures of us taped up, and it reminded me of when we first found out she had cancer.”

  “What happened?”

  I lowered my head onto the table and didn’t say anything for a while. That was a day I didn’t like thinking about.

  Cara had told me she was feeling strange, bogged down and constantly tired, but I’d dismissed it as exhaustion from too many long hours at cheer practice. Eventually Mom brought her to the doctors. They decided to run some tests, and I thought, Okay, maybe Cara is sick, but it’s probably just mono or something.

  Her doctor would give her some meds, tell her to take it easy, and she’d be fine. The truth was, I was too busy with our school’s winter production of Guys and Dolls to pay much attention. The Art Club was designing the set, and I was in charge of the entire project.

  When the test results came back, my parents sat Drew and me down at the kitchen table so Cara could explain what was going on. I’d been annoyed—it was a Saturday and I was supposed to be at school putting the finishing touches on the set before Thursday’s opening show—so instead of paying attention, I was texting my friends to tell them I’d be late.

  “Stella, are you even listening to me?” Cara had screamed. I remembered looking up, seeing the tears on her face, and still not grasping the severity of the situation.

  “Yeah, what?” I’d asked.

  “It’s cancer.” That time she didn’t yell. The hard line of her jaw was enough, along with the word “cancer.” It packed the kind of punch that could only be compared to a championship-winning knockout. That or getting run over by a dump truck.

  Shaking my head, I lifted my eyes back up to look at Oliver. “I didn’t notice she’d been crying,” I said, my own eyes watering. “Something was wrong with my sister, and I didn’t even realize it.”

  “Hey,” he said. His chair scraped against the floor as he scooted over and draped his arm over my shoulder. “You’re not all-knowing, Stella. How were you supposed to tell she was sick? X-ray vision?”

  “That’s not the point.” I tucked my elbows into my sides so I could hold myself. “I didn’t notice anything was wrong because I was too busy to notice.”

  Oliver shook his head at me. “No, Stella. You were living your life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  My nails bit into my palm as I clenched my fist. “You don’t get it. If I’d been there”—thinking about this made me squeeze my eyes shut—“I would have known something was wrong. We could have taken her to the doctor sooner, and then maybe her cancer wouldn’t be as bad.”

  He was quiet for a minute as he chose his words. “You’re right,” he said finally, which made me suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t get it. Not at all. You’re blaming yourself for something that’s out of your control, like a thunderstorm or an alien invasion. Fact: bad things happen sometimes. You’re gonna get the shit kicked out of you sooner or later, and that’s just part of life. What matters is how you absorb the blow.”

  “Okay?” I wasn’t quite sure if Oliver was saying I’d actually get beaten up or if this was just some terrible guy analogy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Stop feeling so guilty, Stella. You’re absorbing all wrong.”

  Chapter 16

  The Heartbreak Chronicles was doing pretty well, extra stress on the “well” part. Since uploading my first post a week ago, the blog had been viewed more than three million times. Of course, it helped that Paul had shared news about the blog on all of the band’s social media channels, but I was still blown away by the number of hits, and that didn’t include the thousands of times my pictures were shared across the Internet or the hundreds of comments they each received.

  The overnight attention and support gave me a much needed boost of confidence, but I didn’t realize just how well it was doing until the boys had a stint on Talks with Tracy. Tracy Hoop was the queen of daytime talk shows, the favorite of forty-year-old moms across the country. During the band’s interview, I got to sit in the front row of the audience, a spot my own mother would probably run me over for. About twenty minutes in, Tracy turned the conversation in a new direction.

  “Now, boys,” she said after taking a sip of coffee, “I’ve been hearing quite a bit of buzz about—what is it? A blog of some sort?”

  I nearly fell out of my seat.

  “A photo blog,” Oliver told her. “Basically it’s a website with a running collection of pictures of us hanging out and stuff. The idea behind it is that our fans can see that we’re regular dudes who just happen to have a not-so-regular job.”

  “How creative,” Tracy said. “Are these selfies you take, or how does it work?”

  “Actually, our friend Stella is a photographer,” JJ said, pointing me out in the crowd. “She hangs out with us on a daily basis, takes pictures, and largely deals with making us look good.” The audience laughed, but my stomach turned to rock because two different cameramen swiveled in my direction.

  “Oh, she’s here with you today? How wonderful!” Tracy exclaimed. To me she said, “Stella, is it? Did JJ cover the basics of what you do, or is there anything else interesting you can share with us?”

  Oh man, this isn’t happening.

  The Tracy Hoop was talking to me. Worse, this was going to be on TV! I wanted to lean over and empty my stomach onto the floor, but instead, I glanced up at the boys. Oliver was watching me, and when our eyes met, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. The small gesture was enough to help me shake my fear.

  You can do this, I told myself.

  Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Tracy. “He did a pretty good job,” I said, as my adrenaline rushed. “Although he forgot to mention how hard it is for me to make them look so good, but I do what I can.”

  Everyone laughed, JJ the loudest.

  “So if I understand correctly, you get to travel around with the band? That sounds like every girl’s dream come true.”

  “It’s pretty awesome,” I said. I could feel my palms starting to sweat, but I wiped them on my shorts and forced myself to continue talking. “The guys are great and I get to do something I love, so it’s the perfect situation.”

  Tracy smiled and nodded. “I assume you’re talking about photography. Do you have any other projects besides the blog for the band, maybe one of your own?”

  Her question confused me, and I took a moment to respond. A project of my own? I considered the Heartbreak Chronicles my project. That’s how Paul always referred to it, and it was the first time I’d ever displayed my photography for the world to see.

  “I have an entire portfolio of work that isn’t related to the band,” I said slowly, not sure if that was the answer Tracy was looking for. “But nothing I’ve really shared.”

  “Well, I’m sure that will change in the near future considering the success
you’ve gained just by working with the Heartbreakers,” she told me. “Congratulations on the blog.”

  After the interview, JJ apologized for what happened, saying he never intended for Tracy to put me on the spot, but I waved him off. As terrifying as the impromptu conversation had been, I couldn’t stop thinking about Tracy’s final question, and eventually I was struck with a realization.

  Before I uploaded my first post, Alec told me something that didn’t quite resonate with me. He’d said that I could take a picture of anything related to the band, and people would love it no matter what. While the positive reaction to the blog did help boost my confidence, now I understood it wasn’t really my work that everyone liked. The boys’ fans didn’t appreciate my style and careful technique—they enjoyed the blog because of the Heartbreakers.

  Talks with Tracy opened my eyes to the fact that the Heartbreak Chronicles didn’t really belong to me. Yes, I took the pictures and ran the blog, but was it really a representation of who I was as a photographer? Not really.

  And surprisingly, I wasn’t upset.

  So the blog wasn’t truly mine. That didn’t mean it wasn’t important. My first upload was the perfect warm-up, a practice round that showed me my potential. If I wanted to know what people really thought about my work, then maybe I needed to put a little of myself out there and create my own project.

  Over the course of the next few days, I spent my free time combing through all the old work on my computer, trying to decide which pictures really defined me. Someone might argue that they all did since I took them, but it didn’t work like that. To me, not all pictures were equal.

  I considered each one carefully, and some stood out, bright and clear, screaming, “This is Stella!” It was an intuitive process, one that I compared to driving through a storm. As I drove, the rain came down so hard that the windshield wipers could barely keep up, but suddenly I would see the green of a traffic light. The light would glare through a sea of black telling me to go, go, go! When I came across a particular picture like this, it would snap me back to a moment or person or place. That’s what made it important. Even though my world had moved on, the memory I’d captured was still the same, and that’s what I wanted to share with people.

  “Whatcha up to?” Xander asked.

  It was Saturday morning, and we were in the airport waiting for our flight to Houston to board. The band’s schedule for the day was packed, so I was trying to use the few spare hours to get some work done.

  Glancing away from the screen, I looked down at him. “Working.”

  “Didn’t you blog yesterday?” he asked. “How do you possibly have more work to do?”

  “I’m not working on the band’s blog,” I told him. “I’m thinking about creating my own photography website.”

  I spun my laptop around so he could see what I was working on. After sorting through all my pictures, I’d purchased a domain name and used one of those free website templates to build my own. Most of my portfolio was already uploaded, but whenever I thought about publishing the site I’d decide to fidget with the layout or rewrite my bio instead.

  Xander leaned over so he could get a better look. “That’s way cool, Stella!” he said, pushing his glasses into place. “Is it live yet?”

  “No, but it’s pretty much finished. I’m just messing around with little details trying to work up the courage to post the damn thing. Can I get your opinion on something? I don’t know if this font really fits the theme of the blog.”

  “Nope,” he said. His response was so unexpected that I nearly dropped my laptop. He must have noticed my shocked look because he added, “What I mean is that you don’t need my opinion. It sounds like you’re just coming up with excuses to avoid the hard part. Stop second-guessing yourself.”

  Xander was right—the website had been ready since yesterday, but there was still that fear in the back of my mind that it wouldn’t be good enough, that I wasn’t good enough, that nobody would like it. I was second-guessing myself, just like I had my first week on the job, and I needed to stop.

  So I did.

  • • •

  “How about Napoleon Dynamite?”

  “How about not,” I said. Oliver and I were lazing on the couch in the boys’ hotel room trying to decide on something to watch. The band had a rare day off, so while JJ, Xander, and Alec went sightseeing, the two of us decided to enjoy a quiet afternoon in.

  “You’re such a crab today,” he said, turning the TV off and tossing the remote aside.

  “Am not. I just don’t have any interest in watching a stupid guy movie,” I said, but I knew he was right.

  Three weeks had passed since I joined the Heartbreakers on tour, which meant I’d made it twenty-one days on my own. It also meant that today Cara had a scheduled break in her chemo treatment. Without the boys’ busy schedule to distract me, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wasn’t there with her, and I regretted not going with JJ, Xander, and Alec to see the city. At least that would have kept my mind off my sister.

  “Or any movie,” he grumbled. “Here, let me see your phone.” Oliver flung his arm onto the cushion between us, hand open and reaching like he expected it without question.

  “Demanding much?” I asked but surrendered it anyway. “Where’s yours?”

  Since the night we’d cooked together, things had changed between us. It was like we formed some kind of silent bond of understanding. That or maybe the bond that was broken when I suggested we just be friends had been mended. There were no more uncomfortable silences or stiff pleasantries, and Oliver was back to acting like he had when we first met—goofy and playful—minus the kissing, of course.

  “In my pocket,” he said, scrolling.

  “Why do you need mine?”

  Oliver punched the talk button. “Because I’m calling your sister.”

  I scrambled up in my seat. “What? Oliver, no!” I tried to take my phone back, but he switched it to his other hand, holding it out of reach.

  “Shhh!” he said, pressing a finger to his lips. “I’m putting us on speaker.”

  After our conversation about Cara’s cancer, I was much more open to talking about her in general, which made missing home less difficult. But I didn’t know if I could handle having a conversation with Cara today. It would only make me more depressed than I already felt.

  “Stella, hey!” she said when she picked up. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Is this Cara?” Oliver responded, and my sister went quiet. “Um, hello?”

  “Who is this?” she asked. Her voice was small, like she already knew the answer to her question but wouldn’t allow herself to believe it was true.

  “This is Oliver,” he said very matter-of-factly. He didn’t need to give his last name for Cara to know who he was, and she sucked in a jagged breath.

  “Holy freaking bananas.” She let out an audible gasp, which made me want to see the wide-eyed awe that I knew was on her face. “Like, for real? You’re not messing with me? Because that would not be funny.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Oliver said. “Besides, Stella would kill anyone who tried to pull something like that.”

  “You’re right,” Cara agreed, her tone relaxing much sooner than I would imagine. “She totally would.”

  “In fact, I think she’s considering killing me right now,” he said, glancing in my direction. “She’s got this murderous look in her eyes.”

  “Oh, please,” I said and crossed my arms.

  “Yup,” Cara said. “Definitely sounds mad at you. What did you do?”

  “I called you without her permission.”

  “You should have asked!” I exclaimed.

  “She would’ve said no,” Oliver explained, talking to Cara instead of me. “She’s been a grump all day even though she won’t admit it, so I had to do something. I figured talking to you
would cheer her up.”

  Cara’s brilliant laughter burst through the phone. “She’s stubborn like that.”

  “Are you two done talking about me yet?” I grumbled, but the irritation I felt for Oliver was lessening each time I heard Cara’s laugh.

  I didn’t even end up talking with Cara. Instead, Oliver stayed on the phone with her for an entire hour talking about all sorts of things, and I listened. When he finally said good-bye and hung up, I silently slipped my phone back into my pocket.

  “You’re not angry, are you?” he asked after we sat in silence for a few seconds.

  “No,” I said.

  “You sure? You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I’m sure,” I said and smiled. “What you did was really sweet.”

  Not only did he make Cara’s day by talking to her, but he cheered me up. Just knowing that she was happy was the medicine I needed. I’d never really thought about Oliver and I having a “friends only” relationship—it was just a decision I’d made on the spot. But now I was realizing it wasn’t so bad, because Oliver was proving to be a really caring friend.

  “My pleasure,” he said, “but my motivation was purely self-serving. I wanted to see that smile of yours.”

  Then Oliver leaned over and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and I froze under his fingertips. The smile he claimed he wanted to see faltered. This close, I could smell Oliver—the cinnamon scent of his cologne and the laundry detergent he cleaned his clothes in—and I breathed him in. I knew this was dangerous, how close we were, but I didn’t know how to pull away.

  “Oliver!” JJ shouted, and his sudden outburst made us jump apart. I hadn’t heard him return, but it was impossible to miss his yelling. “Oliver, where are you?”

  “Dude!” Oliver called out in response. “Chill. I’m right here.” He whipped his head around so he could see over the back of the couch, and JJ barreled into the room like a bull chasing red.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded.

  There was something clutched in his hand, and when he reached us, he slapped it down on the coffee table. We both leaned in to get a better look. At first glance, I thought it was a picture of Oliver, which it was, but then I noticed the text running alongside the image. It was a magazine that JJ had folded in half, open to an article on the Heartbreakers.