Hearts Made for Breaking

by Jen Klein

  “Come on.” Cooper pokes me again. “Give me a name.”

  “Yeah,” says Katie. “I saw that, too. Who is it?”

  “Hold on,” I say. “I need a second.” I lower my right hand behind the counter so that they can’t see me twitching my fingers in a rhythmic pattern while I consider Ardy Tate. He seems self-aware. Intriguing. Maybe artistic. He doesn’t seem like the type who would easily fall for my charm, for the way I go into Flirt Mode. Ardy could actually be a beautiful path to a win-win. If I can’t get him interested—which I sincerely suspect will be the case—then the game’s over. I mean, isn’t he supposed to be Undateable? And if he is into me, well…there are worse things in the world.

  For all I know, the Undateable may be the best person to date.

  I blurt it out. “Ardy Tate.”

  Their eyes widen.

  “Seriously?” says Katie.

  “Ardy?” Cooper says.

  “I said someone different,” Katie reminds me. “Not a weirdo.”

  “He’s not weird,” I protest. “He’s nice.”

  “I’ve talked to him a couple of times,” Cooper says. “He was coherent. Articulate. Nice teeth. But he’s also…” He trails off.

  “A weirdo.” Katie seems very sure of herself. “Who transfers for their senior year? I bet he got kicked out of his last school.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Cooper says. “I also heard he got someone pregnant.”

  Katie nods. “That makes sense. I think Cici Belle is the one who told me to stay away from him. I’ve heard he’s Undateable.”

  “Ditto,” Cooper says. “But to be fair—he’s not hard on the eyes. I mean, if you like the offbeat thing.”

  “That’s worse,” Katie says. “It’s not that he’s not attractive. It’s that he’s not normal.” She pauses, considering. “But he’s definitely not Lark’s usual, so…approved.”

  “What?” Despite the fact that I broached the subject in the first place, misgivings suddenly rise up inside me. “Okay, hold on. I only said his name because I ran into him yesterday—”

  “Seconded,” Cooper tells Katie. “Ardy Tate it is.”

  “Agreed.” Katie holds out a hand and they shake on it. “Game on.”

  “Game on,” I mumble. Secretly terrified…and also excited.

  * * *

  After Cooper and Katie leave, I wipe down the front of the prize counter and clean the soda machines. There are only a few customers still driving the track, and our car operator, Dustin, is supervising them, so I push open the doors to the back hallway and wander down to Dad’s office. It’s a mess, as usual: piles of paper everywhere, crates of soda stacked in a corner. He waves from behind his desk, where he’s tapping at a computer. “Hey, honey. Thanks for sticking around.”

  “No problem.” I decide not to mention the grease stain on his shirt or the fact that his Dodgers cap is skewed. “It’s almost seven. You should go.”

  “Actually, you can take off. I’ll come up front.”

  For the second time today, my heart sinks. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “My homework’s finished. I don’t need to get home.”

  “I’m swamped.” He points to a stack of papers. “I have to schedule next month’s maintenance, approve timesheets, and start on deductions.”

  “I thought you were going to hire a new manager.” We’ve had managers before, but no one seems to last very long. When they bail, he’s back to working crazy hours.

  “I met with a couple of people this week,” he says. “So we’ll see.”

  I give one last push. “Maybe you could come in early tomorrow to finish up your work? So you could have dinner at home tonight?”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Love you.” He goes back to his work, and I head out, every fiber in my body drooping because I know tonight is going to be very, very bad.

  * * *

  I’m in my room by nine-thirty, but I’m still awake when Dad comes home after eleven. I tried to defuse the bomb at dinner, but it didn’t work. It’s a bomb that can’t be defused, that is never defused. No matter how many funny anecdotes I told about the weekend—the annoying kid at the prize counter, Cooper’s hair after he tried on the scarlet fedora—and no matter what questions Leo asked about the new sous vide cooker Mom had used to make the chicken, she only gave short answers, after which her lips returned to a thin, tight line. Leo and I shared a look as we helped clean up the dishes. Mom was not happy that Dad hadn’t come home for dinner.

  Now I hope Leo is doing the same thing as me: trying to avoid the flying shrapnel that makes up our home life. I wonder if I should offer to switch bedrooms with him. From down here on the first floor, I can only make out a few particularly loud words and phrases—“just like every other damn time,” “get off my ass,” and my personal favorite, “shut up, the kids will hear you” (they both say that one)—but I know the whole thing must be crystal clear in Leo’s room on the second floor. Hopefully, he’s either asleep or playing video games with his headset on.

  I have to believe my parents liked each other at some point. They must have had fun and wild passion and glorious moments, right? I know they had at least one moment of glory—apparently, that’s how I was conceived. It’s why they named me Lark. Because it’s how I came to be and how they got married: “on a lark.” Back when they were wildly in love. Back when it was good.

  Whereas if I were to be born right now, they’d probably name me something more like Oh, Crap.

  As usual, I drive Leo to REACH High. It affords me the opportunity to remind him what a great sister I am and how lucky he is to have me. Not all freshmen get to hang out with seniors. “I know, I know,” he grumbles as he gets out of my car. “You’re an angel.”

  “And a saint,” I tell him, and we head toward our school.

  I was there for REACH’s inaugural year, when I was in ninth grade. The name stands for Raising Ethical Americans Charter High, and it’s already taking the world by storm. At least that’s what the administration likes to tell us. In reality, we might only be taking small swatches of the San Fernando Valley by storm. Or maybe by a gentle breeze.

  That said, I have to admit it’s fun to be a trailblazer. In that first year, everyone was constantly saying things like, “This is the First-Ever Basketball Game played on this court,” “This is the First-Ever Yoga Retreat held in this gym,” and “This is the First-Ever Meditation Assembly in the auditorium.”

  When you live in Southern California, you get yoga and meditation. It’s a thing here.

  My classmates and I basically made history every time we took a step. In May we’ll all be making history again when we’re the First-Ever Graduating Class.

  Leo and I split off from each other, and I go in the direction of my locker, passing the usual array of posters and announcements on the walls: science fair applications, extracurricular aura cleansing, nominations for the Spring Fling Thing, which is our school’s answer to the classic prom.

  I also pass Peter Talbot, who waves at me. I hold up my hand in the classic “Live long and prosper” sign. As always, Peter grins and rolls his eyes. It’s become a joke between us. In ninth grade he and I ended up making out in the back row during a class field trip to see an anniversary screening of Star Wars. It turned out that Peter was a rabid fan, which made it very easy later to make him say we couldn’t kiss anymore—all I had to do was wax poetic about Star Trek. Now it’s funny. Back then it was deadly serious.

  I’m almost to my homeroom hallway when Katie catches up with me. “We need to get Cooper to play along, too,” she says.

  I’m lost. “Play along with what?”

  “The game. He needs to promise not to marry Ian right away, the way he always does.”

  “Why do you care?” I ask her. “You don’t even like Cooper.”

  “I care about the world,
” Katie answers, flouncing her hair back.

  We round the corner, and I immediately spot Ardy down the hall, spinning his locker combination. He’s wearing a plaid shirt over a white tee, and he’s got a slouchy beanie on his head. It’s very messy, very hipster in a way that Cooper and I sometimes mock, but…it’s also very cute.

  “There’s your man,” Katie says. I shush her and she laughs. “Go get him.”

  She peels off for her own locker, leaving me trying to roll the dice for a game I’m not sure how to play. Especially because I’m not sure how to talk to Ardy Tate. The “reel him in” part of the plan isn’t as obvious as it usually is. When someone is really interesting, what would make them interested in me? My road to romance usually starts with a touch on the arm at a party or a flirty look across the room during math class. Not with anything real.

  As I approach Ardy’s locker, he glances up and makes eye contact. I start to shake my hair out to get his attention but then stop myself midway through because I suddenly think maybe it’s not the kind of thing that will attract Ardy. It results in a very strange head movement, like I’m twerking with my neck. Luckily, Ardy doesn’t notice, because of course he’s engrossed in whatever stupid locker thing he’s doing. I’m several yards past him when I decide this is ridiculous and I need to just go for it. I spin and walk back, head held high, landing right next to him. “Hi.” The word comes out way more aggressively than I’d intended.

  He looks at me for a moment before responding. “Hi.” Then he waits, peering down at me. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable or awkward. He just…seems to be waiting. If our conversation thus far is any indicator, reeling Ardy in is never going to happen. “What’d you do this weekend?” I finally ask.

  “Got lost at IKEA.” His mouth tenses the tiniest bit at the edges, the beginning of a smile.

  “You don’t say.”

  “How was the mall?”

  “Fascinating.” Okay, I can do this. I can…talk. “I hung out with Cooper and Katie, and then I got a Coke in the food court. Where, apparently, you should never go on a Saturday morning, because it was overrun with middle school kids. They were all pretending to vape with Dragon’s Breath.”

  Ardy’s dark brown eyes blink. “With what?”

  “It’s a kind of candy. When you chew it, it looks like you’re breathing smoke.” Now Ardy is looking at me like I’m crazy. “I’m serious, it’s a thing.”

  “Oh, I believe you. It’s just not something either of us was doing in middle school.”

  “Hey, we hadn’t met in middle school. For all you know, I was a daily Dragon’s Breath breather.”

  “That would surprise me.” Ardy cocks his head, sizing me up. “Too weird for you.”

  There’s something in the way he says it that is almost offensive. It takes me a second to figure out why—it’s because of the way he says weird. Almost like what he really means is interesting. Before I can respond, though, Hope Burkett appears by his side.

  Of course she does.

  “Good morning,” she chirps, because Hope Burkett is the type of person who chirps. She’s also the type of person who everyone—like, everyone—adores. She’s beloved to a degree that I find bewildering…and kind of annoying. I’m sure people would give lip service to the love being about her general niceness, but it can’t hurt that she’s also extraordinarily pretty and stylish. She has a thick fringe of dark chestnut bangs sweeping above an angel’s face, and, in a nod to her Chinese ancestry, she always wears a gold necklace of Han characters that I think spell her name.

  Ardy gives Hope the same nod he gave me, which makes me feel better. Maybe it’s his morning nod.

  Hope beams at me. “Think we’ll get our papers back?”

  Right. All three of us are in English class together, under the not-so-watchful eyes of Ms. Shelton, who is notoriously late in the grading department. “There’s a first for everything, right?” I say. My response inexplicably makes Hope laugh, and her laughter is clear and perfect, like a bell ringing in crisp winter air.

  The Worst.

  “See you guys later,” I say, and make my escape.

  I don’t know where Hope’s actual boyfriend, Evan McConnell, is, but clearly she’s more interested in hanging out with Ardy than with him. Even though Hope and Evan are such the high school supercouple that they have a ship name. Which is—wait for it—Heaven.

  Like I said—the Worst.

  Everyone knows that Ardy and Hope are friends. Good friends. Possibly best friends. But they’re together all the time, which I have to assume means they’re fake friends. The kind of friendship where one person is genuinely interested in the relationship as it’s presented to the world, but the other one is faking it because he or she is actually in love with the other. In this particular case, I have to assume that the one who’s faking it is Ardy. Hope has a significant other, so if she was truly in love with Ardy, she could dump Evan and go for it. But she didn’t…and she doesn’t…so I assume she has no interest.

  It definitely puts an extra wrinkle in the plan to get Ardy interested in me. And no matter how absurd the plan is, now that we’ve come up with it, I’m determined to make it happen. After all, Ardy might not be like the boys I usually date, but…I don’t know how to say this…there was something about the way he almost smiled at me. That tiny tension around the corners of his mouth did something to me. To my insides. It’s like I got tense, too.

  But in a good way.

  A way that’s unfamiliar.

  New.

  What am I going to do with this?

  * * *

  Cooper and Katie swoop up to me before lunch—mine, because they both have second lunch—and each grabs an elbow. They pull me to the edge of the crowded corridor. “We need to get some things straight,” Katie says.

  “She does,” Cooper says. “Straight is not my forte, Sugar Blossom.”

  “Cute,” I say. “And what are you talking about?”

  “The game,” Katie says.

  “The lifestyle,” Cooper says.

  “Shhh!” I say to them both.

  “We were discussing the rules in Trig,” Cooper says.

  “Please tell me you were quiet,” I implore him.

  “The soul of discretion,” he promises. “We agreed that if you start dating”—Cooper stops, looks around, and then lowers his voice to a stage whisper—“him…”

  “Oh God, just tell her,” Katie says. “If he breaks up with you legitimately, it’s a wash.”

  “But no lying,” Cooper continues. “No faking your way out of it.”

  “Yeah,” says Katie. “No impromptu strange hobbies.”

  “Or abrupt strict curfews,” Cooper adds.

  “Or like that time you pretended to join a cult to get Wade Collins to cut you loose,” Katie says.

  I heave a dramatic sigh. “Those are my signature moves.”

  “We know,” Cooper says. “But the point is for you not to use them. Also, we couldn’t remember—what’s the longest you’ve dated anyone?”

  “We’re using the word date loosely,” Katie clarifies. “From the first kiss to the last, how long?”

  I already know the answer is five weeks, and that was only because Deondray Enos had the flu for the middle week but I pretend to think about it for a moment. Then, because I want to seem less pathetic than I actually am, I stretch it out. “About a month and a half,” I tell them.

  They exchange glances. “Perfect,” says Cooper.

  “Three months,” says Katie. “We think you need to hang in there with—”

  “Please don’t say his name,” I hiss.

  “Fine,” she says. “With You-Know-Who for twice as long as you’ve ever hung in there before. Can you do it?”

  Honestly, I don’t know if I can get Ardy to even look at me in the fir
st place. The length of time I’m going to date him may very well not be the issue. “Sure,” I tell them. “But I have another question. What about you guys? What are you going to do? Or am I the only one with any sort of flaw here?”

  Katie looks at Cooper. “I did get a promise out of that one,” she says. “As long as you’re with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, Cooper will not get all married-like with Ian.”

  That’s at least a bonus. Generally speaking, Cooper is my exact opposite. He is a serial monogamist who jumps in with both feet and falls in love superhard. His heart gets broken all the time, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve listened to his tales of romantic woe. This could be a good thing for him.

  If it works, I guess it could be a good thing for both of us.

  “What about you?” I ask Katie.

  “Please.” She gives me a wide smile. “I’m flawless.”

  * * *

  I leave the line with my tray and glance around the buzzing cafeteria. I know this moment is stressful for some people, but my stress is reserved for other areas of my life. The nice thing about being me is that I’m welcome anywhere: the gamer table, the cheerleader hangout on the bleachers, the outdoor hallway where the band kids sit in the shade. I’m not a threat to anyone. Everyone is friendly and reasonably happy to see me.

  What’s less nice is…it’s not like anyone’s asking. I’m alone in a crowd. No one hails me over. No one misses me if I don’t show up. No one expects me. My two best friends are the only ones who really know me, and they’re in second lunch period.

  Which is why it’s shocking when someone does wave to me, and that someone is Hope. At first I pretend not to see her, but then I realize she’s sitting at a table with Ardy. I walk over.