Hearts Made for Breaking

by Jen Klein

  “How was the”—there’s a smile in my mom’s voice—“porch?”

  Before I can answer, the front door bangs open, and we hear my father’s voice. “Who wants pizza?”

  Crap.

  He swings into the kitchen and sets a big flat box on the counter next to me. I don’t have to look at my mother to know there’s a line deepening between her eyebrows. “I told you I was making dinner,” she says.

  “Did you?” Dad asks.

  Mom picks up a head of lettuce and slams it against the counter to loosen the core. Except the way she hits it, I’m not sure there’s any core left. “I said I found a recipe online that I wanted to try.”

  “So try it tomorrow,” Dad says. “It’ll still be there.”

  “We’ve already cut everything up,” she says, her voice growing louder.

  I grab another clove and hunch over my board with it.

  “Then the pizza can be an appetizer,” Dad says. “Or dessert. Or we can throw it out, whatever.”

  “I don’t care about the pizza,” Mom says. “I care about you listening to me.”

  “I listen.” Now he’s getting loud, too. “It doesn’t mean I always have to agree with everything you say. I wanted pizza, so I got pizza. What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s fine,” she says, starting to chop the lettuce. Since it’s obviously not fine, I push my garlic-covered board into the center of the counter and slide off my stool. No one notices.

  “I’m going to my room,” I tell them. Neither one answers.

  Our house is old and bizarre and seems like pieces of three or four houses that someone smooshed together in no particular order. Apparently, my parents bought it like this because, as long as I can remember, they’ve been saying they’re going to renovate it. Occasionally they even get so far as to print out a bunch of floor plans and spread them over the breakfast table, but nothing ever happens.

  The front door opens into what we call the sitting room, I guess because it’s long and narrow and doesn’t seem to have any other purpose than to sit in it. There’s only a handful of mismatched armchairs and a loveseat. It’s where Mom prefers I entertain guests. At least it’s where I’m supposed to entertain Cooper. Katie’s allowed in my bedroom.

  Straight past the sitting room is our teeny-tiny kitchen that, inexplicably, overlooks an enormous living room with a giant rock-wall fireplace. There’s no obvious place for a dining table, so we have a small round one shoved in the corner. It’s big enough for the four of us to cram around, but more often we sit on stools at the counter between the kitchen and the living room.

  My bedroom is the only one on the ground floor. It’s small, but it has two closets, one of which is very deep and opens into the TV room. When we were little, it was one of Leo’s and my favorite hiding spots during hide-and-seek because if someone came looking for you in one of the rooms, you could always sneak out into the other one. If the room you snuck into was the TV room, you could then make it all the way into the backyard without being seen.

  After leaving my parents with their root vegetables and rage, I must be tired from the day of sea air and confusing feelings, because I immediately fall asleep. I don’t even get under the covers; I just sprawl onto the quilt and I’m out. I only wake up when Leo is sent in to wake me, which he does by kicking the foot of my bed.

  “Quit it,” I mumble, wiping drool off my chin. I sit up and yawn, realizing I’m breathing in the scent of something delicious. “What is that?”

  “Dinner,” Leo says. “Come on.”

  Dinner turns out to be a baked fish, flavored with all the things I chopped. The pizza box is gone and so is Dad, which means my mother’s lips are pressed in a tight line. Luckily, Leo is able to get her laughing with a story about a kid in his science class who blew up a burner. Usually that’s my job—distracting the parents from how mad they are at each other—but tonight I’m glad Leo is taking over.

  After dinner I put away a load of laundry in my room before opening my computer. I don’t have a ton of homework this weekend, but I’d rather not wait until the last minute. Besides, it’s better than obsessing about Ardy.

  I guess my parents aren’t the only ones who need to be occasionally distracted.

  I finish calculus and get a head start on some reading for World History class before succumbing to temptation and going online. I can’t resist finding Ardy on social media. He doesn’t post very often, but then—as I’m staring at the screen—a new photo pops up.

  It’s me. Or, more specifically, my arm, which is stretched toward the sky. The slightly blurry photo captures a moment when my new frenemy Torch descended onto my hand, his wings outspread. I stare at the picture, which Ardy captioned Spent the day with a couple of birds. I decide to “like” the photo first thing in the morning. I spent the day driving almost all the way to San Diego and back with him, he taught me how to fly a bird, and we sort of held hands. It should really be a no-brainer, but I also don’t want to jump on it too fast.

  It’s worth a deeper dive into Ardy’s online persona, so I start clicking around. Most pictures are random—a blue rock on the ground, a cane leaning on a bench, a crushed soda can—but I do find a picture of him with his mom. There’s also one of him and Hope. The picture is at least a couple of years old. They’re sitting on her front porch, eating ice cream. It makes me wonder if he’s ever kissed her.

  Or if he wants to.

  As I stare at the image of them, my phone buzzes. Text from Cooper.

  Coffee and tell all?

  I text back immediately:

  Not now. Homework.

  I think I need a second to figure out what happened with Ardy before I talk about it, but then I change my mind and call Cooper anyway. “I don’t understand boys,” I tell him.

  “Welcome to the club,” he says. “Did you kiss? Do your three months start now?”

  “I wish.”

  “Ooh.” I can picture Cooper sitting up straighter, wherever he is. “So now you do definitely want to kiss him?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know if he’s into me. He had the perfect opportunity, and he didn’t take it. We were basically at the Pinterest page of ideal romantic settings, and nothing happened.”

  “Weird,” says Cooper. “Did he say anything?”

  “Yeah.” I slump on my bed. “In the morning he said we’d kiss at the end of the day, but then he never did it.”

  “Huh.” Cooper’s trying to figure it out along with me. “Is that a straight-boy thing? To announce in advance?”

  “No.” The boys who kiss me don’t tell me in advance. They don’t even ask what I want. By the time the touching starts, they’re usually aware of my interest level. Or they assume it, and I allow things to keep moving because I don’t want to explain otherwise. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want conflict. “I guess Ardy’s different.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.” I hear the chagrin in Cooper’s voice. “Maybe stupid Katie is right.”

  “Stupid Katie has her moments,” I agree, smiling to myself at Cooper’s ever-present annoyance with my other BFF. We hang up, and I go back to trying to figure out Ardy by myself. Maybe this is normal for him. Maybe strange and slow is how Ardy rolls.

  I close my computer and head to the kitchen for a snack. Mom and Leo have gone upstairs, so there’s no one to complain about me digging through every cabinet and then the freezer before moving to the fridge to select a string cheese.

  I basically inhale it and am headed back to my room when there’s a soft knock on the front door.

  It’s Ardy. He’s standing on the porch in the same jeans and sweater he wore today, but now topped off with the slouchy beanie that is so cute on him. “Hey,” he says.

  I stare at him, completely befuddled, before finally managing to mumble out a “Hi.” I glance
toward the stairs—Mom must not have heard the knock, since she’s not coming down—and I step outside, gently closing the door behind me. I don’t know what the hell Ardy is doing here, but whatever it is, I don’t want an audience for it. I look behind him—no sign of the minivan. “Where did you park?”

  “Down the block. I didn’t want to slam the door outside your house.” It’s dark out here, but not so dark that I can’t see Ardy’s teeth gleaming in a grin. “I have a question for you. Do you think I’m a freak?”

  Katie does. Apparently, people at his last school do. Maybe Cooper still does, too. But me, I don’t know anymore, so I shake my head because it seems like the thing to do. Especially because showing up like this is…a little freaky. I want to ask him why he’s here, except the corners of my mouth are turning up. It might be because of the cute beanie but—whatever it is—I’m having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. Much less sentences.

  “That’s good news.” Ardy moves closer, so he’s looming over me, all tall and angular and adorable. He sets a hand on my left shoulder. It’s warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, and without consciously deciding to, I arch my back the tiniest bit, pressing my shoulder up into it. Wanting to feel more of him. He pulls me slightly to him, reaching his other hand toward me…

  And then past me, over my body.

  To my front door.

  Which he opens.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. “My mom doesn’t know I’m out here.”

  “I’m doing this for your mom,” he whispers back, reaching inside my house.

  “I’m rethinking the freak thing,” I tell him.

  “Noted.” His hand scrambles against the interior wall, and then the porch light flips on, nearly blinding us. Ardy squints against the bright glow as he oh-so-carefully pulls the front door closed again and then stands there, dropping both hands to his sides. His eyes—now that I can see them—are dark and serious behind his glasses. “I don’t like your type of pretty,” he says.

  Offensive.

  He must see it on my face, because he hastens to clarify. “I mean—shit, sorry. You’re the kind of pretty that most people like—”

  I am?

  “—and I don’t usually like what most people like.”

  This time I say it out loud. “Marginally less offensive.”

  “Starting over.” Ardy clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. “What I mean is, I do think you are pretty.”

  I’m not sure if the statement warrants gratitude, so I don’t thank him. I just keep looking at him. Trying to figure out if this is a romantic moment or an extremely bizarre break-up-before-romance-even-happens.

  “But I also think you’re funny,” Ardy says. “You’re smart, you have loyal, long-standing friendships, and you’re not afraid to hold a dismembered quail leg.”

  Okay, it might be a romantic moment.

  “You’re not afraid to give a girl a dismembered quail leg,” I tell him. “It’s an unorthodox move.”

  “Some might say that I don’t really understand how to do moves.” Ardy’s mouth twitches up on one side, hinting at a grin. “I didn’t get that memo in Boy School.”

  “It’s the only thing I got in Girl School….” I trail off at the end, suddenly realizing how it sounds. A rocket flare bursting over my disingenuous behavior, illuminating the most superficial parts of me. Ardy’s brows tilt toward each other—he’s trying to figure out how to react to that—and I decide to cop to my transgressions. “But it doesn’t always work out so great. I’m interested in trying something new.”

  “Fair.” Ardy edges closer. He touches my shoulder again, but this time only with the back of one finger, running it down the length of my arm to my hand. He dances his finger across my knuckles, and I open my hand, stretching it out and then closing it. Capturing his finger between my own. A warm ball of energy gathers in the pit of my stomach, making me want to fling myself into his arms, to get things started.

  But this is different—Ardy is different—and I don’t want to rush into my same old habits. To repeat the patterns. To do what I always do: reel them in, run away, hate myself.

  And so I wait, fingers entwined with his. I watch him…watching me.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not only kissing you because I think you’re pretty.”

  I raise an eyebrow and take a tiny step toward him. “You are aware that you’re not kissing me at all, right?”

  Because now it’s just torture.

  He nods. “Ready?”

  I swallow, suddenly nervous. “Yes.”

  Keeping his eyes locked on mine, Ardy moves his hand—the one that’s entwined in my own—up to his chest. He holds it there for a second, then unfolds my fingers, opening my hand. He pulls it up to his face and presses his mouth against my open palm. It sends a shiver through me—the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips….

  But then he twitches back, making a face that he quickly squelches. He tries to cover, pulling me toward him again, but I realize—

  “Oh God, my hands smell like onions.” I yank them away from him, burying them in my pockets.

  “I would have guessed garlic.” Ardy’s amused, but I’m horrified.

  “That too,” I admit. “I washed them, I swear.”

  “It’s pungent, for sure.” Ardy is grinning now. A full grin, not the half one from before.

  “I think you’re supposed to use lemon, but we didn’t have any, so I tried with hand soap, but I guess it didn’t work.” I am appalled. This is not how I do first kisses, all embarrassed and awkward and rambling like a fool. “You should know that I’m generally a very hygienic person and—”

  “Lark.” Ardy puts both hands on my shoulders. He’s still smiling, and his eyes are shining, but they’re also focused. Intense. “You are perfect.”

  Then in one motion he slides his hands down my back and pulls me in, dropping his head so he can kiss me solid on the mouth. I freeze for a moment—the slightest moment, when I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified—and then I’m kissing him, too. And running my hands up his chest to slide behind his neck, sinking my fingers into his hair, moving him even closer to me. His hands tighten on my waist, anchoring around my hips as his mouth opens against mine. I allow it, doing the same, shifting so the entire length of my body is touching him….

  And then it’s over. He pulls away and smiles down at me, his hair a little tousled, his eyes a little bright. “I did say end of the day, on the porch, light on.”

  I inhale, trying to steady my breathing. “Mission accomplished.”

  He flashes a grin at me. “See you at school.” I watch him lope down the front path, away from the porch light, becoming a dark shape and then disappearing down the sidewalk.

  Ardy Tate is so weird.

  And I like him so, so much.

  I change my outfit five times before school, finally going with something that will only have meaning to one other person. It’s a pair of dark jeans with the bottoms rolled up, my tan suede sandals, and a white button-up shirt. And, of course, the fringe drop earrings.

  As I hoped he would be, Ardy is at his locker when I turn the corner. I spot him immediately. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a plaid shirt and slamming shut the door of his locker. I arrive as he’s turning to leave, and when he sees me, he sets his bag down and leans back, one foot against the lower locker to brace himself. He folds his arms over his chest and looks at me. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” Suddenly I don’t know what to say. I didn’t have a flirty greeting planned; I’m not sure how to launch into witty banter. “What’d you do yesterday?” I finally ask.

  “Homework and laundry. Very glamorous.”

  “Indeed.” I picture Ardy doing laundry, getting an armful of clothes and loading them into a machine. Detergent,
fabric softener…why is it so easy to imagine him doing routine household chores? Maybe I’ve been imagining him a little too much lately.

  “I have to go,” he tells me. “I have to return a microscope to the biology lab before first period.”

  “Okay.”

  He leans down, grabs his bag, and heads away down the hall. Yes, that’s our romantic, sparkling interaction upon first sight after the weekend kiss. I’m underwhelmed, to say the least.

  Ardy stops walking and turns around. “Hey, Lark.”

  “Yeah?” Maybe he’s paying attention after all.

  “See you at lunch?”

  A plan. I like it. So I nod, and Ardy breaks into a grin. It’s everything I could have asked for, because his grin is wide and a little goofy, and it lights up the hall. I immediately smile back, and as we turn away from each other, going in opposite directions, I can’t stop smiling.

  In fact, when Cooper and Katie grab me outside of Calculus, I’m still smiling like that, all big and ridiculous. Which I don’t realize until Cooper points it out. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. What do you mean?”

  “Your mouth is all weird….”

  “Oh God, it’s the boy.” Katie pulls a face. “Seriously, Ardy Tate is making your face do that?” She turns to Cooper. “You said nothing happened.”

  “That’s what Lark told me.” Cooper’s looking at me. “Did something happen?”

  I raise my chin high in the air and say in a prim voice, “I’m not going to kiss and tell.” But then of course my face splits into the same wide grin I’ve been wearing, the one I can’t control. “You guys, something totally happened.”

  “Three months,” says Cooper. “Which makes it…let’s say Valentine’s Day.”

  “Ooh, a Valentine’s dumping,” Katie says. “That is awesome heartbreak.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I tell her, and she laughs. I give Cooper a stern look. “And you’d better start looking around at other guys.”