Ms. Mill is already there, drinking coffee from her enormous travel mug and surrounded by piles of papers and folders on her desk. I don’t know if I’ve ever looked around her office before, but the walls are covered in film posters, concert bills and artifacts of what looks like a wild youth.
I knock. She doesn’t look up. She waves me in and motions to the seat in front of her. I sit.
“Hang on a sec,” she says as she scribbles something on a huge notepad. “I’ve got to get this idea down before it leaves my head.” She puts down her pen. “There. Hello.”
“Hi,” I say. “Working on a project?”
“Yes, a screenplay.”
“Wow, that’s cool,” I say.
“And you? Have you been working on your project?” she asks.
For once I’m not filled with anxiety over this question.
“I have,” I say, pulling out a folder from my backpack. I select the enlarged image of Humphrey and hold it up to the desk lamp. The illuminated cutout heart glows in his center.
Ms. Mill gives a low whistle.
I pull out another image, this one of Grace with the cutout shape of her son standing next to her. I hold it up to the light, and Ms. Mill nods.
“I see what you’re going for,” she says. “What are you going to use, light boxes?”
“Yes, but I’m going to need a bunch of them. And I only have two. Any chance I could use some from the lab?”
Ms. Mill thinks for a moment. “I have a better idea,” she says. “How about one really big light box?”
She fills me in on her idea to swipe the light-up portable scoreboard from the boys’ basketball team. I decide then that Ms. Mill is my hero. We spend the last few minutes before class plotting and talking about my project, and by the time we’re done, I feel like I can face the rest of this day.
I avoid talking to Cole and Sienna during class. There is too much energy between us all, what with Sienna talking to her friends about her dress and blah, blah, blah. I spend the whole class working on my project and planning more photo cutouts. The dimensions of the large lighted board will allow me to create a collage of six large portraits, so I have more work to do. The rest of my classes go by fast because I’m daydreaming so much. Since the whole school is dance obsessed, none of my teachers bother me.
I hurry home, avoiding the front of the school where Cole could be waiting to offer me a ride. I head straight to my darkroom, where I work on my project until I’m surprised by a knock on the door. It’s Dad, back already.
“Honey? I’ve got the Chinese food. Come get it while the grease is still… greasy.”
“Be right there,” I call and finish clipping up the last of my prints.
Dad spreads out the food on our coffee table, and we both sit cross-legged and dig in, not bothering with plates. We pass the containers back and forth as we watch Dad’s all-time favorite movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Dad laughs so hard I’m afraid he’s going to choke on his chow mein.
By the end of the film, we’re both so full we can’t move. I catch Dad trying to subtly check his phone.
“Dad,” I say.
“Hmm?” He turns to me.
“Call Kelsey.” I know he wants to.
“No, this is our day,” he says.
“Parents,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t ‘our day’—this is ‘a’ day. A shitty day, but still only a day.”
“Language,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Sorry. You know what I mean.”
“I know,” he says.
“We can’t be chaining ourselves to these sad rituals,” I say. “Even if the food is good.” I grab another egg roll and see if I can manage another bite, but no, I’m cashed out.
Dad stares at me. “When did you get so wise? And so hungry?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’m smarter than you.”
“Teenagers. Okay, if you’re sure. I do want to call Kelsey.”
“Good,” I say, struggling to stand up. “I’m going to take a walk, digest some of this food and take some more photos for my project.”
“Not too long,” he says. “And be safe.”
I give him a high five, grab my camera and head up the stairs.
Once I’m outside, the fresh evening air gives me a boost. I snap photos as I walk. These aren’t for my project, but I need something to do.
I end up walking past the school, and the dance is in full swing. I can hear the faint whoomp of electronic bass coming through the gymnasium walls. Cole’s car is in the lot.
Don’t do it, Logan. Don’t you dare go in that school. But I can’t help it. I want a peek.
I go in through a side door and take the hallway to the gym’s stage access. From there I can watch from the wings without anyone seeing me. As I walk past props from hundreds of past school productions, I hear the music change from a fast-paced hip-hop track to a slow dance. Great, right on time for the cheese.
I peek out from behind the stage curtain. There are a lot of people here, many more than I expected. I thought school dances attracted smallish groups of sentimental dance freaks, but it turns out that, nope, it’s a normal thing to do.
Everyone is coupled up, with a few stragglers standing along the sidelines looking as uncomfortable as I would be. I’m safe from my vantage point, so I take shots of the couples. As I scan the room, my lens finds Cole and Sienna, slow dancing, arms around each other, looking like the perfect couple I knew they would make.
Snapshot, Logan. My mom in my mind again. Okay, Mom, snapshot. I feel like a wildlife photographer studying normal teenagers in their habitat. I feel like a perpetual outsider. I feel like it should be me, or some better version of me, dancing with Cole.
As I watch them sway, I am filled with regret for everything I’m missing out on. I know Mom would have wanted me to live.
I slip out of the gym unnoticed. As I make my way back home through the darkened streets, I know what I have to do. It’s almost my birthday. And it’s impossible to move forward when you’re not sure if your days are numbered.
I have to end this fear once and for all.
Chapter Nine
A few days later, I wake up with a lead weight in my stomach. It’s my birthday, and I have to break my dad’s heart.
I get dressed, knowing he’s going to be waiting in the kitchen to take me to the diner for pancakes, as he’s done every year of my life. Can I do this?
I go to the kitchen, and sure enough Dad is there. So is Kelsey, and the two of them bust out singing as soon as they see me.
“Happy birthday, dear Logan…”
I let them finish, struggling to smile.
“So, honey, how does it feel to be a year older?” Dad beams at me.
Kelsey takes a few pics of me with her phone.
“It’s underwhelming,” I say.
“Teenagers,” Dad says to Kelsey, his smile huge.
I’m not looking forward to this.
“Ready for breakfast?” Kelsey asks.
I clear my throat. “I need my dad to come somewhere with me.”
Dad’s eyebrows push together a little, and I can tell he’s getting worried.
“Sure,” says Kelsey. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Dad shrugs, and we go out to the car.
I ask him to drive us to the bench, Mom’s bench, and he does.
We sit and look at the river swirling past, the trees bending over the water and the birds flitting overhead.
Dad turns to me, waiting. He breaks the ice. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“What? God, Dad, no!”
He lets out a huge breath. “Thank God. That was tense. But for the record, I do want to be a grandpa one day. Just not yet!” He chuckles and then stops when he sees the look on my face.
“Honey, what is it?” he asks.
“That’s the thing, Dad. I don’t know if I can have kids,” I tell him.
“What—?” he starts, but I
interrupt.
“Please let me say this.”
He nods. “Go ahead.”
“It’s not that Mom died. I mean, that’s not the only thing that has been making it so hard for me lately. It’s that I don’t know if I have a future,” I say.
He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t.
I continue, “I don’t know if I can fall in love or get married or have kids. I don’t know if I will see the world or have a career or grow old.” I’m crying now, and because Dad gets it, he’s crying too.
“I can’t live like this anymore, not knowing if I have Huntington’s,” I say.
Dad reaches out and takes my hand.
“I can’t have this hanging over me forever.” I take a deep breath. “So I scheduled a genetic test. It’s today, and I need you to come with me.”
Dad’s face crumples for a moment, but he pulls it together.
“But,” he starts, his voice hoarse, “it’s your birthday. Pancakes.”
“I know,” I say. “Pancakes.”
We sit in silence, staring at each other, and then Dad takes my other hand.
“Logan, if this is what you need to do, then let’s go do it.”
“You understand?” I ask.
“I do,” he says. “And I’ve been waiting for this day. I thought maybe I had more time, that you needed to get a little older. But you’ve grown so much this year. And I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
We take a last look at the river, and then I go to meet my destiny.
Snapshot, Logan. Who are you at eighteen? Here is a birthday snapshot, Mom. Dad and I are waiting in the genetic counselor’s office at the hospital. For some stupid reason I thought I would find out the results today, but it turns out it doesn’t happen that quickly.
A brilliant and kind woman named Dr. Jensen takes my blood and talks to me about the risks. Dad and I listen, but she understands from our story that we know the risks all too well. She does take a moment to explain what they’re looking for. She also makes a point to tell me that I can stop the process at any time if I’m not ready to find out.
There’s a change in a certain gene that involves something called a “CAG repeat.” People who have Huntington’s, like my mom, have a higher number of CAG repeats than healthy people do. When you have a high number of CAG repeats, the gene stretches out and expands too much, and that causes the disease. That’s the simple version, anyway. The actual science is so complicated it makes my head spin.
My blood sample contains my DNA, and it will be sent to the lab to be analyzed. Some smart people will use their special machines to count how many CAG repeats I have. If I have fewer than twenty-seven, then I’m negative for Huntington’s, and I can live my life free of the disease, and everything will be rainbows and unicorns. Plus, my future kids will be fine too.
If I have, like, more than forty CAG repeats, I’m screwed.
There is a gray area between the two extremes, and I’m hoping not to get caught there either. I’ve been living in a gray area for such a long time. I need a definitive answer.
As I sit through Dr. Jensen’s talk, I wonder if this is what Mom went through when she was diagnosed. It sounds weird, but it makes me feel closer to her.
The appointment doesn’t take long. The doctor sends us off with a warm smile that I’m sure she must have practiced in the mirror. I don’t know how she does this every day.
The drive back home is quiet until Dad gets the nerve to speak. “You hungry?” he asks.
I look at him and grin.
“Pancakes,” we say in unison.
It’s a little over half an hour since I took a life-altering test. My dad and I are in the diner, stuffing ourselves with pancakes topped with vanilla ice cream. I shove the last of my stack into my mouth and lean back in the booth.
Dad wipes his mouth with a napkin. “So,” he says, “what’s next for today?”
“Don’t you have to go in to work?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not a big deal.”
“Well, I should try to get to school.”
“Honey, school’s over in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, I know, but we’re having an extra students-only Media Arts lab after school to get ready for the final show. Like a peer review. I should go.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll drop you off on the way. One thing though.”
“What?” I ask.
“Can you help me out of this booth?” He groans. “I ate enough pancakes to choke an elephant.”
I laugh and take his hand.
Chapter Ten
Dad drops me off at school. I’m only about fifteen minutes late for the Media Arts lab. Ms. Mill has been pretty hands off these last couple weeks. She’s trying to get us to take responsibility for our own destinies. It’s the theme of my life these days.
I hurry down the hall, and as I approach the Media Arts room, I hear a familiar voice echoing through the door. It takes me a moment to place the voice. It’s relaying things so personal it takes my mind a moment to understand what’s happening.
The voice is my voice.
The door is open a few inches. I peek inside.
The lights are off, and a few of the students are seated in a semicircle in front of a screen. There’s rough movie footage playing, and I’m in it. This must be Cole’s final project. But it’s not finished. There are long pauses and no transitions and random footage in between. He must be nervous about it. I can see him chewing his thumbnail, casting glances at the viewers’ faces.
There are other people in the film too—members of the Broken Hearts Club. Humphrey talking about baby Zelda. Then a scene shot from afar in a mall food court. Humphrey approaches a woman in her sixties, and they embrace. Zelda! It must be. For a moment I am filled with happiness, but it is short lived. I am back on the screen.
Except it’s not the current me. It’s me from almost a year ago, from right after Mom died. I’m crying and telling Cole something that I don’t remember him filming. In the video, we’re in his room, and the camera angle is weird. I’m barely in frame.
As I watch the video, I glance at Cole, who looks uncomfortable. He is frowning at the screen like he doesn’t recognize his own work. He should be uncomfortable. What I’m seeing is evidence of the worst thing he has ever done. The single most heinous of all his oh-so-wonderful ideas.
I stare at my crying face, blown up large on the screen. Each word I say is like a punch straight to the heart.
“…she was my best friend. She used to call me her little wolf, and I used to snuggle with her in bed when she was too sick to get out.”
The next words cause me to fling open the door of the Media Arts room and stride in. I am glowing with anger.
“…I fell asleep, and when I woke up she was cold. I didn’t know she was dead. I missed it, her last moments. I understood when I touched her. And that coldness has never gone away. It got inside of me and it will never go away…”
Cole sees me at the last moment, and I can see tears in his eyes.
“IS IT A GOOD SHOW?” I scream.
I open the projector and rip out the DVD.
Cole has enough sense to not even look at me, but I want him to see this.
“Look at me!” I demand, and he lifts his eyes to meet mine. On his face is shame and regret so deep that I have to look away.
“How could you?” I snap the DVD in half. “Now you know what it’s like to lose something.”
I toss the broken disc to the floor and run out of the room.
This is too much. My birthday, the test, my uncertain future and now this. My best friend using the most painful moment of my life for a movie. I feel so sick that I vomit pancakes into the hallway trash can.
Snapshot, Cole. How does it feel to know that we are through?
Chapter Eleven
Betrayal is a special kind of poison. You think it will kill you in the moment, but then it keeps killing yo
u over and over again every time you think about it. For days I wallow in my darkroom, avoiding the constant texts from Cole:
C: Can we talk? I’m so sorry.
C: Please let me explain.
C: Please call me.
The upside is I’ve almost finished my project. I have one final image left to mount. It’s a photo of Cole sitting by himself on the curb, looking lonely and beautiful. At first I wanted to destroy it, but I can’t. As angry and hurt as I am, when I look at his photo I feel the years of love between us. I set it aside. There’s time.
Time is all I’ve got right now. Waiting for the results of my genetic test has been pure torture. I don’t know how Dad is getting through it. He’s been humming around here like a busy and cheerful little bee. Maybe he thinks he can’t fall apart. Or maybe he’s saving it for when we get the bad news.
We’re supposed to go back to the hospital tomorrow to find out. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be the worst outcome.
Despite all this, we’re having a Broken Hearts Club meeting tonight. Dad has not let me off the hook. I am still responsible for refreshments. Genetic death sentence plus fruit tray, I think as I trudge upstairs to make snacks.
Kelsey is here already, and I walk in on them kissing. It’s not a little smooch, but a full-on make-out session. It’s disgusting and sweet at the same time.
“Ew, you guys,” I say, announcing my presence.
“OH!” Dad says, way too loud. “You came out of hiding.”
“Yeah,” I say as I open the fridge.
“Let me give you a hand,” Kelsey says.
Dad disappears to tidy the basement, and she and I set to work preparing the food.
“So what’s up with you and Cole?” Kelsey asks.
I sigh and put down the paring knife. “He filmed me talking about my mom. About being with her when she died. And he included it in his film project.”
She winces. “Oh, Cole.”
“Yeah. He’s a bonehead that way. He doesn’t think sometimes.”
The Unbroken Hearts Club Page 5
