Kelsey is quiet for a moment, and then she says, “Well, he cares about you so much. I don’t think he’d ever deliberately do anything to hurt you, would he?”
I pick up the knife again and chop, taking my anger out on carrots and celery. “No, you know what? I don’t think he did it on purpose either. But it’s typical Cole selfish bullshit. And it’s annoying and dumb. He’s annoying and dumb!”
I’m chopping with vigor now, ranting at Kelsey, who is patiently listening. “I hate that he makes me feel this way, that he has the power to make me feel this way. I wish I wasn’t in love with him! Damn it!” The tip of the paring knife catches on a tough piece of carrot and slices into the tip of my pinky. The pain shoots through my finger. I’m dripping blood.
“Great,” I say. “Now he made me cut myself.”
Kelsey grabs a clean tea towel and wraps it around my hand. She holds it up over my head.
“You know,” she says with a smile, “you’re maybe being a little hard on him, considering you’re in love with him.”
I sigh, trying not to smile back. I fail. “Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe,” she says, unwrapping my finger to take a look, “you could give him another chance?”
My finger isn’t that bad. It’s just a little slice. Kelsey cleans it, applies ointment and puts a bandage on it. Having her do this for me brings tears to my eyes. I have to fight them off. To her credit, she acts like she doesn’t notice.
“I’ll take care of the snacks,” she says. “Blood plus snacks isn’t the greatest combo.”
I give her a quick hug. I turn to go downstairs, but before I do, I say, “I’m glad my dad found you. That we found you.”
Kelsey doesn’t turn around. She stops chopping for a moment and says, “Me too.”
Tonight’s Broken Hearts Club meeting is packed, with all the regulars here and a bunch of newbies. Then Humphrey walks in with two more unexpected people. The first is the woman from Cole’s footage—Zelda! The other is Cole.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here,” I say through clenched teeth.
Cole starts to say something, but Humphrey steps in. “Now, now, lovey,” he says. “I wanted him to come so I could introduce my daughter, Zelda, to everyone.” Humphrey says the words my daughter with such pride.
I turn to her and hold out my unbandaged hand. “Hi, Zelda, I’m Logan. It’s great to meet you.”
She ignores my hand and hugs me instead. “Logan, I’m so happy to meet you! You have no idea what you and Cole have done for me. I’ve wanted to know my father my whole life, and now he’s here!”
I struggle to find words. “You’re welcome,” is all I manage.
Humphrey takes Zelda around the room. I’m left alone with Cole.
I scowl at him, but he looks so broken that I give it up. It’s not a fair fight anymore.
“Lo,” he says. “I won’t stay. I wanted to see you for just a minute. To tell you that I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that piece of footage was on there. I forgot that I had filmed it at all.”
“Why did you film it?” I ask.
“I didn’t mean to. You came over all of a sudden while I was working on my stop-animation film. You remember the one with the plasticine? And I forgot to turn the camera off. And then you were saying all this stuff. Later I realized it recorded you, but I didn’t feel like I could delete it. I thought maybe I should save it for you. I don’t know. I wish it had never happened.”
It’s coming back to me now. “Yeah,” I say. “I remember that project. It was, like, little tiny clay people, right?”
“Right,” he says. “It was a love story.”
“Whatever happened in the end?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I gave up.”
We stare at each other for what seems like forever. I know I can’t stay angry with him. He didn’t mean to hurt me, and the only reason he is even capable of that is because we’re so close.
I change the subject. “So a lot of heavy stuff has happened.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Like what?” He grabs a bowl of cheesy chips and starts munching.
“I got the test,” I say, and he stops eating. He knows what I mean.
For a second his face registers pure terror, and then he composes himself. “And did you find out…”
“Tomorrow,” I say.
“Want me to come?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Only my dad.”
“Of course,” he says.
Someone turns up the music a little, and Cole reaches out to take my hand. I let him. He leads me to the darkroom and we slip inside, turning on the blue light.
He studies the photos I have clipped to the line. “Wow,” he says. “Are these for your project?”
“Yep.”
“It’s amazing,” he says, turning to me. “You’re amazing.”
I’ve missed him so much. Having him so close to me is making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. The way he’s looking at me turns my insides to jelly. Enough with fear. I grab him by the sweater and kiss him.
And this is it, the thing I’ve been dreaming about but denying myself. A kiss from a boy I have loved for my entire life. It’s the sweetest moment I’ve had in so long. And the warmest rush of love I’ve felt since I can remember. I feel alive.
When we pull away, Cole looks wobbly. “Whoa,” he says, and then pulls it together enough to add, “Keanu-level whoa.”
“You are such a huge dork,” I say.
“But you love me?” he asks.
“Yes. I love you,” I say. Relief floods through me.
He grins and leans into me. “So we’re back together then?”
“Don’t push it.”
He laughs. “Kidding. I was thinking we can hang out, you know. Maybe watch some old flicks?”
“So, like, what we always do?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, moving closer, placing a hand on the wall behind me. “But with more making out.”
His shirt sleeve slides up his bicep. I swear it’s all I can do not to reach out and touch his arm. So I do. Screw it.
His face falls toward mine.
“I’m sorry I destroyed your project,” I whisper.
He smiles. “It’s okay. I always have a backup. But I deleted all the footage of you. I put it on a separate disk for you, if you want it.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
His lips brush against mine again, and I swear I feel like I’m going to dissolve into nothing. There’s a knock on the door. I hear Grace call my name.
Cole groans. “Great timing.”
I slide open the door. “Hi, what is it?”
“Logan, honey, the phone is for you,” she says.
“Oh, thanks.” I walk out of the darkroom to pick up the receiver.
This is weird. No one ever calls me on the house phone.
“Hello?” I say.
“Logan, this is Dr. Jensen, from genetic counseling.”
You know that thing in the movies when time stops for everyone but the main character? When all the people are frozen in mid-action and the star of the film turns around to view their entire world falling apart? Yeah, that’s me, right now.
Chapter Twelve
It’s a strange experience, holding the phone to my ear and listening to my heart pound in my chest. All around me the members of the Broken Hearts Club eat, socialize, laugh and move through time and space as if nothing is amiss. Dr. Jensen repeats my name.
“Logan? Logan? Are you there?” Her voice is as gentle as it was in her office.
I swallow hard, my throat as dry as sand. I grab a can of root beer from the sideboard, crack it and down it. I have the sudden irrational thought that this might be the last beverage I enjoy before I find out I’m dying.
“Yes,” I croak. “I’m here.”
Cole is at my side, but I turn away. I don’t want him to see my face right now. Why is she calling? Why now? It must be really bad if she’s calling at t
his time of night. I bet I have the highest number of CAG repeats in history. I bet they want to study me.
“Logan,” Dr. Jensen says, “are you by yourself right now? Is your dad there?”
“I’m…” It’s a struggle to form words, and I search the faces in the crowd around me. They all seem to blur into one another. Dad, where is Dad?
And then he’s there, walking toward me with his worried face on.
“He’s here,” I say. “I’m not alone. Go ahead, Dr. Jensen. Tell me.”
“Good, that’s good. Listen, I wanted to spare you the visit tomorrow and give you some peace of mind. I never call people with bad news. I always do that in person.”
The music stops, and it’s not in my mind. Dad has turned it off and is staring at me. I look at Cole, and all the color has gone from his face.
Wait. What? “You mean…?”
“You have a perfectly normal number of CAG repeats, Logan,” says Dr. Jensen. “Twenty-three of them. Ideal,” she says. I can feel her smile through the phone.
“Twenty-three?” I ask, not believing it at first. “I don’t have Huntington’s?”
Dad looks like his knees are going to give out.
“No, Logan. As far as I am concerned, you’re perfectly healthy. And I am so happy to be able to tell you that. You and your dad are welcome to still come see me tomorrow to pick up a copy of the results and have a chat if you wish. But I think perhaps you could use a break from all this, correct? I can have it forwarded to your family doctor.”
I’m stunned. I manage a weak “thank you” and then pass the phone to Dad, who takes over and begins asking Dr. Jensen all the things I didn’t think of. But the result is the same—I’m okay.
Dad hangs up the phone and grabs me, crushing me in a hug. “She’s okay!” he shouts. Everyone starts to gather around us, patting me on the shoulder, hugging me, telling me how happy they are. Humphrey is crying with relief, and Grace kisses my cheek. Kelsey and Dad are clutching each other. It’s all too much.
I turn to Cole, who gives me a bewildered shake of his head before holding me close. He takes my face in his hands and says, “From now on, can you not scare me like that? I think my heart actually stopped beating.”
I can’t help but grin. “If you think that’s bad, get a load of this.” Then I give him “the eyes.”
“Not ʽthe eyesʼ!” he says, staggering backward to fall on the couch.
I flop down next to him and we rest there, staring up at the stained popcorn ceiling of my basement. That glorious, hideous, perfect ceiling that we’ve been staring at our whole lives.
“Cole?” I ask.
“Lolo?”
“Let’s go places, okay? Let’s go everywhere.”
He turns to me. “I’ll go anywhere with you, Lo. Paris, Antarctica, the moon, wherever.”
“Good, because I need a ride,” I say.
He laughs. “I love you.”
“Ditto,” I say.
He sighs. “Patrick Swayze in Ghost reference, check. Big adorable eyes, check. Not dying of a horrible disease, check. Yeah. Pretty much my dream girl.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, and before I know it, despite the noise and bustle and energy in the room, I’m fast asleep.
I dream of a cave. It’s cold, but I’m wrapped in warmth and love. It feels like Mom. It feels safe, and it has been so long since I felt safe.
When I wake up, it’s late. The Broken Hearts Club is long gone, and so is Cole. Dad sits in the armchair, reading through a box of papers. They look like letters.
I sit up, rubbing the grit from my eyes. “Hey, Dad. Is Kelsey still here?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I have something I want to give you,” he says. He comes and sits next to me.
He hands me a handwritten note. I recognize the shaky scrawl of Mom’s handwriting. I read it and then fold it up again. I’m filled with the wish that she could have been spared from her pain.
“Your mom always planned on making tons of these notes for you to read after she was gone, but it became hard for her to even stay awake, let alone talk or write. She tried. But she was also worried that if she left you constant reminders of her death, you’d never move on.”
I nod. I understand.
He continues, “She always said the worst thing wasn’t dying. The worst thing was leaving you. As a mom, her greatest wish was that you would live a happy life, even if it meant you had to forget her in order to do it.”
“I could never forget her,” I whisper. “Never.” It’s true. Mom is like a missing part of my body, like a limb or a vital organ. How do you forget your arm? How do you forget your own heart?
“I know,” he says. “I can’t either.”
Dad kisses the top of my head. “I’m exhausted,” he says. “But I’m here if you need me.”
After Dad goes to bed, I take a photo of the note. I’m going to use it in my project as the center image. It’s the perfect thing.
Chapter Thirteen
The next time the Broken Hearts Club meets, it’s at my Media Arts showcase. Everyone has turned out to support me and to see Cole’s film. It features members of our group talking about the loved ones they lost and about what they’ve found.
There’s an interview with Dad that I’ve never seen. He glows as he talks about me, about how proud he is and about how happy he is to have met Kelsey.
Humphrey and Zelda give interviews that make the audience weep. There are even moments of humor, usually Cole doing something silly to break the ice. He’s always trying to make everyone around him comfortable and happy. I realize now that he’s been doing that for me for years.
When it’s time to unveil my installation, I remove a sheet from over the large lit scoreboard and flip the switch. I’ve named the installation “The Broken Hearts Club,” and it features black-and-white images with lit cutouts that tell a story. There’s Humphrey with the heart on his chest, Grace with the shape of her son looking over her shoulder, Cole alone on the curb with my silhouette next to him, me down by the river with my mom’s slight frame on the bench, all three lawyers holding “invisible” hearts, and Dad next to a cutout of Kelsey’s profile. The last piece is my mom’s note, the handwriting cut out to form words of light.
Snapshot, my love. Tell me your life story is a happy one. I’m not sad to leave. I’m filled with happiness. I was yours and you were mine. We are always connected. Take me with you, wherever you go. Take me wonderful places.
Everyone gathers around to admire the piece, and I know I’ve done good work. I have something to offer, and I can’t wait to see what the future will bring.
Dad steps up. “I’m proud of you, honey.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I’m just happy to pass my class.”
“I do have one comment,” he says.
I’m surprised. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know about the title,” he says. “Seems a bit…”
“Inaccurate?” offers Cole from behind me, ever the big mouth.
Dad nods. “Hmm, yes.”
I turn to Cole. “Sharpie?”
He reaches into his pocket and produces one.
I grab the title placard and use the felt marker to change the title. “There,” I say, placing it back. “All fixed.”
Now it reads The UNBroken Hearts Club.
“Better,” Dad says.
Everyone agrees. Much better.
Snapshot, Logan. Okay, Mom, a snapshot. It’s summertime. I’m taking photos in color now. A lot of them are still of Cole, but that’s because he’s hot. I’m getting out and doing things. Living, connecting with the world, building my courage to go farther from home. Cole and I have plans to take a train tour in Europe, and I’m excited. More than that, I’m excited to feel excited.
But there’s one thing I need before I leave. A new family photo. Dad, Kelsey, Cole and I go down to the river. I set up the camera to take timed photos of us all at Mom’s bench.
We tur
n out great.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my family for your love and support, and thank you to the fine people at Orca Book Publishers for bringing this book to life.
Brooke Carter is the author of several books for teens, including Another Miserable Love Song and Learning Seventeen in the Orca Soundings collection. She earned her MFA in creative writing at UBC and lives with her family in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. For more information, visit brookecarter.com.
EXCERPT FROM LEARNING SEVENTEEN
9781459815537 PB
Seventeen-year-old Jane Learning is sent to a Baptist reform school. Jane has no interest in reforming and focuses on plotting her next escape. But then Hannah shows up, a gorgeous bad girl with fiery hair and an even stormier disposition.
Chapter One
Intake at New Hope Academy—or, as I like to call it, No Hope—is a lot more boring than it sounds. The word intake seems like it might be about getting something, but really it’s about taking things away. They take you away from your home, from your friends, from your old school, from your neighborhood, from sex (especially the “unholy” kind), from junk food, from television, from the sweet smell of marijuana, from staying out all night, from doing whatever you want whenever you want, from your favorite low-cut top, from your angry music, from your weird dyed hair, and from everything that makes you, well, you. After all, Baptist reform schools put a pretty heavy emphasis on the “reform” side of things.
When you walk into these unremarkable yet somehow threatening walls, they take your temperature, your medical history, your allergies, your past, your present, your future, your bad attitude, your lack of faith, and they write it all down. Oh, they love to write things down. I think they do that so they can hold your sins against you.
They want to tear you down so they can build you up fresh. I know their game. I see how it works on the others, all the sad little boys and girls who get sent here because their mommies and daddies just can’t deal anymore. I see how it works on the meek little girl they pair me up with as a roommate-slash-cellmate. Marcie, her name is. Might as well be Mouse for the squeak of her voice. So timid she can’t even look me in the eye.
The Unbroken Hearts Club Page 6
