Breaking Up Is Hard To Do (Miracle Girls Book 2)

by Anne Dayton

  It almost sounds like she’s giving up, like she doesn’t even care. I open my mouth to explain that I still need her, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

  “All I ever wanted to do is make a difference in my students’ lives. Watching you grow this year has been one of the most inspiring experiences of my life.”

  Ms. Moore looks into her lap, and I hear a small sniffling sound.

  “Helping you regain your life . . .” She wipes away a tear from under her eye, shaking her head. “If my time at Marina Vista has come to an end, it’s okay.”

  44

  “You’d better hurry.”

  Zoe nods, grabs her piccolo case off the backseat, and takes off toward the band room at a sprint..

  “Ohmigosh, thank you.” She throws her arms around me. She has about three minutes until band practice starts. Zoe left her piccolo in my trunk this morning so she didn’t have to carry it all day and was late meeting me here to pick it up.

  Truthfully, I didn’t mind meeting her after school because I’m trying to kill a little time before going to Dumas’s room. He’s pretty cool for a teacher, but somehow I think it’s supposed to be our secret that he lets me stay late to paint, so each day when the last bell rings, I pretend to go home like everyone else.

  I check my watch. The wedding is this weekend, and there’s still so much work left to do on the painting. It’s coming along well so far, but I’m working really slowly and carefully. One false stroke and I’ll ruin everything Mom started. I want to make it great for Dad and Candace—but also for Mom. It will be her last creation in the world and our first and only collaboration.

  I dodge a Nerf football that soars to the waiting arms of some seniors a few parking spots over. Mrs. Lovchuck blows her whistle at them.

  “No loitering in the parking lot, students,” she says with her trademark distaste for the s word.

  I watch as they climb into a nearby car and drive off. There’s hardly anyone left now. I guess I can start heading over. I make sure the Volvo is locked, then weave my way through the remaining cars.

  When I reach the shade of the breezeways, the sounds of the parking lot fade. I pass the B wing, my footsteps ringing in the silence. A stray piece of paper dances in the cross breeze, and I watch it scuttle down the hallway, quadratic equation over quadratic equation.

  Something about the quiet of the empty school takes my thoughts back to that day with Andrew in Dumas’s classroom, our only real date. I remember his hands slipping around my waist, the warm sensation of his breath on my cheek. I remember how happy I felt to be loved by someone, to be touched by Andrew.

  In the distance I hear people screaming and laughing. The noises echo, distorting the sound of their voices, snapping me out of my thoughts. I take a left and cut across the courtyard where we have lunch. I know better than to let my thoughts linger on Andrew. It always starts with something small, a smell, a certain déjà vu feeling that I’ve lived this moment before, a glimpse of him in the hallways, and I allow myself to remember the good stuff. But soon the good memories bleed into the bad ones, and I remember the way he misled me, his betrayal—and then last week, the final blow, him holding Kayleen’s hand in the hall.

  I make my way to Dumas’s classroom. The doorknob is cold in my hand, and I turn it cautiously. If someone is still hanging out in there, I’ll just pretend I left something behind and make a quick exit.

  “Ah!” I scream. I cover my mouth with my hand and shut my eyes in humiliation. But really, what are the odds of seeing Andrew here, after I was just thinking about him? It feels like seeing a ghost—and I would know.

  “Oh,” he says, looking up from an easel, his paintbrush frozen in midair. “Dumas had to go to the front office.”

  I’ll just leave. I can’t stay here with him, and he looks like he’s settled in for a while. I’ll grab the sketch I’ve been working on and take it home. I can always bring it back tomorrow.

  “Come on in. The lighting is just fine.” Andrew laughs and puts down his paintbrush. He walks across the room, grabs another easel, and sets it up near his. “But now that we’ve established who’s the better artist,” he gives me a knowing look, bringing back all too clearly the last words I said to him, “no making fun of what I’m working on.”

  “Um, I just left . . .”

  In the fading afternoon light, I study his lopsided grin. I’ve been stewing over his rejection for weeks, wondering why I didn’t measure up, what I don’t have, what she has that’s better. You know, aside from blonder hair, a perfect preppy look, and an uncomplicated life.

  He waits, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his grin fading.

  I guess if I’m honest, I wasn’t exactly nice to him either. That day in the gym, I unleashed on him the two most hurtful things I could find in my arsenal because I wanted to make him feel the kind of stinging pain he inflicted on me. And yet now here he is, trying to put on a happy face, propping up an easel for me. Making an effort to be a friend.

  “So. You and Kayleen?” I am careful to keep my tone even and neutral.

  Andrew scuffs his foot on the floor and clears his throat. “I think you’d really like her if you got to know her.”

  I shut my eyes, holding back tears. He shouldn’t have led me on, and maybe even he should have chosen me, but hating him isn’t going to right those wrongs. I can be civil now, and I don’t have to forgive him today, but maybe, someday, we’ll find our way back.

  “Cool,” I say, careful to look him in the eye. Then, wordlessly, I walk across the room, feeling his eyes on me, and take Candace and Dad’s painting from my shelf of works in progress. I set it up on the easel next to him.

  Andrew leans over and studies it. Normally I hide my unfinished pieces from people. I don’t want to be judged before I have a chance to make everything perfect, but for some reason I let him look for as long as he likes.

  Finally he speaks, keeping his eyes glued to the canvas and his voice hushed. “I’ll say I knew you when, Christine Lee.”

  I say the only thing that comes to mind. “Thanks.”

  45

  The stupid photographer won’t leave me alone. He keeps following me around, sticking his camera in my face, trying to capture every blessed moment. He even followed me into the bathroom downstairs. That’s just sick. He kept saying, “Can I get one of you putting on lipstick?” I slammed the door in his face.

  Of course, Emma is eating it up. She hasn’t stopped twirling around in her puffy green dress since we got here and she was allowed to put the hideous confection on. She keeps looking at herself in the mirror and smiling because Candace let her wear some sheer lipstick. The photographer is loving her. Me, not so much.

  We’re all crammed into a room full of choir robes. I guess old cathedrals don’t exactly have state-of-the-art bridal parlors or anything. Candace is getting ready in front of a mirror while the photographer and videographer bustle around her and her friends squeal. People keep running in and out of the room frantically, as if life depends on having the perfect hairpin. Dad, my Uncle Peter, and Candace’s father are down the hall, putting on tuxedos. Once all the guests are seated and we’re ready to start, we’ll sneak through the outdoor courtyard to enter through the big doors at the front of the cathedral.

  Last week Emma decided that if I wasn’t going to bring anybody to the wedding, she wasn’t going to bring anyone either, which was kind of cute before, but now I kind of wish she’d brought Sylvie along so she’d have someone else to talk to. She’s driving me crazy.

  “Isn’t this exciting, Christine?” Emma bounces up and down, and her curls flop all over. “It’s really here. It’s really happening!” She stops to look at herself in the mirror again.

  The photographer comes over and takes a few shots as Emma throws her thin arm around my shoulders and I attempt a smile. Finally, he moves on.

  “We’re finally going to be sisters. Mom looks so pretty, don’t you think? Hey, are you going to call her Mo
m too? That would be so cool.”

  I shake my head, but the annoying noise doesn’t go away.

  Candace puts down her lipstick at long last and gestures for us to follow her. “Girls, we need you out here for pictures!” She’s in her white dress, and her hair is up in a neat twist, and she’s got a long filmy veil hanging down her back. Emma runs after her.

  “Come on, Christine!” Emma calls over her shoulder, and I nod, but I don’t move.

  My throat is closing up. I can’t do this. I take a long breath but feel like I’m not getting any air. I push myself up and walk toward the door, but my breaths are short and shallow. I start to sweat. Am I having a heart attack? That would serve them right. Maybe I’ll just die on them right here and now.

  I wait for a minute, but when I don’t drop dead, I start to head toward the squealing. When I get to the courtyard door, I stop short. Emma and her mom have their arms thrown around each other, smiling big beauty queen smiles for the camera in the fading afternoon light.

  I can’t make myself go out there and pretend to be happy. I’m here. I’m wearing the dress and I’m playing along. Isn’t that enough?

  I run back to the choir room and grab my phone, then run down the hall. My shoes slap against the hard stone floor. I’ll have to sneak past Candace and Emma, but they’re so wrapped up in their mommy and me portraits that they won’t notice. I steal out of the door and edge quietly along a row of bushes toward the front of the church. Turning right out of the courtyard, I make it to main front steps of the cathedral and run down them.

  Around me, people are walking along the sidewalk as if this is just a normal day. The air is warm, and the city is bustling. Now that I’m out in the sunlight, away from the church, I’m just one person in a sea of people. Out here, I can breathe.

  I flip my phone open and push a button. Riley answers on the third ring.

  “Christine, aren’t you supposed to be, like, walking down the aisle right now?”

  “I can’t do it, Riley. I can’t do it. The wedding starts in five minutes, and I can’t go back in there.”

  “Where are you?” I hear Michael talking in the background on her end of the line.

  “Outside the church.” I take a gulp of air.

  “Do they know you’re gone?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, listen to me, Christine. You can do this. You have to do this. You’ll hate yourself if you don’t.” Will I? I don’t think so, but I can’t think clearly. “Take a deep breath. Take a few minutes. Take as long as you need. But you can do this.” Her voice is coming out in short bursts, as if she’s moving around.

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “You love them, Christine.”

  “No I don’t.” I put my hand over my eyes to shade them from the sun.

  “You do. You made them that painting.”

  “I left it at home. I couldn’t go through with it.”

  There’s a pause. “You left it at home?”

  “I told you. I can’t do this,” I glance back at the cathedral, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. “Any of it.”

  “You can do this for them.” I hear creaks and footsteps, like Riley’s walking across a wooden floor. “You don’t have to pretend it’s the best day of your life. All you have to do is be there. That’s all they need.”

  “Uh-oh.” A flash of green bursts around the corner. It’s Emma. I stand out like the Easter bunny in this hideous dress. She sees me right away, gives me a sad look, and begins walking down the stairs, carefully, one at a time. Her dress floats out behind her. “It’s Emma. I’ve been spotted.”

  “Good. Go with her.”

  “I have to, don’t I?” My throat is starting to get that closed-up feeling again, and with every step Emma takes, it gets worse.

  “Yes, Christine. You do.” A car door slams. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

  Emma comes toward me, and I quietly hang up the phone. I stand there, waiting, hoping she will turn around and go back without me, but she comes closer with every step. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she stops and holds out her hand.

  I watch her for a minute, then slowly reach for her outstretched hand.

  “Mom says it’s time to go in now.”

  I nod and follow her inside.

  ***

  I had forgotten about the maze, but there it is, built into the cathedral’s stone floor. It’s a labyrinth. Whoever built this place must have known exactly how it feels to enter a church when you have so many questions.

  The huge, echoing sanctuary is shaped like a cross and soars stories and stories above. It’s a little dark, lit mostly by the light filtering through the high stained-glass windows, and the sounds from the huge organ seem to bounce and amplify off the rafters.

  I watch as the flower girl, Emma’s cousin, walks down the aisle. I could still run, turn around and head out the doors again and keep going. But would it even matter?

  If I left, would they go ahead with the wedding anyway? If I ran away from this stupid church and went home, what would they do? I peek around the doors and see my dad, grinning at the end of the aisle. I know what they would do.

  The wedding coordinator gives me a push, and suddenly it’s my turn.

  They would drop everything. They would leave their guests sitting in the pews, abandon it all, and come find me. Candace wants this more than anything, but I think, even now, she’d give it all up for me.

  I take a step into the aisle. Everyone in the whole place is staring at me, and I try to breathe.

  They would do this for me. I can do it for them. I take a few more steps and reach the edge of the labyrinth.

  I take another couple steps, but as I reach the center of the maze, my feet fail me and I can’t make them move. When I stare down at the stonework, a chill shoots through me, and I think I hear her. She’s saying something, but I can’t make it out. I’m vaguely aware that people are staring at me as the music continues to play, but it feels like it’s happening to someone else.

  Dad seems so happy down at the end of the aisle, but I can’t make myself go forward. I crane my neck to hear her, hoping to feel her near me in this holy place.

  I’m here.

  I hear her plainly now and smile. Mom’s presence begins to fill the cold air around me.

  “Christine.”

  She’s here. But where has she come from? Where is she now? Then I feel a hand slip into mine.

  “Christine,” Emma says.

  I shake my head, trying to separate Emma’s voice from my mother’s.

  “We’ll do it together,” Emma says and takes a small step forward. She grips my hand tightly and waits to see if I’ll follow her.

  Tears sting my eyes as I nod and allow myself to be led. We march hand in hand for what seems like an eternity and finally make it to the front.

  We stand in our places, on little pieces of blue painter’s tape that the wedding coordinator put down during the rehearsal, but Emma keeps clutching my hand as the rest of the bridal party marches in. At first I think she’s determined to make sure I don’t take off again, but the way she’s shaking makes me wonder. Maybe she needs this as much as I do.

  Light filters through the huge stained-glass windows, casting radiant colors across the wide stone floor. They play off each other and meld together, reflecting and transforming the sun’s rays. The colors are scattered and irregular, but they come together to form something beautiful. Mom would have loved it

  I stare at the dancing colors on the floor and begin to suspect that she’ll always be with me. What happens today it not going to erase her. She’ll always be alive in the things she loved and in my—no, our—memories of her. I take a deep breath, and my goose bumps start to disappear.

  Maybe that’s what she was trying to tell me this year. I glance up at my dad. He looks so handsome in his tuxedo, focused on the end of the aisle, his eyes dancing with anticipation. Maybe her haunting me wasn’t about him or
about this at all.

  The cold cathedral seems to grow warm and brighter. Perhaps it was about letting go of the grief and learning to hold onto the things she loved. Maybe she needed me to understand what she always knew without a doubt, wanted to show me the goodness of the God she loved more than anything. A whisper, so low I almost don’t hear it, sounds in my ear. I don’t know what she’s saying, but it’s a sweet sound, a reassuring murmur. Maybe she’s here to give me the nudge I needed to go back.

  I shut my eyes and turn my face toward the light streaming in through the windows. Her presence is all around me now, and it feels . . . holy. Pure. Sacred. I take a deep breath. In my heart I know it’s going to be all right. She’s okay with this, and she’s still watching out for me, holding up a lamp for my long journey back.

  The music changes, and Candace moves in front of the doorway, leaning on her father’s arm. Emma squeezes my hand, and I glance at Dad. I haven’t seen him this happy in two years. I take a deep breath and try to smile as Candace starts the long march down the aisle.

  46

  The guests are long gone by the time we finish taking the formal portraits. The photographer got about a thousand shots of every possible combination of people. Bride and groom alone. Bride and groom with attendants. Me and Emma. Me, Emma, and Dad. Uncle Peter and Dad. Emma and Candace. Emma and her grandparents. The four of us together. One big happy family.

  My face hurts by the time we step out of the church. Emma finally let loose her death grip after the rings were safely exchanged, and she’s been chattering happily ever since the wedding party made its long retreat back down the aisle. For her sake, I’m trying, but everyone seems too wrapped up in their own bliss anyway to notice that I’m not dancing around like this is the best day of my life.

  Candace holds onto Dad’s arm, laughing, as they make their way to the front of the church. The reception is at the Fairmont, which is only a block away, a quick hop through a small park, so we’re going to walk there. It didn’t make sense to take a limo for such a short ride. I watch as Emma runs up to her mom and throws her arms around her again. Candace grabs Emma and swings her around.