The Heartbreak Messenger
Page 15
I absentmindedly picked up the nutcracker and turned it over in my hands. “Well, I told you that Rob and I were out at the scrap yard.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed, and I knew this was no time to fool around. I grabbed a walnut.
“I was there doing a Heartbreak Messenger job.” Crack.
“You admit that you left me hanging so that you could break a poor girl’s heart and earn a few bucks?
“Is that one of the three questions?”
“Don’t question my questions, Mr. Chinetti.”
I pulled the walnut meat out and tossed it into the Tupperware. “Actually, it was a guy.”
“Who was?”
“The person I delivered the message to on Monday. It was a guy, not a girl.”
“Oh. Really?” Abby’s district attorney mask dropped for a split second before popping back into place. “That doesn’t make a difference. Why did you lie to me about it the other night?”
I raised an argumentative finger in protest. “I didn’t lie. Everything I said was true.”
“Don’t give me that, Messenger. You used words to send the message you wanted me to hear. And you didn’t want me to hear the truth.”
There was no way around logic like that. I nodded slowly and grabbed another walnut. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But you said if I’d been doing a Messenger job, that you wouldn’t speak to me until next Presidents’ Day.” I gave her a tiny grin. “And that’s a long ways off.”
She stared at me for a moment and then looked away, but not before I saw a smile dance through her eyes. “Okay.” She placed a checkmark next to something in her notebook and then studied the page for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were hard once more. She raised a second finger. “Why did you agree to Justin’s job? Why did you break up with me for him?”
I took a deep breath. I’d actually rehearsed an answer for this one. But Abby’s picnic table interrogation made me stop and think a little harder. She wanted me to be as honest as possible. I owed her that much.
I slowly moved the walnut through my fingers. “Well, the best answer is that I was being selfish. I needed the money and Justin was willing to pay…”
Abby’s eyes grew wide.
“But that’s not the only way I was being selfish,” I quickly added. “I guess I was thinking a lot more about my own feelings than about yours.” Crack.
The hard lines on Abby’s face softened. “What feelings?”
“Well, I’ve never really liked Justin. I kept trying to convince myself that it was because he’s so … Justin. But I think maybe it was something else all along. I think I was jealous of him. All I could see was him stealing away my best friend, you know? I wanted you back. So when the opportunity came, I took it.” I loaded the metal cracker with another walnut.
“So you were jealous of Justin. Because you missed me as a friend.” It was both a statement and a question, with a force behind it as gentle as a hemi-head engine.
Weeks before, I might have missed what she was saying entirely. I would have taken what she said at face value and replied, “Yep.” But now, I could feel the mental tumblers fall into place as a lock snapped open in my mind. It wasn’t a Rosetta Stone, but it did give me a tiny glimmer of insight into what her message really meant.
And I knew what I said next had to be completely honest. No movie script, no one-liners. From the heart.
“Kinda. That was only part of it. There’s also something else that’s a little more complicated and it took me awhile to figure it out.”
“What?” She almost whispered the word.
My whole body itched. The walnut slipped and hit the table with a hollow smack.
“I’ve tried to tell myself that I wasn’t jealous you were his girlfriend, just that I missed having you around. Missed hanging out with you, seeing you everyday, just being there. And I did miss that. But … I was jealous that you were his girlfriend, too.”
“Why?” This time it was definitely a whisper.
I picked up the walnut again. My hand shook just a little. I took a deep breath. Be honest.
“I like you, Abby. A lot. That’s probably the biggest reason I had problems with Justin.”
Abby looked at me across the table, but my eyes kept slipping away from hers. “How long have you known?” she asked.
I looked at my watch. “Consciously? Probably about forty seconds. But a lot longer than that, you know, underneath.” Crack.
I risked a glance her way. She seemed to be holding back a smile. No, a whole river of smiles. The dimple in her left cheek was getting deeper.
I plunged ahead. “But, Abby, the problem is … well, I don’t think I’m ready to do anything about it.”
Abby’s eyebrows furrowed, bringing a dam down in front of the river. “What do you mean? How can you like somebody—a lot—and not be ready to do anything about it?”
“Mostly, I guess I feel like I’m too young to have a girlfriend.”
“Too young? Quentin, we’re thirteen years old. In a few years we’ll be practically almost adults. What’s too young about that?”
“Just what you said. Someday we’ll be adults, but not right now. Right now we’re kids. Kids hang out and have fun. And that’s what I want to do. I feel like if we start dating now, it’ll just be another game.”
“Are you saying my feelings are just part of a game?” Abby raised her voice. This was not going according to plan. Heck, I had lost track of any plan a few miles back.
“No, Abby, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean … well, what do you want a boyfriend for?”
She paused for a moment. “I don’t just want a boyfriend. I want to be with someone because I like them. I guess.” She looked hard into my eyes. “But it’s not a game. It’s serious. When you—Justin, whoever—broke up with me, it hurt. A lot. And that was real.”
I stared back, trying to understand the storm of feelings inside of me and explain them at the same time. It was like reading a newspaper caught in a whirlwind. “You’re right. It was real. And it is serious. I didn’t see that when I started doing the Heartbreak Messenger thing. I watched a lot of people who thought that love was about class rings, or about little black books, or being seen by everyone, or getting what they wanted. But that’s not what love’s about. It’s not a game. If you treat it that way, people get hurt and…” I choked up, something catching in my throat that I had to cough past. “You shouldn’t fool around with love, you know. It’s a commitment, to be together in something permanent. To take care of each other and stick together, no matter what.”
My eyes were watering for no logical reason, except perhaps that I had delivered a message so meaningful to me that it hovered just outside of my ability to understand, but not my ability to feel.
“And I don’t know about you,” I said as I wiped at my eyes. “But I’m not ready for that much responsibility yet.”
If I had just been sitting in front of a girl that I liked—a lot—then I probably would have felt like a complete dweeb. But as it was, I sat in front of my best friend. Abby dropped her counting hand and placed it on top of mine, sending a comforting, static warmth through my body.
“How old were you when your dad left?” she asked. Her eyes were softer now. “Five?”
“Six.”
“Do you think he loved your mom?”
I glanced briefly over toward the garage bay and sniffled. “Maybe in his own way. But for him it was a game.”
Abby nodded. We both knew she was right. And that I was right, too. Somehow, we were both right together.
After forever, she lifted her hand from mine and picked up the nutcracker and a walnut. “You know, after Rob and I ate too many Holey Doughs the other night, I went over to Justin’s house to force him to talk to me.”
“Seriously?”
“Does that really surprise you?”
I shook my head. “No, I guess not. Blunderbangs probably didn’t expect to see you, though. He doesn’t know you l
ike I do.”
“No. I don’t think he did. I think he expected me to just take a message and be done with it. But I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted him to treat me with the respect I deserve, I guess. So I asked him three questions.”
“And?”
Crack. “He couldn’t answer them honestly.”
“Oh. What a punk.”
Abby giggled. “Yeah. What a punk.” She picked the meat out of the shell and tossed it into the Tupperware.
“So…” I said. “You only asked me two questions. Is there another?”
She shook her head. “No. You already answered it.”
“Hey, Abby?” I said.
“Yeah?”
I picked up the rose and handed it to her across the table. “Is it all right if I ask you out sometime? Like maybe when I’m sixteen?”
“Sixteen!? Sheesh, Quentin, we’ll be ancient by then. How about fifteen?”
“Fifteen and a half.”
“Deal.” She brought the rose up to her face.
“Really?”
“Oh, I’ll be around,” she said with a smile. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t have to chase me.” She hopped up and headed toward the garage. “Hey, Rob and I are riding bikes out to the river. You coming?”
“Of course,” I said as I caught up to her. “Or … how about we hike the trails instead? My bike had a minor fender bender.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, there’s something else I meant to tell you.”
Abby gave me a worried look. “What? I’m not sure I can handle many more of your messages this week.”
“Just that I’m done being the Heartbreak Messenger. I’m giving it up.”
“Really? About time.”
“Yeah, I know when to call it quits.” I smiled to myself. The Heartbreak Messenger had retired, but that just meant I’d have more time for other … business plans. “Besides, I’ve got something even better in mind.”
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An Imprint of Macmillan
THE HEARTBREAK MESSENGER. Copyright © 2013 by Alexander Vance. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available
ISBN: 978-1-250-02969-0 (hardcover)/978-1-250-04243-9 (ebook)
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First Edition: 2013
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