The Heartbreakers

by Pamela Wells

  Running a hand down his arm, she flicked her eyes up. His lids were at half-mast as he slipped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into him. She snuggled up and tilted her head as if waiting for a kiss.

  Caleb leaned over, and just as he went in for the lip-lock, Raven turned her face away. “Sorry,” she said, tapping the rose against his chest, “but you broke up with me, remember?” She arched a brow. “Then humiliated me in front of the whole school by kissing some random chick. Take your rose and shove it, Caleb, ‘cause us breaking up was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  With that, she swiveled on her heels and walked away.

  That was like a breath of fresh air, Raven thought. She slouched in her chair as she waited for the final bell to ring and her US history class to begin. Or, really, for Horace to show up and take the seat next to her.

  Less than a minute later, he walked in the door, his brown leather boots scuffling across the floor. He smiled when they locked eyes and he made his way through the aisle of desks over to his.

  “Hey, Ray,” he said, turning sideways in his seat. “Are you still grounded?”

  “Yeah,” Raven said, rolling her eyes, “but I’m working on my mother. I just can’t promise anything.” Dread filled her stomach even thinking about it. “Working” on her mother wasn’t going to get her anywhere, most likely. Her mother was stubborn as a mule when it came to the things she thought were “good” for her daughters.

  “Open-mike night is this weekend. We really need to practice at least once before the show,” Horace said.

  “I know.” Raven tapped her pencil against her book. “Maybe you should find someone else.” It pained her to say the words aloud. She didn’t want them to find someone else. She wanted to do it, and the thought of letting another chick take her spot made the dread turn into a hard lump of envy.

  “No way,” Horace said, and Raven settled with relief. “We want you. Your voice is perfect for the songs.”

  A smile pulled her lips tight. She was probably glowing right about now. “But what if I can’t get away?”

  “We’ll figure something out,” he said, sounding sure of it.

  Raven, though, was having a hard time believing him.

  “If it makes you that happy, you have to do it,” Alexia told Raven later that day at lunch. “You’ll always regret not trying.”

  Raven popped the tab on her can of Coke. “But what am I going to do about my mother?”

  “You can lie,” Kelly said, ripping her turkey sandwich into tiny little bites.

  “Like what?” Raven asked. “Tell her I’m studying at the library?”

  Sydney snorted. “I don’t think that’ll fly.”

  Everyone turned their attention to Sydney. She’d been grumpy all week. Raven figured it had something to do with Drew and the breakup, but Sydney wasn’t confessing anything.

  “Right.” Kelly nodded. “You could tell her you’re at my house studying for a huge history test.”

  “You can use me, too,” Alexia said. “Just let me know before, in case your mom calls or something.”

  “Thanks, but even if I do get away to practice, my mother’s still going to find out eventually. I mean, we’re playing at the open-mike night at Scrappe. My mom’s going to be there, and then I won’t just be grounded, I’ll be locked in my bedroom forever with SAT workbooks and college applications.”

  Alexia popped a chip in her mouth and crunched it up. “But if it’s important to you, you have to do it. That’s what my mom always says. You can’t let something pass by because you don’t have the courage or because someone says you can’t. You’ll regret not doing it and then what?”

  Raven nodded, letting Alexia’s advice sink in. Playing with Horace and the band made her happy, but it’d make her mother furious. What would her dad do? If anyone could understand her love for music, he could. And he might just be the only person who could talk Raven’s mother out of the grounding.

  Raven knew that the best time to catch her dad was on a Friday afternoon. He worked six days a week, sometimes twelve hours a day, but he always took Fridays off. He always said it was his favorite day of the week. There was something hopeful about Fridays.

  Now he sat across from Raven at a red-flecked table in Striker’s. He was the only one in the whole place who wore a full suit, a silk tie, and dress shoes that were shinier than the chrome appliances in the diner’s kitchen.

  Mr. Andrews pushed his wire-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose and looked at his daughter. “So what’s going on, Raven? Talk to your daddy.”

  Raven hadn’t called him “Daddy” since she was in seventh grade, but he always referred to himself that way and she never corrected him. She took a drink from her chocolate shake then twirled the straw through the thick drink.

  “Mom grounded me because I was singing with a band.”

  Mr. Andrews inhaled deeply and crumpled a napkin in his large hands. “You know how your mother views music and bands.”

  “I know.”

  He shook his head. “Raven, I loved music when I was your age and I wanted it more than anything. Your mother gave me a chance with it and I failed. She doesn’t want to see you fail. I don’t want to see you fail.”

  Raven’s dad had been out of their house for so many years now that he’d developed a separate scent from Raven and her mother and Jordan. His was deeper, muskier, like woodsy chocolate. She smelled it now and suddenly realized how much she’d missed him. The fault for their recent silence couldn’t rest entirely on him. She could have called him, too. When she asked for his help, he was always there. Like now. He would push aside any business he had to help his daughters.

  “Dad, I need to do this.” She shoved her milk shake aside. “This is important to me—and how in the world am I going to learn anything if I’m not allowed to try? You and Mom can’t always protect me. Please tell her to let me go to the school’s open-mike night and sing.”

  He picked up half of his BLT and took a bite. He wiped his hands on a napkin and chewed up his food before answering. The wait was nearly unbearable.

  “Listen, I’m not going to tell your mother what to do. If she thinks what she’s doing is right, then I have to respect that.” He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “But let it be known that if I listened to what everyone else said, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” He sat back and winked at her. “Now finish your milk shake.”

  Raven took the glass between her hands and smiled. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Rule 1: You must not email or IM The Ex ever again. Take his name off your email list.

  Sydney spent the next twenty-four hours before open-mike night burying herself in preparation. Focusing on it helped keep her mind off Drew and Kelly.

  Crap, you just thought about them again.

  Okay, so maybe her mind wasn’t completely on open-mike night.

  So far, she hadn’t heard anything else about Kelly and Drew hanging out together. Sydney was beginning to feel like a paranoid idiot. At least she hadn’t acted on her anger and paranoia. That had to count for something.

  Now she went into the computer lab at school and started up a computer. She had to make flyers for the fund-raiser tomorrow night. The flyers were a last-minute advertising venture. She was going to pass them out at some of the downtown stores.

  The event was coming together nicely. The back room at Scrappe was filling up with homemade goodies—cookies, brownies, fudge—and she and Alexia were making chocolate candy later. Dr. Bass, long before she became a successful psychologist, made candy on the side for extra income. She had molds, double boilers, everything the girls would need.

  Raven and Kelly were doing no-bake cookies, which they’d picked because neither of them knew much about baking.

  The performers’ schedule had been full since Tuesday, and there were more people on the waiting list. Sydney was supposed to go on at 8:15 P.M
. She was thinking about bowing out, though, and letting someone else—i.e., someone with actual talent—have her spot.

  Reading poetry in public, especially amateur poetry, was like putting your soul in front of the firing squad. And would Drew be able to appreciate what she was doing? Would he even care? After all, she was reading for him, so he would know how much of a great guy he was, even if she didn’t let him know it while they were going out.

  It’d been days since she talked to him last. She wasn’t randomly calling him anymore to bug him or hear his voice mail. She was actually really proud of herself. It was almost as if she was finally moving on.

  Maybe she was. Had it been The Breakup Code? It helped having something to focus on. The journal really, really helped. No wonder her mother used to spend so much time journaling. It was a huge release, yelling, whining, pouting to the journal pages, and she didn’t have to regret spewing her emotional insides afterward because no one was listening.

  But tomorrow night, practically the whole school would be listening as she recited a poem. It was both exciting and nauseating, but she’d never backed down from anything.

  The flyers done, Sydney hit the PRINT button and the printer whirred to life. While she waited, she opened up a Web browser and checked her email.

  You have 1 new message.

  Probably from Alexia or something.

  She clicked on the link and her inbox opened up. She read the sender name…

  Drew Gooding.

  Her heart literally skipped in her chest then slammed against her rib cage, beating like a frenzied drum. It was just an email from Drew. She’d opened her email a thousand times before and seen his name there in her inbox.

  But this was different. It was different because they weren’t together anymore. Because he hadn’t emailed in weeks. And she hadn’t initiated this. He had.

  Clicking the subject line to open the message, Sydney bit her bottom lip and took in a deep breath.

  Hey Syd,

  I wanted to call, but I wasn’t sure if you’d feel like talking. This way, if you want to ignore me, you can just hit the delete button.

  I guess I just wanted to see how you’ve been. I’m not asking you for anything. I just want to talk.

  —Drew

  Like she’d ever ignore Drew. Not now. Not ever. Yes, she’d been heartbroken about him breaking up with her. Yes, she’d been angry when he hadn’t immediately returned her phone calls. But he had been her best friend at one time—actually, he still was.

  There were only a few people in this world who knew Sydney inside and out. Drew was one of them. He’d always been a decent guy, even when he was breaking up with her. That’s why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

  She hit the REPLY button on the email and typed in a message, then read it back.

  “No, that sounds needy,” she muttered, hitting the delete key and holding it down. She rewrote the email like ten times before she came up with something that sounded upbeat but not too upbeat—and not desperate.

  Drew,

  Of course I’d want to talk to you. Come to the open-mike night tomorrow night at Scrappe. Be there by eight. We’ll talk then.

  Sydney

  She didn’t want to think too hard about this. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but right now she felt breathless and a little light-headed. If Drew wanted to talk, what did that mean?

  Alexia stirred the second pot of melting chocolate while Sydney squeezed melted red chocolate into heart-shaped molds.

  “So how are things?” Alexia asked. “With the breakup? The Code?”

  Sydney shrugged. “I think I’ve broken, like, every rule.”

  “Sydney! Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately. It’s not as if I set out to break the rules. It just happened. But I really like the journal. It was a good idea, Lexy.”

  Alexia shut the burner off on the stove and poured the chocolate into a plastic squeeze bottle. “What about Kelly and Raven? Have they said anything to you?”

  “No. You’d have to ask them.”

  “So basically what you’re saying is The Code was for nothing? If you broke all the rules…”

  Sydney licked chocolate from her finger and then washed her hands. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I think…”

  She turned the faucet off and stared out the darkened window. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something and then thought better of it. “Never mind. I don’t know if I can explain it well, but I think The Code worked. Okay?”

  Alexia set the squeeze bottle aside and propped her hands on her hips, her hair shifting around her shoulders. “But you broke the rules. That means it didn’t work.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “You’re overanalyzing again.” She filled up another chocolate mold, then, “Well, that should be enough chocolate. Can you bring this stuff to Scrappe tomorrow? I still have flyers to pass out tonight.”

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  “Thanks.” Sydney grabbed her purse and coat. “Call me later, okay?”

  “Sure.” Alexia walked Sydney to the door, said good-bye, then went searching for her parents. She found both of them in the den. The ceiling light blazed, the desk lamp was on, and the curtains were drawn back. Her parents always liked surrounding themselves with light. They said it was good for the mind, especially during the winter months.

  “Hey,” Alexia said, dropping into one of the red upholstered chairs. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Final revisions on our book,” her dad said. He licked his finger and flipped through several pages. “It’s due Monday, so we’re in crunch time.”

  “And what are you doing?” her mother asked.

  Alexia made a fist and rested her face against it. “Nothing. Sydney just left and I’m waiting for the chocolate to set.”

  “How did the candy turn out?”

  “Fine.”

  Dr. Bass grabbed his ceramic mug. “I need more coffee.” He looked to his wife. “You, honey?”

  “No, thanks,” she said as she came around the desk and sat across from Alexia. When her husband’s loafers squeaked on the hardwood floor in the hallway, she turned to her daughter. “Everything okay?”

  Growing up with two psychologists, Alexia was used to talking to her parents about how she felt. However, she was also accustomed to both of them trying to analyze and treat her. It could get annoying, and the older she got, the more she censored what she said.

  Still, this whole thing with The Breakup Code and Ben was weighing on her. All she’d wanted was to help her friends and bring them all back together. They were hanging out again but had she really helped them?

  If they were all breaking the rules, then things weren’t really going the way she’d hoped. And in her own love life, she’d only managed to screw things up with Ben. If she couldn’t help herself, how could she help her friends?

  She’d failed them.

  Maybe her mother would have some advice for her. After all, the coping list they’d had her make when she lost her cat had worked wonders. They probably knew something she didn’t about the process.

  “Remember the coping list you guys asked me to make when I lost Gypsy?”

  “I remember.” Her mother nodded and crossed one leg over the other.

  Alexia explained how she’d created The Breakup Code for her friends, using the coping list as a model. “At first I thought it was going well, but now it’s not working right because they’re not following the rules exactly.”

  “Honey,” her mother leaned forward and clasped her hands together, “that coping list…it was never entirely about following the rules.”

  Frowning, Alexia said, “What do you mean?”

  “Coping lists are meant to be distractions.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what coping lists are. If you’re focusing on the list, you’re not dwelling on the pain or frustration. It’s used for depression, death, quitting addiction. It’s common amon
g people who want to quit smoking. But I’ve heard of it used for all sorts of things.”

  “So you were tricking me when I lost Gypsy?”

  Dr. Bass scrunched up her nose. “No. Of course not. It’s not trickery, it’s basic psychology.”

  Alexia pursed her lips. It did make sense. When she had to go to the doctor’s office as a kid and get a shot, before sticking her, the doctor asked what her favorite cartoons were. As she listed her top three, the doctor poked the skin at her bicep and, surprisingly, it hadn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

  “Are your friends getting over their exes?” her mother asked.

  Alexia shrugged. “It seems like it.”

  “Then, honey, your Breakup Code apparently worked.”

  THIRTY

  Raven was already shaking and the band wasn’t scheduled to go on for another hour. Scrappe was packed, and people were still lining up outside waiting to pay the five-dollar cover charge. Whatever kind of advertising Sydney and the rest of the student council had done, it’d worked. It was almost a miracle. Raven had no idea there were so many people living in Birch Falls.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing an older couple change from their twenty-dollar bill. “Let me just stamp your hand and you can head in.”

  She rocked the SCRAPPE stamp across a rainbow inkpad and pressed it onto the woman’s hand, then the man’s.

  The stamp had been custom-made by one of Ms. Valenti’s vendors. No way would anyone be able to replicate the stamp and bluff their way in without paying the cover charge.

  A thirty-something woman came forward in line holding the hand of a ten-year-old girl, her face practically glowing with excitement.

  “You excited to see the show?” Raven asked, taking the ten-dollar bill from the mother.

  The little girl nodded. “I came to see Horace.”

  Her mother smiled, shaking her head. “My daughter has a little bit of a crush.”