A Field Guide for Heartbreakers

by Kristen Tracy

  She turned to look at me before she left. She seemed like she had something to tell me. Instead, she closed the door.

  Veronica was gone two minutes when I heard frantic pounding on the door. I rushed to answer it. Then, standing in my doorway, I saw the smirking face of Corky.

  “All you two do is deceive each other,” she said. “It’s insane.”

  “Stand back so I can shut the door in your face,” I said.

  Corky pushed herself inside my room. “Things are getting pretty serious between your barfy friend and Hamilton.”

  “Just drop it, Corky. I don’t believe you.”

  “Listen, I bet if you managed to be home tomorrow morning at ten thirty, you’d be surprised at who calls the phone in your room.”

  “I can’t be in my room tomorrow at ten thirty. We’ve got workshop.”

  “Well then, I guess you’ll never know why Hamilton called.”

  I looked over Corky’s shoulder. Through the kitchen window, I saw Waller and Brenda walking past our suite. Their arms were slung around each other’s waists. They looked stupid and happy. I refocused on Corky.

  “Why would Hamilton call an empty room? Veronica will be in workshop too.”

  “Or maybe she’ll leave early,” Corky said. With that, she laughed in my face and left. She was lying, but it still bothered me. Veronica would never do that to me. I knew that. And neither would Hamilton. I shut the bedroom door. Corky was brilliant in a terrible way. Because even though I knew she was lying, I still wanted Veronica to prove to me that I hadn’t been betrayed.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I walked to workshop the next morning by myself and entered an empty room. I sat as close as I could to Mrs. Knox’s chair because positioning myself next to an authority figure made me feel safe. This feeling was compromised, however, when Corky walked in and sat on the other side of me.

  “Veronica wanted to sit there,” I said.

  “You are a dreadful liar.”

  It didn’t take long for our entire dysfunctional family to arrive. Annie Earl came first, carrying a new marionette. It looked like a flying dragon that was possessed. And when Brenda walked in I almost had to shut my eyes. She arrived with Waller, and she was wearing a cute yellow sundress. Her shoulders, like his face, were pink from the sun.

  Then came the rest of the guys. I waved at each of them. I’m not sure if this was done out of an impulse toward friendship-building or loneliness. Either way, they waved back at me, and this made me feel like part of a community again.

  “This whole workshop experience is really starting to drag,” Corky muttered.

  Mrs. Knox walked in wearing slim jeans and a black T-shirt. Veronica came in after her, wearing all white. Their contrasting wardrobes seemed symbolic. As soon as Veronica saw that I was seated next to Corky, she happily chose a chair on the other side of the table next to Kite.

  I put my head down and closed my eyes.

  “I wonder if she’ll stay for the whole class,” Corky said under her breath.

  I scooted away from her. My chair legs rubbed against the floor and released a grotesque farting sound that made everybody turn to look. “It was my chair,” I said.

  “How are your grocery store scenes going?” Mrs. Knox asked.

  “I’m writing mine as a poem,” Frank said. “A dramatic monologue.”

  Mrs. Knox looked right at bald Frank. She opened her mouth, I assumed to object, but instead she asked, “Is it set in a grocery store?”

  “A superstore,” Frank said. “There’s a place to buy tires in it.”

  “Only Frank is allowed to write it as a poem,” Mrs. Knox said. “How is the second assignment going? Are you finding dialogue?”

  “I feel like I’m invading people’s privacy,” Brenda said. “I’ve overheard some very personal things.”

  Mrs. Knox nodded. “You’re not eavesdroppers. You’re anthropologists. Think of these snippets of collected conversations as verbal artifacts. Without you, they will fade into oblivion.”

  “That’s sort of where a lot of what I’ve found belongs,” Brenda said.

  Waller laughed.

  “She is so sanctimonious,” Corky muttered.

  I watched Corky pull my story out of her bag. There were comments scrawled all over it. She cleared her throat. “‘How Not to Get to Guatemala.’ So your story’s about Guatemala?” she asked loudly.

  I nodded.

  “Have you ever been to Guatemala?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  Everybody was looking at me. I felt myself trying to shrink away.

  “Wow, I’d think it would be really difficult to write about a real place that I’d never even visited. You know what all the writing experts say: ‘Write what you know,’” Corky said.

  I stared down at a copy of my story. The workshop process hadn’t even started yet, and I felt like a loser. Had I exceeded my reach by setting my first real attempt at writing in a Central American country that I’d only read about a couple of times in National Geographic?

  “Actually, I don’t think all the writing experts say that,” Roger said.

  “Think of Kafka and The Metamorphosis,” said Mrs. Knox. “Imagination can be your engine.” She smiled at me, and I felt comforted. “So, who would like to go first?” she asked.

  “I’ll go,” Veronica said. She turned several pages and tore off a corner. Then she took a piece of spit-laden chewing gum and folded it into the small paper triangle. She swallowed hard and read.

  “The red fox steps through the field behind the church. This is not a religious story. For no reason at all, the church just happens to be a church. Quick. Quick. The fox is hungry. It hasn’t eaten in days. It hurries over the snow toward turkey feathers. Toward what it believes to be certain food. The fox doesn’t know the lengths a trapper will go. The fox has never heard the sound of the terrible snap. Until now. Poor fox. Clack goes the trap! Poor, poor fox. And no matter how clever, there’s no way a fox can unclack a trap.”

  After Veronica finished reading, she stared at her story and scribbled things in the margin.

  “Let’s start,” Mrs. Knox said.

  “It’s very lyrical,” Annie Earl said. “The sounds feel foxlike, and I like that.”

  “I liked the perspective,” Roger said. “The narrator puts you right inside that fox’s head.”

  I thought Veronica’s story was amazing. I could tell that she really cared about her foxes. They were doomed, and she was so tuned in to their misery.

  “The language is very strong,” Mrs. Knox said. “The narration balances very careful wording with a generous sense of play.” She studied her daughter for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Some of you might think that Veronica and Dessy are attending this class out of some special privilege because I’m the instructor. Not true. They applied and were accepted without any assistance from me. I wasn’t even aware that they’d sent in an application. I want Veronica to know that I find this story very promising. And I feel happy for that. Your foxes, those poor unlucky animals, are wonderfully drawn. For me they were fully alive on the page. And I think you might explore more of an adventure for them. Maybe think of some scenes that lead up to the trap. And then think of some scenes after the freed fox inevitably leaves the doomed one.”

  Veronica looked up at her mother and smiled. “Thanks. I’ll think about that.”

  “I’ve never seen a fox,” Kite said. “But this story made me feel like I understood how they think and what they want. You could write a collection just about animals.”

  The class went on like that for a while. It was true, there was something different about Veronica’s story. I hoped people had similar kind things to say about mine.

  “I liked the sex scene,” Corky said. “Though it felt a little manic to me. Even wild animals have subtle rules of selection and foreplay, but your foxes were undiscriminating. The trapped fox’s pain even gets lost in the frenzy.”

  “Wh
atever,” Veronica said. “You would be the one person requesting more pain. Freak.”

  “No talking,” Mrs. Knox said. The class stared at Veronica and Corky in puzzlement.

  “I’m not a freak,” Corky said calmly. “I’m giving you constructive feedback.”

  “Superfreak,” Veronica said. “And I don’t need your superfreak vision to provide any suggestions.”

  “No talking!” Mrs. Knox repeated.

  Roger shot me a questioning look.

  “Don’t ask,” I mouthed.

  “There was just something so measured in Waller’s fox scene,” Corky went on. “Your foxes feel hurried.”

  “Don’t address Veronica directly, Corky,” Mrs. Knox warned.

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Veronica said. “Also, in case you missed it, they’re existentialist metaphors.”

  “Please, no talking!” Mrs. Knox repeated.

  “I understand that they’re metaphors,” Corky said. “Nonetheless, the sex lacked subtlety. The foxes were just … too easy.”

  Veronica jumped up. “There is nothing easy about them.”

  Corky shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “Enough,” Mrs. Knox said. “Veronica, sit down. And let’s hear what the others have to say.”

  Veronica sat, but she was breathing heavily.

  “You have a good sense of rhythm,” Brenda said. “But I thought there could have been a little more variation in sentence structure, especially after the appearance of the second fox.”

  “I agree,” Corky said. “Especially leading up to the climax.”

  Veronica jumped up again. “Stop it!”

  “That’s enough,” Mrs. Knox said. “Sit.”

  Veronica sat. I prayed my evaluation wouldn’t go this poorly. Corky had impressively kept her composure and made Veronica look insane.

  “Let’s take a break,” Mrs. Knox said.

  “Tabitha is in mother bear mode,” Corky whispered to me. “The story wasn’t that good.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.” I got up and walked out, but didn’t go to the bathroom. I hid in the adjacent doorway until I saw Corky turn a corner at the other end of the hall.

  “That was fast,” Roger said when I returned to my seat.

  “I just wanted Corky to leave me alone,” I said. “Talking to her feels like my brain is being massaged with a cheese grater.”

  “She’s pretty sharp-edged,” he said, chuckling.

  It was good to hear. “I wish Mrs. Knox could see that,” I said.

  “Maybe she does,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. Apparently he was naïve when it came to manipulative and insane people.

  “You seem pretty laid back about your story,” he said. “In the car you were a little freaked out.”

  “Oh, I’m freaking out,” I said. “I’m just holding it inside.”

  “You shouldn’t freak out. It’s a good story.”

  “Thanks.” It felt awkward to have Roger complimenting me. My first impulse was to downplay his praise by mildly trashing my story. But I resisted the impulse and just kept forcing a grin. Until Corky returned and wiped it right off my face.

  “Okay. Time for Dessy’s story,” Mrs. Knox said, silencing the chatter and drawing everyone’s attention to me. She gave me a reassuring smile. “You can read from anywhere in the story you’d like.”

  I looked around the room. “But Veronica isn’t back yet,” I said.

  “Oh. She wasn’t feeling well,” Mrs. Knox said. “She went back to the dorm.”

  Corky snickered. I couldn’t believe this! It was almost ten o’clock. Five minutes ago it seemed impossible that Veronica would leave and go take a phone call from Hamilton. But now it seemed incredibly possible. Maybe even probable.

  “Dessy?” Mrs. Knox asked. “Are you ready?” I swallowed hard and tried to put the Veronica/Hamilton issue out of my mind. I knew what I wanted to read. The Mexican border scene felt like a key moment in the story.

  “Tag woke up when I turned off the car.

  “‘Are we there?’ he asked.

  “‘We’re outside of Laredo,’ I said.

  “He was sprawled out in the backseat, his head resting against the passenger side armrest.

  “‘I want to check the tire pressure before we cross into Mexico,’ I said.

  “‘The border? We’re really doing this?’

  “‘Mexico was the first of many countries I needed to drive through. Tag’s hesitation made me worry about the fate of the trip.

  “‘It’s like my girlfriend has gone insane,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

  “I turned around to face him. ‘You said you’d come with me. You promised.’

  “‘But I was drunk.’

  “I hated this excuse. ‘You can’t use your tequila consumption to worm your way out of everything,’ I said.

  “‘When you get hostile it makes me doubt everything,’ he said. ‘Even us.’

  “‘When you wimp out of your promises, I feel the same way.’”

  When I stopped reading, there was a long moment of silence. My stomach kept getting tighter and tighter.

  “I really liked Dessy’s story a lot!” Annie Earl said.

  But I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any more.

  “Stop! Stop,” I said.

  “You have to wait to talk until after the critique,” Mrs. Knox said.

  “But I’m not ready,” I said. “I feel physically unable to hear what people have to say. As well as emotionally and spiritually.”

  Roger turned and looked at me. “But your story is good.”

  I held up my hands. “Right now, at this exact moment, I am very unsure of my story’s ending, and I don’t think I’m ready to revise.”

  “That’s lame,” Corky said. “I’ve got a ton of suggestions for you.”

  “I don’t know what else to say. I feel too fragile.” I was amazed to hear myself utter these words. But at the same time, I was relieved. Because not only was I unprepared for feedback, I also had to get back to the dorm.

  “You should at least read our comments,” Roger said.

  “This is disappointing,” Mrs. Knox said. “Dessy, are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Totally,” I said.

  Everybody passed their copies of my story to me.

  I looked at the clock. It was now ten. If I didn’t get back soon, I’d never know for sure.

  I stood up. Corky was smiling.

  “I’d like to talk about your story sometime,” Mrs. Knox said. “Why don’t you stay after class?”

  “Thank you, but I’m so sorry, I have to go right now,” I said as I raced out the door.

  This couldn’t really be happening. Veronica wouldn’t slink out of class to go back to the dorm and talk to Hamilton behind my back. Would she?

  Halfway down the metro escalator, I spotted Veronica on the platform holding a shopping bag. The train was just arriving. I ran to the bottom and boarded just in time, a few cars down from her.

  When the train pulled to our stop, I carefully concealed myself behind a tall man and then behind a pillar until Veronica had passed. I followed her across the platform toward the escalators, then tailed her all the way to the dorms. Nothing about what she was doing appeared weasel-like. She walked into the building, and I waited outside to give her time to get to our room. Why didn’t I want her to see me? Why not just yell out, “Hey, Veronica, what are you doing?”

  I already knew the answer. If Veronica accepted a phone call from Hamilton, I needed to catch her red-handed. Otherwise, I’d never believe it.

  I quickly walked down the hallway, but paused outside the door to listen. Nothing. I glanced through the kitchen window to make sure the coast was clear, then slipped through the main entrance.

  Our bedroom door was closed. It looked suspicious to hang out in the kitchen, so I sneaked into Annie Earl and Brenda’s recently vacated room to eavesdrop through the pap
er-thin walls.

  From Brenda’s stripped bed, I could hear Veronica fishing through her desk drawer. I thought I heard a pen scratching. With a growing sense of relief, I watched the wall clock’s minute hand creep past 10:35. Corky was a liar. Hamilton wasn’t calling. Because one thing I knew for certain about Hamilton Stacks was that he was an on-time guy.

  All this crafty behavior had left me famished. Maybe I could talk Veronica into grabbing an early lunch. She hadn’t seemed too pissed off at me in workshop. She’d probably say yes.

  I left Brenda’s room and opened the door to mine.

  “I left workshop early. I’m not built for criticism. Do you want to grab lunch?” I asked.

  Veronica looked alarmed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  That’s when our phone started to ring.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?” I couldn’t believe that Corky was right after all.

  “Because it’s Boz,” Veronica said. “And I’m getting ready to go on a date, and talking to him before I go on a date would be a real mood-killer.”

  I looked at the ringing phone and back at Veronica. Her answer was so callous that I believed it.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you behave like such a terrible person?” I asked.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  “I am not a terrible person,” Veronica said. “Take it back!”

  “Don’t go on the date and maybe I will.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Veronica asked. “Have you stooped to Corky’s level?”

  “I can’t stand by and watch you treat Boz like this anymore.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that one of us needs to move out.”

  “If you want to move out, be my guest. But it will be permanent. Don’t think you can move back in once you start to miss me.”

  “Miss you? That will never happen.”

  “You’ve gone certifiably mad!” Veronica stomped out and slammed the door behind her.

  I spent the next half hour hauling everything I’d brought to Prague into my new bedroom. On my third trip I bumped into Corky.