Queen of Broken Hearts

by Jennifer Recchio

  “Today I would like I honor Pak Higgins. Oops, I mean, Painkiller Higgins.” I beamed. “Pak has shown his excellence in his determination to get not just an adequate education, but a great one. After his misdemeanors caused his parents to cut off his money last spring, Pak has worked tirelessly to redeem himself. He now works two jobs just to pay his tuition,”—I faked choking up—”one of which is helping in this very school, cleaning the hallways you all so thoughtlessly walk down. Thank you, Pak. You are an example to us all.”

  Pak walked out.

  “He’s so modest.” I smiled. I wanted to cry.

  You know how when you accidentally hit Enter on an e-mail you didn’t mean to send, you panic, and even though you know it’s impossible, you try to find a way—any way—of taking it back?

  This was worse.

  My heels set the beat to my mantra as I walked down the school hallway. I would not cry, I would not cry, I would not—

  A fist slammed into my middle, knocking me back into a row of lockers. I gasped in air. Annabelle grabbed my shoulders.

  “What the hell was that?” she screamed into my face. For the first time in over a year, she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses. Her eyes were brown. Huh.

  “What?”

  She shook me, knocking my head against the metal doors. “Pak spends all his time trying to help you, and you take him down in front of the entire school?”

  I found my breath. “He turned me in! He told Skittle everything. They’re going to expel me.” My voice broke at the end.

  “You idiot. She found that out on her own. Pak’s spent the last two days trying to talk her out of using it.”

  My head spun. I couldn’t have screwed up that badly. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. “But she knew everything. Everything I only told him.”

  “Skittle’s been running your life for a year, and you didn’t think she would learn anything?”

  My knees gave out. I sank to the ground. “What did I do?”

  Annabelle yanked me back up by my hand. “You idiot.”

  “I have to talk to him. I need to… Where is he?”

  Annabelle sighed. “I shouldn’t give you this.” She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket. An address was written on it in bold print. “He’ll be there for the rest of the day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. I mean really don’t mention it. And don’t you dare try to steal my boyfriend.”

  A laugh escaped my lips, sounding more like a cough. “You and Pak?” I couldn’t decide what was weirder. That Annabelle and Pak were together, or that she could so easily be in a relationship when I couldn’t even commit to Sam.

  She shrugged and looked away from me. “It just happened.”

  I really was an idiot. I needed to talk to Sam. A grin split my face. “Don’t worry about me. I’m seeing someone.”

  Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

  “Umm, remember the boy from Cheesey’s?”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “You didn’t.”

  “I may have.”

  “You’re telling me all about it. Later. Right now, apologize to Pak. The Stone Throwers deserve to go out with a bang, not a school assembly.”

  “I should go.” I pushed myself down the hall.

  “And Birdie?”

  I turned back.

  “Don’t go… bitching out again, okay? I missed you.” Annabelle looked downright vulnerable. Two firsts in one day.

  “Me, too.”

  There was a clamp on my car’s wheel. That was just… excellent. What were they doing, trying to keep me here for detention? Or they could be repossessing my car. I shoved the thought aside. They would’ve towed it. Right?

  Never mind. I had a ride. I pulled out my cell phone. Sam answered on the second ring. “I’m working,” he said.

  “This is important. Save the world important—or save my world, at least. Save me?”

  “Well, if it’s for the sake of the entire world. Just give me a minute to make Chad take my shift. Where are you?”

  “Hollywood Hills. My car is…” I eyed the clamp. “Stuck. I need a ride.”

  “Be there in twenty.”

  I took a deep breath and put my phone away. I shouldn’t stay near my car, in case the clamp-er was looking for me. I could not afford an interrogation right now. I paced the parking lot, staying out of view from the school.

  I knew when Sam showed up, because his car sounded like a clattering drum set on wheels. “I can steal—or, umm, buy—you something better than this,” I said as I hopped in.

  “Between the two of us, whose car is actually working right now?”

  “Point. I need to go here.” I handed him the address.

  “This is in Hollywood. Like, Hollywood Hollywood. Are you sure we can get in?”

  “I can get in. My mother’s a movie star.” An AWOL movie star, but a movie star, nonetheless.

  “Why am I not even surprised?”

  It took us an hour to get to the studio. I spent the time trying and failing to make myself say the words to Sam I needed to say. I want to be your girlfriend. It just sounded so lame. We reached the studio before I could work up enough courage. “Wait for me,” I managed as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

  “Nah, I was thinking I’d take off. Maybe catch a movie.”

  I punched his arm. Lightly.

  “Ow. What are your fingers made of, steel?”

  I hurried to the studio double doors. Sam would wait. For a little while, anyway.

  Inside the studio, Pak was starting a storm. “Pak!” I yelled from the edge of the set. He didn’t even turn around. I hoped it was just because he couldn’t hear me. I strode onto the set, cringing as the recycled rain hit me. “Pak.”

  He turned around. He was standing at the top of the ladder, watching me watch him. “What do you want now, Birdie? Not done kicking me yet?”

  Static from the electronically-induced thunderstorm raised the hair on my arms.

  Except, I’ve already told you this part, haven’t I? So let’s skip ahead. Listen to me, blah, blah, good reason, blah, set me up, bitch, what am I to you?

  Right, I stopped there. So here’s my answer.

  “You.” My voice faltered. “You were the love of my life. And we didn’t work out, and that’s fine. But now… Can’t we try being friends?”

  “Because you’ve been trying so hard, Birdie. Did you come up with this friends thing before or after you told me to get lost, then humiliated me in front of the whole school?”

  “You’re being mean,” I whispered.

  “I’m being mean? Really? Because the last time I checked, I wasn’t ruining anyone’s life.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you’re real contrite.” He turned away.

  I grabbed onto his arm. “Pak, please. I can make this right. I’ll—I’ll do your laundry for a year. Don’t leave me.”

  Our eyes met. There was no fire anymore, just a dull ache of loss in the middle of my chest.

  “You should.” He shook me off and strode back to the ladder. “You should go see to whoever it was that just ran out of here. He looked pretty pissed.”

  “Wha—” His words clicked. “Shit. Oh, shit. Sam.” I turned and ran, heels slipping on the wet floor. I shoved open the heavy double doors to the studio. “Sam,” I screamed after his retreating back. “Wait, I can—”

  “You can explain?” he said as he jerked open his car door. “I’m sure you can. You can always explain everything, can’t you? That’s what makes you such a good thief, isn’t it?”

  I tried to grab the door handle but my soaked hand wouldn’t grip it. “It’s not like that. I made a mistake, and I was trying to fix it.”

  He rolled the window down a few inches. “No, I know what it’s like. You don’t want me. I’m just some—I don’t know—distraction for you. You made that very clear when you had me drive you to beg for some other guy back, and I’m just,
I’m done, Birdie. You left your phone in my car. Someone’s been trying to call you.”

  He threw it out the window. The phone slid through my hands and clattered to the pavement.

  I stood in the street and watched him leave me.

  A security guard drove me home. I clutched my buzzing, unanswered phone in one hand as I stumbled through the door. Home, sweet, empty home. I collapsed on the entryway floor. I lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for my mother to burst through the door and tell me we didn't need to leave after all, waiting for Skittle to show up with an apology and a notice that she was withdrawing from the election, waiting for Sam to say he understood everything and would never leave me again.

  Waiting for the fairy godmother of second chances to let me try again.

  Birdie Tells All

  Episode 3: Part 4

  The sun was in my eyes. I rolled over. My neck ached from sleeping on tile. My school uniform was stiff and dry around me, but I was too heavy to move.

  My phone buzzed again. Hadn’t the battery died yet? My fingers fumbled to hang it up but answered it instead. “Go away,” I muttered.

  “Honey?” My mother’s hysterical voice screeched over the speaker. “Where are you? Your school called. What’s going on?”

  I kneaded my forehead. “I got set up. They’re expelling me for robbery. Or something.”

  “Don’t be silly; I smoothed all that over. Told them it was all forged. Pity their computer got a virus, so they couldn’t check.” Of course it did.

  “So I’m not expelled?”

  “We have bigger problems than your status at a school you won’t even be at next week. We need to leave the country right now. There’s an investigation.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows. “What investigation?”

  “The FBI got a flag on us. Grab whatever you can, and don’t use the front door. Our tickets are under Hatfield. We’re going to Brazil.”

  “I…” I caught my reflection in the window. My hair puffed out in tangles around my blotchy face. I looked like a dethroned beauty queen.

  No. Birdie Anders didn’t go down like this. She didn’t disappear from town with a whimper. Birdie Anders went out with a bang.

  “I need a day,” I said.

  “But, honey—”

  “A day, Mother. Leave my ticket in the box on Main. I’ll meet you in Brazil.”

  Somehow I made it up the stairs and into the shower. I turned the temperature up until it seared my sluggishness away. If I left for school now, I could make it by fourth period. I plunged my head under the water. I could still make it to the election. There was one final statement before voting. I could pull this off. I turned off the water, wrapped myself in a robe and faced my own reflection in the mirror. I was still too pale. I looked like a faded old picture of myself.

  But that’s what they invented makeup for.

  My car was still stranded in the parking lot. I walked to school. I held my head high and ignored the unmoving traffic. At least all my classmates were already at school and couldn’t see me. The doors swung open when I pushed them. The hallway was empty. I drew in a deep breath and strode down it. The queen of broken hearts was in.

  The school day went by in a blur. I was lost in a sea of smirks. Done. The word was clear in every glance, every trill of laughter that followed me down the hallway. I was done. I wonder if this was how Athena Clark felt when I destroyed her.

  Last period finally came. I changed quickly into my black Prada and all but ran to the media room. They were all gathered by the time I arrived. I don’t know how they got there before me. The camera crew, directed by Mrs. Larue. Skittle, calmly perched in front of the camera in some frothy yellow concoction that made her look like a melting cupcake. I almost pointed this out to her, but I stopped myself. She wasn’t my responsibility anymore. I took my seat.

  “Now, girls.” Mrs. Larue said, holding up her hands. “I don’t want any antics today. Make your statements quick so the students can cast their votes.” She smiled at us, like this was a silly race for an inconsequential prize instead of everything I had left.

  Everything I had left. I closed my eyes tightly. Thought of Pak in the storm. My mother skipping the country. Sam, leaving me. My throat closed up.

  “Birdie?” Mrs. Larue cut through my inner monologue. “Would you like to go first?”

  No. I opened my eyes. “Yes.” The camera clicked on. Every eye in the school was on me. “Happy end of the school day, Holl—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat. “Hollywood Hills. High School.” I looked around. At Mrs. Larue, nodding encouragement. At my classmates holding the cameras, one of them trembling in leftover terror as he watched me. At Skittle, holding herself faux-regally in her seat, eyes gleaming with the sick light of revenge. “It is just high school, isn’t it?” The words escaped my mouth before I thought them through.

  Had I really lost everything? I thought of Annabelle, saying she’d missed me. My mother holding my hand. Pak, trying to help me after everything I’d done to him. Sam, trying to love me with all my broken bits making a mess of things. I blinked tears out of my eyes.

  “Birdie?” Mrs. Larue whispered, waving a hand at the cameras.

  “I’m an idiot,” I told the entire population of Hollywood Hills High School. Skittle made a choking sound beside me. “I’ve made mistake after mistake while everyone who mattered stood beside me, and I was too preoccupied to notice.” I stood up. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry. I have somewhere to be.”

  I walked out of the studio, peace settling over me for the first time… ever. I knew exactly where I needed to be.

  “Birdie!” Skittle’s shrill voice called after me. “What was that? Some sort of power play? It won’t work. No one is going to vote for you.”

  I turned around. Skittle wasn’t wearing her dress as much as it was wearing her. She’d gotten scary thin since I’d taken her under my not-so-nurturing wing, and I hadn’t even noticed. Her eyes belonged to a frightened animal.

  “I really am sorry,” I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

  Her face went red. “You bitch. Do you think you can just get away with this?”

  “No.” I smiled. Maybe this was what going mad felt like. “I really don’t.” I walked away.

  It took me five minutes of aimless walking to realize I had no idea where Sam’s school was. Or if the game was even at the school. I ended up sitting on a park bench with no real idea what to do next. I pulled out my phone. This was silly. I’d just call Sam and ask him where his stupid game was.

  The phone rang three times before it was cut off. He’d hung up on me. Well. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it. My finger found number four on my speed dial. I held my breath as the phone rang once, twice. Click.

  “What?”

  “Pak?”

  “Birdie?”

  “What, am I not in your contacts anymore?” I said, only half joking.

  His silence was answer enough.

  “I need help.” I didn’t let myself think about the words. If I started thinking, it would all fall apart.

  “True. And?”

  I licked my lips. “I need your help. Finding out where the Abernathy High School mathletes’ competition is.”

  Pak’s breath crackled over the phone. “That… has got to be the weirdest series of words I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed until my sides ached and I started to sob right there in the middle of Boulevard Park.

  “Hey,” he said. I clutched my phone like it was the end of a very short rope. “I’ll figure it out and call you back. How do you spell that school name?”

  I spelled it out for him, then hung up. People were staring at me. I gave them a small wave. I could see the headlines now: Birdie Anders arrested for public display of emotion. My mother would kill me.

  My mother. I squeezed my eyes shut against the thought. One mess at a time.

 
Pak called back to tell me it was being held at the library on Fifth. “Have you ever been to a library?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Once.”

  “Uh huh. Remember, books are for read-ing. Not kindling. They won’t like that much.”

  “Wait. Pak?” The lion might eat you for pulling the thorn out of its paw, but that doesn’t mean the thing isn’t worth doing. Right? I gathered up my pride and let it go. “Thank you.”

  “Well, you know how it is. Damsel in distress, knight in shining armor.” He paused. “And Birdie? Good luck. With whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

  I stared at my phone for a minute after he hung up. I’d be the first to admit I’m better at burning bridges then mending them, but the feeling rising in my chest felt vaguely like hope.

  The library on Fifth wasn’t anything like what I imagined libraries were supposed to look like. It wasn’t imposing in the slightest. It was a small, squarish building with two stories and, as far as I could tell, no AC. Signs posted on the door declared the mathletes’ meeting to be in the basement meeting room. As I headed down the stairwell, I had to admit that at least it was cooler down here.

  I threw open the door at the end of the staircase harder than I should have. What can I say? Love makes us do desperate things. There was that abrupt moment of silence, where you just know someone has stopped talking midstream and everyone in the room turns to look at you. Normally I love that feeling. At that point I wanted to melt into the floor.

  “Sorry,” I said with a small, stupid wave.

  Sam was sitting behind an old wooden table with the rest of his teammates, who I recognized from Olive Garden. I didn’t spare a glance for anyone else. Still, declaring my love in the middle of whatever kind of confused tournament this was seemed like a bad idea, so I took a seat in the back. Slowly, there was a shuffling of papers, and the game took back up.