Queen of Broken Hearts

by Jennifer Recchio

  God, it was boring. The kind of boring that makes you envy squirrels. Some old guy would write something on a whiteboard, and all the mathletes would scramble to write things on the paper in front of them until one scrambled up and wrote on the whiteboard. I had no idea what was going on, but I made a point to cheer every time I thought Abernathy got a point or whatever it was called here. No one else seemed to be cheering, but I suspected half of them weren’t awake anyway.

  Finally, finally the game ended, and I jumped to my feet.

  In case you’re curious, I have no idea who won.

  Sam bolted out a back door. Fabulous. I ran after him like a boy-seeking missile. His teammates gathered around the door, blocking it. I shoved through the group, knocking aside a girl who may or may not have been named Melinda on my way to the door.

  “Sam!” I called as he hurried up a steep set of stairs that led to the parking lot. He ignored me. He ignored me.

  Like hell. No one ignored me. No one.

  By the time I made the parking lot, he was already in his car. “Wait.” I threw myself in front of his car. My ankle gave out, and my side hit the pavement hard.

  Sam threw open the door of his car. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No.” I coughed. “I need to talk to you.”

  Sam glowered. I don’t think I’d ever seen him glower before. He wasn’t really tall enough to be intimidating, but it still made my stomach twist a little. For once, it wasn’t my neck I was watching out for. “What are you doing here, Birdie?”

  “You invited me. I wanted to support you. And there’s the talking part I need to do. To tell you the truth. Like you said. That one time. That thing about telling the truth.”

  My fall might have caused brain damage. I held out my hands, like, I don’t know, like somehow that would show him I was being sincere. I realized that I knew how to do a lot of things. Sabotage, scheme, lie, steal. But I had no idea how to actually be honest.

  “And you made your opinion on the matter perfectly clear. We’re done, Birdie. Get out of my way.”

  “No. I’m not letting you leave me again.” I pushed myself up to my knees. “I’m Birdie fucking Anders, and you do not get to leave me twice.”

  His friends wandered out to the parking lot and stood to the side like some sort of teenage hit squad. Maybe Melinda whispered something to Bad-Haircut-Guy. My face began to heat up. I’m not used to publicly making a fool of myself, and now I’d done it twice in one day. All for a boy who didn’t even want me. The Boy Who Didn’t Want Me watched me with his clear, too-good-for-me eyes. “Fine. First question: What’s your real name?”

  I froze. That question hadn’t even occurred to me. “Can we talk somewhere less public?” I said. Telling the truth was one thing, but telling it in front of five other people was another thing.

  “I don’t have time for a stranger whose name I don’t even know.”

  I opened my mouth, then snapped it closed.

  “Good-bye, Birdie.” He got back in his car and threw it into reverse. I should have thought of that.

  I stood there, the utter fool. “Wait,” I finally called as he drove away. “I’ll— Wait.”

  He didn’t. I ran after him until the heel of my shoe snapped, then fell down and watched him leave me again.

  My feet wanted to die by the time I staggered through the front door of Cheesey’s. I collapsed at the table and buried my head in my arms.

  “He’s not scheduled today,” Chad said, like I showed up sweating through expensive dresses all the time. Actually… I kind of did.

  “I’ll wait,” I mumbled against the table.

  “It’s two dollars an hour to sit at the table,” he said. I lifted my head enough to glare at him then dug through my purse. My phone had five missed calls. I was supposed to be catching a plane. I was supposed to have changed Sam’s mind. I was supposed to…

  It didn’t matter. I turned my phone off.

  “You realize this place closes, right?” Chad said.

  “I’ll figure it out,” I snapped.

  Chad shrugged before going back to texting on his phone.

  I watched the time tick by, cataloguing my faults.

  Fifteen minutes: If I’d only think first, I wouldn’t be here now.

  Thirty minutes: If I were kinder and more considerate, I wouldn’t be here now.

  Forty-five minutes: If I didn’t want all the wrong things, I wouldn’t be here now.

  Fifty minutes: My mother pulled up to Cheesey’s.

  “Honey!” She half-sobbed as she threw open the door. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. Are you out of your mind?”

  I tried to say yes, but she muffled it with a hug.

  “I was so worried they’d taken you. Don’t you know how dangerous it is?” She took a step back, keeping my shoulders in her rigor mortis-like grip.

  I closed my eyes. “They must not have been looking very hard.”

  “Would you stop acting like this is some silly game? It’s serious. We need to leave right this minute.”

  “I can’t, Mother, I…” There are a few things I know with absolute certainty about my mother, the most important at the moment being that if the FBI was really after her, she wouldn’t be tramping around as herself in broad daylight. “How did you say they found out about us again?”

  “I told you, it was your high school. They raised a red flag.”

  “By investigating a single robbery charge?”

  Mother pursed her lips. I knew the look in her eyes. She was recalculating.

  I pulled away from her. “You lied to me.”

  “No,” she said, too quickly.

  I couldn’t think past the headache growing behind my eyes. “Get out.”

  “Sweetie, I—”

  “No. I trusted you, and you thought you could just lead me around because it was convenient for you.” My voice caught. I knew a thing or two about betraying trusts. “Just leave me alone.”

  Mother pulled herself straight. “The plane leaves at ten. Your ticket is still waiting for you.”

  Chad shifted his feet as he stood awkwardly over my table. “I need to clean the table.”

  I sniffled. “Sorry I inconvenienced you.” I pushed my chair back.

  “Nice mother,” he said as he wiped the table down.

  “Well.” I tore a napkin into smaller pieces.

  “Could you not?”

  “Sorry.” I tossed the pieces on the table. I found my voice hiding in the back of my throat. “I hurt Sam, didn’t I?”

  Chad stopped. He didn’t look up at me. “Yeah, you did.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Tears began to drip down my face. I wiped them away, but not in time to save my mascara.

  “You’re really bad at this, aren’t you?” Chad said.

  A heaving sob wracked my body. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Lucky for you, I know Sam better than anyone. Except for his parents. And most of his other friends. The point is, I know what he’ll be doing tonight.”

  “What?” I grabbed a napkin to wipe snot off my face.

  “Watching my vlog. He’s, like, half of my viewership.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I was thinking about having a guest on.” Chad looked all blurry through my tears.

  “Me?”

  “Unless you’ve got J.Lo’s number.”

  “I don’t know what to tell him.”

  “Try starting with the truth. That usually works pretty well.”

  So, I guess that brings us to now. That’s all the truth I can think of. Umm, for now. I’ve spent a lot of time lying. Look, I don’t know if you even like me after all that.

  But.

  I think I’m falling in love with you. And I just wanted you to know. So that’s my truth.

  Oh. One more.

  My name is Sky.

  Now I’ve got a plane to catch.

  Birdie In Real Life

&
nbsp; Part 1

  The webcam clicked off. Birdie sat back and stretched out her arms. “What time is it?”

  Chad punched a few buttons on his laptop. “Past seven, I think. That had to be the longest vlog of all time.”

  Birdie rubbed her forehead. “You’re sure Sam will watch it?”

  “Every word. And just to be clear, I’m not doing this for you. I think you’re some kind of terrifying mixture of a psycho bitch and a devil slut. I’m doing this so Sam will stop moping around like a kicked puppy.”

  “Sam is moping over me?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. He once moped for a week because Mountain Dew discontinued his favorite flavor. Sandwich?” Chad got up and headed to his apartment’s small kitchen. “I’ve got peanut butter, turkey, and lettuce.”

  “Sounds… delicious.”

  Birdie chewed her fingernail as she watched the light fade outside Chad’s window. She should leave for her flight. But if she did, how would Sam know how to find her? Birdie steadied herself with a deep breath. She could live without him. Mostly. Besides, she couldn’t really expect to get him back after what she’d just told him. She’d done what she’d set out to. She’d told the truth, and now it was over. She had to get to Brazil.

  Birdie grabbed her purse. “I have to go.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Chad leaned on the kitchen doorway, munching a piece of lettuce smeared with peanut butter.

  “If Sam shows up…” Birdie paused.

  “I’ll tell him you said hey.”

  She nodded, shifting her weight as she watched the door. “And tell him I’m sorry. For… everything.”

  The beauty of using a mailbox as a drop point is that no one cares if you leave your package unattended. The problem is that it’s a good bit harder to look subtle as you snatch said unattended mail. Birdie slid her dark sunglasses down her nose, assessing how best to achieve her postal heist. Her cell phone rattled her purse as it went off. Sam. Birdie yanked at the zipper, tossing aside the cheap plastic bit when it broke and clawing it the rest of the way open. The screen read, Unknown. A burner phone. Her mother. Birdie took in a shaky breath and answered the phone.

  “Turn around,” her mother said. Birdie turned. Her mother stood in front of a stretch limo, cell phone in hand. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

  Birdie swallowed. “I thought you’d be in Brazil by now.”

  “You didn’t really think I’d leave without you, did you?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her mother stood there, her heart in her eyes. “You’re my blue skies, baby. You know that, right?”

  Birdie blinked tears out of her eyes. “I do now.”

  She threw her arms around her perfect, flawed mother.

  Birdie wiped tears from her cheeks as she climbed in the car. She noticed her phone was still in her hand and sent a quick message to Pak. Have you ever thought that the best way out of a glass house is just to open the door?

  Birdie In Real Life

  Part 2

  At the airport, they settled down in the far corner of a gate. Being a movie star meant being incognito in public, even when the fake FBI weren’t really chasing after you. “I had to change the tickets,” Birdie’s mother whispered. “We’re going to Argentina as the Smiths now.”

  “Real subtle,” Birdie whispered back. She chewed her thumbnail. Was it just her, or was the airport swarming with people with cameras today?

  Her mother stood up. “I’m going to grab a smoothie. You want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  Her mother tugged her sunglasses down over her face and headed off. Birdie settled deeper into her seat. Some mad part of her was still hoping that Sam would make a last-minute appearance or stop the plane or something. On second thought, that would be a disaster.

  “Birdie Anders?” A man in a black coat slid into the seat beside her.

  Birdie jumped, then silently cursed herself for it. She shouldn’t have reacted to the man saying her name.

  “I knew it was you. The wig almost fooled me, but I was sure the dress was right. Listen, I have a proposition for you.”

  Birdie stared straight ahead and curled her hand into a fist. Running would make a scene. She’d have to talk her way out of this.

  “I want to offer you a reality show.”

  Those were not the words she was expecting to hear.

  “We’ll call it: The Real Life of a Teenage Con Artist. Or something. We’re still working on the title.”

  Birdie’s heart pounded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about fame and money. You want that, don’t you?”

  Birdie tried to check over her shoulder for her mother without looking like she was checking.

  “The network thinks the show will make buckets of money, what with that sob story of yours. I’m just lucky I found you before the other stations.”

  “I don’t have a sob story, and I have no idea what charges you’re referring to. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Birdie stood up stiffly and walked away.

  “Wait!” The man whisper-called after her. “The idea has already tested well with teens between the ages of twelve and eighteen! Think of the children!”

  Birdie’s pulse beat in time to her footsteps. It made no sense. What was going on here? Her phone rang. Birdie fumbled it out of her purse. Pak.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you near a television?” he demanded.

  Birdie frowned. “I’m at the airport. What are you talking about?”

  “Find a TV and check the news.”

  “Don’t tell me you actually tried to rob a casino.” She covered the phone with her hand and smiled at a stewardess. “Can I get a remote for the TV please?”

  The woman mutely pointed to the remote cabled to her desk. Birdie flipped the terminal television to the local news station. Her own face stared back at her.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re famous, Birdie.”

  Captions scrolled across the bottom of the screen. School under investigation…

  She flipped to CNN. The lives of celebrity children revealed…

  MSNBC. Birdie Anders tells all!

  “Oh my god,” Birdie breathed into the phone.

  “You didn’t open a door. You smashed it down with a sledgehammer.”

  Birdie In Real Life

  Part 3

  Birdie pulled her baseball cap down lower. In this getup, she looked like a bank robber on the run, but it was the best she could do on short notice. And she had to do something. Her face was everywhere.

  She stared intently at the menu of the airport restaurant, as if whether she got an overpriced burger or an overpriced hot dog was the most important decision in the world.

  Someone slid into the seat opposite her and tugged on her menu. Please don’t let it be another reporter, she prayed.

  The smell of pepperoni and grease assaulted her nose.

  “You don’t want any of that gross airport food,” Sam said.

  Birdie’s heart hit her throat. She dropped the menu.

  “I brought you a doggie bag.” He pushed it across to her. It left a trail on the table.

  “You’re here.” Birdie couldn’t stop staring at the easy smile that curved his lips, making all kinds of giddy lightness sing through her nerves.

  “I thought about letting you leave, but then I realized I like my girls bat-shit crazy, and I thought, where am I going to find another one like Birdie-fucking-Anders? And it would be really nice if you said something right now so I could stop rambling like an idiot.”

  Birdie made a sound in her throat but couldn’t manage words.

  “Well, if I’m going to date a wanted criminal, we’re going to need some ground rules. First, we can’t hang out at my house. If the police show up on my doorstep, I’ll be grounded for life. And you can wear costumes when we go out on dates, but not—”

  She cu
t him off with a kiss.

  Birdie In Real Life

  Part 4

  Birdie tilted her chin back, to better feel the sun on her face. She took in a deep breath of salty sea air, free of the stink of tourists. It helped to own your own beach in the Bahamas.

  Her cell phone rang, interrupting her reverie. She squinted her sun-dazzled eyes at the screen before answering.

  “Did you want mango or strawberry?” Sam’s voice asked.

  “Strawberry. Aren’t perfect boyfriends supposed to have these things memorized?”

  “Umm, thought I did. Oops.”

  Birdie smiled as Sam slid into the chair beside hers and handed her a bright orange drink.

  “Thought you liked mango,” he said.

  “This might be a dumping offense.”

  “I’ll have to think of a way to make it up to you, then.” He leaned over until his lips were hovering an inch away from hers.

  Birdie’s heart fluttered. “I—”

  “We found it!” Pak yelled from down the beach.

  Birdie closed her eyes and flopped back in her chair. Sam sighed. “Why, exactly, did they have to come again? Don’t tell me you’re planning a tropical heist during your mother’s wedding.”

  Birdie sipped her drink, putting on her best innocent expression. “What would make you think that?”

  The pounding of feet running through the sand reached them. Pak, Annabelle, and Madison collapsed around them, Pak with a blueprint gripped eagerly in his hand. “You can’t see it from the outside, but there’s a weak point here.” He grabbed a stick and began drawing plans in the sand. “Madison?”

  “I can manage that,” she said with more monotone than anyone deciding on how to set up high-level explosives ought to have.

  “Do we have diplomatic immunity?” Sam wondered aloud.

  “No,” the four of them answered him at once.

  “We are so doomed.”

  Birdie twined her fingers through his. “Relax. We’re professionals.”

  “Not helping.”