But thinking about Laurie reminds me of the conversation I had with her last night. Of course it took place before Drew turned into a psychotic maniac and broke into my house.
But Laurie and I had been at her house—and we’d had a lot of chocolate, like enough to have us on a major sugar-high. Sipping her hot chocolate she had said, “I’m surprised you haven’t thrown yourself at Drew now that he’s free.”
My stomach dropped.
She took another sip of her hot chocolate and went on, “I know you always had a thing for him—even back in grade school.”
My breath caught. “Then why did you go after him if you knew I liked him?”
She shrugged. “I knew he wouldn’t go for you. Come on, you knew it too. He never noticed your puppy-dog eyes staring at him—or noticed you weren’t his sister.”
I bit my lip, then held my breath and dared ask, “Would you be mad if I went out with him?”
She laughed slightly. “Come on, Brooke. You’re not his type. He’s the school quarterback, every girl at school wants him. I think we should stick with a guy like Ethan for you—though not Ethan. I guess something weird is up with him—I mean, that sign around him made that pretty clear. So, don’t go for him Brooke. But someone like him. Someone more your speed.”
I swallowed, then tried again, “But say Drew did suddenly notice me?”
Laurie shook her head. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me. I mean, I get that you were probably hurt at first when Drew and I got together, but you helped us get together. I know you’re my one true friend—my only true friend, probably. And I know you wouldn’t be like my other so-called friends and try to date Drew. It’s different to go after a girl’s hopeless crush than an actual ex-boyfriend. Sabrina and Jade don’t get that—obviously. But I know you do.”
The memory of that conversation makes me squirm a little.
Rider glances at a text he just got, then pulls me out of my uncomfortable reverie by slowly waving a hand in front of my face.
I blink up at him.
A tiny smile spreads on his lips like I’m adorable. His eyes practically caress me. (Flirt!) “You looked like you needed to be woke up,” he says playfully. “Like what you were dreaming about wasn’t the nicest—not your usual lollipops and rainbows.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I murmur.
“So you’re welcome,” he says.
He gives me a lingering look that I can’t read, then says, “Look, I have to referee at my little brother’s soccer game right now. Come with me. I’ll touch your cheek during the water breaks.”
He grins, quickly interrupting me before I can protest, “—the soccer games are very, incredibly, super public. In fact, Daisy’s little brother plays on one of the teams. Maybe the one my brother’s playing against today.”
Before I can protest he raises his eyebrows, quickly reminding me, “My laptop is in pieces—just like my heart will be if you say no.”
I groan, super dramatically.
He grins, “Yeah, that’s a cheesy line. I was just trying to lay some guilt on you to get my way. But in all seriousness, don’t worry about the laptop,” then he adds with a playful grin, “—just worry about my heart.”
I groan again.
It just makes him laugh softly. “So you’ll come right? Get me started on my big non-heartbreaker ruse.” Then he adds, “What will really help with that—I think—is getting the poem about me off the bathroom walls.”
I smirk. “You don’t really care about the poem.”
He raises his eyebrows, “I don’t?” Then he relents, “Okay, I don’t. I won’t mention it again, if—IF you come with me to my little brother’s soccer game and let me touch your cheek—twice.”
“I’ll go to the game, but no touching.”
He ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, you’re a cold hard bargainer.”
He’s only teasing. His grin always gives it away, though he’s always trying to hide it.
“Okay,” he says after a long moment as though he’s being tortured—by not getting to touch my cheek. “You have a sad little deal.”
CHAPTER 45
Rider stopped at his house to pick up his little brother and sister. They were out in the front yard, waiting for him.
My heart tugged a little—well, a lot—realizing his sweet mom had passed away. She was the nicest lady. She would always bake cookies when I came to their house. And once she patiently taught Rider and me to make a pie.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I whispered.
His eyes sparked and his breath caught for a moment. His jaw muscles flickered, then he gave my hand a quick squeeze. “She really liked you. She was always asking about you.” He grinned, “—always.”
He emphasized the word with frustrated amusement.
Rider’s little sister was adorable. She wanted to sit on my lap, but I was a big meanie and made her put her seatbelt on. Since Rachel’s car accident, I’m way too aware of how devastating a car accident can be. But at the game, I made sure the adorable little sweetie-pie was aware that I was really glad to meet her and I bought her a hot dog and soda and popcorn while we sat in the stands rooting for her brother’s soccer team, and admiring Rider’s refereeing skills. (Well, I admired them.) (And many other things about him.)
I couldn’t help comparing this experience to ones I had with Drew in the past, him being all sweet to little kids, especially his younger siblings, and his sweet little sister adoring me. But the difference between those times of the past and this was: Drew never paid attention to me back then, yet Rider did the whole entire game. He kept peeking over at us and waving.
Every time he did, my heart melted.
So, this was bad. Very, very bad.
Because I was hooked on the heartbreaker.
I was a goner.
CHAPTER 46
After the soccer game we took Rider’s little brother and sister out for ice cream. I have admit, I was in love the moment—in fact with the whole experience: being with Rider, seeing him be all sweet with his family, seeing him keep sneaking little peeks at me. It all had my heart drumming and my mind going, awww!
When he pulled up in front of my house, he asked me all huskily, “Are you sure you don’t want to come over to my house for a while? You can see me make dinner and take out the garbage and other non-heartbreaker-type stuff.”
Though I was tempted more than he could possibly know (so tempted), I rolled my eyes, trying to get a grip. I mean—let’s not forget Dear Daisy, right? So I reminded him (sort of bitter-like), “It’s not me you’re trying to fool.”
He smiled weakly. “No. It’s you I’m trying to convince.”
I huffed, “Don’t bother. I’ve already had my heart broken by you Rider. So you can’t convince me you’re not a heartbreaker. I have the proof—a shattered heart.”
Rider ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Isn’t it maybe slightly unreasonable that you’re holding something against me that I did back in kindergarten?”
Heat swamped my cheeks. He had a point. I guess. Probably. But I quickly shrugged the thought off, since I was in jeopardy of losing my heart to him—yet he was trying to win Daisy’s.
I muttered, “It might have happened to me in kindergarten, but you went on to do it to other girls in the first, second, and third grade—right on up until now. So I’m not really just holding your past against you—your present is pretty scary too.”
As I start to stomp out of his car, Rider says, “Wait.”
With a frustrated sigh, he opens my car door for me, then walks me to my front door.
With another frustrated exhale of breath, he holds out his hand to me. Then, rather than the customary kiss that comes at the end of a wonderful date (which face it, this was), instead of the kiss, he shakes my hand.
Then, just to be a rebel, since the deal was he wouldn’t do it—he gently (though quickly) swipes my cheek playfully with two warm fingers.
He
winks. “Couldn’t resist.”
I tug on his hair, “Couldn’t resist.”
He grins, “Touché.”
CHAPTER 47
***RIDER***
RIDER
Back in kindergarten, I had been sick for Valentine’s day. Mom wouldn’t let me go to school, though I kept begging her—well, in between my puking.
Mom just smiled sympathetically, “Your sweet little girlfriend will understand, Rider.”
“I know she’ll understand,” I grumbled. “But I don’t want her to have to understand. I stayed up all night making my valentine for her—I want her to have it in class. I want to give it to her.”
I puked as I said the last part.
Mom smiled slightly. Gently. “Rider, what you’ll give her is the flu. Do you really want her to be sick too?”
“Yes,” I lied. “At least then we could be together. It’s Valentines. She was going to have me come over to her house and we were going to build a tree fort.”
Brooke ended up coming to my house—after school. She snuck to my window, and brought me all the valentines I’d gotten, and the cookies she made for me, and she was wearing this cute little headband with two bouncy springs connected to it like antennas.
“I’m your love-bug,” she explained, bobbing her head up and down so her antennas bounced.
My mom caught her at my window and smiled huge—because Brooke was adorable. And sneaky! Coming to my window and all. Mom didn’t chastise her though. Instead she quickly hunted up her camera and took a picture of me and my “love-bug.” I still have the picture.
I also have this box of shells Brooke gave me. She sent them to me right after school had ended for the summer. We had made all these plans to be together for summer vacation, all these fun things we would do together all summer. But then her parents dragged her off on a family vacation to a beach at some fancy resort.
She sent me the box of shells she collected on the beach and wrote me a note telling me the shells were her heart. She wrote that whenever I was sad this summer, I should find my favorite shell from the box. She wrote, “Hold it tight and know that shell is my heart, and my heart will go out to you, and comfort you, because that’s what hearts do. And my heart is yours.”
My older brother helped me read her note when I got it in the mail. He smiled huge the whole time and said, “Aww,” when he was done and he’d mussed my hair. Then he’d left. So I could cry.
Yeah, I had loved Brooke with all of my kindergarten heart. And it had filled with even more love for her by the first grade. She even taught me to read. I kid you not. The other kids kind of laughed at me, ‘cause I was kind of slow with the sounding out stuff. So, Brooke had me play this phonics game that her mom had bought her to teach Brooke to read back in kindergarten. Brooke played it with me every single day after school, and she would write me love notes that she would make me sound out—and I wanted to know what they said so bad that I would work on them for hours, though my mom couldn’t get me to work on a reading book for a minute. Anyway, Brooke taught me to read. She did.
I loved her dearly.
Then, alas. On our way to a field trip, I saw Rachel pass Brooke a note on the bus. It said, “Tom likes you.”
Brooke wrote her back, “Well, I like Stick-Boy.”
And I was like—stick boy??? Was she saying I was a stick? Or did she like the new guy, Ian Stick? Neither made me feel very good. In fact, both of them hurt my heart. Really bad.
I was destroyed.
So when we got off the bus and Trina Follen did her usual—started flirting with me. This time I flirted back. And I kissed her on the cheek—right in front of Brooke.
Yeah, I’d been a wad.
But when Brooke frowned at the sight of that, and then ran to the bathroom crying, I felt like my heart shriveled and died. I mean, it had hurt that she called me a stick to her friend, yeah, it hurt bad, but it hurt a thousand times worse when I made her cry.
Yet, I didn’t chase after her like I longed to do.
Instead, I let Trina take my hand and lead me to her popular friends. Because I didn’t like being called a stick … and the alternative was even worse. She liked Ian Stick? My heart couldn’t take it.
Well, it couldn’t take either alternative.
Brooke broke my heart.
So I went with Trina.
And then Amanda.
And then Aspen.
And then …
I just kept going. I didn’t get tied to any one specific girl. If there was one thing my experience with Brooke taught me it was that I couldn’t let my heart get too tangled up with a girl’s again. Because it hurt too much when the girl decided not to treat my mushy heart too nice. In fact, it killed my heart. So I buried it.
CHAPTER 48
***RIDER***
RIDER
I didn’t talk to Brooke ever again. But I sent her a shell when her friend Rachel died. I didn’t leave her a note with it, but I had written one. I had written: “Don’t forget what shells do.” But then I figured I’d probably have to remind her about what she’d said they do—about the hearts and comfort and stuff, and then I’d probably have to remind her about the rest—all of it. ‘Cause, you know, it was way back in kindergarten … and weird that I still remembered … and that I kept the box of shells.
So, in the end I just sent her the shell. She could make of it whatever she wanted. I just hoped she was doing okay. I knew Rachel had stayed her best friend … okay, I might have given Brooke a few more looks throughout the years, even after I had vowed I never would again.
… in fact, I had always noticed a lot more stuff about her than I would ever admit—even to myself. And I never thought she was “frumpy.” Ever. But now she wears her hair all long and flowing. And her clothes are no longer all baggy like she’s trying to hide things. She lets her curves show. Not going to lie: I enjoy her new wardrobe. I enjoy it quite a bit.
CHAPTER 49
***RIDER***
RIDER
Last night I texted Brooke: “Love Bug.” Then later, “Mermaid.”
I don’t recall doing this. The only reason I know I did, is—well, here it is in my text history.
Brooke had replied: “????”
That was all she said. But I don’t blame her. It was the middle of the night. She was probably asleep. I know I was.
Right now, she comes up to me while I’m at my locker. She raises her eyebrows. “Mermaid?” she questions with a laugh.
Funny she doesn’t ask about the “Love-Bug.” Probably she remembers: she’s my Love Bug.
“Yeah,” I quickly explain about the mermaid thing. “I was asleep, so keep that in mind. Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you that—out loud. Although it wasn’t out loud, right? I sleep texted.”
She raises one eyebrow. One. (It’s pretty cool.) Then she says skeptically, “Sleep texted?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing—well, obviously, since I did it. It’s a form of sleepwalking, I suppose. It’s just when I think about stuff in my sleep sometimes, then I text it to the person I’m thinking about. It doesn’t usually make a whole lot of sense, since I’m asleep and everything.”
“Yeah. Mermaid,” she murmurs with a laugh. “—that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Again, she doesn’t mention the Love-bug thing. So, that part makes sense to her, right? Right? She totally remembers she’s my Love-bug. Right?
“Well … ” I admit, “It means more than you think.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
I love it when she blinks like that.
I try to calm down my heart that is all excited to have her staring at me like that, and saying “mermaid” to me, and then with that blink—maaan. I’m a goner. Okay, calm down heart. Though I might text her random words at night from now on—on purpose, though. Still, I try to keep with the conversation instead of making fiendish plans. I explain, “Well, you know how you were on the swim team last year?”
She no
ds, but she does it really slowly, like she had no idea I knew she was on the team. But come on, the girl is curvy. I used to see her a lot at her swim meets as I had dated a few different swimmers on and off last year. Brooke would stand out and catch my eye disturbingly often because she was quite curvy, and for swimming she couldn’t cover herself up with huge clothes like she did all through high school—well, at least after her friend died she started to do that: hide. Behind big clothes and ugly glasses. I got it. She was feeling sad and it showed. She didn’t try to hide it—instead, she tried to hide herself.
But anyway, I’d notice Brooke at swim meets—a lot—but I’d always say to myself, “No, don’t go there.” She had broken my heart and I knew she could do it again. Sure, it had been years ago, but something about her drew me to her then, and whatever it was, it still called to me now. But no way (well, that’s what I used to think to myself at those meets). I wasn’t going to touch it. Plenty of fish in the sea … well, mermaids.
(I’ll explain that.)
I chew slightly on my bottom lip, weighing my words, and okay, just enjoying her ogling me while she waits kind of breathlessly to hear my explanation about the mermaid thing. I thoroughly enjoy her pretty eyes on me, and kind of want this moment to last forever—or at least as long as possible.
“You were on the swim team, and I’d see you swim—a lot. Then one time last year, I was really sick, and I’d just stare at your box of shells, and I was thinking about that you’d sent me one when my mom died, and I’d just seen you swim at a meet the day before. So, I guess all that stuff is why I dreamed about you. I dreamed I was being rocked and knocked around on this boat during a storm, and I was sick because of that—in my dream that’s why I was sick—I was seasick. Then you were there—and you were a mermaid, and you gave me a beautiful shell and you said ‘Remember what shells do.’”
Heartbreaker Hanson Page 14
