Broken Hearts (8 page)

Melissa wondered if Dave knew he was in trouble. She returned to her test, struggling to concentrate.

Why didn't Dave ask me to help him with this stuff? she wondered.

Too proud, she decided.

Sometimes Dave was just plain weird. He never liked to let on that he had a problem, that he was human. He always liked to pretend that he was on top of things, that he had everything under control.

At least he could have asked me to study with him, Melissa thought, shaking her head.

Now
what's going to happen?

She didn't have to wait long to find out.

When the bell rang ending the period, the test papers were passed to the front. Mr. Millen collected them all, then dismissed the class.

“Oh, Dave, could you see me for a minute?” he called, his face expressionless.

Melissa saw Dave hesitate at his desk. “S-sure,” he stammered.

Melissa closed her eyes. Poor Dave, she thought He's dead meat, just as he predicted.

She gave him a worried glance as she passed him and headed out the door. She stopped across from the classroom, greeted a few friends who were passing by, then leaned against the wall to wait for Dave.

He appeared a few minutes later, his face bright red, his expression glum. “Josie turned me in,” he muttered and uttered a few curses.

Her head bowed sympathetically, Melissa began walking toward her locker. Dave followed, muttering angrily.

“Can you believe it?” he demanded. “Can you believe that little rat would do that to me?”

Melissa stopped at her locker and raised her eyes to his. “But did you do it, Dave? Did you copy off her paper?”

“So what if I did?” Dave snarled.

Melissa dropped back, startled by his anger.

“Are you going to get on my case too?” he cried.

“I just asked,” Melissa replied softly. She unsnapped
her combination lock and pulled open her locker. “So what did Millen say?”

“That big jerk? He said he was giving me a zero,” Dave told her, his voice breaking. “That test counts for half the grade. So I get a zero for half my grade.” He kicked a locker angrily. “You know what that means? It means I get kicked off the wrestling team.”

“Oh no!” Melissa cried.

“Yeah, I get kicked off the wrestling team,” Dave repeated bitterly. He cursed some more. “And that means I don't get my wrestling scholarship. And that means I can't go to college. All because of that—”

At that exact moment Josie came walking by.

Dave reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Ow!” she cried. Her eyes flashed at him. “Let go of me!” she screamed nastily.

“Why'd you do it?” Dave demanded, squeezing her arm.

“Let
go
of me!” she repeated shrilly. She jerked her arm out of his grasp.

“Why'd you turn me in?” Dave insisted, his dark eyes wide with fury.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Josie said coldly, glancing past him to Melissa. “I mean, what choice did I have? You were leaning over so far to see the answers, you were breathing on my neck!”

Dave sputtered in rage but no words came out.

Josie spun away and hurried around the corner. Several kids had stopped to stare at the angry confrontation.

Dave uttered an angry cry and slammed Melissa's locker door shut, the sound echoing down the hall.
“She's wrecking my life!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “I
hate
Josie McClain!”

“Dave, stop! You're totally losing it!” Melissa cried.

He didn't seem to hear her. With another angry cry, he took off after Josie.

“Dave, come back!” Melissa screamed, terrified by his rage. “Come back! What are you going to do?”

J
osie stared at the social studies textbook. The words became a blur, shimmering black streams on the white page.

She'd been gazing at the same page for half an hour, unable to concentrate. She couldn't get Dave Kinley out of her mind.

I can't believe he and I used to go together, she told herself.

She thought of their angry confrontation in the hallway at school. All because she had told Mr. Millen that he was cheating. She didn't want to get Dave in trouble, but what choice did she have? There he was, practically hanging over her shoulder, copying every answer. He was bound to get them both in trouble. And that wasn't fair. She had studied hard for that test.

I did the right thing, Josie decided. So Dave is
angry. Big deal. Dave is always angry about something. He'll get over it.

She returned to her social studies book, but the words refused to come into focus. Feeling nervous, upset, she pushed her chair back from the desk and started to pace back and forth.

The clock said it was seven-thirty. Josie still had a lot of homework to do.

I'm so tired, she realized. I didn't get much sleep last night. Because of that intercom.

Because of Rachel. Calling me. Calling me again and again.

Asleep all the while.

A shiver crept down Josie's back.

She glanced at the rectangular gray box on the wall, and as she looked at it, it clicked on. She heard a cough, then Rachel's soft, pleading voice. “Josie, can you come to my room?”

“No!” Josie shouted, startled by her own outcry. “No! Not again! Not again!”

“Josie, please come to my room,” Rachel's voice pleaded softly from the small speaker.

“No!” Josie cried. “Erica is there, Rachel. Erica will take care of you.”

I've got to get out of here, she decided. I can't take this tonight. I really can't!

She grabbed her blue down jacket from her bed and hurried out of the room. The intercom speaker buzzed and crackled. Rachel's pleading voice seemed to follow Josie down the stairs.

She didn't breathe until she was outside. She
slammed the door behind her. At last Rachel's voice disappeared.

Was Rachel really calling me?

Was it a trick?

Am I cracking up?

Josie didn't care. She just had to get away. Away from all the anger. Away from all the pain.

It was a clear, cold night. The snow crunched under her feet as she made her way to the car in the driveway. Her breath steamed up, gray against the black night sky.

Somewhere down the block a cat cried, sounding like a human baby.

Steve, Josie thought. I'll go see Steve. He's the only one who understands.

♦ ♦ ♦

“This was a good idea,” Josie said, flashing Steve a warm smile. “I was so upset. But now I feel calm.” She grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him along with her.

“You're a good skater,” Steve said, struggling to catch up to her.

Josie's skates glided almost silently over the ice. She loved to skate, sliding so fast, feeling so weightless and free. She let go of Steve's hand and, moving gracefully, started around the circular rink.

There were only a few other people at the Shadyside Indoor Rink, a couple of younger kids stumbling over each other with their mother cheering them on, and another teenage couple, dressed in bulky sweaters and wool ski caps, not from Shadyside High.

Josie completed her circuit, gliding effortlessly,
enjoying the slicing sound her skates made on the ice. “Watch this,” Steve said, grinning. He started skating backward.

“Not bad,” Josie told him, grinning. She skated up to him as he backed around the rink, smiling at her.

“Can you do this?” he asked, challenging her.

“I don't think so,” Josie admitted. “You know who's the
really
good skater in my family? Erica. She's not at all athletic. But she can really skate.”

“Next time I'll invite
her!”
Steve joked.

Thinking of Erica made Josie think of Rachel. Her smile faded. She shook her head hard as if trying to shake away her thoughts.

“Can we sit down for a bit?” she called to Steve.

Seeing the change in her expression, he agreed.

A few minutes later they were sitting in a corner of the small skating rink café, sipping steaming hot chocolate from white cardboard cups.

“Thursday's a good night to come here,” Steve said, glancing around the cavernous building. “There's no one here. It's almost like having our own private rink.”

Scooting his chair in, he accidentally banged the tiny metal table with his knee, causing a little of Josie's hot chocolate to spill over the side of the cup. “Sorry,” he apologized. “That was klutzy.”

“I don't care,” Josie said, distracted. “Coming here was a great idea. A real life saver. I just had to get out of the house.”

He locked his eyes on hers. His smile faded. “Things are tough at home?”

“It's just so depressing,” Josie said, her voice catching
in her throat. “I-I'm just so unhappy at home. All the time.”

She took a sip of the hot chocolate. It burned the roof of her mouth, but she didn't care. She could feel her unhappiness welling up, about to burst out of her.

Should she hold it in?

No. She couldn't hold it in any longer.

She had to talk to someone. Steve was a good listener.

Steve squeezed her hand. “You're depressed because of Rachel?”

Josie nodded. “Because of Rachel. Because of Erica. Because of everyone.”

“What's going on?” Steve asked, nervously tapping the metal tabletop with his fingers.

Josie told him about the night before, about the intercom clicking on, about Rachel calling to her in that tiny, whispery voice, then appearing to be asleep.

“I—I feel so guilty about Rachel,” Josie continued. “Every time I see Rachel I feel guilty. Every time I see that sweet smile, that childish expression. Every time I brush her hair. Every time I talk to her. Every time I realize that Rachel will always be like a child, that Rachel will never grow up. Never have a family. Never have a real life. Every time I see her, so beautiful, so—helpless. It just makes me want to cry, Steve. I feel so guilty. So helpless too.”

Steve exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “I don't know what to say,” he muttered. “I guess it'll just take time. I mean—”

“Erica makes it even worse,” Josie interrupted. “All
Erica does is
try
to make me feel guilty. Guilty about not spending time with Rachel. Guilty about not spending more time with her. Guilty about not taking care of Rachel. But I just can't
bear
it, Steve. Why can't Erica give me some space? I mean, she
must
realize that I feel guilty enough already.”

“Don't upset yourself,” Steve said uncomfortably. “Want to skate some more?”

Josie shook her head. She could feel hot tears form in the corners of her eyes, but she didn't care. She let them run down her cheeks without attempting to wipe them away.

“I still love Rachel,” she said. “She's my twin sister, after all. I love her, but I can't stand to be with her, to see what's happened to her. That's why I stay away as much as I can. That's why I only go home when I absolutely have to.”

“It'll get better,” Steve said lamely. “You'll see.” He finished his hot chocolate. Then he tapped the bottom of the cup nervously against the tabletop. “Really. You'll see, Josie.”

She shook her head and wiped her wet cheeks with both hands. “Erica doesn't understand,” she continued, ignoring Steve's discomfort. “She thinks I'm just being mean. Irresponsible. But I'm not. She just doesn't understand.
Nobody
does.”

“Josie, really—” Steve started.

“Look,” she interrupted. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans. “Look at this one.”

She unfolded a card. Another valentine. A bouquet of red roses on the front. She shoved the card at Steve with a trembling hand. “Just look at this one.”

He took the card and read the handwritten rhyme aloud in a sing-song voice.

“Who's sending these cards?

Don't bother to wonder.

On Valentine's Day

You'll be six feet under.”

Steve stared at the rhyme, printed carefully in black ink. He narrowed his blue eyes thoughtfully. “Do you still think Jenkman's sending them?” he asked.

“Ever since I dumped him, he's been following me around, pestering me like some kind of sick psycho.”

“These have to be jokes,” Steve said, closing the card and handing it back to Josie. “Just stupid jokes.”

Josie crumpled the card into a ball and shoved it into her nearly empty hot chocolate cup. “You think so?”

“Jenkman is weird, but he's not a murderer!” Steve declared. “It's just a stupid joke, Josie. You shouldn't take it seriously.”

“I—I don't know
how
to take it,” Josie stammered. “This is the third one. They're really starting to get me scared. What if he
means
it?”