How to Break a Heart (16 page)

T
he next morning at school, I pass by Colby Ahrens. He gives me a little wave and a smile. I start to smile back normally, but then I remember I’m supposed to be finding someone to make Nick jealous. So I give him a look that I hope says
Come hither. And
stay
hither.
He gives me a look back that pretty much says he thinks I’m crazy, and then, in an obvious panic, he speeds down the dead-end cultural studies hall and finds a tattered-edged poster of a German castle, left over from International Awareness Week, to stare at.

In English, I try to throw Adam Dorner a glance or two. He used to like me, for about a week back in seventh grade. Adam’s usually good for at least an ego-boosting smile or something, but today he’s not looking anywhere near me. I guess I do that more than once or twice, because Mr. Bonna notices and yells out, “EYES FRONT, MISS COLLINS!” That’s how he says it. Mortifying.

In the hallway between second and third periods, I make eye contact with Matt Hajib. Then I guess I make the mistake of trying to wink at him, like Mariela would, forgetting completely that I don’t know how to wink. Whatever happens on my face ends up having the opposite effect, as later in the morning, during P.E., he trades me off the basket-ball team for Grace Wong—and Matt used to write me love poems! (Okay, it was only once, and it was in sixth grade, but still, it was a love poem…although I didn’t really know it at the time. He wrote I had
cut
his eye when I was most certain I did NOT. Later, I found out he meant
caught
his eye. He also said my skin lit up like a Chinese lantern, and that was weird.)

I duck into the bathroom just before lunch, and when I come out, I nearly walk right into Michael Dorchett, throwing myself off balance.

“Whoa, there,” Michael says, laughing a little. He steadies me, his hands on my shoulders.

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” he says. Our eyes meet. “Be careful.” He seems slightly amused.

“I will,” I say. And since he’s still looking at me and holding my shoulders, I go for it.

I give him a smoldering smile. I’m pretty sure it’s smoldering. Or sizzling, maybe? Anyway, something that could burn.

“Mabry?” He lets go of my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Not exactly the response I was going for. “I’m fine,” I tell him, trying to maintain my composure. I notice the corner of his collar is folded under. I reach over and start to smooth it out.

He steps back, his hand going to his collarbone. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“It was just—your collar—”

“I’ll get it,” he says, and rushes down the hall.

Sirina walks over. “What were you doing?”

“Flirting?”

“Mabry, that wasn’t flirting.
Harassing
, maybe,” she says, “but not flirting. What’s happened to you?”

“Oh,” I sigh as we start walking toward the cafetorium. “I don’t know. I guess now that I’m supposed to be flirting with the whole wide world and making Nick jealous, I’ve completely forgot-ten how.”

“Yeah, and speaking of Nick, where is he? He owes us some news.”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” I say.

“So no news? Really?”

“Other than that I’ve completely lost my touch? Nope.”

“Well, what’s he been doing? Too busy kung fu fighting? Come on,” she says as we walk into the cafetorium. “Let’s go find
him
.”

I grab her hand and pull her to our table. “I can’t. That’s pretty much the opposite of Thad’s rules.”

“Yeah, normally I’d be all over that. But when the YoJo’s on the line?”

“Don’t forget, I’m supposed to be a heartbreaker,” I say, unpacking my lunch. “To quote Thad, ‘You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.’”

“Yeah, I get that, but we have to have the story,” she says. “I don’t even care that I’m your editor.
I’ll
interview him.”

“Wait!” I say, before I can think. “You don’t even
like
Nick!”

“So?” she says. “What does that have to do with it?”

Technically, it shouldn’t have anything to do with it. A journalist is supposed to be neutral. But it has
a lot
to do with it, as far as I’m concerned. Will Sirina even ask the right questions? Or will she just make him sound like a dork?

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “It’s like you’re having some sort of telepathic communication with your spinach salad.”

“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll interview him.”

She studies me. “What about Thad? What about his rules?”

I shrug. “You’re my best friend. He’s…” I stop. None of the words going into my filter sound right.
He’s just a guy. He doesn’t matter. He’s not.
So I finally say the one thing that feels true. “He’ll be fine.” After all, he’s been through a lot worse.

But I hardly catch more than a glimpse of Nick, and the whole day goes by without
him
finding
me
. The truth is that if I were a lost treasure, he’d be a penniless fool.

I drown my sorrows at home with
La Vida Rica
. Mariela has already slipped the key to her mother’s jail cell out of the back pocket of the police chief, during an embrace. Now she is sneaking down the jail corridor dressed as a prison guard. Upstairs the chief has realized his keys are missing. My phone buzzes, but I let it go to voice mail. Thad or Sirina or my mom can wait.

But when Mariela finds the cell—
empty!
—and the credits begin to roll, I pick up my phone to see who’s called. And I see something that almost stops my beating heart.

It was
Nicolás
.

I stare at the little missed-call icon that appears at the top of my screen and think,
Great. Just great. Now what?

Do I call him back?

Of course, dummy,
I hear Sirina’s voice in my head.
We have an award to win!

Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you’re scraping your coronary artery from the tread of his Air Jordans.
That’s Thad’s voice.

“Grrrr,” I say to the empty room. This is all too much.

I’m on the verge of calling Nick back (Sirina wins) when his name lights my phone up again. Technically, I answer it successfully. But socially, it’s an epic fail, because the words out of my mouth are, “It’s
you
!”

“Oh,” Nick says. “Hey.”

“Hi.”
My voice comes out like a satisfied sigh.

“Can you talk?”

“Sure,” I say. I can’t help but add, “I thought you were going to find me in school today.”
So we could look deep into each other’s eyes. Maybe graze fingertips.

“Well, I
was
looking for you,” he says.

“You were?”
Yearning
for me, maybe?
Pining
for me, perhaps? Say it,
say it!

“Yeah, but I just wanted to catch you alone, and you never were.”

Darn you, Thad Bell! All this work to try to get him jealous only ended up keeping him away!

“Sorry about that,” I say.

“No worries,” he says. He makes this little laugh-like noise that he does. Over the phone, it sounds a little like a dog panting, but it gets me right in the left ventricle.
I miss him.
“Nick?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Have you—”
Have you missed me?

But Thad’s voice from inside my head keeps the words trapped in my new brain-to-mouth filter, which is growing thicker all the time.
Dude. Pathetic.

“Have I what?” Nick asks.

“I don’t know—never mind.”

“Okay.”
Pant-pa
nt
. “So, you were right. I remembered more details. I have a better description of the guy.”

I feel an emotional thud. Oh, right. The article. That’s all he’s interested in.

Nick and true love. Sirina and the YoJo. If you put those two things on a seesaw, I don’t want to admit which one would be dangling in the air and which would be scraping the sand. I think about Sirina, and try to keep the seesaw balanced. I reach from the couch to my backpack and get ready to take notes. “Go ahead. What did he look like?”

“Well, he had that hoodie on, that sweatshirt. I think it was blue, and his face was kind of shadowy.”

“Like, shadowy in what way? Like, sinister shadowy?”

“Well,” he says, “I guess it was just kind of dark-shadowy.”

“Could you see his hair at all?”

“It was under his hood, but I think it was brown.”

“How about his eyes? What color were they?”

“They were brown, too. Definitely brown.”

“Small and beady?” I ask.

“No, uh, I don’t think so. Just brown eyes, that’s all.”

“Nothing interesting about them?”

“What do you mean ‘interesting’?” Nick asks.

“Like, different in some way. Were they hazel, or just brown?”

“What’s hazel?”

“Never mind,” I say. “What else did you see? How about his nose? How sharp and pointed was it?”

“I don’t think it looked sharp and pointed.”

“Well, what
did
it look like. Round? Potato-like?”

“It was pretty straight. But it was still kind of hard to see.”

“Because of his sneer?”

“Sneer?” Nick says. “No, I don’t think he was sneering. He kind of looked surprised maybe?”

Surprised at your bravery. Your strength.

“Any defining characteristics?” I ask.

“Like what?”

“Like a huge growth, or maybe a skull-and-crossbones tattoo. Something like that.”

“I—I don’t think so. Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay. These are just things I have to ask. As a reporter.” A sharp-dressed reporter with shiny hair, I remind myself. “So, how massive was this guy?”

“He was tall, but actually kind of skinny.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’d say skinny.
Ish.
” He pants again. “But it was hard to tell with those baggy clothes. He looked like he was about our age.”

“But he must have been strong,” I say. “I mean, he had to be pretty strong to punch out a window in the first place. And fast, too, to get away from you.”

“Oh,” he says, and laugh-pants. “Yeah, maybe.”

“And dangerous.”

He pauses. “Maybe a little.”

“Well, Abe and Patrick ran, so it must have been kind of scary.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Okay, maybe he did look a little dangerous.”

Oh, my warrior. My valiant, valiant man.

“Well, do you have everything you need?” he asks.

Everything but
you
, my love.
El guardián de mi corazón
—the guardian of my heart. Everything
but
.

I just say, “Pretty much.”

“Awesome,” he says. “When will the next article be posted?”

“As soon as possible,” I say.

“Yeah, cool. That other one was
great
,” he says, and pants again.

I realize that although I’ll be making Nick happy, and Sirina, mostly, too, Thad won’t be pleased. Not right away. But for now, two out of three isn’t bad.

I call Sirina when I get off the phone with Nick. “I got the next part of the story,” I tell her.

“What’d he say?”

“Brown hair, brown eyes—”

“That sounds like half the guys in school. What else?”

“He said the guy looked dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats. “Okay, let’s get this thing written tomorrow. Somehow. You can show me your notes. But I’m starting to think there’s a bigger story here.”

“What?”

“Well, why aren’t we getting any cooperation from the school? I mean, Officer Dirk’s a complete roadblock. I’m going to have to talk to Mrs. Neidelman. Maybe she can make Dirk talk to us. It’s like he has a personal vendetta against us winning the YoJo.”

“Yeah, but I’m not surprised,” I tell her. “It’s like he has a personal vendetta against
life
.”

Before I silence my phone for the night, I text her.
Good night, my rhinestone-studded sea urchin.

Good night, my orange-peel toe sock,
she writes back.

THE VINDICATOR

The Official News Blog of Hubert C. Frost Middle School

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