How to Break a Heart (19 page)

I try to explain this gaze to Thad at the mall later, but (no surprise) he doesn’t get it. He keeps pretending he’s trying to understand, but all he’s really doing is using it as an excuse to make really stupid faces at me.

“Is this a
Meaningful Gaze
?” he asks. We’re sitting on a bench, and he twists sideways, lowers his eyebrows, and looks over his shoulder at me.

“No,” I tell him.

“How about this?” He turns back around and lets his head drop to the side. He opens his eyes as wide as they can go, and lets his tongue dangle sideways.

I swat at him.

“Oh!” He jumps up. “I know. How about this?” He puts one foot on the bench, then puts his elbow on his knee. He raises his hand and rests his chin lightly on his gloved knuckles, gazing like a presidential candidate into the distance.
Wistfully.

“You’re not even looking at me. Just stop,” I say.

“I’m just trying to understand,” he says, smirking.

“No you’re not. Anyway, you’re starting to look like an idiot.”

“Just starting? I can do better,” he says.

“Sit. Down.” I say. “I didn’t come here just so you could make fun of me.”

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“Oh, Thad, you’re so, so funny,”
I say in a mocking high-pitched voice.

He laughs, but then sniffs some air through his nose and scratches his ear in a way that makes me think he’s a little embarrassed. I kind of want to enjoy his embarrassment and maybe even start making fun of
him
, but whenever I think about his dad being dead, I feel like I should be nicer to him.

“Okay, sometimes you
are
funny,” I tell him.

He looks at me suspiciously. “You know what I don’t get?”

“Yeah. A lot of things,” I say.

He just shakes his head. “No. I don’t get why we’re even having this conversation. You were supposed to be making him jealous. And now, what are you telling me? That you failed
again
?”

“Or that I succeeded. In flirting,” I say, a little smugly.

“You weren’t supposed to be flirting with
him
, Collins. Not yet.”

I throw my hands up. “Isn’t the important thing for this plan to work that I get him to like me again?”

He shrugs and looks away. “I think the more important thing right now is that you stop liking him so much.”

For a second, I’m panicked.
Does Thad know? He better not!
So I pretend-knock on the back of his head. “Hey, nut case. Who said anything about
liking
him?
Now
who’s getting sentimental? Don’t you remember I’m supposed to snare him? And break his heart?”

He turns back to me and narrows his eyes. “Quick. Tell me three things you don’t like about him.”

“What?
Why?
”

“For your own protection,” he says. “This is your next assignment. It’s easy not to crush on someone when you can focus on their flaws. So, now—
quick
. Give me three things you don’t like about him.”

“Three?” It seems like an impossible task, but just to cover for myself, I laugh-snort and say, “I could give you
twenty
if I wanted to.”

“I’ll settle for three,” he says.

“All right, okay.” I do the snorty laugh again. “Fine, I’ll tell you.”

“So you said.”

“Well, okay, here you go. I don’t like his mother, for one,” I say.

I mean, what kind of mother-in-law would she be? Constantly hovering. Minding everyone’s business. I could live without that.

“That’s more about
her
than
him
.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t really like his haircut,” I say.

“He’s a Bieberhead, right? You agree?”

“Hardly ever. But fine, I’ll give you that.”

“Come on. Say it,” Thad says, cupping his hand behind his ear. “I want to hear it.”

I lower my gaze at him.

“
Saaay
it.”

I exhale. “Fine.” Through tight lips, I say, “Bieberhead.”

“What? Who?”

I let out a frustrated breath. “Nick Wainwright is a Bieberhead,” I finally say, just to shut him up.

Thad throws his fists up in victory. I roll my eyes.

“Okay, what else?” he says. He is enjoying this way too much.

Gah.
What don’t I like about Nick? I’ve spent so much time thinking about what I like—no,
love
—about him, it’s hard to say. Then something pops in my head. His ears. His tiny ears. It’s like they’re stuck in fourth grade and haven’t caught up with the rest of him. “His ears are small.”

He laughs. Or channels a coyote. It sounds about the same. “Good. Baby ears. Keep going. More flaws, please.”

“You said three things,” I remind him.

“Yeah, and you said you could give me twenty.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Thad exhales through his mouth and sweeps his hand through his hair. “Well, there’s a lot I don’t like about him.
A lot
,” he says, look-ing at me.

“Have you even seen him since elementary school? You hardly know him anymore!”

“And you know what?” he says. He seems a little upset. “You hardly do, either.”

I should argue with him—after all, Nick was my boyfriend for six weeks! But I also kind of don’t like seeing Thad upset, not in this way. So I say, “I did see him pick his nose once.”

This seems to satisfy Thad a little. His mouth almost stretches into a smile, and his eyes seem wider, quicker. “So he
does
still do that.”

“Well, I just saw it once,” I say. “He didn’t know I was watching.”

“Still counts. Okay, that’s a good one. A public picker,” Thad says. He turns to me and squints his eyes a little. “Hey, speaking of flaws, did you know that one of your ears is a little higher than the other?”

Great,
I think.
Welcome, new insecurity! You will be in good company! There are lots of experienced insecurities that have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have you met Unibrow? Or Man Knuckle? Or Toe Hair? And, yeah, how about the Double-A Twins—oh, you can’t see them? Don’t worry, no one else can, either!

“Well, you’re like Edward Scissorhands, wearing those stupid gloves around all the time.”

“Awesome.” He scissors his hands toward my head, making some sort of monster-y hissing sound.

“It’s
not
,” I say, scooting away. “It’s creepy.”

When he finally stops and looks away, I put my hands over my ears. Does one feel higher than the other? Is it the left one or the right one? Or maybe it’s the earlobes! I feel them. Oh my god, one is bigger than the other. And here I’ve completely decorated them with earrings, drawing even more attention to this horrible flaw!

Nick turns to see me grasping my ears. “I was totally kidding,” he tells me.

“You were?”

“Jeez, Collins,” he says, flopping his head to one side. He blows out a sigh and adds, “Well, me and my creepy scissor hands better head out. See you next time.”

“Why don’t we meet somewhere else? Don’t you get tired of the mall?”

“Nope,” he says, and skates off.
Whatever.
I watch him go. He’s getting pretty good. Not that I would ever tell him that.

And then I think of another Nick flaw. I bet Nick can’t skate like Thad. But that will have to be one to keep to myself. It’s hardly a real flaw anyway. I mean, I still haven’t learned how to salsa dance, and I sure hope no one’s holding that against me.

W
hen Thad gets home, Aunt Nora’s practically pacing.

“I’m glad you’re here—she’s been in her chair for almost three hours now.”

“Three
hours
?” He hadn’t even realized he’d been out that long.

“She got into the wheelchair when the therapist was here, and she wanted to stay in it for a while after the therapist left. But I can’t get her back out of it alone.”

He stumbles over a couple excuses about losing track of time. The truth is that he wasn’t careful enough—that he didn’t want to have to keep track. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay, hon, let’s just…” She motions for him to follow her.

In his mom’s room, he sees her in the wheelchair, her head leaning to the side. It gives him a strong and sudden ache. She just looks so small. So frail. So helpless. Tears push upward, but he squints them back.

“Mom?”

She opens her eyes and lifts her head, and in a groggy voice says, “Oh, good. You’re home.”

Thad gets behind the wheelchair and places his hands under his mom’s arms. Nora scoops her forearms under her knees. “One, two,” Nora counts, “three!”

They sweep her onto her bed, Nora making a tiny grunt, Thad not making a sound at all, not even a breath.

“So tired,” his mom says.

“You can get some real rest now,” Nora says.

Thad tries to help Aunt Nora put the pillows just right and arrange the bed, but she shoos him away.

“’Night, Mom,” he says.

“Mmm-hmm,” his mom hums, too tired for actual words.

He goes out to the kitchen and grabs a Yoo-hoo out of the refrigerator. He takes a swig.

Aunt Nora appears, her hands on her hips. “No way, uh-uh, not before dinner!” she says. It’s more of a scold than the usual good-natured badgering.

“Okay, calm down,” he says, his hands lifted in surrender.

“Have some plain milk instead,” she says, and blows some air out of puffed cheeks.

Okay, she’s definitely annoyed.

He opens the refrigerator and puts the bottle back in. “I didn’t know you were waiting. You could’ve called me.”

“I
did
.”

Whoops.

Did he even check his phone at all?

Nope.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. I guess I was”—
having fun for once;
pretending this new life wasn’t waiting for me, counting on me
—“distracted.”

“It’s just hard, you know.” She looks like she might cry.

Oh no.

He doesn’t know what to do. His eyes dart around the kitchen and land on the kettle. He guides Aunt Nora to a chair at the table and fills up the kettle with water. She sniffles. He brings her a paper towel. “Peppermint or lemon ginger?” he asks, words he knows she likes.

“Peppermint, please.” She looks up. “With honey?”

The water boils and he pours it into two cups. He sits down at the table with her. She looks up at him. And smiles. Finally. Thank god she smiles.

“Well, look at
you
,” she says. “
Actually
drinking tea.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he jokes. He swirls the tea bag around his mug, watching the hot water turn greenish-brown.

Her eyes rest on the shelf behind Thad. A stack of mail sits unopened. A useless phone book. And the folder. The manila folder.

“What’s that?” she asks, jutting her chin in its direction.

“What?” he tries.

“That file folder. Behind you.”

“Oh,” he says.
What now?
“I don’t know.”

“Where’d it come from?”

“I think”—his back straightens—“that guy—”

“Dirk?”

“Yeah, I think he dropped it off.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Here, hand it to me, hon.”

So he does. He crosses his foot over his knee and lets it bounce under the table. He watches her face. It doesn’t crumble, but her mouth tightens and her eyebrows pull together and she says, “We need to talk about this. These are important.”

“Okay.” He braces himself. “What is it?”

“Your enrollment papers.”

Relief.

“Well, Thaddeus, what do you think?”

“What about Mom?”
What about days like today, when she’s stuck in her wheelchair?

“We’ll…” She takes a breath and looks away. “We’ll figure that out. We will. But I need to know. Are you ready to go to school?”

Yes. No.
He’s not sure. He’s not even sure they’ll allow him in once they figure out he broke the window. If they haven’t already figured that out. Maybe this is his punishment—mind games. “Can I think about it?”

“Thad.”
She tilts her head. “The longer you take, the harder it is to get back into the routine.”

“I know, I just…” His voice trails off, and she lets it. She’s opening the envelope.

She pulls something out and stares at it for a full minute.

His foot stops jumping.

Her face crumbles. She blots her tears with the paper towel he gave her earlier. She pushes the envelope across the table to him. Inside is an old photo. Two young boys, maybe ten years old. They’ve just caught a big fish. One of them holds the fishing rod; the other holds the line. They are both squinting in the sun and smiling.

Officer Dirk. And Thad’s dad.

His face feels wet.

He was warned.