The Heartbreak Messenger (12 page)

The Pretty Nerd rolled her eyes. “Gunner told me to keep
our
relationship secret because that would make it more exciting. I figured he was seeing someone else, but I didn't care. I liked having his attention.” She snapped her book closed. “Of course, I didn't think he was seeing
two
other girls besides me.”

Then the room fell silent again. I could feel the dust settling and the truth sinking in. The Popular One dropped her head into her hands. Drama Queen cracked her knuckles. Pretty Nerd straightened her glasses. Eventually they all looked up at me.

“So that's it?” Drama Queen said. “He's breaking up with us all at once? Dumping the whole lot and moving on to a new group of unsuspecting victims?”

The Popular One swore. So much for rule number seven.

I cleared my throat and looked meaningfully down at the table. Except for Pretty Nerd, no one had noticed the envelopes. One by one they now reached for the envelopes in front of them and tore it open.

The Popular One dumped out a little black book.

Drama Queen dumped out a cheap tire pressure gauge with the name “Mickelson's” on the side.

The Pretty Nerd pulled out another 3x5 card.

The Popular One thumbed through the book. “This is full of names and numbers.” She flipped the pages, soaking it in. “Samantha, Bethany, Karyn, Lizzy…” She broke off and looked at Drama Queen. “You're Lizzy, aren't you?”

“And I'm Bethany,” the Pretty Nerd added.

The Popular One stuck a finger on a page and stared. “And I'm Janine.” She flipped to the front of the book, and then grinned. “This is Gunner's book. All the girls he's gone out with. Maybe some he hasn't yet. There's even some notes in here.”

Drama Queen slowly tapped the pressure gauge against the palm of her hand. “You know, I think you can use this little thing to let the air out of someone's tire. I've never tried it before, but I'm sure I could learn.”

The Popular One was still flipping page-by-page through the little book. “I can think of a few ways to make that three-timer's life a little more difficult with this.…”

Pretty Nerd brought up the index card and read, “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” She blinked. “That's a bit over the top. But I'm the Web administrator for the student e-mail listing. Let me know what you have in mind with that little black book, and I'm sure there's a way I can help out.”

The Popular One smiled wickedly. “Well, for starters, I'm thinking we totally hit him where it hurts the most. First…”

I knew that if I stayed any longer, I might be considered an accomplice. With their attention squarely on the Popular One, I slipped along the wall and out the door. I glanced back through the window of Study Room Two to see the ex-girlfriends with their heads together. A feeling of wicked triumph welled up inside of me.

My job there was finished. Gunner was free.

And in a whole heap of trouble.

 

Chapter 18

“Now there's someone just looking for trouble.”

At the sound of her voice I paused, mid-step, and turned to come face-to-face with Abby. The sidewalk on West Oak was littered with fall leaves, and I realized I must have been deep in thought for her to get so close without me noticing. “Nah. I'm just looking for a book of stamps.”

“Stamps? Like for mailing a letter?” Abby said. She fell into pace with me as we walked, her backpack bouncing gently with each step. “Do people still use those?”

“I guess so. You know, those old-timers who still think the Internet is just a fad. Mick asked me to run and get some. Where are you going?”

“Isabelle's house. A group project for Spanish.”

We walked together for half a block without speaking. Abby and I had never really talked about her reaction to me being the Heartbreak Messenger. But it had loomed over us ever since, like the Goodyear blimp. Part of me kind of wished she would bring it up so I could have a second chance to defend my chosen profession. But the rest of me would have been happy to see her let go of the whole thing altogether, or at least pretend it didn't bother her.

I glanced at her, studied the clouds, managed to find a fire hydrant fascinating, and then finally said, “So. How you doing, stranger?”

“Stranger? I see you in class every day.”

“Yeah, but … you know.” I crunched through a pile of leaves. Abby shuffled through them with several light kicks. I wanted to say that I missed having her around, that I missed the good old days, that—

“So how'd you do on that algebra test today?” she asked.

I glanced her way again and wondered if she was okay with being a stranger.

“Well,” I said. “When lunchtime came I saw variables floating in my fruit cup.”

Abby laughed. “Oh, come on. It couldn't have been that bad.”

“What about you? Piece of cake, right?”

“Well…”

“Yeah. Don't hold back, now. What about your
Call of the Wild
essay? Did you finish?”

“More or less. I still have issues with that whole theme and symbols thing. I mean, the writer was just telling a story. He didn't decide on a theme and throw in a bunch of symbols that no one but an English teacher was going to notice.”

“Well, we all see things differently, I guess.”

Abby fiddled with the zipper on her jacket.
Zzziippp
down.
Zzziippp
up. “Hey, speaking of English. Um. I was wondering if I could come and study with you and Rob tomorrow.”

I glanced over at her, but she was looking straight ahead.

“Yeah. Sure. I mean, we never kicked you out.”

Zzziippp
down. “Of course, I know that. It's just, well, I haven't been doing too well in English lately and my mom says I need to shape up—and in history—or I can't do the photography class at the community center. And … other things.”

I figured “other things” included going out with an eighth-grader. I briefly considered what might happen if I said no. But it was Abby.

“Sure. I mean, Rob hasn't been the same since you stopped hanging with us anyway.”

Abby smiled. “Well, it's nice to be needed. I'm sure the real problem is that you guys need some hobbies. You know, go find a girlfriend or something.”

I crunched through another pile of leaves. Harder this time. “Yeah, well, maybe someday.”

“I don't understand why you don't like girls, Quentin.”

I stopped walking. I looked at her. She looked back.

It seemed like a long time before a car passed by and broke our gaze. I blinked and turned my head. “Who said I didn't like girls? I just don't need a girlfriend. Not right now, at least.”

Abby's eyes looked past me as she retreated into her own thoughts. Then she suddenly glanced up at the building behind her. “Oh. Look. The post office. I probably ought to get going anyway.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Zzziippp
up. And off she went.

I entered the post office but then immediately turned to look out the window as Abby crossed the street, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. Questions tumbled through my mind like a collection of bouncy balls in the clothes dryer. Did Abby really just happen to bump into me on West Oak? Or did she follow me there to talk with me? And if she did want to talk with me, was she really interested in still being friends, or did she just want help with her homework?

And why the heck am I feeling so confused?

I bought the stamps and kept the change (which was a lot less than Mick suggested it might be) and headed back. I'd walked about a block when I noticed a silver Mustang driving toward me. It was sweet. One of those with the low spoiler and chrome rims and black pinstriping on the sides. As it passed me, the wheels screeched in a tight U-turn and it pulled up beside me, heading the wrong way on the empty street.

I wasn't exactly sure what to do, so I went right on walking. The Mustang kept pace with me. I glanced over and saw an absolutely gorgeous high school blonde in the driver's seat with another girl next to her. I'd seen the other girl before—maybe a friend of Marcus or his former girlfriend. They were both staring at me.

“You the Heartbreak Messenger?” the blond girl asked.

Visions of hired assassins and ex-girlfriends with a vendetta sprang to my mind. I considered bolting, but even if I ran for my life at top speed, I'd never beat out a V8 with 315 horsepower. So I did the next best thing. I turned my head suavely and said, “Yeah.” My voice only cracked a little.

The girl stopped the car and put it in park. I kept walking.

“I've got a job for you, if you're interested.”

I hesitated for a moment before turning around. Somehow it had never occurred to me that I might have a female customer. I suppose that's just a little sexist, but hey, I'm a guy. As far as I knew, it was the guys who did the breaking up. Well, at least that's what I thought.

I approached the car, still worried that it might be some trick. Maybe she had Carmen and half of the girls' soccer team in the backseat, ready to spring out and jump me. They'd tie me up with carnation stems and shove chocolates down my throat while beating me over the head with the movie script of my life. Then I realized it would be hard to have anyone spring out of a two-door pony car, so I took a few more steps.

She looked me up and down, but didn't seem too impressed. Maybe she expected someone taller. “I'm Lisa,” she said. “You got a pen?” She spoke to me like she was ordering a hamburger or something. But, wow, her eyes sparkled like polished headlights.

I handed her the pen from my pocket. She grabbed a scrap of paper from the console and scribbled something on it. Then she shoved the pen and paper into my hands. “That's the heart I want you to break. I want you to break it hard. I want to hear it crack all the way on the other side of town. Got it?”

The letters were kind of squished together. “Duke Ripling,” I read. The name seemed vaguely familiar. There was an address below the name. “Is this your boyfriend?”

She looked at me like I was a three-year-old with a snotty nose. “If he was my cousin, I wouldn't need to break up with him, huh?”

Okay, dumb question. But I'd never seen lips as perfectly formed as hers. I cleared my throat.
Professionalism,
I reminded myself. “Um, I mean, is this his home address? I need to know so I can, uh, come up with a plan of attack.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What do you charge?” she asked.

Now I was in familiar territory. “Twenty-five.”

She pulled some money out of the driver's console and pushed it toward me. I glanced up the street to see if any cars were coming, but fortunately it was West Oak.

“Of course…” I started, but then thought better of it.

“What? You charge more to break up with a guy?”

“No, no, it's just that, well, sometimes…”

“Spit it out, junior.”

Why do high-schoolers always have cute little names for kids younger than them?

“Well, I usually offer to include flowers and chocolates to, well, to let them down gently.”

The girl stared at me for a moment and then laughed. “Flowers and chocolates. Oh, Duke would love that, wouldn't he?” She stared at me a little more. “What do you charge for that?”

“Another twenty-five.”

She glanced at her friend and smirked. “Tell you what, junior. My little two-timer would enjoy those flowers and bon-bons just a little too much. But you go out and find yourself a dead rat. Wrap it up in a box, nice and pretty, and give it to him as a gift from me. You do that and I'll give you another twenty-five.”

A dead rat. Right. I laughed, just a little. “That's a good one.”

She stared right at me without a flutter of her long blond eyelashes. “I'm not joking, kid. I want a dead rat. Can you do that or do I need to take my business elsewhere?”

“Uh … no, no, not a problem. The Heartbreak Messenger can handle anything you want.” I didn't need her creating competition for me over a dead rodent. The rat idea was way too gross for my tastes, but at least there wouldn't be any big expenses.

“Good.” She shoved some more money into my hands. “I need it done soon. By tomorrow.” Then she pushed the gear shift and squealed into the other lane and down the street.

I double counted the money and shoved it into my pocket, next to the chump change from Mick's stamps. Fifty bucks, easy as pie. I looked around at the stores that lined the street.
Now where,
I wondered,
do they sell dead rats?

 

Chapter 19

“You need to find a what?” Rob looked at me as if I had suggested we run naked through the hallway. We were in PE, shooting hoops out on the asphalt courts. Rob and I had a backboard to ourselves. We weren't very good, so no one was dying to play with us.

“Yeah, I know, I know. It's pretty gross. But everybody has their own style. This is what she wants. Besides, she paid me for it.”

“She paid you to give a dead rat to her boyfriend?”

“Hey, don't knock it, man. My clients have been very satisfied so far.” I shot and the ball flew at least a foot under the basket.

“Quentin, more follow-through,” shouted Coach Wong. He moved his hand through the air like his wrist was broken. I waved and nodded. As if I knew what he was talking about.

Rob ran after the ball and came back dribbling. “That's just so cold, man. A dead rat.”

“So, any idea where I can find one?” I had spent the previous evening looking around our apartment complex, hoping to find some rat traps, or at least a mouse. All I came up with was a fistful of dryer lint in the laundry room. I didn't want to admit it to Rob, but I was stressing out just a little. The girl in the Mustang didn't strike me as the understanding type. Her fifty dollars was on loan unless I could deliver a dead rat. And with the end of the month approaching, I needed that cash.