The Heartbreak Messenger (5 page)

The thoughts that had trailed me for most of the day suddenly reappeared. I sighed and crunched another cookie. “You noticed that, too?”

Rob snorted. “Yeah. Hard not to. I mean, I hear it happens sometimes, eighth-graders hooking up with seventh-graders—”

“Should we start with English?” I dusted the paper fortunes off my folder and pulled it out of my backpack.

Rob glanced at me. “Um, sure.” He flipped open a textbook. “Hey, Ricky Mitchell told me he set up a new bike jump over at Lincoln Hill Park. Says you can get some sweet air time. We should go check it out today.”

“Cool,” I mumbled. My bike-jumping career had consisted mostly of twisted handlebars and scraped elbows. It came to a dead stop two years before when I broke my arm down by the river. Mom told me that I'd be paying for the next broken bone out of my own pocket. Ever since then, my bike always seemed to have a flat tire whenever Rob wanted to go jump.

“Hey.”

Rob and I both looked up to see a high-schooler approaching us from across the parking lot. He had on expensive shoes and a letterman jacket with the name “Jared” embroidered on the front. I recognized him from around town, but I didn't know him. And I didn't figure he wanted to discuss bike jumping.

He stopped a few yards short of the picnic table. He looked at both of us and then pointed at me with his chin. “You the guy I'm looking for?”

I was honestly clueless. “Um … who are you looking for?”

“The kid that … you know…” He huffed and glanced around before dropping his voice. His creased forehead vaguely reminded me of a ticked-off bulldog. “The Heartbreak Messenger.”

I'd never heard that name before, but I immediately knew what he meant. My throat got a little tight and I couldn't swallow. It hadn't occurred to me that there might be dangers associated with the job I had done for Marcus. This was probably Melissa's brother, or cousin, or a hired hit man with instructions to take me down. Ignorance was my best strategy.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about,” I said in what I hoped was an innocent voice.

The guy took a step closer. “Are you the kid that broke up with Melissa Hales for Marcus McFallen?”

There was silence for a whole five seconds. Then Rob whooped. “You're famous, Quentin! Wow! The Heartbreak Messenger. You're like a cross between a superhero and a gangster.”

I could have slugged him. Hard. Instead I looked as coolly as possible at the guy in the letterman. “Yeah, that's me.”

He nodded his head toward the parking lot. “I need to talk to you.” He glanced nervously at Rob.

So did I. Rob shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

I followed the guy to the far edge of the parking lot, which was hedged on one side by trees. I took comfort in knowing he could only get in a few swings before Mom or Mick would see and come rescue me. That wouldn't be too bad. Probably a few days in the hospital, and the whole school hearing how my mom had saved me from a bloody beating by knocking a high-schooler on the head with a monkey wrench.

The guy glanced around as he came to a stop, apparently satisfied with where we were. I debated whether I should try to fight back, or if that would just make it worse. But I knew Rob was still watching. I clenched my fist.

“I'm Jared. I've got a few classes at school with Marcus. He told me about what you did for him. I wanna hire you.”

My fear melted away like ice cream on the pavement. “Hire me?”

“Yeah,” Jared said. “I, uh, I need to break up with my girl.” He was staring at the ground. “I think it would be easier … better … for both of us … if it went through someone else.”

I felt it welling up inside me. The same feeling I'd had entering the old folks' home back in the day with a stack of fundraising catalogs, a golden opportunity ready and waiting.

I nodded sagely. “You don't need to explain to me. I understand completely.”

Jared half-smiled. “I figured you would.”

I cleared my throat. “I'm sure Marcus told you that my rates are high, but fair. I mean, after all, you're not going to find anyone else in town that has my kind of experience doing this.”

Jared folded his arms, listening.

Deep breath. “I charge a flat fee of twenty-five dollars for a basic breakup. I'll deliver the message, and give you a confirmation when it's done. But most of my clients realize it's a little cold to have someone just deliver a message in a situation like this. So I also offer a deluxe package that includes chocolates and/or flowers.” I silently thanked Melissa for her parting advice, even though this probably wasn't what she had in mind.

“Chocolates and flowers?” Jared looked slightly confused. “But I'm breaking up with her.”

I smiled sadly. “Of course. But the flowers kind of say ‘Thanks for the memories.' And the chocolates, well, you don't want to leave the girl completely alone.”

“Why not? She'll find someone else soon enough.”

Think quick
.
Think quick
.
Ah.
“Let me put it this way: The easier you let her down, the less likely she'll be to come after you with pepper spray.”

Jared studied me for a minute and then grinned. “I like your thinking. The Heartbreak Messenger has obviously done this before.”

I spread my arms out confidently, like a jeweler behind his glass case. “So what will it be?”

He reached back and pulled out his wallet. “I'll take the deluxe package.”

“Great.” I realized I still had my English folder and a pen in my hand. “I don't have any of my standard forms with me, but why don't you just tell me your girlfriend's name, her address, where she works, and what her favorite flower is. The Heartbreak Messenger will take care of the rest.”

I charged Jared ten dollars for the chocolates. I had bought chocolates for Mother's Day before, and I knew I could get a nice box for less than that. I wasn't sure about the flowers, though. I made a guess at fifteen dollars. The total came to fifty dollars, more than half of which was pure profit.

Any kid would have been excited about earning that kind of cash. But by the time Jared was out of sight, I was already thinking ahead. If I was going to help Mom out with our rent, I'd need more than twenty-five dollars. I figured that our rent was probably in the neighborhood of four hundred bucks. To put down half of that, it meant eight jobs like this one each month.
Whoa.
But it had to be done.

Living in the street didn't appeal to me.

 

Chapter 7

When school ended the next day, I bought a box of chocolates at the grocery store and then headed down the street to Pretty Bouquets, the only flower shop I knew. A little brass bell dinged as I entered. My nose was immediately attacked by the overwhelming scent of flowers and candles and potpourri.

A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back greeted me from behind the counter. “Hello, dear. What can I do for you today?”

“Hi. I need to buy some flowers.”

“I'm glad to hear that, sweetie, because that's what we sell.” She let out a high-pitched laugh. “What kind are you looking for?”

Jared had never bought flowers for his girlfriend before, so he didn't know what kind she liked. I knew I was about to show my own ignorance, but it couldn't be helped. “Well, ones that smell good, I guess.”

The woman laughed again, but not as hard. “Let me ask you this: Are they for a young woman?”

I nodded. “Yeah, they're for a girl.”

“How lovely. And what does the girl look like? Her complexion, her hair color?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? How can you buy flowers for a girl if you don't even know what she looks like?”

“I didn't think that would be a requirement.”

The woman seemed a little flustered. “Of course it is. The color and the species of flower should complement the girl's appearance.” She paused for a moment, and then seemed to realize something. “Oh, I see. This is a blind date.”

I shook my head. “I'm in the seventh grade. I'm way too young to worry about the whole dating thing.”

She stared at me for a moment. “All right then, can you tell me the occasion for giving the flowers?”

The woman was so prim and proper that I couldn't resist telling the truth, just to ruffle her feathers a little. “I'm breaking up with her.”

The flower lady straightened her back slightly and stared at me some more. “You aren't dating anyone, yet you want flowers to break up with a girl. A girl you've never seen.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The woman sighed. “Then I would recommend roses. They are an all-purpose flower when it comes to matters of romantic relationships.”

“How much is a bouquet of roses?”

“My bouquets start at twenty-four ninety-nine.”

Ouch.
I pointed to some other flowers behind the counter. I thought they might have been tulips. “What about those?”

“Those bouquets start at eighteen ninety-nine.”

I pointed to some others. Maybe lilies. Or orchids. Or something else.

“Fourteen ninety-nine.”

My profits were evaporating before my eyes.

“What's the cheapest bouquet of flowers I can get from you?”

The lady sighed again, defeated. She handed me a bouquet of white flowers wrapped in green paper. “Carnations. Nine ninety-nine. Traditionally a funeral flower.”

“Now we're talking.” I paid for the flowers and the lady told me I could pick out a message card for free. I chose one that said, “My Sympathies.” I didn't think the “Congratulations” card would be appropriate, although I briefly considered “Get Well Soon.” I stuck the card into the center of the flowers and headed for the exit. I had a message to deliver.

I hadn't gone a block from the flower shop when my nerves began to get to me. There I was, about to meddle in somebody else's relationship. Meddle, nothing. I was going to tear it down like a trigger-happy demolition man. With Marcus and Melissa it was different. I knew them. But these were two strangers. It felt weird and exciting and terrifying all at once.

And then, as I rounded the corner of the grassy high school sports fields, I saw Abby coming toward me. Then it felt mostly terrifying. I stuck the flowers behind my back.

“Hey, Quentin,” she said as we both came to a stop on the sidewalk. “What's with the flowers?”

“Flowers?” I looked into my hands as though they'd been empty seconds before. “Oh … those. Um, they're not for me. I mean … I'm not going to give them to … or actually … um, they're not from me to anyone. In particular.” Smooth as silk.

“But … they're for a girl?” Abby asked the question slowly, like she was trying to solve one of those mind-bender puzzles and talk at the same time.

I was stuck. What the heck was I supposed to say? I couldn't make up a lie about giving the flowers to just anybody. I figured I had no choice but to tell her the truth, for better or worse.

But Abby narrowed her eyes. “Are those part of your secret with Marcus and Melissa?”

She apparently hadn't heard the latest news about that ex-couple. But I saw my way out and dove for it headfirst. “Well … you know I can't tell you that. But you're headed in the right direction.”

An odd look of relief flooded Abby's face. “Oh, good. I mean, good for Melissa and all. Anyway…” She smiled at me slyly. “Are you sure you can't give me a hint about their secret?”

“I wish you'd stop asking. I already told you no.” I said it more sharply than I meant to. My nerves were already on edge and my encounter with Abby wasn't helping.

“Sorry. Just curious. I could even help if you wanted me to.”

“Thanks. It's not your kind of thing, though.” It was time to move on. The bouquet of white flowers was somehow getting heavier by the minute.

Abby put her hands on her hips. “Not my kind of thing? Are you saying romance isn't my kind of thing?”

No, I was saying that I needed to go before I jammed my foot in my mouth any further.
“Well,” I said, “I wouldn't expect you to know anything about romantic relationships, because you've never had one.”

“Neither have you, Mr. Romance.” She was slipping into her district attorney tone of voice. Challenging me. I didn't have time for that, but my blood was getting hot. I ignored the flashing red warning lights in my head as my shields went up and I switched into defense mode.

“And I don't need one. I'm thirteen years old. Maybe when I'm ready to get married I'll start looking, but meanwhile I've got more important stuff to do with my time.”

“Like what?”

Hmmm. She had me there.

“Like help Marcus out with
his
girlfriend?” Abby said.

“No, like … sports.”

“You don't play sports.”

“I do karate,” I said.

“I thought you quit your karate class.”

“So I'm between interests right now. What difference does that make?”

“The difference is that you don't have a girlfriend because you have no idea how to get one.”

“Maybe I don't have a girlfriend because there aren't any girls around here worth looking at.”

Abby stared at me without a word. The look on her face made my defense mode blow a fuse and it shut down entirely.

“Hey…” I said.

“Art club is at the high school today,” Abby said quickly. “I gotta go. See ya.” She brushed past me, leaving me with the bouquet of white flowers and the strong taste of foot on my tongue.

I sighed. Abby and I often had friendly debates about the important things in life. Stuff like vegetarianism versus the benefits of fast food; whether school money should be spent on the arts or classroom video game systems; and the age-old classic rock versus alternative argument. But this conversation had completely imploded. Something was up, and I couldn't figure out what.