The Heartbreakers (3 page)

Instead, I signed up for as many clubs as I had time for—from student council, which I hated, to academic decathlon, which I also hated. Art club became my fast favorite. Not only did I love the quirky cast of kids, but there was something about imagining and shaping and creating that I found intriguing.

I packed my schedule so tightly that, during those two months, it was as if I didn’t have siblings anymore because I saw so little of them.

But when Cara got sick, all of our individual growth folded in on itself, and we just became the triplets again. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of who we could’ve been from those few high-school fragments that stayed with us. Cara never went anywhere without at least three different lip gloss options, and Drew always tried to make a competition out of things, whether it was beating me in a game of Scrabble or seeing who could get a better test score.

That’s why I held on to photography so tightly. It was my only takeaway from a time that was supposed to be mine but never really was. One of my art friends introduced me to it, and even though I wasn’t a natural, I enjoyed it enough to make an effort to improve. So while every other teenager was blundering their way through high school, experimenting and making mistakes, I was at home staying how I always had been, whatever that was—but at least I had one thing that was all my own.

Before I could dive into the details of why Bianca’s work was so meaningful, I spotted a great shot farther up the sidewalk. “Oooh, look!” I said, and rushed ahead to snap a picture.

“Stella,” Drew said when he caught up to me. “That’s a fire hydrant. We have those back in Minnesota.”

“Yeah, but look at the way the sunlight is hitting it,” I said and adjusted my lens.

Drew scoffed. “Please don’t tell me there’s some symbolic meaning in the contrast between the light and the shadows or some artsy bull like that.”

“No,” I said and crouched down to get a closer picture. “I just think it’s pretty.”

“But it’s a fire hydrant,” Drew repeated, and crease lines—something my mom always warned us would become permanent if we frowned too much—formed on his forehead.

Knowing there had to be at least one good picture out of the ten I took, I straightened up and poked Drew in the side. “Sure, but it’s a very
symbolic
fire hydrant.”

At this, Drew opened his mouth to argue, but then decided against it and shook his head. “Come on, expert photographer,” he said. “We’re going to be late for the signing.” He turned and continued up the sidewalk, expecting me to follow.

“All right, all right,” I said, laughing before jogging to catch up with him. “I’m coming.”

• • •

It only took us ten minutes to walk to the radio station, but Drew was right. We were late.

“I don’t get it,” I said as we took a spot at the end of a long line. “The signing isn’t supposed to start for another hour.”

Crossing his arms, Drew shot me a look. “Really, Stella? You’re surprised that a ton of people are waiting to see a world-famous band?”

“Okay, maybe not,” I admitted. “We probably should have gotten here earlier, but I didn’t want to leave the gallery.”

“I know,” Drew said, his tone lighter. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

“Hopefully,” I responded, but as I gauged the line in front of us, I had serious doubts.

Ninety-nine percent of the crowd was female—a few moms with little girls, but mainly teenagers dressed up in floral sundresses or cute tops. They made kissy faces as they posed with friends for Instagram pictures and squealed over each other’s Heartbreaker merchandise.

Eyeing the girls around me, I felt like an impostor in my plain T-shirt and Converses. I patted my hair and regretted not brushing through it this morning. Instead, I had pulled it back in a sharp ponytail that showed off my bright-aqua strand. A few girls glanced at us in curiosity, and I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me because I stood out like a sore thumb or if they were checking out Drew. While being distinct from my siblings was important to me, I didn’t like feeling out of place. I skimmed the crowd to make sure nobody was looking before yanking out my hair band and tugging my fingers through my bangs. Nobody else had a stud in their nose or multiple ear piercings like me, but I wasn’t going to take those out too.

Finally the mob of estrogen rushed forward as the doors to the station were opened. I briefly bowed my head in thanks, but my relief didn’t last long. Once inside, I saw the long, roped-off line that twisted through the huge lobby. We were at the end of it.

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed.

Drew started to say something, but he was cut off as an uproar rippled through the crowd. Clasping my hands over my ears, I tried to block out the sudden screams of hundreds of fans.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a man announced with a megaphone. “Please put your hands together for the Heartbreakers!”

Even standing on my tiptoes, I couldn’t see the group of boys that had caused the commotion. Too many girls were jumping up and down in front of me for me to get a good view.

Another round of screaming made the room shake when a song started blasting through the building’s sound system. Drew pulled his iPod out of his back pocket and put his headphones on. I groaned out loud, knowing that if I checked my backpack, mine wouldn’t be there. I had left my iPod in the car, and Drew chuckled when he saw the panicked look on my face.

“Rock, paper, scissors for it?” I asked with my best puppy-dog face.

“Can’t hear you, Stella,” he said with a smirk. “My music’s too loud.”

He turned the volume up and started to head bob to whatever he was listening to. I closed my eyes in frustration. The rest of today was going to suck.

• • •

My head was pounding. Between two hours’ worth of cheesy lyrics, screaming, and a stuffy room, my brain felt like it was exploding inside my skull.

Cara and I were scary similar in so many ways. We both could quote every line from every episode of
Friends
like we had written and produced the show ourselves. We hated peanut butter because of the way it made your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth, and neither of us had ever had a boyfriend.

But if there was one startling difference between us, it was our choice in music. As Drew and I stood in line waiting for an autograph, I couldn’t for the life of me understand how Cara enjoyed the Heartbreakers. From the look on Drew’s face, he couldn’t either. His iPod had died about an hour ago, so now we were both suffering.

“She’s totally adopted,” I muttered, which made Drew snicker.

“You’re identical.”

“Irrelevant,” I said and shook my head. “I mean, honestly? Where did she go so wrong?”

“I think it was that girl at the hospital Cara’s friends with.”

“The one with leukemia?”

“Yeah, her. She made mixed CDs for all the pediatric patients.”

“We should sue.”

Drew laughed and rubbed his temples. “Seriously, though. I think this prolonged exposure to musical garbage is wearing on me. You’d think they’d move the line along a little faster.”

“Seriously,” I agreed.

The Heartbreakers’ new CD was playing on a loop, but every time the song changed, another round of screams ensued. By now I could sing along with every song if I wanted.

A girl in front of me turned around. “Oh my God! This is their best song!” she exclaimed, as if we hadn’t heard it a million times already today. “I love the Heartbreakers!”

I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Every song must be their best song. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath. “How close are we?” I asked Drew for the tenth time. I still couldn’t see the front of the line, but we had to be close. If we weren’t…well, I didn’t know how much longer I could stand this torture. Drew, who was a good foot and a half taller than Cara and me, craned his neck over the crowd and looked in the direction I assumed the band was sitting.

He smiled down at me. “Looks like it will only be ten minutes.”

“Oh, thank God!” Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out a few of my sister’s belongings—a Heartbreakers CD, a poster, and a tour shirt. If she didn’t go crazy over this present…

As the minutes passed, we moved slowly up the line. The closer we got, the more often I could catch a small glimpse of the band through the crowd. Cameras flashed as people took pictures. Soon we were only a few people away from the front of the line. A group of girls huddled around the table moved away, and—

I could finally see the Heartbreakers. I scanned the table and my heart stopped.

There were four boys. On the far right sat a broad boy in a muscle shirt and with close-cropped dark hair. On his upper left bicep was an armband tattoo with black spirals that twisted together. Next to him was a tall, lanky guy with messy strawberry-blond hair and thick glasses. The third boy was blond as well, but his hair was styled to a T and drenched with gel to keep every strand in place. A pair of headphones hung around his neck, and he kept fiddling with the earbuds.

The final boy was the one that made my eyes pop. He had a familiar mop of wavy hair and a killer smile: the boy from Starbucks. I felt my face go red as I stared at him. He was talking with a fan as he signed a poster, and then he reached across the table to give her a hug. When she walked away, I could see the tears streaming down her face. My mind was on hyperdrive. I had been flirting with one of the boys from my sister’s favorite boy band? Someone famous?

The line moved forward, and I realized I would have to talk to him again. What would he do when he saw me? Would he remember?
Of
course
he
would
, I told myself. We’d flirted for a good five minutes and he paid for my drink! But then again, he’d probably flirted with a million girls. My palms were sweaty, and I quickly wiped them on the back of my shirt.

I
didn’t want him to remember me
, I realized. I’d told him that I was in Chicago to see an art gallery, not to meet the Heartbreakers. When he saw me standing in front of him asking for an autograph, he would probably laugh and think I was just another crazy fan.

“They look like little kids,” Drew said, startling me from my thoughts. I tore my eyes from the boy.

“What?” I responded, my heart thumping.

“The band.” Drew looked at me funny. “You okay, Stella? You’re kinda pale.”

“What?” I said, forcing a laugh. “I’m totally fine. And yeah, you’re right—little boys.” My brother was still staring at me like he knew something wasn’t quite right, so I continued the joke. “I mean look at the scrawny guy on the left. Can’t be older than twelve.”

Drew looked up at the boy I’d met this morning and cracked a smile. “I don’t know, looks thirteen to me.”

The girl from before turned back around again, but this time she had a sneer on her face. “Oliver is eighteen. Stop making fun of him. It’s not nice.”

Oliver
, I thought, churning the name over in my mind. Suddenly I knew why he had seemed so familiar. He was the guy from the magazine article Cara had been reading, the one that called him a heartbreaker.

“You’re kidding, right?” Drew responded, his mouth hanging slack.

She put a hand on her hip. “Does it look like I’m kidding?” When my brother didn’t answer, she continued. “The Heartbreakers are the most talented band ever, and Oliver is amazing. Keep your stupid thoughts to yourself.”

After a few moments of staring with his mouth open, Drew finally recovered and surprised me by apologizing to the girl. “Well, Mrs. Perry,” he started, looking down at her shirt. It read: Future Mrs. Oliver Perry. “I profusely apologize for insulting you. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she snapped and pointed at Oliver. “Apologize to him.”

“Next!” one of the bodyguards called. The girl spun around, and her sneer transformed into a smile that must have bordered on painful. I blinked in surprise. During the argument, I hadn’t noticed how close we had gotten to the front of the line. My empty stomach flipped over.

“Drew, I think you were right,” I told him, shoving my sister’s stuff into his arms. “I feel sick. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“No way, Stella.” My brother reached out and grabbed my shirt as I tried to run away. “You’re not getting out of this one. You can puke on the band for all I care, but I refuse to go up there by myself.”

I felt my arms start to shake, dread setting in. There was no way I could face Oliver. “But, Drew…” I whined.

He looked at me with hard eyes. “We are doing this for Cara.”

I bit my lip. Drew was right. My sister was a billion times more important than my pride. Sighing, I hung my head. The bratty girl and her group of friends moved away from the table, and I held my breath. Hopefully the lack of oxygen would calm my nerves.

Suddenly the band stood up and headed off the stage. “Wait, where are they going?” Drew demanded.

“Sorry,” a husky security guard answered. “The boys are done for today. They have to rest for their concert tomorrow.”

Forgetting my embarrassment, I snapped at the man. “We’ve been waiting in line for hours.”

“Yes, and so has everyone behind you,” he pointed out. “The boys can’t get to everyone. There are just too many fans. Better luck next time.”

“But I’m not here for me. This is for my sister’s birthday present. She—” But it didn’t matter what I had to say. The Heartbreakers were already gone.

I was spread out on my bed in the hotel, staring up at the ceiling. It was sweltering in our room, and the heat was tiresome in a way that made it impossible to move. If I did, I could feel sweat drops trickling down my neck, and every time I took a breath, my skin stuck to the fabric of my shirt. I let my head roll to the side to look at my brother, who was on his own bed.

“Could it get any hotter?” I asked.

After a silent walk back to our hotel, Drew and I had been glad to finally check in and crash for the night. Our luck, however, was still in a downward spiral, and we ended up receiving a room with a broken air-conditioning unit. Lying on the bed, I couldn’t help but think that this trip hadn’t been worth it. It had been fun to see Bianca’s gallery, but at the moment, all I could think about was how frustrating the rest of the day had been. More than anything, I had wanted to see Cara’s eyes light up when we presented her with an autograph from the Heartbreakers, and now that wouldn’t happen.

My brother glanced up from the book in his hands. “Please don’t jinx it,” he said before returning to reading.

“We should find somewhere with air-conditioning. Wanna grab dinner?”

This time, Drew didn’t bother to look up from the page. “Maybe in a little bit,” he said. “I want to finish this chapter.”

For the past month, Drew had been consumed with completing his summer reading list. When summer was over, he was leaving to attend school in Minneapolis. Freshman registration wasn’t for another two weeks, but Drew wanted to major in English and had already picked a literature course he hoped to take. He was so excited about starting college that he’d decided to read the course material before the semester even began.

I turned away from my brother when my throat grew thick. Freshman year, before Cara was diagnosed, I’d set my heart on NYU. I’d decided that New York would the perfect place for me to discover who I was, independent of my siblings. At the start of senior year when Cara went into remission and I received my acceptance letter, things finally started to feel real. I was going to college.

By the time summer rolled around, I wasn’t so excited anymore. New York was calling out to me and I wanted to answer, but at the same time, the thought of leaving was terrifying. My mom told me the flutters I felt were normal. Leaving home for the first time was a big step, and it was good to be nervous. But what I felt inside my stomach didn’t feel like butterflies. It was more like killer bees.

Before I could make sense of anything, the cancer came back.

And just like that, the bees were gone. I knew I couldn’t leave while Cara was undergoing treatment, so I decided to defer for a semester. It was different for Drew. Minneapolis was only an hour and a half drive from Rochester, so he could come home on the weekends to visit Cara whenever he wanted. I would be states away, completely and utterly alone. I wasn’t bitter about having to put off school, but part of me wished I’d followed Drew’s example and applied to a university close to home.

A drop of sweat started to trickle down my forehead. “That’s it,” I said and sat up.

I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself. Yes, it was disappointing that I wasn’t going off to school like my brother, and yeah, I hadn’t been able to get the perfect birthday present for my sister, but there was no way I could deal with this discomfort any longer. Pulling my hair onto the top of my head in a bird’s-nest fashion, I decided to do something about our room.

“I’m going down to the front desk to complain. Don’t have a heatstroke while I’m gone.”

“You’re going down like that?” Drew questioned me.

I glanced in the mirror. Okay, so I looked like hell with my sweaty bangs plastered to the side of my face, but I was way past caring. “Yes, I am, so shut up. It’s not like I’m going to run into anyone important.”

“Just saying,” Drew said. His gaze dove back down to his book, and I watched for a moment as his eyes tore across the page. Suddenly he gasped at something unexpected. “No way,” he whispered to himself.

Rolling my eyes, I left my brother to his reading and headed out of the room.

• • •

“What do you mean, there are no more rooms left?” I complained to the concierge. He’d already informed me that the hotel maintenance man had left for the night, so no one could fix the AC.

“Sorry, miss, but everything is booked up.” The man’s eyes shifted around the lobby as he answered my question, almost as if he was expecting something bad to happen. I followed his gaze and noticed quite a few girls waiting around.

I placed both my hands flat on the counter. “Well, is there a manager I can talk to? I didn’t pay to melt to death.”

But the man wasn’t listening. His face went pale and he stared past me. “Oh crap…”

“Oh my God!” someone squealed. “They’re really here!”

The muscles in my shoulders went rigid, and I grabbed the edge of the counter with a grip tight enough to turn the tips of my fingers white. I’d heard a sufficient number of screaming girls for one day, and I sucked in a deep breath before turning around. Just as I was about to tell off whatever idiot had screamed, all of the girls lingering around the lobby rushed to the front doors.

“It’s the Heartbreakers!”

Four boys stepped into the lobby, bodyguards swarming around them on both sides. Outside, police were manning the door so a stampede wouldn’t rush into the hotel. I caught a glimpse of familiar wavy hair and my stomach dropped.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

This wasn’t seriously happening, was it? I mean, how was it even possible to run into the same celebrity so many times in one day? These kinds of things happened in movies, not real life.

“Ladies, ladies,” the concerned concierge called out. “Please give our guests some room.” His request went unnoticed.

“Xander, I love you!”

“Alec, marry me!”

“JJ, over here!”

“Oh my God, Oliver!”

The band paused to greet a few of their fans, and as I looked on, I decided that this would go down as one of my craziest days ever. Cara was never going to believe me when I told her. I continued to watch the Heartbreakers until Oliver glanced at the counter where I was standing. I quickly spun around before he spotted me.

I knew it was irrational, but I almost felt as if he’d lied to me by not telling me who he was. Or maybe I just felt stupid for not knowing. Either way, it would be awkward to talk to him again.

After a minute of negotiation with the desk clerk, I managed to get our room for free, but it wasn’t much of a comfort. Just thinking about spending a whole night feeling hot and sticky made me want to yank my hair out. But there was nothing else I could do, so I headed for the elevator.

“Stupid boy band,” I grumbled as I stepped inside and hit the button for the fifth floor. It was childish, but it helped to have someone to be angry with.

“Hold the door!” Glancing up, I spotted a bodyguard pointing at me. The Heartbreakers were being led across the lobby, their guards trying to hold back the growing group of girls. I jabbed the “door close” button multiple times, hoping I could escape, but no such luck. The group slipped into the elevator, the doors almost shutting on the last guy.

“Thanks so much,” the boy with glasses said. “That would have been a nightmare.”

“I didn’t know appreciating your fans was such a chore.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before my mind even registered what I had said.

Oliver’s head popped up at the sound of my voice. He stared at me for a moment before breaking out into a huge grin. “Stella!”

He
remembers
me!
My heart leaped, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to respond, and I watched as the smile slipped off his face.

Nobody seemed to hear Oliver’s comment, and the boy with glasses readjusted his frames as he tried to get a better look at me. “Say what?” he asked.

“What do you mean, not appreciating our fans?” The boy with the big muscles crossed his arms in an intimidating sort of way, and the tattoo around his bicep stretched. “We had an autograph signing today.”

“Yeah, I know that,” I snapped. “I waited for three hours only to get right to the front of the line and watch you all leave.”

“Oh, an unhappy fan?” he asked. His expression did a one-eighty as a grin spread across his face.

“We can definitely fix that,” Glasses Boy added. He pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket. “Do you have a camera?”

I let out an unattractive snort. “You think I’m a fan?” Pausing, I shot him a glare. “Not a chance in the world.”

The boys glanced at each other, not sure how to respond. “I think she might be crazy,” Muscles whispered to the boy with the perfect hair, who still had a pair of headphones draped around his neck. He had yet to speak, and he only gave his friend a quick nod of agreement.

“The only thing that’s crazy is that people actually listen to your music.” I could feel my pulse fluttering with each word I spoke. “I was at the signing today—which was torture, considering I was forced to listen to the same CD until my ears bled—for one reason only: to get my sister an autograph. And if she weren’t my sister, I’d probably disown her for listening to crap.”

The band stared at me, mouths gaping.

“Anything else?” Glasses asked.

“Yeah,” I added with one final burst of irritation. “You guys suck.”

The elevator stopped and the door slid open.

“I think I kind of like this girl. She’s got sass,” Muscles said with a smirk. “Can we keep her?”

“Screw off,” I told him, and then, without looking at Oliver, I shoved past the Heartbreakers onto the fifth floor.

• • •

“Why do you look like someone just killed our dog?” Drew asked as I stormed into the room.

“Hotel’s completely booked,” I said, slamming the door behind me. “All I got was a refund.”

“Hey!” Drew said, holding his hand out for a high five. “That’s awesome.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still stifling in here,” I complained, ignoring his waiting hand. I pulled a clean set of clothes out of my backpack and stepped into the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”

Locking the door behind me, I stripped off my dirty clothes. My whole body felt like it was on fire, and a sick feeling was gathering inside my chest.
I
shouldn’t have yelled at them like that
, I thought as I turned on the water. It wasn’t the Heartbreakers’ fault that my day sucked. Without waiting for the water to warm up, I stepped into the cold blast and closed my eyes. I stood there, hand against the tile for support, and held my breath as I waited to feel better. But the frigid water only numbed my body. It didn’t do anything to ease my guilt.

Oliver
probably
hates
you
now.
The incident in the elevator kept flickering through my head, replaying the moment when Oliver’s smile fell. I was a jerk and he would never want to see me again. A bitter tang overwhelmed my mouth, and for a brief moment, I felt ill.

What
the
heck
is
wrong
with
you, Stella?
I shouted at myself.
Get
a
grip.
Grabbing the bar of soap, I scrubbed myself with enough vigor to remove a layer of skin. There was no reason for me to be upset that Oliver Perry didn’t like me. Sure, he was cute, but I didn’t know him at all. From what I’d seen of Cara’s magazine article, Oliver was a total player, not someone I’d want to get involved with.

Drew knocked on the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Stella, I ordered room service,” he called over the noise of the shower. “Is pizza okay?”

“Sure,” I answered and turned off the water. I didn’t feel completely better—I was still embarrassed that I had blamed the band for my bad luck—but I refused to be upset over a boy I’d never see again.

After drying off, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a camisole before heading out to the main room. As we waited for our food, I turned on
CSI
and braided my hair. During a particularly bloody scene, there was a knock on the door and I jumped up, happy for an excuse to avoid the gore.

“Thanks so much,” I said, pulling the door open. “We’re starve…” I trailed off. In the hall stood Oliver Perry.

“Stella,” he said. His tone was curt.

I was staring like an idiot again, but I couldn’t help it. What was he doing here?

Then I noticed his pursed lips. He looked pissed, and I realized that he probably wanted an apology. The thought made my cheeks turn pink, but I knew he deserved it. I had been pretty harsh.

I opened my mouth to apologize but choked on the words. Something entirely different came out. “How’d you get my room number?”

“Um, I gave the front desk your name,” he said. My question obviously caught him off guard, but Oliver quickly recovered and narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you bipolar or something?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Well, this morning I met a girl at Starbucks,” he explained. “She was completely sweet and adorable, but she seems to be MIA at the moment.”

Oh, right. He wanted an explanation for my mood swing. “You should have told me the truth,” I responded, trying to defend myself.

“About what exactly?” he asked, his chin jutting forward as he spoke. He sounded irritated, but there was something about his eyes that made me think he was more hurt than anything. My throat was thickening, and I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. That would be too humiliating.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” I said, splaying my hand across my chest, trying to hide my guilt with sarcasm. It wouldn’t help fix anything, but words were flying out of my mouth again, just like they had in the elevator. “You could have mentioned who you are.”

“Are you saying that you really didn’t recognize me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Yes, I am,” I said. Oliver shot me a disbelieving look, so I added, “Look, I’ve heard my sister talk about Oliver Perry a million times, but I didn’t realize that was you when we met.”