The Heartbreakers Read online

  It was of Sydney and Drew on the back patio, sitting in the bench swing. Their backs were to the camera, but they were looking at each other so their faces were in profile, silhouetted by the flickering orange glow of a fire in the cast-iron pit.

  That’d been two summers ago, when their relationship was still new and Sydney’s mother hadn’t yet received her promotion. Sydney never knew her mother had taken this picture. Or that she’d been there in the house watching them.

  It was such a beautiful photograph. It reminded Sydney of how good her life was that summer.

  I wish there was something I could do to get that back, she thought. That perfection.

  But unless Drew took her back and her mother quit SunBery Vitamins, Sydney knew her life would never be that perfect again.

  THIRTEEN

  Rule 5: You must not date anyone until you can go two weeks without thinking about The Ex. (Take this time to find yourself & focus on your emotional stability. Do group activities with friends—both girl and guy friends.)

  It was Wednesday, which meant the normal band instructor, Mr. Thomas, was at Lincoln Elementary leading band class for the little kids. The assistant band instructor, Ms. D, would be teaching the class today. She was a really, really good musician, but Raven suspected Ms. D hated her. Which might have had something to do with the fact that Raven went out with and later broke up with Ms. D’s little brother, Greg, last year.

  If it were up to her, Raven would be hanging out in her dad’s basement right now, flipping open the latches of a guitar case instead of a flute case. She pulled out the main body of her flute, then the mouthpiece, and lastly, the end. She fitted all of them together, turning the pieces so the keys matched up.

  Her dad had promised to teach her to play the guitar until her mom found out and put a stop to it. Ms. Valenti didn’t want Raven having anything to do with rock music or “that whole scene,” as she said. Being with the school band looked good on a college application. No one cared if you played guitar, and being in a rock band would never get a person anywhere.

  “Look no further than your father if you want a good example,” Ms. Valenti had said. “He tried that whole singer thing and we ended up broke. It’s no good, Raven. That scene is no good.”

  Of course, if the college recruiters actually heard Raven play flute, it probably wouldn’t factor into their judgment. Actually, it’d probably count against her. Last year, the band director went through every section, testing each player. The point was to score the players and give them “chair” positions. Chair number one was the best seat; it meant you were the best player in your section.

  Out of five flute players, Raven was fifth chair. She hadn’t put a lot of effort into being a good flutist. It was a dumb instrument. But the guitar…with the hard work and passion she thought she had…would pay off. And that was something she actually did learn from her mother.

  Ms. Valenti fell in love with scrapbooking and decided she wanted to run a business centered on that art. So she started Scrappe, a scrapbooking store and café. It was voted Most Successful Business in last year’s town survey and a lot of people from school hung out there on the weekends during the colder months.

  There was a separate room for scrapbooking, so if you weren’t into that, you could hang at the café without hearing about glue spots and acid-free markers.

  Raven used to hang out there all the time, until she and Horace had their make-out session on the bus. Because Horace worked at Scrappe, she hadn’t been there in weeks.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, Horace walked through the double doors of the band room. The first thing he did was look over at her and smile before climbing the steps to the third tier in the back, where the percussion section was set up.

  She smiled back out of habit.

  People were starting to file in the doors before the warning bell rang. Raven feigned interest in her music book, keeping her eyes on the notes as she pressed the corresponding keys on the flute.

  “Ray,” Horace said, sliding into the orange chair next to her.

  “Oh, uh…hi,” she said. Fumble much? Usually she was so confident and poised around guys, but Horace…not so much.

  Horace was a geek in middle school. Everyone thought so; even she did. He used to be scrawny and short. He had braces for the longest time. Rumor had it his mother shopped for his clothes at Goodwill. In middle school, when it was all about being cool and what name brands you wore, shopping at Goodwill was social suicide.

  Freshman year of high school, Horace started changing. Now, in his junior year—sans braces—he was still kind of a geek, but a cool geek. He grew a few inches, packed on some muscle, but probably still shopped at Goodwill. Except individuality counted now—at least to her—and he was very much his own person.

  He shifted in his chair now, the brown material of his Western-style shirt bunching around his bicep. Beneath that he had on a black T-shirt that said PEOPLE SERVICES, across the chest. His knee stuck through a hole in his jeans and loose strings hung from the cuffs around his brown boots.

  Horace was Caleb’s polar opposite. He was the opposite of every guy Raven had gone out with.

  “What’s up?” he said. His husky voice slid around the chatter and instrument tuning and hit her right in the gut. Jitters took hold of her stomach.

  “Nothing,” she said, resting her flute on her lap, “just going over the music.”

  “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

  The final bell rang overhead and a few people hurried in. Raven’s attention flicked from Horace to the door to the band director’s office window and then back to Horace. His eyes were still on her.

  She smiled. Play it cool, she thought.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a few things planned with my friends. What are you doing?”

  “Some friends of mine are hanging out at Striker’s after I get out of work. I thought if you weren’t busy, you could hang out with us.” He paused, nostrils flaring. Then, “No,” he corrected, “actually I want you to hang out with me.” He followed up with that hesitant smile of his.

  Raven couldn’t accept the invitation, even if she thought it sounded like fun. For one, she’d promised herself and her friends that she’d wait a few weeks (maybe even a few months) before going out with anyone. And two, she couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Horace anymore. What if they started going out and she realized he wasn’t The One either? She’d subconsciously ruin the relationship or, worse yet, drop Horace quicker than the flip of a calendar month.

  She’d already gotten him punched.

  “I can’t.” She turned a page in her music book, faking nonchalance. “But maybe another time?”

  Amelia, the fourth-chair flutist, came up then and glared at Horace. “You’re in my seat.” Amelia took being fourth chair seriously and anyone in her seat was probably a direct violation of her flutist code or something.

  “Sorry.” Horace got up. “Ray,” he started, turning to her, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Sure.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried up the steps to the percussion section. Raven surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder, watching as he grabbed his drumsticks in hand and beat at the air to warm up his wrists. Well, maybe not so surreptitiously, since he caught her staring.

  Face hot, she turned back to her music book and lifted her flute up in her hands. With the mouthpiece at her lips, she blew across the hole, pulling out a warm-up note with all the others.

  She was following The Code. She was doing the right thing.

  The smell of crisp pages and old leather filled Alexia’s nose. The history room in the library was one of her favorite places in the whole school. It felt like she was taking a step back in time. Finding the 900s in the Dewey Decimal System, Alexia slipped an American history book on the shelf. She turned back to her metal cart and saw Ben thumbing through the other books she was supposed to be putting away.

&nbs
p; “What are you doing?” she asked.

  She hadn’t seen him since yesterday this hour, and when she came into the library just twenty minutes ago to find him nowhere, the disappointment had been nearly palpable. So, she’d gone straight to work, checking in returned books and filing them away, but all she thought about while pulling her metal cart around was Ben.

  She hadn’t crushed this hard since Owen Wilson in Zoolander. Not that she would call this thing…whatever it was…a crush. She looked forward to seeing him, was all. A friendly crush was more like it.

  Ben pulled a book about Rome out of the stack and held it up for her. “Did you know,” he cocked an eyebrow, “that in ancient Rome, the thumbs-down meant the crowd favored the gladiator in the arena?”

  “No, I can’t say I knew that.”

  Pushing the book into a random spot on the shelf, he squared himself in front of her. “If I were a Roman emperor, which I probably wouldn’t be, because I’m too cool for that, and you were a gladiator, I’d give you…” He jabbed his thumb toward the floor. “A thumbs-down.”

  “So, you’d favor me?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Totally.”

  If she had a mirror right now, she’d probably see her freckles lighting up like Christmas lights. She looked away. The flattery—was that what it was?—unnerved her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in the computer lab? Assisting?”

  “No, actually.” He smiled. “I’m supposed to be in Mrs. Halloway’s office calling my mother.”

  Alexia turned around, brow furrowed. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Mrs. Halloway’s office is out there”—she nodded to the doorway behind Ben’s shoulder—“and to the right.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “So that’s where it is. I was wondering. Well, I should go call her, before dinner is spoiled.” He left the history room and headed into the librarian’s office. Mrs. Halloway smiled at him and grabbed her phone. After handing it over, she left the office.

  He dialed and talked to someone on the other line. Alexia knew all of this because she was peeking out the window of the history room watching him. He was so danged cute. Just watching him made Alexia smile. And talking to him usually had her laughing harder than she had in months. If she had to pick between her sacred alone time or an hour with Ben, she’d pick Ben.

  When he hung up, he glanced over at the window and Alexia ducked. She went around one of the bookcases, losing herself in the books before Ben came back.

  She put two more books away before he popped up behind her, making her shriek and jump, dropping the stack of books in her hands. They tumbled to the floor with a thud.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, then frowned as if mulling that answer over. “Well, okay, I’ll be honest. I did mean to scare you, but not that bad.” He bent down and scooped the books up. “Here.”

  She took them. “Thanks. For picking up the books. Not for scaring me.” Her heart still drummed in her chest and her hands were suddenly clammy, but she had to admit it was kind of funny. It’d have been funnier if it were someone else though.

  “So, what are you doing this Saturday?” He leaned his elbow on a bookshelf, sticking his fingers into his messy hair.

  Was she ever doing anything on a Saturday other than laundry and watching TV? Not like she would tell him that. Of course, now that she had her friends back…maybe they’d want to hang out.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Some of us go to Eagle Park on Saturday mornings to play football. I think you’d have fun.”

  “Me? Football?” She raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? It’s not like we’ll tackle you. It’s just for fun, and other girls come.” He paused. “Sometimes.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, okay. I have another idea and you have to pick between it and football.”

  “I have to pick?”

  “Yes, it’s the rule.”

  “What rule?”

  “The Alexia-has-to-pick-between-two-things rule. Jeez, where have you been?”

  She laughed. “Okay, what’s the other option?”

  “Either we play football, or…we go to Stixs-N-Yarn and make my brother’s dog a sweater.”

  “Knitting?”

  “Yes.” He nodded incessantly. “I’m a master knitter. I’m a level three.”

  “There aren’t levels in knitting.”

  He made a disgusted face. “Seriously? Well, there should be. What’s the point if there aren’t any levels?”

  Mrs. Halloway popped her head in the doorway. “Mr. Daniels,” she said in her best authoritative voice, “what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to ask Alexia out on a date, but she’s rebuffing my advances.”

  “Smart girl,” Mrs. Halloway said, winking at Alexia. “Just hurry it up then.”

  Grinning, Alexia said, “Okay, football, I guess. What time?”

  “Nine. In the morning. At Eagle Park.”

  “Got it. I’ll meet you there.”

  “So you can get out fast if the date goes sour. Nice.” He made his way to the door. “Later, Alexia,” he said over a shoulder.

  Hugging a book to her chest, she squeaked out, “Later,” and watched him leave. For the rest of the hour, Alexia couldn’t think straight. All she could think about was, what if she fell on her butt in front of him while trying to play football?

  That would be so embarrassing.

  FOURTEEN

  Rule 4: You must forget The Ex’s birthday. Forget that he was born.

  Sydney filed into the business and marketing classroom during the lunch hour, as the other student council members headed in with her. She sat down at her designated seat as junior class president.

  Drew and I have been broken up for three weeks and it still seems so surreal, she thought. Has it even hit me yet?

  It was like the Fourth of July fireworks in Eagle Park. You saw the blast of colored sparks first, but felt and heard the boom much later.

  The aftershock of the breakup hadn’t even touched her yet. It had to be coming soon. All of a sudden, she’d break down, probably in the middle of school if luck was still eluding her. Her dad would lock her up in a mental institution, and when she came back to school, everyone would whisper as she strolled down the halls. Getting into Harvard would be out. Actually, college in general would be out.

  She’d graduate from high school—her parents would make her—but afterward, she’d adopt ten cats and move out into the woods into a kitschy cottage on a river somewhere. She’d grow tomatoes in a garden, and lettuce and potatoes. She’d hunt rabbits with a bow.

  After the first year, she’d speak only cat and maybe some dog, since a stray would have attached itself to her by then and—

  “Sydney?”

  Sydney looked up at Will Daniels across the table from her. He was the senior class president. He always started the meetings off.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Have you heard anything I just said?” Irritation furrowed his brow. He thought he was so much better than the rest of the student council members. Hell, the rest of the school really, the smug little bastard.

  “Will,” she said, face impassive, “I try to tune you out sometimes. You do have such a dreadful voice, a little nasal.” She pinched her nose to demonstrate. “You know? It hurts my ears sometimes.”

  That would teach him to talk down to her.

  And break up with her best friend!

  Honestly, what did Kelly ever see in that guy?

  Will sighed as if he expected this kind of immaturity from people beneath him. “I was saying that Mr. Thomas has brought to our attention the severe need for new marching band uniforms. We were thinking of running a fund-raiser. Might you have any suggestions?”

  She hated how he talked all prim and proper as if they were in a seventeenth-century movie. Or maybe like he was a vampire. Come to
think of it, he did suck the life out of people.

  Tapping the end of her pen against her notebook, she ran a few things through her head. There were the usual fundraisers: car wash, bake sale, dance. The car wash was out; it was too cold. The bake sale was a good idea, but those things never generated enough money. Dances were never well attended.

  “How about an open-mike night?” she said. “With a cover charge? It’s something different. And it’ll give amateur artists good exposure.”

  A few murmurs swept through the room, people nodded at the idea.

  “And a bake sale,” she added. “All in one place.”

  “I like that idea,” Lisa the treasurer said. “The cover charge will bring in a good amount and people can come just to have fun. The bake sale will be an added profit.”

  “Who will bake?” Will asked, doubt clearly in his voice.

  “All of us.” Sydney waved at the people in the room. “If everyone makes two dozen of something, it should give us enough baked goods. And I know my friends will make something, too, if I ask.”

  “Where would we have it?” Will asked. “Renting a place out would cost us more money than we’ll make.”

  Sydney hadn’t thought about that. She groaned inwardly when she saw the condescending quirk in Will’s lips. He always seemed to get some sort of perverse pleasure out of besting her.

  “Maybe someone in town would donate their space,” Lisa interjected. “It’s for the school’s benefit, after all.”

  A satisfied smile spread over Sydney’s face. The first smile in so many days. “Yes. I bet Raven’s mom would let us use Scrappe. It’s the perfect spot.”

  More murmurs of agreement spread through the room.

  Will even looked slightly convinced. “Put it to a vote. All in favor of an open-mike night/bake sale at Scrappe raise your hands and say, ‘Aye.’”

  Every hand went up around the tables as people voiced their agreement.

  “It’s decided then,” Will said, making note of it in his workbook. “Sydney, for now, you’re in charge of securing Scrappe for the event. Can you let me know in a week what’s going on?”