Heartbreakers and Fakers

by Cameron Lund

  “He’s a fucking dreamboat,” Olivia says. “And the world’s best kisser. It feels right, you know? Like we’ve been friends forever and now we’re finally together. It’s totally meant to be.”

  “And just in time for Christmas!” I say, clutching her arm. “I’m so excited we got boyfriends together.”

  Olivia squeezes my arm back. “We are thriving.”

  NOW

  WE ALL PACK UP AND head out early the next morning, cleaning everything so well you can barely tell we were at the cabin at all.

  Kai and I woke still wrapped in each other, and I jumped up and quickly got dressed, leaving him alone in the bed like I was never there. If I don’t bring up the fact we were spooning, maybe I can pretend it didn’t happen.

  Now we’re headed back to town, sleepy and content and sun-drenched. I’m weirdly calm being in this car with Kai, more relaxed than I felt on our way here. This feels like my spot now—this passenger seat with the imprint of my sandy feet on his dashboard. Before I can help it, my mind flashes to an image of Olivia sitting here last year, on her way to school, or some party, or down a quiet road to hook up. The image makes me a bit queasy, and I shake my head, trying to force it away. I don’t like the thought of Olivia here. I don’t like the idea that this was her spot before it was mine. But I don’t want to think about what that means.

  “Mind taking a detour?” Kai makes an abrupt left, driving us down a bumpy back road before I can answer him. “There’s someplace I wanna show you.”

  “What kind of place?” I lean forward, folding my feet up under me.

  “You’ll see.”

  We drive for another forty minutes or so, and then the air around us changes—I can smell the musty, brackish scent of salt, and wind whips through the open edges of the Jeep. We turn a corner and then there it is, spread out before us—the ocean.

  We must have backtracked. The beach is an hour from home, the other direction from Romina’s cabin. I don’t get the chance to come here much, what with school and all. Besides, the water is usually too freezing to swim. It’s a NorCal beach, thick fog and mossy cliffs, whitecaps frothing in the distance.

  “If you squint real hard, you can see Hawaii,” Kai says, pulling the Jeep into a lot and parking.

  “Hardy har har,” I say, hitting him on the shoulder.

  “Okay, so not really.” He grins and jumps down out of the car. “This place still kinda reminds me of home, though. Even if it’s super different.” I follow down after him, folding my arms around myself to keep warm. “There’s a sweatshirt in the back, if you want it.” Kai reaches in and tosses me something soft and fleecy and I pull it on gratefully.

  “Do you come here a lot?” I ask as we walk over to the sand. I strip off my sandals and he does the same, and we walk together out onto the beach.

  “Yeah, the surfing’s okay here. Nothing like home, but it doesn’t completely suck.”

  “Do you miss home?”

  “Not as much anymore. All the time when I was little, though.”

  “That’s why you got this.” I reach out and grab hold of his wrist, turning it over gently and running my finger down the little wave tattoo inked there.

  Kai sucks in a breath. “Yeah.”

  I’m immediately self-conscious I grabbed his arm, that I touched his skin without thinking about it first. I’m reminded of his fingers on my stomach last night, the fluttering feeling of bare skin against bare skin. I still feel so awkward about it now that we’re in the light of day.

  Yet for some reason, I don’t let go of his wrist. I run my finger over the tattoo again, like maybe I can feel the ink in his skin. “When did you get this? Don’t you have to be eighteen to get a tattoo?”

  “Got it from a buddy of mine when I was fourteen. A bunch of us from home got them one summer when I went back to visit. My best friends from growing up.”

  It’s surprising to think about Kai having a life back in Hawaii. I was always so caught up in the jealousy I felt when he moved here—how he so quickly became a part of the popular crowd, became one of the kids everyone circled around only a few weeks after he first arrived. It never occurred to me that he must have felt homesick, that he was forced to pick up his whole life and move because of his dad’s affair. I guess I never really thought about everything he left behind.

  I’m still holding on to his wrist, and I let it go, embarrassed. He pulls his arm back and cracks his knuckles, shaking his hands out, almost like he’s trying to shake me off him. There’s a flare of hurt in my chest, something that feels a lot like rejection.

  “So,” he says. “This beach is kinda my spot.” He scratches his nose. “I, uh . . . well, I come here usually when I need to be alone. When I need to think and recharge.”

  The rejection in my chest fizzles out, replaced by something warmer. “Kinda far for a thinking spot,” I say.

  “Nah, the drive is part of it. Just throw on the surfboard, blast some music, and zone out. Then come here and let the waves get rid of everything else.”

  I’m unexpectedly flattered that Kai chose to bring me here. I don’t know why he’d want to show me something so personal.

  But then I realize I do get it. Because even if we’ll never completely get along, we understand each other in some small way. I know what it feels like to have a family you want to escape, to have a parent who makes you so angry sometimes you just want to blast music and drive and let the waves beat the feelings out of you, let them wash away the anger until you’re all clean.

  “Thanks for showing me this,” I say. It’s the only way I can think to let him know that I understand. “I feel . . . honored.”

  He scratches his nose again and laughs, and I’m worried I’ve gone a bit overboard.

  “It’s nothing,” he says.

  “It’s not nothing.” And then I reach out and take his hand, my arm moving before my brain has time to catch up. I’m mortified, my face instantly flushing, and I want to let go, but then he threads his fingers through mine and holds tighter. I have no idea what we’re doing. It’s just that my fingers kinda liked the feeling of his wrist, or maybe I just wanted to comfort him in some way, show him I understand everything he’s going through.

  It doesn’t have to mean anything. People hold hands all the time. Still, I squeeze his hand and then let go, stuffing my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt so they won’t get any more ideas.

  “My mom used to do that,” Kai says, his hands reaching for his pockets too.

  “Do what?” I burrow my toes into the sand, like maybe I can dig a hole big enough to jump into and bury myself.

  “Squeeze my hand,” he says. And thank god, it actually makes me feel a bit better. I was only comforting him, like a mom would. “It was our thing,” he continues. “When I was little. She used to squeeze three times. Said it meant I love you.”

  And then suddenly I’m mortified again. I start coughing for no reason, anything to keep from having to respond to him.

  Kai turns to me, his eyes wide. “Not that that’s what you were doing or anything. I mean, I wasn’t implying that you, like, loved me.”

  “Obviously not,” I say.

  “Okay, good.”

  “We hate each other, remember?” I’m laughing as I say it, like it’s a joke, and I wonder briefly when it started to feel that way, like something I’m not serious about.

  “Yeah, you’re the worst,” Kai says back, and it strikes me that he doesn’t sound serious either. For the first time, being with Kai actually feels . . . nice. But nice is dangerous. Laughing at Kai’s jokes won’t lead anywhere good. I can’t let myself get too comfortable.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  When I get home that night, Mom isn’t there. There’s a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, a note for us to use it to grab some dinner. I find Seb in front of th
e TV, eating a Cup O’Noodles with a plastic fork. “Thought we could just eat trash and split the twenty,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say. “Where’s Mom?”

  Seb shrugs. He’s watching some weird anime thing, and apparently it’s too hard to tear his eyes from the screen. “I think she got called in,” he says, taking another slurp of noodles. “Or maybe she’s with Steve.”

  There’s that uncomfortable ache in my stomach again. It’s weird—I’ve always been so annoyed by the way my mom jumps from guy to guy, have always assured myself I wanted her to settle down, but now that she seems to have found someone she likes, I don’t really want to hear about it. I thought I just wanted my mom to be happy, but maybe it’s more complicated than that.

  I head into the kitchen and make myself a bowl of Cheerios, bringing it back into the living room and sitting next to Seb on the couch. “Of course she’s with freaking Steve.”

  “I like Steve,” Seb says, surprising me. “We all hung out a little bit after you left that day to get your car. He’s an arborist, actually. Like, really into trees. He moved here to study the redwoods. I think it’s cool.”

  “Dad was a scientist too,” I say. “I guess Mom has a type.”

  “Yeah,” Seb says. “At least her type is smart, nerdy guys and not like . . . garbagemen.”

  “I don’t know, our dad is kind of a garbage man.”

  “True,” Seb takes another slurp of noodles. “But I think you should give Steve a chance. Mom seems really happy.”

  “I wouldn’t know because I haven’t seen her in days,” I say bitterly.

  “She’s trying to find someone,” Seb says. “Sometimes that takes time. You’d be a lot happier if you stopped being so stubborn about it.”

  I think of Kai’s mom then, who is still so angry she refuses to go back to Hawaii. I want to be as strong as she is, but at the same time, I don’t want to miss out on my Hawaii, whatever that is.

  I tilt my head, studying Seb. “Okay, maybe you’re not a baby. That was surprisingly mature.”

  He grins. “I already know Olivia is the right one for me, though.”

  “And then you ruined it.” I shove him with my shoulder. “Don’t be disgusting.”

  “Just give it a few years,” he says. “Once we all graduate and come back home for Thanksgiving or something, she’ll fall in love with me.”

  “I am both proud and terrified of your confidence,” I say.

  Seb laughs and takes a big bite of noodles. “Actually, speaking of . . . I heard you have a new boyfriend.” I guess the news has traveled down to the sophomores already. That means everyone in school probably knows Kai and I are . . . together.

  “Shut up.”

  “You’re dating Olivia’s ex, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” I say. “I don’t know, it just happened.”

  “So does that mean Olivia is single now?” He grins at me, and I whack him with the couch pillow, forgetting about the Cup O’Noodles until it’s too late and disaster has already struck.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Later that night, I’m up in my room watching Beauty and the Beast on my laptop and planning my outfit for the Disney trip. I made a yellow Belle T-shirt—simple except for these puffy ruched sleeves (you’re not allowed to wear real costumes at the park or you go to Disney jail). I’m going to wear it with my Mary Janes and these rosebud earrings I found at the thrift store. I even sewed a cute face and handle onto my backpack to turn it into Mrs. Potts.

  I’ve just put on a lavender sheet mask, the feel of it cold and soothing, when my phone buzzes.

  Do you think I should get glasses? It’s Myriah. Romina used to always love when Harper wore her glasses.

  Don’t you have perfect vision? I answer.

  I’ll be eighteen in four months. Sometimes eyesight gets worse in old age.

  She’s your BEST FRIEND, I type back. Just. Talk. To. Her.

  I thumb over to Olivia’s contact info before I realize what I’m doing, about to type a message to her, when I remember. I’m hit with a wave of sadness. In my old life, she would have been right here beside me, a matching sheet mask on her face, the two of us walking Myriah through this situation together.

  The phone buzzes again, and I glance at it, expecting another response from Myriah, but the words on the screen surprise me:

  Feels so great to have a whole bed to myself, Kai says. I flush with heat despite the mask, because even though he’s joking, I’m immediately thinking back to how it felt to have his arms wrapped around me. How great it felt to cuddle Kai Tanaka. Cuddling is even more dangerous than laughing.

  I spend a good six minutes trying to decide what to say back. You liked sharing your bed with me, I type, nervous. What am I doing?

  Anything for you, my sweet munchkin.

  Is a munchkin a food group? Or have your horrible nicknames expanded?

  A munchkin is a tiny donut. I can go back to “weenie” if you want.

  I will murder you.

  What are you doing right now? Kai asks. I debate whether I should tell him the truth—whether I should pretend I’m being an intellectual and reading War and Peace—but I decide to be honest. I’m doing a sheet mask and watching Beauty and the Beast.

  Oh right, you and your Disney.

  We should wear matching sets of ears on the trip so we look like a real couple.

  Absolutely not. If you ever see me in Mickey Mouse ears, please set me on fire.

  Yeah there’s nothing worse than being festive and bringing people joy.

  You bring me no joy, weenie.

  Don’t worry, you can break up with me soon. Typing out the words gives me a funny feeling in my stomach. For the first time, the idea of breaking up with Kai doesn’t fill me with relief. The truth is, I like texting him. And if we break up—if we get back with Jordan and Olivia—I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep doing this.

  I stare at my phone as Kai types and deletes. And then: Let me see the sheet mask.

  No! I type back. Absolutely not. Sheet mask privileges are for friends.

  We’re friends now, aren’t we?

  It all makes sense, then. That’s what this is. That’s the feeling I couldn’t place, the word I’ve been searching for. Kai and I have stopped biting at each other’s throats, and instead we’ve been having real conversations about the things that matter. Kai and I have become friends. It’s why I’m scared of breaking up—I don’t want to go back to fighting all the time. Being angry has always been so much work.

  So I hold up my phone and take a selfie of my sheet mask, making a kissy face at the camera, and send it to him before I can change my mind.

  You look like you’re from the Purge, he answers immediately, and I send him the middle finger emoji in response.

  THEN

  JUNIOR YEAR—JANUARY

  JORDAN SHOWS ME his tree house on a Friday night in January, after we’ve been together for four weeks. I tell my mom I’m studying at Olivia’s, and Jordan’s parents are out together at a movie, so we’re all alone. It feels more magical this way—like we’re lost from time—like this is a moment meant only for us.

  It’s cold, colder than most other January nights, so we bundle up in sweaters and jackets from the hall closet. I wrap myself in Jordan’s mom’s ski parka, and he carries a stack of blankets out to the tree house so we can wrap ourselves up in them too. He lights a little fire in the camping stove, and we pour hot chocolate packets—the kind with the mini marshmallows—into mugs.

  “It’s like we’re camping,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. It’s too hot and it burns my tongue.

  “I wish we could spend the night out here.”

  “Your parents will be back soo
n.”

  “They’ll probably be a little late. They always stay through the closing credits so they can make out.”

  He laughs and I stick my tongue out. “Gross.”

  “It’s sick.”

  The truth is that even though we joke about it, I think it’s cute how in love Jordan’s parents are, that they can’t keep their hands off each other like they’re still a couple of teenagers. Secretly, when I see them I think of my future with Jordan. I want to be the type of old people who still make out in the movie theater.

  “I listened to that musical you told me about,” Jordan says. “Hadestown? It was dope.”

  “You really liked it?” It’s been my mission to share my love of show tunes with Jordan ever since he asked me what Dear Evan Hansen was and I discovered he was obtuse.

  “Who knew Broadway was actually good?” Jordan takes a sip of his hot chocolate and a mini marshmallow sticks to his nose.

  I reach my hand up and wipe it away. “You have a thing.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  At his use of the word babe, my heart starts fluttering a million miles per hour in my chest. No one has ever called me that before. It’s so crazy that only a few months ago I was terrified to touch Jordan, terrified to speak to him. And now that he’s mine I can casually wipe a marshmallow from his nose.

  “You’re welcome,” I say back, feeling warm inside.

  Olivia used to tell me about Jordan’s tree house—she came over here once when we were freshmen and Jordan’s older sister threw a party. Olivia had been one of the few non-seniors in attendance, and she’d told us she had climbed up the ladder in the backyard with Jordan and Kai and they’d all shared a joint and talked about aliens and the infinite unfolding of the universe. I remember I had felt funny when she told me about it, so many conflicting emotions at once. I was horrified about the joint, which I knew must have come from Kai, but so jealous that she’d had a moment like that without me. It’s not like I wanted to be there—Kai and the joint wouldn’t be worth it—but I was hurt I hadn’t been invited. I’d found out about the party Monday morning at school like the rest of the freshmen.