This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2021 by Kelsey Horton
Cover art copyright © 2021 by Jamie Grill Atlas/Stocksy
My Epic Spring Break (Up) excerpt text copyright © 2021 by Allison Amini. Cover art copyright © 2021 by Sarah Long.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Underlined, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Underlined is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hartwell, Kelsey, author.
Title: 11 paper hearts / Kelsey Hartwell. Other titles: Eleven paper hearts
Description: New York : Underlined, [2021] | Audience: Ages 12 and up. | Summary: A year after a car accident affected her memory, sixteen-year-old Ella begins receiving paper hearts from a secret admirer with clues that may help her remember the weeks she lost.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020029758 (print) | LCCN 2020029759 (ebook) | ISBN 978-0-593-18007-5 (trade paperback) | ISBN 978-0-593-18008-2 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Memory—Fiction. | Traffic accidents—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Valentine’s Day—Fiction. Classification: LCC PZ7.1.H3768 Aah 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.H3768 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9780593180082
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from My Epic Spring Break (Up)
To my mom, my dad, my brother, and Belle
Prologue
I don’t keep many secrets, but the ones I do have are hidden underneath a loose floorboard next to my bed.
There are over-the-top diary entries and poems about my deepest crushes—the ones only Carmen knew about. A valentine Adam Gurner gave me in the third grade that I’ve looked at so many times, I could practically forge his signature. A wrapper from the field trip where Adam offered me a piece of gum. When I got to high school, my secret stash became a little more interesting. There’s a birthday card from my first and only boyfriend for my sixteenth birthday signed Love, Pete. Every time I look at it, I remember how Carmen squealed because that was the closest thing either of us had heard to I love you.
These are just a few of the mementos I keep in my secret hiding place. No one even knows about the loose floorboard in my room, including my parents, because I hide it under a big fuzzy rug. Whenever I look inside the pocket in my floor, it’s a little bit like looking inside my heart. Each item by itself may seem insignificant—but that’s the point.
You see, I believe that everyone gets a love story—but you never know when it’s going to happen. Like maybe you’ll randomly bump into someone at a concert when the band is playing your favorite song. Or maybe you’ll lock eyes with some cute stranger across a crowded room. I’m not sure about love at first sight—my mom says true love takes time. But what I do imagine is that you can look back to the moment you met someone you love and think, yeah, I should’ve known then. Because all of your favorite things about them were true then too, staring at you right in the face…and you remember how your heart was beating out of your chest. So you decide that it was love—the beginning of it—and you just didn’t know that yet. Sometimes I think I keep things as simple as a gum wrapper in case these small moments are just the start of something real. Then I can look back and remember everything.
That’s what I thought anyways…until I had no recollection. There are three things stashed in my hiding place that I don’t remember saving:
A dried rose
A Polaroid of me next to a lamppost, looking at the photographer with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on my face.
A bronze key
When I look at these three things, I think maybe I do have more secrets than I thought—even from myself.
Last year I was in an accident coming home from the Valentine’s Day Dance at school. It was late at night and snowing the kind of snow that sticks immediately but not bad enough that people say to stay off the streets. I slid off the road on black ice into a tree. But I don’t remember this. All I know is what my friends and family have told me and the details that pop up when you google Ella Fitzpatrick.
When I used to search my name to see what college admissions might find, only articles of me volunteering would appear. Now the first thing that comes up in the search engine before I even finish typing is Ella Fitzpatrick accident.
I cringe every time.
Because the thing is, when people see the articles, they must see a tragedy. But it wasn’t. Not really.
Whenever I feel sorry for myself, I remember I’m lucky for so many reasons. This isn’t one of those stories where there was a drunk driver involved or someone with me in the passenger seat died; I’m lucky that Carmen was able to raise money on a GoFundMe account so my family could pay the overwhelming medical bills. Most of all, I’m lucky that my brain bleed stopped when it did.
I even consider myself incredibly lucky for the little things. I’m lucky that I was sixteen and a minor so my picture wasn’t plastered on the news. I’m lucky that the accident happened in February, and after my recovery six months later, I was able to make up missed work during summer school so I didn’t fall behind. I’m lucky that when I asked to see Pete at the hospital, he came without question even though I had broken up with him three weeks before the accident.
Why couldn’t I remember breaking up with him? Well, there were a lot of things I couldn’t remember after the accident, like those three items I stored underneath the floorboard.
But I’m also lucky when it comes to my memory loss. Doctors have told me that amnes
ia is really rare, but when it happens people lose large amounts of time. Years. But I only lost a mere two and a half months. Seventy-seven days. Eleven short weeks of my life.
Still, I want to remember. Only whenever I think back to Valentine’s Day, my brain feels like it has been bitten into like the end of a lollipop.
But this isn’t a tragic story about the eleven weeks I lost.
It’s about the eleven paper hearts I discover a year later.
Chapter 1
It’s the first Friday of February and I know three things.
One, Valentine’s Day decorations are already up all over school. Red and pink streamers are hung from the ceilings every year to make it feel like love really is in the air. But to me, it screams that love can be torn down at any second.
Two, I miss the days when teachers made everyone from the weird kid that picks his nose in the back of the classroom to your first Top-Secret Crush buy you a valentine. Even though their moms would just buy a pack of generic cards from Target and scribble their names at the bottom, it was something. Now that I don’t have a boyfriend, who knows what I’ll be getting.
Three, I know my new animosity for Valentine’s Day really has nothing to do with these things and everything to do with what happened this time last year.
But I brush that thought aside harder than I brushed the knots out of my hair this morning to make it perfectly straight. Today I’m wearing a printed skirt with a cropped sweater and matching tights. I try to look my best even when I’m not feeling it, which is probably why my friends never know when something is bothering me.
We’re huddled together in line for the paper hearts the student government is selling as a fund-raiser for the Valentine’s Day Dance. There’s a table set up outside the gymnasium, which is the perfect spot because it’s where people always hang out before homeroom. A long line has formed from the gym entrance to the boys’ locker room around the corner.
There’s a part of me that’s super proud of the turnout. The paper hearts were my idea in ninth grade when I first joined student government’s planning committee. We were trying to think of something original to sell other than carnations to raise money for the Valentine’s Day Dance. I thought of love letters immediately. There’s something about them that feels so perfectly nostalgic. From there, I thought of selling paper cutouts in the shape of hearts people could write messages on, which would then be passed out around school during the weeks leading up to the dance. You can decorate them and write anything you want to. People mainly send short but sweet ones to their friends. Other times if you’re in a relationship you might send a more thoughtful one to show how much you care. What’s more romantic than telling someone how you feel?
Ever since freshman year I’ve gotten a heart from Pete. He isn’t the sentimental type, but he always took them seriously. Part of me thinks it’s only because it was my idea. But there’s another part of me that feels it was genuine—he knew it made me really happy to open one from him.
There’s something about receiving love letters that feels way better than some text. I saved all of them in the secret hiding spot next to my bed.
Standing in line, I wonder if any of the paper hearts I get this year will be worth keeping.
“We should get ours for free,” Carmen declares as we inch toward the student government table. “Since this was Ella’s idea.”
Jessica and Katie nod. I glance up at the girl passing out the paper hearts. I forget her name somehow, even though she’s the one who always raises her hand in my English class to answer all the questions. I don’t really know her personally, but she doesn’t exactly scream rule breaker.
I shake my head. “Not going to happen. But on the positive side, the money goes toward the dance.”
“Oooh. Do you think there’s going to be a flower wall for pictures again?” Katie asks.
I blink at the word again. I don’t remember the flower wall.
Carmen gives Katie a look before answering. “Doubtful. Ella was the only one in student government who actually did anything cool. At least they’re doing the paper hearts again instead of passing out dinky carnations. I wouldn’t put that past them.”
I force a smile like I do a lot lately. I used to love being on the planning committee, especially when it came to school dances. One of my favorite things has always been bringing friends together. In middle school, I started organizing big sleepovers complete with games, karaoke sing-offs, and Sephora face masks. They got so popular that my mom had to make me put a cap on who could come. By high school, I graduated to bigger events like school dances as the student body’s social chair. But this year I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“How many hearts do you think I’ll get this time?” Jessica asks. “Last year I only got fourteen.”
Katie rolls her eyes. “Only fourteen? Humble brag a little more, will you.”
“Oh, save it,” Carmen says. “Besides, paper hearts are about quality over quantity,” she says before lightly elbowing me. “Who do you want to get one from?”
I shrug. “I don’t even know who I’m sending one to besides you three and Ashley. But she’s too cool for school these days. I bet she doesn’t even send me one back.”
“Forget your sister. What about Pete?” She winks.
I raise my eyebrow. The last person I expect a heart from is my ex-boyfriend, but no matter how many times I insist we’re over, she brings him up whenever she can.
“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms. “But you better hurry up and think. The line is moving fast.”
There’s a group of girls in front of us who are chatting excitedly and a boy ahead of them with a super-large backpack. He bounces up and down nervously until the girl from my English class gestures for him to come up to the table and he sprints over. It’s endearing and makes me wonder who he’s eager to send a note to. Carmen sees too but laughs.
“I have until third period to think about it, remember?” I say, distracting her. “There’s a bin outside Principal Wheeler’s office for dropping the hearts off.”
Carmen’s eyes light up. It takes me a second before I realize she’s looking over my shoulder. “What about one of them?” she asks, and I turn around to see who she’s looking at.
I automatically sigh. Of course it’s the boys basketball team—the seniors, anyway, and a couple juniors. Pete’s there too.
He always seems to have some sort of radar when I’m nearby, and now is no exception. Pete looks up from a conversation he’s having with a guy from the basketball team and spots me across the gymnasium lobby. I might be embarrassed that we made awkward eye contact if it wasn’t for the fact that he smiles immediately. I feel my cheeks grow warm, like they did the first time we locked eyes after a game.
After the accident Pete told me he wouldn’t get back together with me since I had broken up with him for a legit reason. Apparently, I had done it because my heart wasn’t in it anymore. When Pete told me, he almost started crying like we were breaking up all over again. I realized then how much pain I put him through, even if I couldn’t remember it. I vowed to leave him alone after that.
But breakups in high school are strange—you still run into each other and have to wave hello, even though you already said goodbye. When he waves to me now, I smile like I always do as Carmen raises her eyebrow at me.
“You know there are other people besides basketball players at the school,” I say.
“Like who, Turtleboy?” she retorts, looking at the boy who just paid for his paper hearts and is now strapping his big backpack on again. He does kind of look like a turtle. Jessica and Katie laugh as I give an uneasy smile.
“Wait a second,” Carmen continues. “Is Sarah Chang flirting with Turtleboy?”
I’m not surprised that Carmen’s going to continue picking on this poor boy, but I’m surprised that she kn
ows this girl’s name. She’s not the type to be on Carmen’s radar. Maybe she has a class with her? The girl is handing the boy his paper heart and smiling at him—I’d hardly call that flirting. But Jess proudly shows us her phone. She took a photo of the exchange. From the angle, you can barely see the cutout. It looks like they’re holding hands.
“Aw, a match made in heaven,” Jess says. She even has the perfect rabbit teeth. The tortoise and the hare.”
“Oooh. That’s a good one.” Carmen smiles smugly.
“You guys are terrible,” I say, but with not enough force to actually make a difference. I see Jess typing on her phone. Before I can say anything, she looks up and gives a satisfied smile like she does when she posts something.
“So anyway, where are we getting ready for the game tonight?”
My friends start chatting excitedly again, but all I can do is stare at the one heart dangling from the ceiling. It’s the same as the others but a little ripped at the bottom. I can’t help but feel a little out of place, just like it looks.
Maybe hearts are like paper. Once they are torn, they can never be perfect again.
When I’m up in line, I buy paper hearts for my friends and sister, like I planned, and an extra one for Sarah Chang.
Chapter 2
A lot of people have asked me what it’s like to have amnesia.
You know when your iPhone suddenly dies and you’re nowhere near an outlet? Then you have to go hours feeling excommunicated from the world, wondering who’s trying to talk to you, unable to look up anything.
11 Paper Hearts (Underlined Paperbacks) Page 1