Or even worse, when your phone breaks. Maybe it got wet somehow or it slips out of your hands and when you pick it up, the front is shattered and you pray that everything is already uploaded to the cloud. But when you go to the Apple store you learn there’s no way to recover your recent photos or texts—nothing. Well, that’s .01% of what it feels like to have amnesia, but that’s the best comparison I have. Suddenly, there’s a chunk of your world missing…and there’s no way to get it back.
My phone analogy is ironic because after my accident, I found out my phone was as damaged as my car. The only things that I was able to retrieve were my contacts and some photos I had already uploaded months before. I remember staring at my new, blank phone and feeling like I was starting my life over again in more ways than one.
But even that was put on hold until I could get better. Then, once I did, my priority was catching up during summer school on all the classes I’d missed.
Now it’s the second semester of my senior year, and since my college acceptance emails have already come, focusing is harder than it has ever been. Today, instead of listening, I’m working on my paper hearts.
Being the perfectionist that I am, I type out everything I’m going to say on my iPad before I actually write on the paper so I don’t have any mess-ups. Then I plan on writing them in a script font I’ve gotten really good at with my favorite pen. A lot of the paper hearts I received remind me of how yearbooks are signed at the end of the year. Hope you have a lovely day. Have the best Valentine’s Day ever! Love, X. But I like to make mine personal. Every year I take the time to write out what I love about the people I’m sending them to.
Jessica can be super mean to other people, like Sarah Chang, but it’s so ironic because she’s one of the nicest people in the world if she’s actually friends with you—she always has your back. Jess was the first one to come to my defense when people would ask about the accident. Do you think she wants to talk about that? she’d ask so aggressively it would make the other person turn red. I can’t imagine her ever being disloyal.
Katie can be perceived as a pushover, but really, she just wants everyone in our friend group to be happy. She’s the best person to go to for advice. When I was struggling coming to terms with my breakup with Pete, she told me if we were meant to be, we would find our way back to each other. Just hearing her say that helped me more than she knew. Everyone needs a friend like Katie.
Then there’s Carmen, who gets the longest letter because we’ve been best friends the longest.
I start out reminding her about our best-friend bracelets from middle school. I wore mine until it was practically hanging on by a string. During those days, we were the kind of friends who were perfectly happy just the two of us. We would go to each other’s houses for sleepovers, memorizing song lyrics and trying new lip gloss colors neither of us were actually allowed to wear to school yet. But when we entered eighth grade, Carmen announced that we should branch out. Carmen usually filters what she really wants to say, like she does photos before she posts them. In retrospect, I know that what she meant is that we needed more friends. We found Katie and Jess shortly after. But Carmen’s always like that—when she wants something, she goes out and gets it.
She’s really pretty, but what she doesn’t get told enough is that she’s also really smart. She can memorize a song after listening to it only a couple of times. She barely has to study for tests because she’s so smart she doesn’t need to and still gets As. I think that’s why she can get away with calling other people nerds. She also gets away with a lot because she’s so funny. But those are just a few things about Carmen—there’s more.
Her enthusiasm is contagious and has always been what pushed me out of my comfort zone. First time sitting with seniors at lunch? It was Carmen dragging me along, insisting that nobody cared we were sophomores. My first all-nighter? Entirely Carmen’s idea.
A lot of times I’m envious of how well Carmen handles the tough things in life. She’s learned to be tough, just like her mom—the two of them had to be when Carmen’s dad left them. When I was in the hospital, instead of crying her eyes out, she went into action and started the GoFundMe for my parents. I don’t know what would’ve happened without her.
As I tell her this, I don’t worry about being sappy. My paper hearts normally are.
I tone it down a little for my little sister, though. She probably thinks the paper hearts are stupid because I came up with them and simply because she thinks a lot of things are stupid lately. A couple of months ago she started dating this boy named Steve who is in my grade but who I’d never met. When they first started dating, I stalked his social media like a good sister would and noticed that all of his ex-girlfriends looked exactly like my sister. Thin. Straight brunette hair. The only thing that was different was that she lacked the look. The I’m-trying-so-hard-to-look-like-I’m-not-trying look.
Slowly but surely, she started morphing into that too. I hoped it was just because she was getting more into fashion, not because she was trying to be some girl he wanted her to be. Whenever I see my sister, it reminds me that I’m not the only one who has changed this past year. Sometimes a car crash changes you and other times a boyfriend can crash into your life too. But from what I can tell, he’s a decent boyfriend. I wonder if he’ll send her a paper heart. I decide to keep mine short and sweet: I love you, little sister. Don’t ever change.
Then I get to Sarah’s, which is more difficult than I expected it to be. I have to think a little harder because I don’t really know her. Eventually, I decide I should just write what I love about her too.
I love the way you can pull off Warby Parker glasses, combat boots, and overalls. I love the way you answer all the questions in English class. I love reading too, but even when I think I know the answer I’m afraid of looking dumb. Sometimes you say things that I’m thinking. Other times you say things that make me want to think more, which is a special quality to have.
Instead of signing it, I draw a heart where my signature would be. I hope getting this makes her day. I feel a twinge of guilt every time I think about what happened earlier that I try to ignore. So what if Jess was mean to Sarah? Sarah can be equally condescending. I’ve seen her smirk when someone says something dumb in class.
But I’ll always remember this one time Ashley and I were watching a Netflix film. I forget which one, but it was about high school and there was this group of mean girls, like every high school movie has. I made a comment to Ashley that I was glad our school didn’t have a group of girls like that, and she stared at me for a couple of seconds before saying if you don’t know who the group of mean girls is, you’re in it. For a long time, I forgot about that, but lately I’m noticing that little things like Jess taking a stupid picture are really bothering me in a way that they never did before.
Maybe I’ve matured more than most people because of the accident—I know what it feels like to have everyone talking about you. It’s brutal, especially when the stuff people are saying is true. I can see now that nobody deserves to be gossiped about. Life’s too short for that. Part of me wishes there were paper hearts all year round that people could send to one another to say how they feel. But there aren’t—I only have this one time of year, so I’m going to make it count.
I finish typing my thoughts in homeroom and then I write my letters out in second period study hall with my favorite pen. The teacher, Ms. Pearson, doesn’t care what we’re working on as long as we’re quiet. I notice her bun moving back and forth over her desk as she grades papers before I begin writing the first paper heart.
After my accident, I spent a lot of time in my room alone. Sure, my mom would check on me once every half hour and my friends would constantly FaceTime me to say hi. But mainly it was just me.
I was supposed to do nothing other than heal—everyone kept telling me to focus on getting better. I heard that phrase a lot, especially when I’d t
ry to find out what happened during those weeks I couldn’t remember. But the type A in me needed to focus on something else. So I picked up something I’d always wanted to try. Calligraphy.
It seemed like the obvious thing to learn for me. I’ve always been a doodler. Even in kindergarten, when I was first learning to spell my name, I’d write it over and over, trying to make it perfect. Once I learned cursive, I’d sign my name everywhere like I was signing autographs. But really, I just loved writing.
But being the perfectionist I am, I always knew it could be improved. Once I settled on learning calligraphy, I ordered the supplies online and spent hours watching YouTube videos. Then writing. Then watching a couple more videos.
I did this on repeat for months. When I wasn’t doing homework, I had my special oblique open in hand and my sketch journal opened wide. The beginning pages were just filled with the alphabet when I was still trying to figure out how to hold my pen at the right angle, but by the end you can really see how my lettering improved. I’d write anything and everything just to practice. Lists. Quotes. Random thoughts. Slowly, my hand got what my brain was trying to do, and it was okay even when it didn’t, because with calligraphy, you can mess up. Even with the smallest smudge, you can start over, like it never happened. I wish life were that simple.
My favorite part about calligraphy, though, is that you get to create something beautiful with precision.
That’s what I’m trying to do now with the paper hearts—make them into something beautiful that my friends and my sister will want to keep. I carefully write my messages, including little intricate flower designs for each one. They must be good, because the boy who sits in front of me never makes any noise except when he turns around to loudly crack his back in this gross twisting way on each side, and when he does that today, he pauses and tells me he’s impressed. I smile until he turns to crack his back on the other side.
After study hall, I go to the bin outside Principal Wheeler’s office. There’s a little slot on top, and I slide my pieces of paper inside. As they fall, I smile, knowing that soon they will be folded into paper hearts. It’s the only thing I’ve liked about today so far.
* * *
The student government starts passing out hearts fifth period, which is when my friends and I have lunch. Originally, Carmen and Jess had it sixth period, but they spent a day at the guidance office complaining until eventually Ms. B caved. It’s very unlike her to bend school rules for anything, but Carmen and Jess used me as the excuse. We want to help Ella reacclimate, they said. It would’ve been nice if it were true. When they told me what they did, they were laughing like it was a big joke that I was in on. I never complained, though—having lunch with all my best friends is normally the best part of my day.
But maybe not today.
As different members of student government walk around with tote bags filled with paper hearts, my chest tightens. I love getting paper hearts, but sometimes the anticipation gets to me, wondering who decided to send me one. I spot one of my guy friends from planning committee reach into his tote bag and hand a paper heart to a girl named Jenelle. She waves it in front of her friends, who start giggling excitedly with her.
“Ella, are you even listening?” Carmen asks.
I snap my head toward her. “Er—” I start to say, but she interrupts me.
“I asked if you’re going to the game tonight.”
In the past this wouldn’t have even been a question. I’d be the girl sitting in front with a handmade sign with perfectly drawn bubbled letters in maroon and gold Sharpie. When I was dating Pete, I always painted his number on one of my cheeks and the letter A for Arlington High School on the other. Games and pep rallies were a big deal to me then. I had organized a booth for student government so that before games everyone could buy flash tattoos, maroon and gold scrunchies, funny T-shirts, and beaded friendship bracelets with phrases like Go Fight Win or your class year.
I’d always go all-out. Freshman year I ironed different patches on my jean jacket, including my last name on the back, like a jersey. Instead of a number, I had an anchor, because that’s the school logo.
This year for Spirit Week I dressed up, like everyone else, but I didn’t plan my outfits weeks in advance like I used to. I just threw on the maroon and gold clothes I already had in my closet and let Carmen dust my eyes with glitter and Katie French-braid my hair with matching ribbon as Jess chastised, I can’t believe you of all people forgot about Spirit Week.
Not to sound dramatic, but it’s hard to have spirit about anything else when you’ve lost it in yourself.
I used to see a psychiatrist on a weekly basis, but I stopped recently. Not because of the stigma or anything—I just felt like I’d gotten everything I needed out of therapy already. Really, the only thing I had to work on was letting go of the weeks I lost. My therapist always reminded me that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force myself to remember what happened, and every time I got annoyed at other people for not remembering for me, I was pushing them away.
I stopped seeing her after New Year’s. Holidays are often seen as a time for celebrating, but I like to think of them as a chance for a fresh start. I buy into the new year, new me mantra, but I think Valentine’s Day could be good for fresh starts too. With everything else going on in my life, I haven’t thought much about boys. When could I, when all I’ve been thinking about is school? Everyone around me told me to take it easy after the accident, but I wasn’t about to let my grades plummet because of it.
But what if Valentine’s Day is meant to be a gentle reminder that love is important too. You start seeing ads everywhere on Instagram. Valentine’s Day candy starts busting out of stores. You can’t not think about love…and maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe we need a reminder that it’s okay to want love. If it’s as great as everyone says it is, who wouldn’t want it? And if I want to find it, I can’t stay in my room forever.
“Yeah, I should be at the game,” I finally answer.
Carmen raises her eyebrow like she doesn’t know if she believes me.
“It’s the playoffs,” she says. “Everyone is going to be there.”
“I said I should be there,” I repeat.
Carmen nods. She’s satisfied—for now. Sometimes our friendship feels like my old bracelet, hanging by a thread.
“What’s taking these people so long?” Jess whines from the other side of the table. “It’s like they’re purposely handing out hearts to everyone but us.”
“You’re so impatient,” Katie says. “They’re making their way over here.”
Surveying the cafeteria, I see that different tables have already started getting paper hearts. I spot Sarah Chang again. She digs into her tote bag and hands a boy a paper heart. He’s sitting at a table with a bunch of other guys, and they all start hollering and laughing as he accepts the heart, turning red enough that I can see it from tables away. There’s a bunch of oohs and aahs as he opens the letter, but Sarah has already moved on to a new table near us.
She’s always been in student government but never has been part of the planning committee. I wonder what made her switch this year. She used to be the treasurer—maybe it just got boring? As she walks past our table, she looks down at her combat boots, almost like she’s afraid.
“Does she not see us over here?” Jess asks, waving. The David Yurman bangles on her wrist jingle.
“I wonder if she saw what you posted,” Carmen says. I turn back to the table and she’s wagging her finger at Jess. “Maybe this is your fault.”
Jess drops her jaw. “Don’t blame this on me.”
“Guys, we might not even get ours right now,” I say, trying to reassure them. “They pass the hearts out for the next two weeks.”
But as I say it, I feel someone come up behind me. I whip my head around. It’s a boy I don’t recognize—a f
reshman, most likely. He has small freckles that cover his nose, and he clenches the tote bag like he’s nervous.
“Are you Ella Fitzpatrick?” he asks.
“Duh,” Carmen says. I nod, embarrassed.
“I have a few hearts for you in this batch,” he says, pulling out four paper hearts.
“Thank you,” I say, taking them from his slightly shaking hand. Then he walks over to Carmen, too timid to ask her name. His tote must be filled with paper hearts for people with F last names. Carmen’s last name is Fairchild, so whenever things are alphabetical, we get to sit by each other.
When he pulls out one heart, Carmen gives him a death stare.
“Are you forgetting any?”
His eyes widen, and he actually pokes through his bag again.
“Ugh. Just the one,” he says, looking back up. He smiles, but Carmen looks away and opens her letter. She scans the page quickly.
“Just from some nerd in my AP chem class,” she says, sighing like she expected there to be more. Or maybe she was hoping it was from someone else. “That was anticlimactic.”
“At least you got one,” Jess huffs.
“Oooh, look, that girl is coming over too,” Katie says excitedly. She means Sarah Chang.
But once Sarah’s standing next to me, Katie doesn’t look as enthused. There’s a red pin attached to Sarah’s bag that says there is no charm equal to the tenderness of the heart. It makes me smile since that’s something I’d wear too. But Sarah isn’t smiling. Her lips are pursed in the same way they are when our English teacher sees her hand raised but looks around the room to give someone else a chance to speak.
“Here,” she says, handing three paper hearts to Jess without looking at her. It makes me wonder if she knows Jess posted something. “And here are yours,” she says to Katie. Carmen’s still glaring, but she doesn’t notice. She doesn’t look at any of us. Once she hands Katie her paper hearts, she darts away to the next table as quickly as she came. As she walks away, I can’t help but feel a guilty twinge again. I hope she opens her paper heart from me soon.
11 Paper Hearts (Underlined Paperbacks) Page 2