“You’re a lucky lady,” the man says, smiling still. A stark contrast to the Fred who was bored out of his mind moments ago. It’s obvious this sort of thing doesn’t normally happen to him. I feel my cheeks turn redder than the flower petals in front of me.
“What is this for? Who is it from?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Have…have we met before?” I ask, suddenly remembering the dried rose in my stash. Maybe it’s from this flower shop. Maybe this is not a secret haven but a spot I’ve been to before.
The man laughs. “I really am sworn to secrecy.” Then he pretends to lock his lips and throw away the key.
I sigh. “Okay…well, thank you…have a good night,” I say.
I turn to leave, and it’s only when I’m halfway out the door that I realize a piece of paper is wrapped around the flower. I carefully peel it off the stem until I hold it out in my gloved hand.
It’s another paper heart, with watercolor on both sides.
My hands begin to tremble as I read the message.
Dear Ella,
Call this a puzzle, a scavenger hunt, whatever you want. You’ll be receiving 11 paper hearts total so you can take back the weeks you’ve lost. I’m going to take you to all the places you went to before Valentine’s Day last year that you can’t remember. All you need to do is follow these paper hearts to lead you back to your own.
Love,
Your Admirer
I stand there trying to process everything, but my body feels numb and I know it’s not just from the cold. The paper heart. The rose. My apparent admirer. I feel a mixture of emotions. I’m flattered, excited, and confused all at once. What is happening? my brain screams.
I flip over the paper heart and there’s more writing on the back.
Your favorite place to get lost.
F 823.7 AUS
I blink at the piece of paper until my eyeballs feel like they’re about to freeze. Where have I seen that number before? Then suddenly the second part of the letter plows into me: F 823.7 AUS. All the books I ever get from the library have numbers like that on their spines.
That must be where I need to go next.
Chapter 6
I don’t tell Steve or my sister about the paper heart when I get back to the car. The only thing I tell them is the new plan: I will not be going to the game after all.
“Just take me to the library,” I continue as we’re driving again. “Once you’re done at the diner, or wherever you’re actually going, come get me.”
Steve smirks at the second part, so I know I must be right.
“But the library closes in like twenty minutes,” Ashley argues. “And you know I can’t go to the diner without you.”
“I won’t tell Mom I’m not going. Only if you take me to the library. Once it closes, I’ll go read at the café next door. They’re open late.”
I feel my phone buzzing and I know it’s my friends again. I’ve already told Pete I was going, and he’ll read my text after the game. But I can’t go—not now.
Could I be crazy? Yes. Even so, I was only going to the diner in the first place for answers….Now I might actually be able to find them. I just have this feeling that the things in my room have to do with this too. I feel the paper heart tucked into my coat pocket.
Your admirer, I think over and over again, like a song on repeat.
I have no idea who it could be, but it seems like it could be whoever gave me the rose and Polaroid photo. Maybe they will reveal themselves in the end.
Or maybe it’s Carmen. She’s always the one trying to push me out of my comfort zone. Maybe she got so tired of me living like a shell of myself that she’s taking matters into her own hands. But that still wouldn’t explain the things in my room.
Whoever my admirer is, this urgent feeling comes back to me like it’s now or never. Ashley must see it in my eyes, because she sighs. “Fine. But you have to text me if you want us to come get you earlier.”
Steve shoots her a look like he hasn’t agreed to that.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
“I know you’ll be fine,” Ashley says. “But you’re my sister. I have to look out for you.”
“She’s going to the library,” Steve mutters under his breath. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but he looks over at Ashley, who has her arms crossed. He catches one glimpse of her glaring at him and closes his mouth.
We sit in silence, the tension thick. I try to look at my sister in the rearview mirror. Her mouth is turned upside down. A lot of times when people frown their face looks nothing like a frowning emoji. But not my sister. Her lips form the distinct shape of a rainbow. As we pull into the parking lot, she brushes her eye, and I can’t tell if she just wiped away a tear.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say as Steve comes to a stop in front of the entrance.
“Don’t mention it,” he says. Ashley turns to me and gives me a small smile. There are no tears in her eyes. Maybe I imagined them.
I slide out of the car, ignoring the fact that my phone is still blowing up, and head straight to the library, because nothing else matters right now aside from this paper heart.
Until I see a boy through the window.
Chapter 7
Carmen would say he looks nerdy, but I think he’s cute. He’s tall and lean and wearing headphones, jeans, and a zip-up hoodie that I’d love to steal. His hair is in the middle of messy and neat. He’s mouthing the words to a song as he scans the books on the front desk, like Rosemary normally does. She’s the librarian who has been giving me book recommendations for years. Who is this Library Boy?
He looks about my age, but I don’t recognize him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t go to my high school, though. I didn’t recognize half of the names of people who sent me flowers and letters in the hospital. That’s what happens when you think you know everyone, but in reality you only know the people your friends want to associate with. Maybe I should know who this guy is. But what is he doing scanning bar codes on a Friday night? Doesn’t he have something better to do?
That last thought is a little judgmental, I realize. After all, I’m at the library too.
You have a mission, though, I remind myself.
I push open the door, and he doesn’t hear me walk in. He continues scanning the books and putting them into a pile on a cart in front of him, probably for reshelving before they close. I immediately see why he’s listening to music: nobody is here but the two of us. Libraries are always quiet, but there’s usually at least one person shuffling around or dropping something. The only sound now is the faint music coming from this boy’s headphones that gets louder as I approach him.
He still doesn’t realize I’m there even when I’m only a foot away from him. He’s mouthing the words and moving like he’s performing a live concert. I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but I need his help finding this book. How do I get his attention? Do I clear my throat? Tap him on the shoulder?
I’m debating what to do when he suddenly spins around and sees me. His eyes get wide because I’ve sufficiently scared him, and he backs up into his cart, making the pile on top collapse, the books dropping to the floor.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” I say as I crouch on the floor to start picking up the books that have fallen.
He pulls his headphones down to his neck and looks at me. His eyes are still wide, and now I notice how blue they are.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you,” I say, gathering as many books as I can in my hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He bends down next to me and starts picking up books too as he watches me. I can feel his eyes on me.
“I wasn’t scared,” he says even
tually. When he grins there’s a dimple in his left cheek. I decide that we’ve never met—there’s no way I’d forget that dimple. “I just wasn’t expecting company,” he adds.
“I wasn’t expecting to ruin your concert,” I say back.
He grins again, and the dimple reappears. I stand back up and place the books in the cart. He does the same but then eyes me like he’s studying my face or something else. I look away, my face getting hot.
Then I shake my head, remembering why I’m here in the first place.
“I need help finding a book,” I say, pulling out the paper heart and showing him the number. “This is for a library book, right?”
“Yeah, that’s a call number. Let me look for it.”
He heads into the stacks and I follow.
The library is best described as cozy. The shelves are close together, like they want to hug each other, and there are plush seats scattered around in front of them, so you can stop and read right there.
Wandering through the shelves makes me think about this article I read one time. It compared the brain to an endless library in which our lifetime’s knowledge is stored. There are experiments that show that brains sometimes purposely forget things to make space for new memories to be stored. Meaning, we purposely forget things so our brain doesn’t become too full. Learning that made me think that maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds, like people say—we just sometimes replace memories we want to forget.
When Library Boy slows down and starts reading the numbers on the books, I know we’re close. I thumb the spines with my half-painted nail that chipped when I was making breakfast this morning.
“Here we go,” Library Boy says, stopping in front of a couple of books I’ve read before—Emma, Sense and Sensibility, and my favorite, Pride and Prejudice. I instantly know that’s the one I want. Your favorite place to get lost, I remember as I grab the book off the shelf.
“Didn’t peg you for a Jane Austen girl,” Library Boy says.
I raise an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just not very original. I’m surprised you aren’t wearing UGG boots and yoga pants. What is the Valentine’s Day version of a pumpkin spice latte these days?”
His dimple is showing, so I know he means to be funny, but I cross my arms.
“So you’re saying that when something is popular it’s a bad thing? If you work here, shouldn’t you be telling me what people like to read?”
“No, I’m just saying Austen is the basic of classics. There are plenty of other options.”
“Like what?”
“We’re in a library. I could go on all day,” he says, gesturing to the shelf in front of us. But he’s not going to get off that easy.
“Start with your favorite.”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
I laugh. “I have read Sherlock Holmes before.”
He raises an eyebrow, and since I don’t know him, I’m not sure if it’s because he’s impressed or because he thinks I’m lying. “Really?”
“Really,” I repeat, clutching the book. “But for the record, I do wear UGGs and yoga pants because they’re comfortable. Call me basic. But since we read the same things, does that make you basic too?”
He winks at me. “Or it means we both have good taste after all.”
“Okay, let’s go with that,” I say, stepping past him and walking swiftly down the aisle.
“You’re leaving already? I was enjoying this banter we have going on. Almost like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.”
“Or like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy,” I say back.
I instantly feel my cheeks flush. Did I accidentally just compare us to one of the most famous couples of all time? My embarrassment makes me walk faster toward the front, as far away from him as I can get.
It’s only when I’m at the empty front desk, about to check the book out, that I realize I still need his help.
Suddenly, I hear a whoosh behind me. “Need someone to check you out? And for the record, I mean the book, not you, so don’t get mad at me about that too.”
So he’s flirty and has bad dad jokes. For some reason, the combo makes me smile in a way I haven’t in a while.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” I ask. “Do you go to Arlington?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m a senior at Lourdes,” he answers.
Oh, the private school nearby.
“Where’s your uniform?” I ask, eyeing his flannel shirt.
“I changed after school. Didn’t want to stupefy muggles with my dashing blazer and tie.”
I’m so impressed by his Harry Potter humor that I can’t think of a clever response. Where’s my Invisibility Cloak?
“Well, thanks for your help. I’ll see you around,” I say, grabbing the book off the desk.
But as I do, a paper heart drops out of the book and Library Boy grabs it before I can.
“Give me that!” I say, but he’s already reading my next clue with a stupid grin on his face.
“What’re these paper hearts for? The number you showed me was on one too.”
“None of your business,” I say firmly, grabbing the piece of paper out of his hand.
“Well, who are they from?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he exclaims. “So it’s like a mystery?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I’m half listening because I’m already reading the next paper heart.
Reach for the stars to bridge your mind and heart.
I frown. The other clue I solved pretty quickly from the call number. But this one is like some line you’d find on a valentine at the drugstore.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know what this one means.”
He makes a sound that sounds like a tsk. “You’re the worst detective of all time. Your title of Watson has been revoked.”
“You know what this means? How?”
“I told you. I like mysteries.”
“In books, not in real life,” I huff.
He swivels his chair away from the desk so he’s fully facing me. “I’m a man of many talents. Mark Twain is a literary genius so people have forgotten that he also invented the bra strap. It’s an injustice to only be able to have one thing.”
“Mark Twain invented the bra strap?”
He grins. “See? I can be good at book recs and the occasional fun fact. I also solved this riddle easily and I just moved to this town.” He looks at the computer screen on the desk. “And according to your library card you’ve lived here for years. You have no excuse for not solving this.”
I wait for him to say something but he just smirks in his chair. “Are you going to make me beg?” I eventually ask.
He crosses his arms. “No, I just like the added suspense.”
“I don’t have time for dramatics,” I say, my voice rising way past library level. It surprises us both. “I want to do this next clue before my sister picks me up, so if you know this tell me now!”
He leans back in his chair. “Oh yeah? How are you going to get all the way to the bridge from here?”
“How do you know it’s the bri—” I start, but stop short. Reach for the stars to bridge your mind and heart. There are telescopes on the walkway bridge over the Hudson River. He’s right; that has to be it.
And he’s right about another thing: How on earth am I supposed to get there? Unless he can help me…
I normally don’t ask for help from strangers, but this boy works at a library, likes fun facts, and reads Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter. He cracks riddles in seconds. He seems harmless, in a nerdy cute way. The kind of guy Carmen would get homework from but then stop talking to after, even if I told her she was being mean.
“What’re y
ou doing after you close?”
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” he asks.
“You said you just moved here. Now is your chance for a tour of the longest walking footbridge in America from a local.”
“The longest one, you say?” He gives me a small smile like he’s not convinced.
“Not to mention,” I add, “hanging out with me is a lot better than doing nothing on a Friday night.”
I’m playing to his weakness as the new boy in town with no friends yet. It’s a low blow, but I’m desperate. He cocks his head at me like a dog trying to figure out what I’m saying before he responds.
“Well, when you put it that way, I should go just so you don’t think I’m a complete loser.”
I smile. “Partial loser it is.” Then, realizing I asked this random guy to help me before I even got his name, I stick out my hand and introduce myself.
“Ella. Also a partial loser.”
I’m kidding, but lately this doesn’t seem untrue.
“I know, Ella Fitzpatrick,” he says.
For a second, my heart drops. Of course he knows about me. Is there anyone in this town who hasn’t heard about my accident?
It’s only when he waves my library card at me that I realize he just read my name on it.
“My name is Andy,” he tells me, shaking my hand.
But I decide I might still call him Library Boy in my head.
* * *
The last time I went to the bridge was in June with Ashley. My mom thought it was a good idea for me to get some fresh air and other doctors had given me the okay. It was right after I started summer school, so I thought I’d be fine going out in public. I wasn’t.
The bridge was packed with everyone in town who’d had the same idea to walk along the water that day. There were families with kids and dogs. Others were on bikes and scooters, and boats zipped underneath us. I wanted to go home almost immediately, but because my mom really wanted me to start doing Normal Teenage Things again, I forced myself to stay.
11 Paper Hearts (Underlined Paperbacks) Page 5