11 Paper Hearts (Underlined Paperbacks)

by Kelsey Hartwell

  “Let’s go,” I say without looking at him.

  “Wait,” Andy says.

  I think he’s going to tell me not to be like this, that it’s okay to let my guard down, but he doesn’t. He looks at me softly until finally he smiles.

  “You still have my AirPod.”

  I shake my head. “Oh, right.” I pull it out of my ear and hand it to him.

  Our hands touch for only a brief second, but I suddenly have this weird feeling. A desire, really. Because when Andy looks at me again, it’s as if I’m still snow in December.

  Chapter 16

  I’ve had plenty of crushes. The kind that hit you the second you meet them. They’re called crushes for a reason. All of a sudden it feels like your heart is being squeezed, and it’s either because you’re about to explode with happiness or because you’re about to break into a thousand pieces.

  Obviously, I crush hard.

  But as Andy drives me home from the train station, I know this isn’t like my crush on Adam in elementary school, which started immediately after he shared his paints with me in art class. This is different.

  Maybe a crush can be like a book you find at the library. First you’re drawn in by the cover. Then you try to find out what it’s about, so you read the little description on the jacket. Maybe it says exactly what you want to read, or maybe it’s mysteriously vague and it makes you even more curious. Either way, you decide that you’re going to choose this book knowing very little about it, but you have this excited feeling that if you dive in, you might be swept away. That’s the feeling I’m suddenly getting with Andy.

  He’s like a story I can’t wait to read.

  But what about my admirer?

  I feel a surge of guilt just thinking about the paper hearts as soon as Andy pulls up in my driveway. The car stops and he undoes his seat belt.

  “Where are you going?” I ask. He beats me at unbuckling our seat belts.

  “Walking you to your door.”

  This wasn’t a date—not a real one—so I didn’t even anticipate that he’d want to walk me. Maybe he’s not so jaded after all.

  “Is that…okay?” he asks. My face must say it’s not. But really that’s because I’ve just decided that I might have a crush and now he’s volunteering to walk me to my door and I’m trying not to smile too hard. Could this mean he likes me too? What he said at the Whispering Gallery made it seem like he did, but he could just have been trying to be nice after I told him my big secret.

  “Of course it’s okay,” I say.

  We get out of the car and walk together toward my front door. I’m careful to not trip over my own feet, which happens sometimes when I’m nervous. It’s even more of a possibility now, because it looks like somebody tried to shovel the walkway after last night’s snow, but there’s still a slick layer of ice they weren’t able to chip at.

  “Be careful,” I joke to him. “We know what happened the last time you went ice-skating.”

  He grins. “Are you going to beat me again?”

  “Duh,” I say, smiling back. But I don’t actually speed up. I want this short walk to the door to last.

  When we reach the door, I pull the keys out of my bag. They jingle awkwardly in my hand. I’m stalling, but I don’t know why. Maybe I’m waiting for Andy to hint that he’s feeling the same way.

  I look at him and he’s staring at me, smiling.

  “What?”

  “I’m just relishing this moment. It’s the first time you’re paying more attention to me than to a paper heart.”

  “Paper hear—” I start to say, whipping my head around to the door, then stopping short: because right there in front of my eyes is another letter taped to the door.

  “Never mind,” Andy says. I turn back to him and watch his shoulders sink.

  There’s a moment when neither of us know what to say. Eventually, he clears his throat. “Well, now that you see the heart, are you going to read it?” He sounds irritated.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, not bothering to try to make him less irritated. I’m annoyed too—at myself. Here I am, off gallivanting with Andy, when there could be a guy out there sending me on a romantic scavenger hunt. I suddenly feel like a horrible, stupid person.

  I snatch the paper heart off the door and unfold it. Inside, there are two tickets for a chocolate-making class at the Culinary Institute of America, where some of the best chefs and bakers in the country are trained. I didn’t know they had classes for people like me. There’s a restaurant there that I’ve been to on special occasions, like when I got into Columbia. Everything about the CIA feels fancy, including the message with the tickets.

  Whether you dream of truffles, a dense and rich flourless chocolate cake, or light-as-air-soufflés, this chocolate lover’s class will teach you the essential techniques needed to make irresistible desserts. Learn tricks of the trade from a CIA chef while making a sweet surprise!

  Suddenly, my stomach lurches. There had been plenty of sweet shop vendors at the Hudson Valley Orchard. I can’t remember exactly, but I’m pretty sure I told Pete I wished I had saved room for dessert but I was too chocolated out from the hot chocolate. Did he remember me saying that?

  “What a coincidence,” Andy says, interrupting my thoughts. “Chocolate is my favorite food group.”

  I shake my head. There’s no way he can come with me to this next clue. It was harmless when he was just some bystander giving me rides, but now…it’s bad enough as it is. I expect Andy to argue or have some comeback, but he nods.

  “I figured.”

  Well, that was easy, at least.

  “Thanks for today,” I say, because I mean it, and none of this is his fault. Sometimes it just feels like I’m ungrateful. I remember what Carmen said about me being a bad friend around the time of the accident. Why don’t I ever learn?

  “Wait, El, are you ok—” Andy starts, but I turn before he can see a tear roll down my cheek.

  “See you around,” I say, quickly opening the door and shutting it behind me firmly, like a book I no longer want to finish. Or at least have to stop reading for now.

  * * *

  Once I get inside, I check my phone and see a couple of missed FaceTimes and a text from Carmen.

  Um excuse me. Are you going to tell me how the date went? I’m dying over here!

  For a second, I wonder how she could possibly know I was on a date with Andy. And then I shake my head. She’s talking about my date with Pete, of course. How quickly I forgot.

  I want to FaceTime her back, but she’ll know from the look on my face that something is up. Part of me thinks I should just tell her everything about the paper hearts, but another part knows I don’t have the energy to right now. Instead, I text back.

  It was a lot of fun. He was sweet. Kiss at the end was even sweeter.

  She texts back immediately.

  OH MY GOD. TELL ME MORE.

  Do you think he’ll take you on another date?

  This is the first time we’ve both had boys. WE CAN DOUBLE.

  Despite how low I felt moments ago, her excitement makes me crack a small smile. Then it gives me an idea to make things right again.

  I text Pete.

  Hey! I’m going to this chocolate class tomorrow and have an extra ticket if you’re interested.

  I keep it vague in case he’s not actually my admirer.

  He responds immediately.

  A class about CHOCOLATE? Of course I’m interested.

  It’s a nice text, which makes me feel even worse for how I’ve been acting. I have to make it up to him.

  Great. Pick me up at noon?

  Can’t wait.

  Same, I text back, even though I can’t help but feel that I’m not being entirely honest. When I was with Andy, I had this feeling of
wanting to know more about him. With Pete, I had a feeling of familiarity, which isn’t exactly bad—there are plenty of things I love that are familiar. The familiar smell of burning wood when my dad starts a fire in the winter. The familiar joy I have when my favorite song starts playing on Spotify.

  Familiar can be good, I remind myself.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning I’m woken up by a knock on my door. Before I say anything, Ashley barges in. She’s wearing leggings and a zip-up jacket.

  “Do you know where my running gloves are?” she asks.

  “No. Why would I?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe because I found my jacket in your room yesterday.”

  Whoops. Busted.

  “Well, if I find my gloves, do you want to come with me?” she asks.

  “For a run?”

  “No, to prom.” She smiles sarcastically.

  “Sure,” I say, surprised she wants to run with me. I haven’t gone on a run with her since before my accident, and I know I’m not exactly in shape from the hike at Breakneck.

  “I might slow you dow—” I start.

  “Be ready in five minutes,” she says before leaving me lying in my bed. Eventually, I roll out from under my covers to investigate my closet. My running clothes are way in the back, because they haven’t been used since last year.

  Some people don’t like running in the cold, but I’d much rather bundle up and run outside in the winter than sweat a gallon in the heat of summer. I find warm running tights and a fleece jacket.

  My run with Ashley isn’t the longest one I’ve ever been on, but it’s nice to clear my head.

  “What’re you up to today?” Ashley asks once we’re back in the driveway. I’m gasping for air, my hands on my hips as we slow to a stop.

  Between deep breaths, I realize I haven’t filled her in about anything with Andy. It’s probably for the best. If I told her I was hanging out with him yesterday, she’d have a million questions about him. Now I can just tell her about Pete.

  “I’m going to the Culinary today for a chocolate-making class,” I say. “With Pete.”

  “Oh,” Ashley said softly, as if she’s bummed. Did she think we were going to keep hanging out?

  “Sorry,” I say right away. “Where’s Steve? Don’t you normally hang out with him on weekends?”

  “Why do you always bring Steve into everything?”

  I gawk. “I guess that’s a no….” I think back to when I mentioned him earlier. She brushed it off then too. “Did something happen?” I ask.

  “No, nothing happened. Is it that unbelievable that I’d want to hang out with my sister?”

  I look at her in amazement. The truth is yes, it is unbelievable. Maybe last year I would’ve thought otherwise, but I can’t think of a single time recently that she chose me over Steve.

  “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Ashley demands.

  “I’m thinking about how to respond without being mean,” I admit.

  Her head whips back like I said something horrible.

  “You’re one to talk, Ella. You’re going to a chocolate-making class with an ex-boyfriend over me.”

  “That’s not fair. He’s not just my ex-boyfriend,” I argue, before I realize that wasn’t the point. “I would’ve invited you if I knew you wanted to come.”

  “Yeah, right” is all she says, and she storms away toward the stairs.

  “How are you mad at me?” I call out. “You always do stuff with Steve over me!”

  It was about time I told her the truth, but I never thought it would be in a fight like this. She doesn’t even turn around to talk about it. She continues storming toward the steps, even past our dad as he walks out of the office without a word.

  “What’s her deal?” I ask Dad as we listen to her feet go up the stairs. There must be something going on with Steve that she’s not telling me.

  My dad shrugs. “I was hoping you could fill me in.”

  I sigh. Somehow, I’m still messing everything up.

  * * *

  When I open the door, I notice Pete’s haircut immediately. His sandy brown hair is short. I always liked the flow to his long locks, but there’s something about this that works for him. He’s clean-cut.

  Pete strokes the top of his head as he catches me staring. “The barber went a little overboard….”

  “No, I love it,” I respond.

  “You do?” he asks. It isn’t the question that bothers me, it’s how he says it. Like it’s hard to believe I wouldn’t like something about him, even if it’s just a simple haircut. If Pete is my admirer, the least I could do is show some appreciation. Even if he isn’t, this great guy is clearly into me. Friday night, he joined me for a cheesy date that a lot of guys would probably laugh at. He could’ve come up with a million and one excuses for why we couldn’t do it, or offered to hang out later, but he didn’t. It could be because the chocolate date was his idea to begin with, or because he just wants to hang out with me. Either way, it makes him a great guy. He’s at my doorstep looking down at me, surprised that I’m complimenting him.

  “Really,” I say. “You look great. And thanks so much for coming with me today. It means a lot.”

  “Of course,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m happy you asked me.”

  “Still sweet of you to join me,” I say, starting to walk toward his car.

  He nods, missing my pun entirely, but I won’t let that bother me today.

  * * *

  Walking into the Culinary Institute of America is a little like walking into your favorite reality cooking show. You can smell the classrooms before you even enter the building, since half of them are actually test kitchens. We’ll be meeting in one of them, and as I make my way toward it with Pete, I get a delicious whiff of something cinnamon. My brain tries to guess what it is while my mouth waters. Maybe apple pie or some other delicious pastry? Peering into the test kitchen windows, I can see the shiny copper pots hanging from the ceilings like decorations. In my pure excitement, I grab Pete’s arm as we walk, and he smiles sweetly back at me.

  Just when I think I’m about to have the best sequel to a first date ever, I walk into the test kitchen, and there, standing by a table in the back, is Andy.

  My cheeks burn. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I let go of Pete’s arm and walk straight over to him. It’s only when I’m right in front of him that I realize he’s not the only person I recognize. Sarah’s sitting next to him, wearing a striped turtleneck under overalls. She tilts her head when I stop in front of them.

  “What’re you doing here?” I try to whisper, but it comes out more as an angry hiss.

  “Chocolate on a Sunday, sign me up,” Andy says. “I had no idea the CIA offered these kinds of classes until yesterday. But having real teachers from the CIA helps a newbie cook like me. Amazing.”

  “Yeah, except you knew I was doing this.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s a class, though,” Andy says, gesturing to the room of tables. “A lot of people are doing it….Who is that guy you came in with, by the way? Let me guess…Pete?”

  I let out a sigh. “Yes, it’s Pete.”

  “So is he your guy?” he asks. For a second, I have to think about what he means by that before I realize he’s asking if he’s my admirer.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “You don’t seem to know much these days.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I meet his eyes. It looks like they’re searching for something.

  “Forget it. If you’d rather we leave, we can,” he says. “I was just telling Sarah about the class and we thought it would be a cool experience.”

  The mention of Sarah makes me stand up straighter. I suddenly realize how ridiculous I must look. Andy said this was a class
that anyone could attend. Sure, he was volunteering to leave, but how will it look if I actually take him up on that?

  It definitely would give the impression I care.

  Do I?

  It doesn’t seem like he’s here to get under my skin. He and Sarah just think it would be a cool experience. But since when do they hang out outside the library? Are they even friends? More importantly, I have to consider Pete. If he sees Andy and Sarah leave after I’ve been talking to them, he might think there’s something going on—and there isn’t. The only reason I started hanging out with Andy is because he was willing to drive me places.

  And then you started enjoying his company a little too much, I think, but I shove the thought back into my head.

  “No! You guys should of course stay. Enjoy!”

  “Great,” Andy says, giving Sarah a wide smile. They gaze at each other longer than friends would, but then I realize I’m the one staring at the two of them having this moment, which is even weirder. Andy turns back toward me.

  “Thanks, Ella,” he says casually.

  “Er…no problem,” I say, and head toward the table Pete is stationed at.

  I watch Pete’s head whip around, like he’s been caught spying.

  “Friend from the library,” I say, taking my place next to him. We share the table with two other couples.

  “I’ve seen that girl before,” Pete says, glancing behind us at Sarah. “Aren’t you friends with her? I feel like I know her somehow.”

  I shake my head. “Not really, but she goes to our school.”

  “Oh,” Pete says, but he stares back again confused. I’m glad we’re sitting far enough away that he and Andy won’t be able to talk.

  This class is way more complicated than I imagined it would be. The teacher passes out ingredients I’ve never heard of and starts demonstrating in front, instructing us to follow along. The organized girl in me wants to be able to take notes, but you can’t take notes when your hands are covered with chocolate and everything is on the fly.