Unbreak My Heart

by Melissa Walker

  there. I know I’m a bad friend. I know I’m doing something terrible. I just don’t know how to stop.

  I’m sitting in my cabin, paging through my diary. Looking back at that entry, I can see that it’s a cop-out. People know how to stop—they just stop. They stop holding their friends’ boyfriends’ hands under the blanket. It didn’t have to happen, even if Ethan wanted it to. I could have taken my hand and moved myself around in a way that he couldn’t really get to me, and he would have had to stare straight ahead at the movie even if he was upset or angry, because he shouldn’t have been doing what he was doing! He shouldn’t have been trying to touch my leg and hold my hand!

  What the eff was Ethan thinking? I may have gone along with everything, but he’s the one who started it. He grabbed my hand at the movies, he made me a playlist, he rubbed my leg under his girlfriend’s freaking blanket!

  I slam my journal shut and lie back on my bed in a huff, staring at the ceiling. This isn’t my fault, at least not completely. Does that even matter to Amanda? Does she even care about Ethan’s part in this?

  chapter nineteen

  “Olive, seriously, stop.” My voice has a hard edge, and my sister hears me this time. She’s been sitting in the cockpit with me while I read, but she has this habit of always moving her feet and it’s driving me insane, especially because her feet keep touching my leg.

  “It’s involuntary,” she says.

  “I know, I know,” I say.

  “Restless Leg Syndrome,” we say in unison. She’s been using this excuse for her frantic, always-moving feet forever. I don’t think she has an official diagnosis, though.

  Dad comes up from the cabin with a tray of Saltines and sliced cheddar. It used to be my favorite boat snack, and it’s still Olive’s.

  “Yay!” she says, like he just offered her the perfect meal.

  “Thanks,” I say, ignoring the tray and turning back to my book, hoping Dad isn’t here to chat. Everywhere I move on this boat, someone follows, and since the day the dinghy got untied, my parents are less inclined to let me use it as a refuge. My little room is the only place where people don’t bother me, but even I’m not such a glutton for punishment that I’m going to miss every sunny day this summer.

  We’re docked near Imperial, Missouri, at Hoppies Marina, which is pretty tiny. Still, I’m glad we’re stopped for a while. It’s a bit of a catch-22, because if we’re sailing, no one really bugs me, but they want my help to, you know, sail. But when we’re anchored and I don’t have any official duties, everyone wants family time.

  Dad and Olive start crunching the crackers really loudly and talking about the next good fishing spot, so I stand up to go. Maybe I can move up on top of the bow and be alone for a while now that Dad’s entertaining Olive.

  “Clem, where are you going?” asks Dad.

  And I know it might be an innocent question, but it feels like a dig to me. Clem, why do you mope around so much? Can’t you sit with the family and have a fun chat about fishing like Olive does?

  “I just want to read.”

  “Well, you can read here with us,” says Olive. “I wasn’t bothering you.”

  “Actually, your feet were,” I say. I look at Dad. “I’m just going to go up on top of the bow.”

  “You can read anytime, Clem,” he says. “We’re here to spend the days together.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. He isn’t going to let me go. I’m reading, for God’s sake. Aren’t parents supposed to encourage that kind of thing? This is ridiculous.

  “You’ll be leaving for college soon,” says Dad. “You know, we’re all going to miss you a lot. Right, Livy?”

  My little sister nods up and down, up and down while she crunches her third Saltine cracker. “I’ll miss you like the sky misses the rain.”

  “The sky doesn’t miss the rain, Olive,” I say, trying to keep my tone measured. “The desert does. Besides, I still have a year at home.” I haven’t even thought about college—it’s light years away. I have to trudge through a whole nother year of everyone hating me and random underclassmen whispering behind my back in the hallways. College may save me, but not for a long, long time.

  “I just want to be alone,” I continue. “Okay, Dad?”

  He frowns, disappointed in me.

  Join the club, I think. Then I turn to walk up the starboard side of the boat to find a spot in the sun where it’ll be quiet. Or quieter.

  But I run into Mom, who’s coming down from the bow, where she was Windexing the hatch, to join us for crackers.

  “Ooh, they’re ready!” she says, blocking my path and staring at the Saltine tray. “Clem, sit down and have a snack.”

  And that’s when I snap.

  “Yeah, they’re ready!” I say. “Isn’t it amazing how Dad can slice cheese and open a package of crackers? It’s freaking incredible! He should have his own show on the Food Network about crackers and cheese. You could do all sorts of fun combinations, Dad, like Goldfish and Gruyère or Ritz and Brie or Triscuits and feta! We should just all ooh and ahh over these Saltines with cheddar for hours. In fact, let’s do that. Let’s sit here, as a family, and marvel at the wonder that Dad has created here with this cracker tray. It’s salty and tangy and oh-so-delicious, don’t you think, Livy?”

  Olive stares at me with wide eyes. I know I’m being crazy now, but I can’t stop myself.

  “Mom, have one!” I say, grabbing for the tray.

  Dad reaches for it at the same time, and when I pull, it doesn’t come. Instead, the Saltines go flying into the air, separated from their cheddar slices. It’s raining crackers and cheese for a brief moment, and then everything lands on the floor of the cockpit, ruined. On a boat, the five-second rule is no good, because no matter how clean you are, the cockpit floor is always muddy and wet.

  “Oh, shit!” I say. “I guess Dad will have to spend a whole minute whipping up some more!”

  Then I push past Mom and leave my entire family in the cockpit, open-mouthed and surrounded by soggy crackers and dirty cheese.

  When I get up to the bow, I have to bite my lip so I won’t start crying. I don’t think I’m going to have a peaceful, quiet afternoon after that outburst. I’m not even sure why I did it. I just felt so trapped all of a sudden.

  I can’t explain anything—my feelings about Ethan, what happened between us, why I’m so angry now. It all seems so vague and intangible. I look out at the water and I’m glad for the sound of the waves and the wind, so I don’t have to hear my parents talking about me. I let a few tears fall, but I have to stay quiet. That’s one of the hardest parts of being on this boat. I can’t even let go and cry without everyone knowing.

  chapter twenty

  Dear Amanda,

  I know you suspected things were weird with

  me and Ethan, but it’s not as bad as you’re

  thinking. It was—

  Amanda was smart. She could tell something was wrong. She just couldn’t guess what it was, maybe because she didn’t think it was possible.

  One day after school we drove to FroYo–Go, our favorite frozen yogurt spot. I got vanilla with “fresh” strawberries (though they always looked like the prepackaged, syrupy kind to me), and Amanda got her standard peanut butter yogurt with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup pieces on top. We sat in the window and watched cars pull into the strip mall. A few more people from school came in, but no one we knew really well, so we just exchanged a couple of casual smiles.

  We were talking about how Henry really wanted to go to this USC film school summer program, but I could tell that Amanda’s mind was somewhere else. I could see in her eyes that she was working out a worry in the back of her head.

  So I asked her: “What are you really thinking about?”

  And she told me: “I think you’ve been acting weird about Ethan.”

  Play dumb, just play dumb. “No I haven’t—what are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure what it is,” she said. “But I’m no
t an idiot, Clem. I just know there’s something that’s bothering you about him.”

  She looked down at her yogurt, stirring it distractedly. Then her tone changed as she said quietly, “I just know it.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I stared out the window for a minute. My heart was pounding and I wondered if she could hear it. Can people hear hearts?

  But then I knew what I had to do, and even though I didn’t want to, I did it: I got mad. And I mean really mad. I reacted hugely.

  “Amanda, I’m sick of you bugging me about this!” I hissed. I tried to keep my volume low, but the tone attracted stares anyway. Amanda looked up at me, her face surprised.

  “I’m not jealous that you have a boyfriend!” I stated, and I knew we had an audience. “Not officially, not unofficially, not secretly, not even subconsciously. It’s only in your mind! And if you ask me, it’s a little weird that you spend so much time thinking about it.”

  Her eyes looked hurt, and she slowly walked over to the trash can and threw away the rest of her yogurt. I followed, slamming my cup into the garbage and walking out without looking to see if people were watching. I stepped into the chilly spring air and went to the passenger side of Amanda’s car. When I got in, she turned up the radio to fill the silence.

  I tried to stay in the character of the annoyed friend who didn’t like being called jealous because she’d never really had a boyfriend at school. I could feel my lip quivering a little, so I turned my head to the window.

  By the time we got to my driveway, Amanda had something to say.

  “Okay, Clem,” she said, as I reached for my door handle. I was trying to keep up my mad stance, but the truth was that inside I was about to crumble. I held my face still and looked over at her. “I believe you,” she said.

  “You do?” I asked.

  “I do,” she said. “I’m so sorry. We’ve talked about it before, and I shouldn’t have brought it up again after you told me you were fine and not feeling jealous or left out or anything.”

  I nodded, trying to keep my mouth straight and solid. Don’t quiver.

  “I guess I just thought I saw something the other night, or I thought I saw the way you looked at him, like he worried you,” she continued. But then I watched her face change as she pushed those memories out of her mind. She erased them so that she could believe in me.

  “But I was wrong,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”

  She unbuckled her seat belt to give me a sideways hug, and I sat there, a little stunned and unsure. Amanda must have thought I was still mad because, mid-hug, she said, “Oh, come on! Forgive me already!”

  And then I let my arms go around her, too, and we were hugging, best friends, all okay, all smiles. Right before I got out of the car, I saw a flicker of doubt cross her face again.

  “Clem?” Her voice was tentative.

  “What?” I asked, anger gone, just fear in my face now. She knew. She knew I was covering it up.

  “Nothing,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.” I left her car and went inside, ignoring Olive’s “Clem? You home?”

  I had to get to my room, where I could write in my journal, jot it down, figure it out. And try to justify lying, bold-faced, to my very best friend, who absolutely knew that something wasn’t right.

  chapter twenty-one

  I wake up to the sound of a foghorn, which is about the loudest honk that exists in the world. If you’ve never heard one, consider yourself lucky. It’s not a nice way to face the morning.

  I pull the covers over my head, to no avail—Olive’s scampering feet are coming to get me. I hear them like you can hear zombies outside the door in one of those movies about the end of the world.

  “James is here!” she bellows, ignoring all etiquette and throwing open my door with the energy of a Disney character.

  “Huh?” I grunt. One plus of being on a boat is that people really can’t drop in on you, seeing as how you’re surrounded by water most of the time. We spent last night anchored out in the river—not at a marina—so there’s no way James is here.

  “He came over in his dinghy,” says Olive. “He’s having a hot chocolate with Mom and Dad in the cockpit!”

  I sit up and peer out of my small window. Sure enough, there’s the motor-powered dinghy from Dreaming of Sylvia—which is called Little James—tied to the side of our boat. I pause for a second and think, Awww. But then I remember that I’m annoyed at him for being here.

  “Olive!” I say. “What does he want?”

  “He wants to go exploring,” she says. “He’s going to take us on a morning ride before we get underway. Dad said we could.”

  I fall back into my bed and pull the covers up again, but Olive is right in my face, dragging them off of me.

  “Fine,” I say, giving in. “Let me get dressed.”

  I shoo her out of my room.

  Olive bounds out the door and up the cabin steps while I survey my face in the small mirror hanging near my bed. It’s not good. In fact, it’s at least orange-alert-level puffy. After the cracker incident yesterday, I pretty much spent the rest of the day and night strategically avoiding everyone in my family. This is no small feat on a forty-two-foot boat, trust me. I don’t really care if my family can tell that I’ve been crying. They probably know that anyway, seeing as how Mom didn’t even bother me about coming to dinner—she let me sneak a bowl of cereal back to my room. But I don’t want James to know.

  I think of a few impossible options, like putting cucumbers over my eyelids for five minutes or rummaging through Mom’s toiletries to see if she has eye de-puffer. It’s not likely. Besides, the more time I take getting ready, the more it seems like I care what I look like in front of James. Which I don’t. But can you blame a girl for not wanting to go out looking like she’s gone ten rounds with the Kleenex box? James already drew me with sad eyes; I don’t want him thinking I’m a total shipwreck. Even if I am.

  I put on my bathing suit, which is what passes for a bra and underwear during a summer of boating, and a pair of cotton shorts. I throw on a T-shirt, too, so my shoulders won’t burn too badly. I grab some sunscreen and am about to head above deck when I have a stroke of brilliance.

  Sunglasses. I grab the dark oval ones that make me feel like Audrey Hepburn and put them on even before I see a hint of sunlight. These will hide my eyes until they de-puff.

  Dad’s in the kitchen making eggs, and Olive is refilling hot chocolate mugs with fresh boiling water.

  “Good morning, Clementine,” says Dad, mussing my hair. He’s trying.

  “Morning,” I say. I’m trying too.

  “Here,” says Olive, handing me a steaming mug filled with big marshmallows. She smiles at me with all her teeth.

  “Thanks.”

  When I step out of the cabin, I see Mom throwing her head back and laughing at something James said.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  I have to admit, it’s freaking gorgeous out. It’s only 8:30 a.m., but the sun is in full swing and the water is sparkling like it’s filled with floating diamonds. I sit next to Mom.

  “Hey, Clem,” says James. “I just came over to see if you and Olive wanted to go for a ride in the dinghy. Dad’s taking care of some things today, so I thought I’d get out of his way and spend the morning somewhere else.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say. I want to ask him if his dad’s okay, but somehow that moment where I saw Mr. Townsend crying felt so private that I hold back.

  Olive pops up with a plate of eggs for James, and then goes back down to get more.

  “I didn’t mean to invite myself to breakfast, but if someone’s making it, I’m eating it,” says James.

  “Rob will be thrilled that someone outside of the family gets to try his famous scrambled eggs,” says Mom.

  “Just remember to rave,” I say.

  Olive brings up two more plates, and then she and Dad join us outside. James compliments the eggs just e
nough to sound sincere, but not over-the-top. I watch him tell my parents about how yesterday his dad got in a conversation with another boater, and they used bullhorns to yell back and forth until a third boater with his own bullhorn told them to “Shut up!”

  “Dad just waved at the third boater and said, ‘Well, hello there! Fine day, isn’t it?’” says James. “The guy had no choice but to smile back.”

  He talks about his dad with such admiration—he’s beaming through this whole story. My parents are laughing, Olive is riveted, and I’m just watching the way James’s mouth turns up, so easily, so quickly.

  This guy is in touch with some deep inner happiness.

  Mom and I take everyone’s plates downstairs, and I offer to help clean up, but she says, “Go on, go have fun.”

  So I do. Olive and I grab life jackets and lower ourselves into James’s dinghy with two fishing rods and a bottle of sunscreen.

  As we pull away from The Possibility, the boat sputters and makes crazy noises.

  I look at James sideways, but he just laughs and pounds on the motor. “LJ purrs like a kitten, right?” he says. Then he lets out a huge laugh that makes Olive giggle. I have to admit that James’s joy is kind of contagious.

  James waves to my parents in the cockpit. Then he turns to us and says, “Where to?”

  “Uh, left?” I say.

  “Port it is!” says James, steering the boat around the bend in the cove where we’d moored. We motor by a private swimming dock where a mother and her toddler are sitting on a blanket in the sun, we pass a great blue heron standing on its long, thin legs near the shore where it’s fishing for breakfast, and we come across a couple in a double kayak who wave hello.

  When we turn around a second bend, Olive points to a fallen tree and shouts, “Fishing hole!”

  James eases off the sputtering motor and we drift toward the spot.

  Olive immediately opens up the tackle box and chooses a lure shaped like a tiny plastic frog. She expertly sets it on the hook and casts toward the tree.