The Truth About Heartbreak

by Celeste, B.

  She changed when she got home from school. The jeans she’s wearing are old, the knees ripped and not in a stylish way. The pink hoodie is two sizes too big and could be worn as a dress since it hits her body mid-thigh. Earlier, she had on black pants and a long sleeve shirt with a denim jacket. Nothing fancy but a three-sixty from her current attire.

  Her greeting back is muffled as she pours her drink.

  “Don’t you have pajamas or something?”

  Her shoulders straighten for a moment before she screws the top back onto the juice container and peers down at her attire. I didn’t mean to offend her, but I don’t get why she’s wearing what I assume are her old clothes. Oliver told me Bridgette was in her glory when she went shopping with River, getting her enough clothing to fill two rooms. Knowing Bridgette, I don’t doubt it for a second.

  “I like these.”

  I go to ask why but stop myself. It’s none of my business. Shrugging instead, I grab the sliced apple and put it onto a plate before taking the peanut butter out of the cupboard. After scooping out a good-sized portion and placing it next to the fruit, I notice River’s pinched brows.

  “What?” My eyes bounce between her and my plate. She looks like she’s never seen anyone eat this combination of food before.

  She shakes her head.

  We talk on occasion. Sometimes she’ll tell me about her day before I prompt the question, which usually leads her to talk about her friend Stephanie Malone. I asked around about the chick and heard she’s a good person to have as a friend. It’s also obvious that River redirects the conversation to Stephanie, so she doesn’t have to talk about herself.

  “You really like those together?”

  The doubt etched into her tone makes me halt everything I’m doing. “You don’t? Apples and peanut butter are two essentials in life.”

  “I thought that was peanut butter and jelly?”

  My lips split into an amused smile. “As far as I’m concerned, peanut butter should be its own food group.”

  Hesitantly, she walks over and examines the food closer. “I’ve heard of caramel apples but not peanut butter ones.”

  I gape. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shakes her head, her hair falling from where it was tucked behind her ear. Fixing the rogue strand, she reaches out and takes a slice, her hand hovering above the peanut butter.

  “Well?”

  My voice startles her for some reason, and her eyes dart up to mine. “I-I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

  Why is she apologizing? “Don’t worry about it. Just try it, you’ll like it.”

  She studies me like she’s trying to figure out if it’s really all right. Nodding in encouragement, I lift the plate up, so the apple falls into the smooth, creamy butter.

  Just as she’s about to take a bite, Peter York comes strutting in opening his big fat mouth. “Is this the littlest James?” He makes a face at her baggy attire. “Did they not tell you how to dress? Man, where did you get those rags from?”

  River drops the apple onto the plate and sinks into her hoodie. Her body steps back from Peter as he approaches, grabbing the apple chunk she was going to eat and popping it into his mouth in one bite.

  Dickbag.

  “That was hers,” I growl.

  His brow arches, always arrogant. “She wasn’t going to eat it. Were you, Rachel?”

  “It’s River,” I correct irritably.

  He shrugs.

  River is fisting the ends of her hoodie sleeves and staring between York and the door. Her tiny frame is tucked behind me, and it makes me feel protective. Something in her eyes darkens her previous curious features; fear.

  It isn’t until then I realize why she’s wearing those clothes. She can hide in them. It’s like how she uses her long hair to shield her face. Around strangers she reverts to the shy girl she was a month ago—quiet and non-existent.

  “Go back downstairs, York.”

  “What the fuck? Why?”

  My teeth grind as he glances over at River. I wonder if he sees what I do or if he even cares that he’s scaring her. Knowing York, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s been bugging Oliver about meeting her since she started at Freemont High. Why would he care about a thirteen-year-old? Simple: she’s part of the circle he’s been trying to claw his way into since freshman year.

  He’s jealous, sizing up the competition for his way in. And if we don’t keep an eye out for him, he will find a way to use River. Oliver’s choice to keep him around makes sense now. Friends close and enemies closer and all that.

  My gaze turns to River. “You can go.”

  She doesn’t need me to repeat it. Her feet are darting toward the door long before I finish talking. Her apple juice is left forgotten on the counter, same with her homework on the table in the room over. The creak of the stairs as she practically bolts up them is all I hear.

  “Nice going, York.”

  He throws his hands up. “What did I do? I was just messing with her. God, girls are so sensitive.”

  No, you’re just an ass.

  “You need to leave her alone.”

  His fists clench. “Or what?”

  I step so close to him he flinches. “Why don’t you test me and find out, York? Oliver and I won’t let you use her for your own personal gain. She stays out of your agenda, got it?”

  “I don’t have—”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I cut him off harshly. With my plate in hand, I shoulder past him, grabbing the glass of apple juice on the way through the archway into the hall. “Tell the others I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “What?” he calls after me. “I have to stay away from her, but you can approach her whenever you want? Who’s the pervert now?”

  The comment makes me want to drop everything in my hands and punch him right in his smug ass face. He’d drop in an instant. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of entertaining that disgusting remark. I just walk upstairs, set the apple juice in front of River’s door, knock, and walk back downstairs before she can answer.

  By the time I’m back in the media room, York is glowering at me from the seat in the corner and Oliver is arguing with Quinn over his cheating in the video game they’re playing. York is smart enough not to say a word to me, so I eat my apples and peanut butter in peace.

  Oliver asks me to wait up for him, so I settle against the row of lockers outside of the classroom. A few students I don’t recognize stumble out, muttering about whatever the student counsel talked about. Something about the school semi-formal, but I don’t care enough to know what their problem is.

  The next person that walks out catches my eye, her long caramel legs are exposed by a skirt that definitely doesn’t meet dress code standards. I’m not complaining. When she notices me staring, she giggles and adjusts her brown hair, tucking it behind her ear.

  “Hey, Everett.”

  Isabel Allen is a senior like Oliver and me. She’s part of the student counsel with him, the co-captain of the cheer squad, and last I heard she volunteered at the homeless shelter in town. Frankly, she’s a female version of Oliver. Only hot.

  “Hey, Isabel.”

  “You can call me Issy.”

  I nod. “Rhett.”

  We stand there smiling at each other. Her lips are painted in a soft pink and glossed with something that make them look fuller and more inviting. Or it could be how she bats her painted lashes at me.

  She steps closer to me, crossing her arms over her chest to make her boobs look bigger. They already fill out the white shirt she’s wearing, but I don’t mind a peep-show. “Are you waiting for Oliver? He’ll probably be a few minutes. Trevor is giving him crap about not having a theme for the semi-formal.”

  So that’s what the others were pissed about.

  “I don’t see why we need one,” I admit.

  She shrugs. “It’s just easier to plan that way. Without a clear direction, the counsel won’t be able to agree on decorations.”
r />   Seems like they aren’t agreeing as it is now, but I don’t tell her that. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  We’re silent for a moment.

  She clears her throat. “Are you going to Easton’s party on Friday? I hear he invited the basketball team.”

  Easton Berkley is the quarterback for our football team. On his own, he’s a cool dude. Laid back, drama free. But when he’s around his teammates, especially during the season, he’s annoying as hell. He’ll laugh at their jokes even if they’re demeaning and won’t say shit. Not unless the captain, Joseph Anderson, says to quit it. But he’s usually the one who starts shit, so everyone goes along with it.

  “I’m not sure.” Granddad may be doing better, but I don’t know if I want to go out for long. Plus, parties around here are just excuses to raid houses, get drunk, and make stupid choices. I’ve been known to make a lot of those, and Oliver is the one who has to bail me out.

  “You should,” she says, brushing my arm with her fingertips. Her nails are long and blood red, one of them has some sort of design. Hell if I know what it is. “It’ll be fun.”

  I tip my chin. “Are you going?”

  Her lips spread into a sexy grin. “Of course. I wouldn’t tell you to come just to let someone else try snatching you up.”

  A low chuckle shakes my shoulders. “Is that what you’re trying to do, snatch me up?”

  “Oh, I’m not trying anything.” She backs up, shooting me a wink. “You’re going to ask me out, Everett Tucker. Just give it time.”

  With that, she struts away.

  Oliver walks out right after, noting the way Isabel adds a little swivel to her hips as she disappears down the hall.

  He smacks my chest. “Did she finally make a move? ‘Bout time, if you ask me.”

  My brows draw up as we start down the opposite end of the hall. “You knew she was going to do that?”

  His laugh is loud. “Dude, Isabel has had a lady boner for you for like a year now. Probably longer. You’re the only idiot who doesn’t see the way she stares at you.”

  Huh. Guess I haven’t really paid her much attention. Besides games, I don’t see her around. We don’t run in the same crowds, so there’s no reason for me to know how she looks at me.

  Oliver snickers and shakes his head, pushing open the side door that leads to student parking. “I swear, I don’t get you. Girls fling themselves at you all the time and you either don’t care or don’t get it.”

  Girls don’t fling themselves at me. That’s ridiculous. Sometimes I’ll hook up with someone at a party, but outside the occasional kegger, I don’t have time to invest in anyone. Girls around here don’t want a one-time thing, they want a commitment. Granddad’s health keeps me busy outside of school and basketball, so there’s not exactly time to entertain a girlfriend.

  Oliver opens his car door. “You should go for it, bro. Issy’s good people and she’s hot. Can’t go wrong with that, right?”

  He’s not wrong. “Maybe.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’d be an idiot not to have some fun. We’re going to East’s party on Friday.”

  “You heard that?”

  “I might have been eavesdropping.” His grin says there’s no might have been about it.

  We climb in his car and buckle up. “I’m game for a party as long as Granddad is okay. Margaret likes having Friday nights off.”

  He nods. “No problem, man.”

  He pulls out of the parking lot. “My parents are taking River out that night, so it’ll give us time to make some bad decisions. You especially.”

  “And what about you?”

  The corner of his lips quirk up. “Don’t worry about me. It’s you who needs to get laid. Isabel is offering, so …”

  Sometimes I forget he’s the son of Robert and Bridgette James. When he’s like this, laid back, he’s just a horny seventeen-year-old. It’s like he’s one of the guys. I doubt his parents know how much he drinks when we go to parties or the girls he’s been with. I’m no saint, but Oliver is worse than I am when it comes to hookups.

  I don’t argue with him, so he takes it as a victory. Isabel Allen made her intentions clear, and Granddad does seem like he’s recovering. What harm could a little fun bring?

  The back of Oliver’s hand connects with my chest. “I know that look. You’re going for it, aren’t you?”

  I gruff out a reply as he pulls into my driveway. Normally I’d go to his place, but his parents are having a family dinner. They don’t care if I’m over most days, but they decided once a week it’d be just the four of them. I can respect that, I think it’s good for them, for River especially.

  Unlatching my buckle, I hoist my backpack from the floor. “See you tomorrow?”

  “You know it.”

  “Eddy’s at seven?”

  He snorts. “See you there.”

  I slam the door and watch him drive away.

  When I walk inside, Granddad is sleeping in his chair, and Margaret is knitting something with purple yarn. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, it looks like a blob to me.

  She glances up at me and smiles. “You’re home early.”

  “Oliver dropped me off.”

  “Speaking of him—” She holds up what may be the start of a scarf. “I made his new sister something to keep her warm. Winter has been awfully mild, but I’m sure the cold is coming.”

  She’s making River a scarf? “That’s … nice of you, Marge. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  I don’t think purple is one of River’s favorite colors, but she’s the type not to nitpick. Anything homemade will probably be really special to her. I see her face light up every time one of the James’ gives her something money can’t buy.

  Marge watches me check over Granddad. “I think it’s good we got him the extra meds.”

  Her lips press into a firm line, her eyes focusing on the project in front of her. Something flashes on her face, but she just nods in agreement without saying another word.

  Margaret never stays quiet unless she has something upsetting to say. But I also know she won’t tell me if she doesn’t feel like it’s necessary, so I don’t push her.

  Granddad’s soft snores ease some of the worry that what she’s holding back has something to do with him. His breaths aren’t harsh or short but smooth and clear, which means his lungs are clearing up.

  “Think he’ll be okay on Friday?”

  She studies me. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Do you have plans? I could—”

  “It’s just a party,” I cut her off, waving my hand. “If he needs me, I can skip it. Freemont kids always have them, so if I have to—”

  “Absolutely not!” She sets down her yarn and crosses her arms on her chest. “You’re only young once, Rhett boy. You’re going to go out and have fun. I don’t have plans Friday anyway.”

  My eyes go to my grandfather. “Do you think he really needs someone?”

  “No,” Granddad cuts in, “he doesn’t.”

  Go figure he’s been pretending to sleep. He used to do that when I was younger and didn’t want Grandma yelling at him over something stupid he’d done.

  “Marge is right.” He sits up, readjusting and searching for something. Margaret picks up his thick wire glasses and passes them over. “You can’t keep using me as an excuse not to act your age, kid.”

  Sitting down on the couch, I grumble, “I don’t.”

  They both look skeptical.

  It’s Marge who says, “We just want you doing more stuff on your own.”

  “I play basketball and hang with Oliver.”

  “But do you actually do anything?”

  What do they want me to do? Get drunk, grope girls, and party until sunrise? I do that shit on occasion, once every month if not every couple of months. It’s a good distraction but only a temporary fix from reality. The real world always comes crashing back into my mind like the goddamn Kool-Aid man.

  “We play video games and watch ESPN.” It should be
enough to appease them, but it doesn’t. Granddad especially looks disappointed. Then again, Grandma used to tell me all about his wild days before she reined him in and made him put a ring on her finger.

  “Well, you’re going to that party,” Marge informs me. Granddad nods in agreement.

  “Nice to know I have a choice.”

  They both snicker.

  Before either of them can say anything, the phone rings in the kitchen. Margaret is up before I can go to answer it, leaving me alone with Granddad.

  He asks how school is, so I give him the basic answer. It’s school. How exciting or different can it be from any other day? Nothing else is said between us before Marge comes in with a toothy smile on her face.

  “It’s for you,” she tells me. “It’s a girl.”

  “A girl?” Me.

  “A girl?” Granddad.

  Margaret nods enthusiastically. “She says her name is Isabel. Sounds real pretty, Everett. I hope she’s at that party on Friday.”

  Granddad slaps the arm of the chair. “Well, I’ll be damned. Miracles do happen.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grab the landline from Marge and walk up to my room to talk to Issy before she can hear any more.

  By the end of the night, Easton’s party will be the backdrop for my very first date with Isabel Allen.

  8

  River / 14

  It may not feel like a long time to most, but three months later and I’m still shocked we’ve made it this far. After constantly moving, I finally start to settle into my new routine. The James’ seem to understand what a huge milestone it is for me, for all of us really, because the four of us go out to dinner to celebrate the ninety-day mark.

  That’s something I’m still not used to. Well, one of the things. There’s a lot on that list and it just keeps growing the longer I learn the habits of my new family. The James’ love to celebrate. It seems like they have parties for everything. At least once a week they go out to some event where they dress up and mingle with other rich people and give away their money for different causes.

  I mean, it could be worse. Most of the families I lived with in the past paid us no attention. If they went out, they made the foster kids stay in. On the off chance we were allowed to tag along, we weren’t allowed to say a word. But here, I’m involved in everything. I’m the shiny new possession they want to parade around to their friends. Those people fawn over me and my circumstances like I’m some sort of circus freak. I don’t like the attention.