Paper Hearts

by Ali Novak

  The next thing I knew, I was trying to calm down Asha, instead of the other way around. Her rambling had snapped me out of whatever spell I was under. I put both hands on her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Hey, it’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t have to apologize.” There were still tears trickling down my cheeks, and my heart felt like it had a hole in it, but somehow, comforting Asha brought me back to myself.

  “Right. I’m going to stop acting like a crazy woman now, and you’re going to tell me what happened.” Her fingers snaked around my wrist, and she pulled me over to the bed where we sat cross-legged on the comforter. “Okay, so what’s this non-Alec problem you’re having?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms against them as I searched for an answer. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to say, but that it would hurt even more to admit the truth out loud. “My mom called,” I said after a long moment.

  “Oh, Fel,” Asha replied, her face falling. “She knew about the letters, didn’t she?”

  The stinging returned to my eyes, and I bit down on my cheek to keep from crying, though it didn’t help at all. “Yeah,” I managed to get out, and it wasn’t until her arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug, that I realized my face was wet again.

  Without a word, Asha held me until I ran out of tears. My whole body felt spent, like I’d made the trip from LA to Portland on foot and hadn’t slept in days.

  “Why would she do this to me?” Mom knew how it felt to be abandoned. How could she put me through the same kind of pain?

  “You know how moms are,” Asha said in attempt to come up with a logical answer, although we both knew there wasn’t one. “She probably thought it was best for you.”

  I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand, trying to get rid of the swollen, post-cry feeling. “How is keeping me from Rose best for me? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m not saying it was the right thing to do. Obviously she was wrong, but Rose did leave you guys. Maybe your mom thought the letters would only remind you she’d left, and that it would be less painful if she was out of your life instead of on the fringe of it.”

  Fighting the sigh her words elicited, I turned back to the window and stared out at the clouded sky. Asha meant well, but she didn’t understand. Her family was perfect—tight knit, passionate, and most importantly, whole. When it came to her sister, the worst Asha had to worry about was whether or not Riya had stolen her favorite sweater and shrunk it in the wash.

  “The most difficult part about these past four years wasn’t that Rose left,” I said, trying to explain in a way that would resonate with Asha. “It was the uncertainty: Is she okay? Will I ever see her again? Is she even alive? The not knowing kept me up at night. I’d rather have heard the truth, even if it hurt, than to always wonder what happened.”

  Asha considered this. “Yeah, I guess I’d rather know too,” she agreed. “Your mom give you any kind of explanation?”

  “No,” I said. “She wanted me to come home so we could talk.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I…ah…kinda hung up on her.” I didn’t feel bad about this exactly—I was still too upset to feel guilty—but I felt weird admitting what I’d done. We both knew how out of character it was for me to be disrespectful to my mom.

  Asha leaned toward me, hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid midnight. “You did not!” she gasped, her eyes widening.

  “I know, I know.” My mouth curved into a shadow of a grin. “First I leave on a cross-state road trip without telling her, and now this? Perhaps Rose and I are more alike than I thought.”

  “Oh yeah,” Asha said, her gaze flicking heavenward. “You’re turning into a regular rebel. Soon you’ll be committing grand theft auto and planning diamond heists.”

  “Well, at least then I’d be able to afford Stanford.”

  I flopped backward onto my pillow. I knew I sounded bitter. I could taste the acid of my words on my tongue, and I didn’t want Asha to think it was directed at her. “Hey,” I said, twisting my head so I could catch her eye. “Thank you. For being here and for not saying I told you so.”

  “I would never,” she said, biting back amusement, but we both knew that under normal circumstances, like if my heart hadn’t been ripped from my chest, she most definitely would. She enjoyed being right. “So…you and Alec,” she continued, changing the subject and letting go of the rein on her smile. Her eyebrows wiggled up and down. “Nothing happened between you guys? Last I saw, you were looking pretty cozy.”

  A flush crept up my neck. “Like I said. Nothing happened after everyone went to bed.”

  Asha raised a single brow. “And before that?”

  More warmth flooded my face, and since my own pale complexion had betrayed me, I knew there was no point in lying. “We, um, may have made out once or twice.”

  I expected her usual over-the-top reaction—a shocked shut up to start off, maybe a few oh my Gods, and definitely some excited squealing. Instead, her lips parted to speak, but no sound came out for several seconds. “I can’t believe you actually kissed him,” she finally murmured, like he was some kind of mythical being we hadn’t spent the past two days with.

  “Not this again.” I groaned. “I thought you’d gotten all the fangirling out of your system?” I wanted to talk with my best friend about the guy I’d kissed, not a fan of the Heartbreakers who couldn’t look past the fact that he was part of the band.

  Yesterday, after Alec showed me the library, I kept what happened between us a secret from Asha, convincing myself it was because there were too many people around to have a private conversation. I wasn’t ready to deal with Boomer’s protectiveness or, heaven forbid, JJ’s teasing. Now, as a smile spread over her face, I realized that maybe I’d kept quiet for a different reason.

  Ignoring my question, Asha asked, “Do you know how many girls would give a kidney to trade places with you right now? This is an entirely new level of awesome!” She pressed a hand to her chest as if she were trying to hold back her excitement.

  “Yeah, because having an estranged dad, a missing sister, and a traitorous mom is cause for jealousy.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said with a pointed look. “Regular girls like us don’t date celebrities, Felicity. You’re living every fangirl’s dream.”

  This wasn’t the first time I’d heard how I was lucky, that Heartbreakers devotees around the world would do anything to be in my position. But I couldn’t let myself think like that. I didn’t want Alec’s fame to affect my view of who he was. “First of all, we’re not dating,” I said, repeating myself for the millionth time. “And second, please don’t make a big deal out of whatever this is. I get that to everyone else he’s this super-famous musician, but to me… I don’t know. He’s just Alec.”

  Asha heaved one of her long, dramatic sighs. “That’s possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I snorted. “You think everything is the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.”

  The smile on her face went stiff before slowly fading, and she collapsed beside me on the second pillow. “Not everything.”

  Her abrupt mood change left me feeling whiplash, and I pushed myself up so I could see her properly. “What do you mean?”

  She pulled a blanket over her face. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Asha, you’re literally the worst liar in the world.” I yanked the blanket away, and she peeked up at me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  At first she didn’t respond, but then Asha bit her lip and mumbled, “Boomer and I, we kinda… We did it last night.”

  Whoa. That was the last thing I’d expected to come out of her mouth.

  “You mean…you haven’t before now?” I asked. When I caught them in bed together at Kelsey’s, I’d gotten the impression they’d moved well beyond t
he kissing stage in their relationship.

  She shook her head. “We’ve done stuff before, but never it, and now I’m sorta freaked out. What if this changes things between us? What if Boomer…” She let her fear go unfinished, but I flinched regardless.

  “For the sake of my sanity, can we please pretend this isn’t Boomer we’re talking about?” I compelled myself to think about something ridiculous, like babies riding rainbows or purple elephants wearing top hats, anything other than my two best friends having sex. “Let’s call him Chad or Ryan.”

  Asha wrinkled her nose. “I would never sleep with a Chad.”

  That’s beside the point, I thought, but I disregarded her response. “I’m guessing things didn’t go the way you thought they would?”

  “God, no.” Her cheeks burned as red as mine had moments before. “It was awkward and uncomfortable and not at all sexy.”

  “I’m sorry, Asha.” I didn’t know what else to say. My lack of experience in this particular department made it impossible for me to give her any helpful advice. “Did it hurt?”

  She nodded her head. “Yeah, a little. But Ryan was really sweet about it. Kept asking if I was okay. It kinda got annoying.”

  Purple elephant. Purple elephant. Purple elephant.

  “Then why are you so worried? That boy is over the moon about you.”

  Now that I knew they were together, it was impossible not to notice how in love Boomer was with her. I could see it in the way he watched her with parted lips, or how he’d gently brush his hand against her arm. Every Friday, he drove to Bombay Grille to get Asha’s favorite Indian cuisine, even though the restaurant was forty minutes away, and one time he sat through an IN marathon because he knew how obsessed she was with the show.

  Asha tugged on a strand of her hair. “But what if he wakes up and realizes it was a mistake?”

  I blanched. “Are you saying you regret it?”

  “No,” she whispered, and from the tone of her voice, I could tell how much he meant to her. “But what if he does?”

  “He won’t. You’re not a mistake, Asha. You’re the endgame girl.” I reached out and clutched her hand, trying to squeeze some confidence into her. “You got that?”

  She was unresponsive for a few seconds, but then she squeezed my hand back and nodded.

  “Good,” I said, throwing my feet over the side of the bed. “Let’s go see if we can make some coffee. I think we both need it.”

  • • •

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur.

  Despite our late night, Alec was the first to join Asha and me in the kitchen. His headphones were in, but when he saw us at the table, he turned off whatever he was listening to, draping the cord around his neck like an accessory. Everyone else trickled in over the course of several pots of coffee, until the only person still sleeping was Boomer. It took multiple wake-up attempts, a plate of Oliver’s scrambled eggs, and an offer to drive JJ’s car to get him out of bed. Once he was finally alive and moving, we said our good-byes to Alec’s friends and headed out within the hour.

  From Safe House, the drive to Seattle took less than three hours. The closer we got to the city, the straighter I sat in my seat, watching the exit signs and landscape fly by. I tried to relax and listen to Alec’s music, but I was too anxious. Each mile we drove was another closer to finding my sister.

  By the time we pulled off the highway, nerves were hula-hooping inside my stomach. The sun had come out in the early afternoon, streaking through the clouds to warm the day. When I glanced at Alec for a boost of confidence, I caught a glimpse of the shimmering inlet out the driver’s side window. The Space Needle towered ahead of us, its slender legs rising up to support the flying-saucer-esque observation deck. The design was a stark contrast to the remaining skyline, like it was stolen from a futuristic metropolis or a science fiction movie.

  Under different circumstances, I’d have been embarrassed to admit I didn’t know much about the city besides that it was the birthplace of Starbucks and the setting for one of Asha’s favorite rom-coms, Sleepless in Seattle. But I wasn’t here to sightsee. I was here for Rose.

  She had to be here. If she wasn’t…

  No! I scolded myself. Don’t think that way.

  After weaving our way through traffic, we arrived in Belltown, a neighborhood within walking distance of Pike Place Market. The metered parking lining the road was packed, and I thought we’d have to circle around the block a few times before we found an opening. But like a sign from above telling me we were on the right track, a Prius pulled out of a space directly in front of us. Alec turned on his blinker, claiming the spot. As he parked, I stared up at the building we’d driven so far to find. Like the rest of the street, which was comprised of bars, cafés, and expensive shopping, it was a business, not a residential address as I’d hoped, but I pushed my disappointment down and unbuckled my seat belt.

  “Are you sure this is the correct place?” Asha asked from the backseat.

  We all glanced to Alec for confirmation.

  He reached for the scrap of paper Kelsey had given us to double-check the address. “Yeah, this is it.”

  I turned back to the window.

  The sign above the shop, which was painted a brilliant royal blue, was for Lost Marbles Art. Based on the window display, the gallery specialized in glass. There were colorful vases of various sizes, abstract sculptures that reminded me of sea creatures with spiraling tentacles, and a long row of hand-blown marbles, each one glittering like a gemstone.

  “Kind of a ridiculous name, don’t you think?” Boomer asked, surveying the gallery with a critical eye.

  “It’s quirky.” The kind of place Rose would love, I realized. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Incense was burning strongly inside the gallery—something spicy, possibly cinnamon or ginger—and the smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. A Guns N’ Roses song raged softly from a radio next to the cash register. Not bothering to look around at the wares, I marched over to the boy behind the counter. He was about fourteen or so and completely absorbed in the manga spread out in front of him.

  “Welcome to Lost Marbles Art. You’ll lose your marbles over our marbles,” he greeted without looking up. “My name’s Steven. How can I help you?”

  “Um, hi. I’m looking for my sister, Rose. I think she might be an employee here or a friend of the owner, and I—”

  Steven’s eyes didn’t leave the glossy pages of his comic. “Sorry,” he said, not making an effort to hear me out. “Don’t know her.”

  The quick answer made my throat tight, but I wasn’t giving up yet. “Her name is Rose Lyon,” I started again, as if stressing her name would help. “Maybe she’s a frequent customer or possibly—”

  “Nope, sorry. No Rose here.”

  Dread’s sharp claws sank into my heart and twisted, but I forced a deep breath into my lungs and tried to stay calm. “Are you sure? This gallery is her forwarding address.”

  Steven heaved a long sigh, as if answering my questions was an inconvenience. “Hundred percent,” he said and turned the page.

  The muscles in my face twitched. I wanted to reach over the counter, grab the kid by his collar, and shake him until he spouted answers, but Asha gently grabbed my elbow, her fingers cool on my hot skin, and steered me out of the way. When she turned to Steven, the sympathetic look on her face switched to a menacing scowl.

  “Look here, you little shit,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “We drove all the way here from LA looking for her missing sister, so the least you can do is look up from your stupid anime and help us.”

  Lips pursing, he shut the comic with one fluid snap of his wrist. Shadow Days. The girl on the front had comically large breasts and a flaming sword held high over her head.

  “Sorry ’bout your sister,” he replied and casually flicked his bangs out of his eyes.
“But like I already explained, I don’t know a Rose. My parents own the gallery, and the only other employees are my cousins, okay?”

  My eyes watered. After everything that had happened since I found the letters, after how far we’d come, I wasn’t going to give up now.

  “Maybe if you saw her,” I suggested, reaching inside my bag. I didn’t have a recent photograph of Rose, but I was certain there was an old wallet-size print of her senior picture in the pocket of my bag. For the first few months after she ran away, I’d carried it around and showed it to strangers, asking if they’d seen my sister.

  “I know it’s in here somewhere…” I dug around blindly until my fingers skimmed a thick square of paper that was worn around the edges after four years of being buried in my bag. “Aha!” I exclaimed, yanking the picture out triumphantly. A few crumbs stuck to the glossy surface, and I brushed them away.

  I turned to Steven, and as I did, something caught my attention at the edge of my vision. A line of paper hearts strung on a piece of twine. They framed the back wall of the room, draped in swags like party streamers. I hadn’t recognized them right away because they were made out of origami paper, vivid and embellished with flowering patterns, and Rose never used to waste money on the real stuff. Receipts and notebook paper worked fine for her.

  My hand trembled as I pointed at the folded hearts. “Who made those?”

  Steven twisted on his stool. His cheeks turned pink. “Lizzie did.”

  Lizzie, as in Rose Elizabeth Lyon? I’d never known my sister to go by her middle name, but then again, I hadn’t spoken with her in four years. Who knew how much she’d changed?

  “Is this her? This Lizzie person?” I asked, holding out the picture for him to examine.

  He leaned over the counter. “Her hair is different,” he said, “but yeah. That’s Lizzie. She’s our upstairs tenant.”

  My heart nearly exploded at his response.

  “Why didn’t you mention her earlier?” Asha asked before I could sort through my shock.