Paper Hearts

by Ali Novak

  Alec’s eyes cut from the road to me. “Nope.” As usual, he was enjoying keeping me in the dark. The smirk on his face was evidence enough.

  “How about a hint?”

  He freed a hand from the steering wheel in order to lace his fingers with mine. The leather strap of the bracelet I’d made him brushed against my wrist. “Not going to happen,” he said. “But if you pay attention, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Biting down on a smile, I focused my gaze out the windshield. I had a hunch where we were heading. In the distance, a snowcapped mountain pierced the clear blue sky—Mount Rainier. I decided to concede to the mystery of our destination, so I settled into my seat and basked in the stunning scenery that surrounded us. If there was one lesson I’d learned this summer, it was that the best things in life are often the ones we never plan for: a surprise birthday party, a chance meeting with the future love of your life, a spur-of-the-moment road trip.

  So even if today turned out to be a total disaster, I knew everything would be fine.

  Sometimes all you needed was an adventure.

  Order Ali Novak’s first book

  in The Heartbreak Chronicles

  The Heartbreakers

  On sale now

  ALEC’S PLAYLIST FOR FELICITY:

  “Love Won’t Sleep” by Lostboycrow

  “Tear in My Heart” by twenty one pilots

  “Meteorites” by LIGHTS

  “Paris (Ooh La La)” by Grace Potter and The Nocturnals

  “Crazy for You” by Hedley

  “What I Like about You” by The Romantics

  “Tell Her You Love Her” by Echosmith

  “Raise Hell” by Dorothy

  “Lightning in a Bottle” by The Summer Set

  “Gold” by Vinyl Theatre

  “Secret Valentine” by We the Kings

  “Living Louder” by The Cab

  “Amen” by Halestorm

  “Mindset” by Every Avenue

  “Geronimo” by Sheppard

  “I Must Be Dreaming” by The Maine

  “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar

  “On Top of the World” by Imagine Dragons

  “Little Bird” by Ed Sheeran

  “Hallelujah” by Paramore

  ALEC’S FAVORITES:

  “Gorgeous” by X Ambassadors

  “Bottoms Up” by Brantley Gilbert

  “The Otherside” by Red Sun Rising

  “Runaway (U & I)” by Galantis

  “Hotel California” by Eagles

  “Find Your Love” by Drake

  “Paralyzer” by Finger Eleven

  “Must Be Doin’ Somethin’ Right” by Billy Currington

  “Feel So Close” (radio edit) by Calvin Harris

  “Numb / Encore” by Linkin Park and Jay Z

  “Say My Name” (featuring Zyra) by ODESZA

  “Simple Man” (rock version) by Shinedown

  “Beautiful Lasers (2 Ways)” (featuring MDMA) by Lupe Fiasco

  “Superheroes” by The Script

  “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers

  “Powerful” (featuring Ellie Goulding and Tarrus Riley) by Major Lazer

  “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd

  “Dear Agony” by Breaking Benjamin

  “My Kinda Party” by Jason Aldean

  “Soundtrack 2 My Life” by Kid Cudi

  INSPIRATION FOR WRITING PAPER HEARTS:

  “Hold It Against Me” by Sam Tsui

  “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift

  “Renegades” by X Ambassadors

  “Life Is a Highway” by Rascal Flatts

  “Send Me on My Way” by Rusted Root

  “Bones” by Alex G

  “Young Volcanoes” by Fall Out Boy

  “Better than Words” by One Direction

  “You and Me” by Lifehouse

  “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

  “I Was Made for Loving You” (featuring Ed Sheeran) by Tori Kelly

  “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons

  “You” by The Pretty Reckless

  “Don’t Say Goodbye” by Jamestown Story

  “A Drop in the Ocean” by Ron Pope

  “Tear Down the Stars” by The Years Gone By

  “Beside You” by Marianas Trench

  “Army of Angels” by The Script

  “Shut Up and Dance” by WALK THE MOON

  “Her Love Is My Religion” by The Cab

  Acknowledgments

  Hands down, writing Paper Hearts has been the most difficult project of my life. There were more late nights, cups of coffee, and breakdowns during its creation than there have been in my entire career. But along with the countless challenges this book presented, there was an amazing team of people who saw me through every draft.

  First, I want to thank Annette Pollert-Morgan, for her never-ending patience during this novel’s lengthy birth. An epic poem could be written about her heroic editorial deeds. Thankfully, a poet I am not. Further thanks to all the talented people at Sourcebooks Fire: Elizabeth Boyer, Alex Yeadon, Diane Dannenfeldt, Stefani Sloma, and many, many more.

  To my Wattpad readers, who loved Alec and Felicity before I wrote this story. Thank you for the thousands upon thousands of hilarious, laugh-out-loud comments, the sweet messages that encourage me to keep writing, the names you give my asterisks, and believe it or not, even the “UPDATE!”s. Every. Single. One. I’m also eternally grateful to all the extraordinary people on the Wattpad team, who shower me with unconditional support. I will never be able to say this enough—thank you for making my dreams come true.

  Thank you to my kick-ass agent, Alex Slater, for his tireless work on my behalf, and Grandma Fletcher and Aunt Jennifer Fletcher, for catching my many mistakes.

  Much love to my family: Mom, Flynn, Jackie, and the rest of you crazy bunch!

  And finally, thank you to Jared Kalnins. You kept me sane while I pursued something as crazy as writing a novel, and in my book, that makes you a rock star. I heart you more than Cool Ranch and blueberry shakes, and Starburst and salsa.

  Don’t miss The Heartbreakers

  Oliver is the lead singer of the world’s hottest band. Stella has no idea.

  Chapter 1

  Cara was clutching the latest edition of People as if it were the Holy Bible.

  “If I didn’t have you to bring me magazines,” she said, “I’d go stir crazy locked up in this place.”

  “I had to fight off some soccer mom for the last copy,” I told her. And I was serious. Fresh reading material was a hot commodity among inpatients and their families at the hospital.

  Cara didn’t hear me. She was already tearing through the magazine, eager to consume her daily dose of celebrity gossip. Beside her, Drew was camped out in the room’s only armchair, staring down at his phone. From the scowl on his face, I knew he was either reading about last night’s baseball game or discovering that the spotty Wi-Fi was being particularly fussy.

  Unlike a typical day at the hospital, today I actually had something to keep me occupied during visiting hours. After pulling a chair up to Cara’s bed, I started scrolling through the pictures I had taken with my new Canon. My parents had bought me the camera as an early birthday gift, and I had tested it out at the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden this morning.

  “God, could he be any more perfect?”

  I looked over, and Cara had the magazine open to an interview with one of the guys from the Heartbreakers, her favorite band. The headline read “Bad Boy Still Breaking Hearts.” Underneath it was an abstract with a quote: “I’m not looking for a girlfriend. Being single is too much fun.” When I glanced back up, there was a look on Cara’s face—eyes avid, mouth partially open—that made me wonder if she was about to lick the page. I waited
a moment to see if she would, but all she did was heave a sigh, the kind that implied she wanted me to give her a reason to gush over her favorite celebrity.

  “Owen something?” I asked to be polite, but my attention was already focused back on my camera.

  “Oliver Perry,” she said, correcting my mistake. I didn’t need to look at Cara to know she was rolling her eyes at me even though I had made my dislike of the band clear on multiple occasions, like every time she blasted their music through the house. I didn’t care enough about the Heartbreakers to learn their names; they were just another boy band whose popularity would sputter out as fast as it had shot up. “I swear you’re like a forty-year-old stuck in a teenager’s body or something.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Because I don’t know the name of some boy band member?”

  She crossed her arms and glared. Apparently I had crossed the line. “They’re not a boy band. They’re punk.”

  There were two reasons I didn’t like the Heartbreakers. First and foremost, I thought their music sucked, which should be explanation enough, but I had another reason: the Heartbreakers tried so hard to be something they weren’t, parading around as rockers when really, they were just a boy band. Sure, they played instruments, but no amount of vintage band tees and ripped jeans could mask the watered-down lyrics and catchy beats of songs that were undoubtedly pop. The fact that their fans had to constantly remind the world that the Heartbreakers were a “real” band only proved otherwise.

  I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing. “Just because they site the Misfits and the Ramones as their inspiration doesn’t make them punk.”

  Cara tilted her head to the side, eyebrows scrunched together. “The who?”

  “See?” I reached over and grabbed the magazine. “You don’t know what real punk is. And this,” I said, gesturing down at the page, “is not it.”

  “Just because I don’t listen to all your underground weird stuff doesn’t make you more musically cultured than me,” she responded.

  “Cara,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Whatever, Stella.” Cara slid the magazine back into her lap. She looked away from me, shoulders slumping. “Honestly, I don’t care if you don’t like them. I’m just in a bad mood because I wanted to go to their concert.”

  The Heartbreakers had performed in Minneapolis this past month, and even though Cara had desperately wanted to go, she had decided not to purchase any tickets. It had been a tough decision, especially since she had been saving up for months, but in my opinion, it was the right one. Because, when it came down to it, it didn’t matter how much she wanted to go. Her body was giving her all the signs that she couldn’t—nausea, vomiting, and fatigue just to name a few—and she knew it. One important lesson that Cara’s cancer taught us was that there’s a time to be hopeful and a time to be realistic.

  Two weeks had passed since Cara started her first round of chemotherapy. The treatment worked in cycles—three weeks where countless drugs were pumped into her body, followed by a rest period before the whole process started over again. Then, after the regular chemotherapy killed off all the bad stuff in her body, Cara would be zapped with a single round of high-dose chemo just to make sure the bad stuff stayed dead.

  I was never really good at science, but Cara’s trips to the hospital taught me a lot. Ordinarily, chemo doses are restricted to small amounts due to the threatening side effects. A higher dose might kill the cancer, but it also destroys bone marrow, which I’ve learned is kind of essential to life. But sometimes, regular chemo isn’t enough.

  That’s how it was for Cara. After two recurrences, her doctors thought it was time for a more serious treatment, so once she received the high-dose chemo she would need to have an autologous stem cell transplant. An autologous transplant was where Cara’s own stem cells were removed from her bone marrow prior to her treatment. The cells were frozen and kept safe during her chemo, and they would be given back by a blood infusion. Without it, she wouldn’t be able to recover.

  A small sigh escaped me, and I was careful with my words. “I’m sure there’ll be more concerts in the future,” I said and offered her a weak smile. “I’ll even go to one with you if you want.”

  At this, Cara giggled. “Drew’s more likely to join a cheerleading squad.” At the sound of his name, our brother looked up and raised an eyebrow at Cara before returning to his phone.

  “It was just a suggestion,” I added, but I was glad she found it amusing.

  “You, at a Heartbreakers concert?” she said, more to herself than to me. “Yeah, right.”

  At this, we both went silent. A thick kind of quiet settled around us; I could feel its weight bearing down on my chest, and I knew we were both thinking of stuff that was unhappy. Long days at the hospital tended to do that, and after a while, bad thoughts came more easily than the good ones.

  A knock on the door pulled me back into my surroundings, and Jillian, Cara’s favorite nurse, stepped inside. When I saw her, I glanced up at the clock and was surprised to see how fast the day had disappeared.

  “Stella, Drew,” she said, greeting the both of us. “How are you both?”

  “Same as usual,” Drew said as he stood up and stretched. “You?”

  “I’m doing well, thanks. Just here to check up on Cara.” To her she said, “You need anything, dear?” but Cara shook her head.

  “Are you kicking us out?” I asked. Visiting hours would be over soon and that meant it was time for Cara’s nightly meds, which included penicillin and a long list of other stuff I couldn’t pronounce.

  “No,” Jillian said. “You still have time, but I figured you’d want to run down to the cafeteria before it closes.”

  The thought of food made my stomach rumble. I’d gone straight to the hospital from the sculpture garden, so I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. “That’s probably a good idea.” I wrapped my camera strap around my neck and stood up. “See you tomorrow, punk.”

  I wanted to lean over and give her a kiss, but I couldn’t.

  Cara had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was a type of cancer that originates in lymphocytes—white blood cells—which are part of the body’s immune system. Normally, people with non-Hodgkin’s were treated as outpatients. They would come to the hospital on a daily basis to receive treatment before going home, and during her first two bouts of cancer, Cara was an outpatient too. Every day my mom would drive her to the hospital and her drugs were administered through an IV. It normally took about an hour, and sometimes Drew and I would tag along and do homework in the waiting room.

  But Cara recently had complications with her appendix and it had to be removed. Since her white blood cell count was so low, her doctors were concerned she was at risk of infection, and she had to stay at the hospital for a few weeks. When we visited, we were required to wear masks over our mouths, and we couldn’t touch Cara because there was a chance we could get her sick.

  I knew being away from home was hard for her, and it was frustrating that I couldn’t even comfort her with a hug.

  “You know where to find me,” she said and rolled her eyes.

  “Get some rest for me, okay?” Drew said in parting. Then he turned to me. “Ready? I’m hungry.”

  “Yup,” I responded. “Me too.” We said one last quick good-bye, and then we were out the door, heading in the direction of the cafeteria.

  “Think they’ll have those caramel pudding cups today?” Drew asked as we made our way down the familiar hospital halls.

  “Man, I love those things,” I said, “but I doubt it. Haven’t seen any in a while.”

  “Lame.”

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking about our day. “Pretty lame is right.”

  • • •

  Every day, Drew and I would mention one positive thing that had happened during the t
ime we spent with Cara. The thing about hospitals is that they’re breeding grounds for fear. If you don’t constantly remind yourself about the good, the bad will seep in and take over. Because when one of your family members gets cancer, you all get cancer. It might not be the same kind, but it will still eat at you until there’s nothing left inside.

  The tradition started when Cara was diagnosed the first time, back when we were freshmen in high school. It hadn’t really hit me that my sister was sick, that I could actually lose her, until she had a diagnostic treatment and stayed in the hospital while her doctors identified the location, extent, and stage of her cancer. Our mom brought Drew and me in to see her, and all around us were children in various stages of decline, some further along than others.

  That was the first time I felt the fear. It buried its nails in my chest, lifted me clear off the ground, and said, “See those kids? Those kids are actually dying.” And that made me wonder—if my sister was here, did that make her one of those kids too?

  “What’s your positive?” I asked Drew when we reached his old Honda Civic on the far side of the hospital parking lot. He was fiddling with his keys, and even though I knew my door was still locked, I yanked on the handle.

  “The caramel pudding cup,” he said. The locks popped up with a click when he found the right key. “That shit was delicious.”

  “A pudding cup?” I repeated as we both climbed into the car. “That’s your positive?”

  “It’s that or the fact that the Wi-Fi was in an obliging mood today.”

  I was battling with my seat belt, trying to untangle it and pull it forward, but Drew was being so odd that I let it fly back into place. “Are you being serious?” I asked as I stared at him. “Because I honestly can’t tell right now.”

  “What does that mean?” he said. “Pudding cups are serious business.”

  I blinked slowly and deliberately. Up until today, our positives had always been meaningful, something to keep us going. If pudding became the only redeeming part of our day, then we were in trouble.