Heart Shaped Rock

by Roppe, Laura

  I’m so confused.

  I look down at my hands in my lap, and when I do, I’m surprised to see a tear fall onto my hand.

  “Shaynee,” Sheila soothes, sounding like she’s coaxing a rabid pit bull out of a cage, “there are a lot of people who love you. Tiffany loves you so much. And so do I, honey.”

  I look up, and Sheila is looking at me with such motherly love—such understanding and acceptance, such warmth—I surprise myself by leaping out of my chair and throwing my arms around her neck.

  “Oh,” Sheila says, her voice cracking.

  I’m one of Sheila’s rescue puppies. And, in this moment, that’s exactly what I want to be. I want to be saved. I don’t care if she’s saving me out of pity or some mama-bear instinct to protect an orphaned cub. Whatever it is, it suddenly feels perfectly natural to let Sheila love me.

  “I came to give you my apron,” I admit, and we both laugh.

  “I don’t accept.”

  Laughter hijacks our tears, and suddenly, we’re both laughing and crying at the same time. When we part, she takes my hand. “You’re still going to work here.” Again, it’s a statement, not a question.

  I nod. “But until I have a chance to ... please, just not when Dean’s here. For a little while. I just need to figure out... ”

  Sheila looks crestfallen. “Shaynee, you don’t understand. He’s in your corner. He’s been in your shoes his whole life and he more than anybody understands—”

  “What happened to not butting into the middle of our relationship?” I ask.

  Sheila looks surprised. “Looks like Best Friend Shaynee just turned into Sassy Shaynee.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” And it’s the truth. I really didn’t. It just came out wrong.

  “Honey, it’s all good. You’re right. You and Dean will have to figure things out on your own, even though it kills me not to tell you exactly what I think.” She looks at me expectantly, clearly hoping I’ll ask her what she thinks.

  I shake my head. I won’t take the bait. I have to figure this out for myself. I still haven’t sorted out my feelings. I mean, wait, no, that’s not true. I know exactly what my feelings are, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I know in my egg-carton brain that Dean wasn’t completely honest with me. Yes, he’s gorgeous, and funny, and smart, and talented—and did I say gorgeous?—and he makes me feel as light as a feather with even the slightest touch. Yes, his eyes, his lips... Oh my God. And his kiss. My toes curl just thinking about it. “Your freckles are killing me right now,” he said, and I shudder remembering the look in his eyes when he said it.

  But so what to any of it? It wasn’t real. Was he simply having a little fun with me? Or is he a hopeless Good Samaritan, addicted to luring scrawny alley cats with the promise of some warm milk and a soft bed? Yeah, I might be willing, even happy, to be Sheila’s rescue puppy, but I won’t be Dean’s. I refuse to fall in love with someone who wants me only because I’m in need. I refuse to be a damsel in distress. As much as it pains me to realize it, Dean’s attracted to the Disney-princess version of Shaynee Sullivan. The dude’s got a hero complex, and I refuse to need saving. Well, not anymore, anyway; the time has come for me to save myself.

  “Can I maybe just work on Wednesdays for a little while?” I ask.

  Sheila looks deflated. “The thing is I really need help on Thursdays. Why don’t you ask Tiffany to swap her Tuesdays with your Thursdays? Tuesdays are usually fairly slow, so Dean doesn’t have to come in for a while as you sort things out.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Tiffany about it. And I’ll apologize to her, too,” I say. “I’ve spent the last two days tabulating all the ways I’m an evil, soul-sucking, rotten friend, and I plan to share my list with her as soon as possible.”

  Sheila laughs. “Good plan. Oh, hey,” she adds, suddenly realizing something, “can you work tomorrow? The boys are playing a show at a street fair in North Park, and I’d love to go if I can get the place covered.” She glances over at Carmen. The line has gotten ridiculously long with only one barista behind the counter. “Carmen likes to spend Sunday mornings with her family, so it’d work out for everyone.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That sounds great.” I look over at Carmen practically doing cartwheels and backbends behind the counter all by herself. “Do you want me to jump back there and help Carmen for a little while today?”

  Sheila looks across the room at Carmen and laughs. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  Chapter 17

  As it turns out, Sunday mornings at Sheila’s are even busier than Saturdays, but the clientele seems to consist of lots more young families and older couples out for a morning stroll, rather than our usual hippies, surfers, hipsters, and teenagers. By the time I arrive at eight, Sheila’s long since opened up the place, and, much to my relief and pleasure, we work the first few hours of my shift together.

  We fall into a comfortable rhythm behind the counter. Sheila takes the orders and I make the magic. I’m elated to discover I no longer require any instruction or training, no matter what the order. Even when Sheila hollers for me to whip up a not-on-the-menu special for her “favorite customer Tim,” or her “best customer Annie,” I know exactly what to do without being told. When the tables require bussing or the restroom requires a refill on paper products, I sense it without needing to be reminded. When the stainless steel cream container is running low, I swoop in to exchange it with a full one, only seconds before a customer pours out the very last drop. I feel like I was born to do this.

  “That’s the prettiest one yet,” Sheila says to me as I hand her a drink, referring to the heart-shaped espresso-swirl I’ve made in the milk froth.

  I beam at her.

  “Okay, Shaynee-girl,” Sheila says, taking off her apron. She pats me on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go now if I’m gonna make it to the boys’ show.” The mention of Dean’s band makes my chest constrict. “The worst of the rush is probably over. You’ll have a couple hours here by yourself until Carmen comes to relieve you at two.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “Thanks for filling in.” She winks at me, hangs her apron on a hook, and, with a big “See ya later” to everyone and no one at the same time, glides out the front door.

  For the next hour or so, I’m busier than popcorn in a skillet, as Mom always used to say. But by about one o’clock, the place is quiet and I’ve finally got a second to breathe. I wipe down the counter and take a turn through the tables to collect empty mugs and dishes. When I resume my spot behind the cash register, I lean against the counter and pull my phone out of my pocket. I never answered any of Tiffany’s multiple texts and calls from Thursday and Friday. She hasn’t tried to contact me since Friday morning when she called Dad.

  I’ve been planning to reply to Tiffany in person tomorrow at school, rather than try to explain myself and my hurtful comments over the phone or in a text message, but now that so much time has passed without any response from me, I realize that Tiffany must think I’m raging mad at her. She probably thinks I actually believe the horrible things I said to her on Thursday. A surge of panic floods me.

  Quickly, I type out a text: “Hi Typh. Can u talk?” I look at the screen, trying to decide if I should add “I’m sorry” to the end of my message but decide against it. I’d rather express my apologies out loud, with sincerity, than put them into a dumb text message with an emoticon. I press the “send” button.

  I scroll over to my incoming text messages. “Please give me a chance to explain,” Dean wrote. “What did I do wrong?”

  Well, for starters, Dean, you lied to me. You knew everything about me—more than I was ready to tell you. It should have been my choice to reveal myself to you, on my own timetable. You had an advantage and you didn’t tell me so. You let me make a fool of myself. You broke my heart—my little heart-bud—after it had only just started to regrow. The whole time I was with you, I felt just like a normal, carefree teenager. And
I felt... alive. But, no, the whole time, unbeknownst to me, you knew about—and you actually wanted—the damaged, lost, and lonely girl hiding inside of me. So what does that say about you, Dean? Huh? You wanted a damsel in distress to save, that’s what. You wanted someone weak and cowering. And I’m not going to be that anymore. For anyone. Not even you.

  Unfortunately, this entire message won’t fit into a text. But, even if it did, I don’t have the courage to say any of it to him. It’s excruciating just thinking these thoughts; I can’t imagine the pain if they were to escape my head.

  I double-check to see if Tiffany has responded to my text yet. Nothing.

  I put my phone back into my pocket.

  A handful more customers enter and approach the counter, and I tend to their various orders. I look at the clock. I’ve got about twenty minutes until Carmen will be here to relieve me.

  The front door opens, and in walks Jared.

  His face says, “Yep, it’s me again.”

  “Hi, Jared.” My tone’s neutral. I think. Okay, maybe it’s a little testy.

  “Hi, Shaynee.” He’s beaming at me. “You look pretty. I like your hair like that.”

  “Yeah, it’s down.” And, dude, I barely brushed it today.

  There’s no one else in line at the counter at the moment, and, based on Jared’s languid body language, it seems he considers that fact an invitation for a leisurely chat.

  “Can I get you something?” I ask.

  “Yeah, a blueberry bar would hit the spot,” he says. “Wow, it’s my lucky day. I actually came in here just to eat.” He laughs. “I thought you worked on Wednesdays and Thursdays?”

  I don’t mention the fact that I’m about to start working on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. “Sheila had something to do today, so I’m helping her out.”

  “I’m stoked to see you here. I was gonna come visit you on Wednesday, but today’s even better. When do you get off work?”

  I look at the clock. “In, like, fifteen minutes.”

  “Awesome,” Jared exclaims. He practically fist pumps the air in celebration. “So, can you hang out?”

  “Three eighty-five.” I push the blueberry bar toward him.

  Jared pulls out a not-too-wrinkled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

  “So, you’re a high roller now?”

  Jared laughs his classic surfer-boy laugh, acknowledging his pitiful ball o’ bills from the other day. I had forgotten how endearing his laugh is.

  “Yeah, Friday was payday, so I’m livin’ large now. Let’s go spend my beaucoup (which Jared pronounces as “boo-coo”) paycheck. Ride the roller coaster, get some ice cream.”

  I look into Jared’s brown eyes, trying to understand his persistence toward me. “What do you know about me, Jared?”

  He purses his lips, thinking about my question. “I know you like to ask me questions.”

  I glare at him.

  He laughs. “Well, let’s see. I know you’re hot.” He chuckles.

  I avert my eyes. Obviously, I’m not hot. That’s just stupid.

  “And you work here, of course. And... um... you’re sixteen, I know that. And you’re friends with Kellan and that crew, which means you’re cool. Oh, and I heard you’re a megatron singer, which is pretty sick. And... I already told you this one—you’re beautiful. Like, freakishly beautiful. That’s about it.”

  He’s made a huge mistake. If he’d only aimed a bit lower than “hot” and “freakishly beautiful,” I might have bought some of his flattery. Maybe even all of it.

  “That’s all I know,” Jared continues. He shrugs. “But I’m dying to find out the rest.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I think you’re gonna be surprised by what you find out. Maybe even disappointed.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because I may look normal and nice, but I’m really not.”

  “No?”

  “Nope.”

  “So... what then? You’re abnormal and mean?”

  “Yes, exactly. I’m abnormal and mean.”

  “Wow, thanks for the warning.”

  “You’re welcome. So, I suggest you run like hell.”

  “That would be the smart thing for me to do, for sure.” He puts his forearms on the counter and leans toward me.

  “And there’s more.”

  “More? Wow. You really are scary.”

  “Yeah, I’m heartless, too.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Jared looks at me like I’m a giant blueberry bar.

  “And I don’t need anyone to save me.”

  “That’s cool by me. I left my cape at home.”

  “To be perfectly honest with you, I might even be a little bit crazy.”

  “Sounds like fun.” He leans closer and licks his lips.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said, Jared?”

  “Every word.”

  I shake my head and take a step back. “Okay, I think I’ve given you the wrong idea here.” I’m sputtering.

  “Really? I think you’ve been pretty clear.”

  “Jared, I’m not flirting with you.”

  “Sure sounds like it.” He stands upright.

  “No. I’m just trying to warn you.”

  “Warn me?”

  “Yeah, in case you think I’m this nice girl—well, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am a ‘nice girl,’ like, you know, I’m not a ‘bad girl,’ or a ‘vixen’ or a ‘ho-bag’ or, like, a ‘brain-eating-zombie’ or something”—I’m making exaggerated air quotes with my fingers as I say each new category of “bad girl”—“but I mean, if you’re looking for a normal, nice girl—a girl splashing water on her face in slow motion in a Noxzema commercial—then I’m not her.” I’m rambling. I’m imploding. I am a hot mess.

  Jared laughs his laid-back chuckle. “Wow, I must admit, I’m stoked you aren’t gonna eat my brains. That’s always a plus in a girl.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yeah, you’re definitely not normal, I’ll give you that—although I don’t need a warning to figure that out. That’s pretty obvious. I’m not so sure about the ‘mean’ part yet. I gotta find out for myself.” He leans forward onto the counter again and grins.

  “I just... I’m sorry, Jared. I just... I don’t get why you’ve been so... interested in me. You strike me as a guy who’d want the usual kind of girl.”

  Now Jared leans completely across the counter and right into my personal space. “Shaynee, you have no idea what I want.” After a beat, he beams his crazy white teeth at me.

  He’s relentless.

  I sigh.

  Jared lets out a sigh, too, an exaggerated imitation of mine, like he’s commiserating with my difficult predicament. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Do you like roller coasters?”

  I shrug. But my smile gives me away.

  “Do you like ice cream?”

  I shrug again. And smile again.

  “Well, then, let’s do it.”

  “Hi, Shaynee,” Carmen says, walking in. “Oh, hi, Jared.”

  Jared straightens up. “Hey.”

  I’m guessing Jared doesn’t know Carmen’s name any more than he knew Tiffany’s name.

  Carmen disappears into the back room.

  “So, what do you say?” Jared stage-whispers to me.

  I twist my mouth, giving the matter due consideration. “I say... Okay,” I finally stage-whisper back.

  Jared whoops in celebration.

  “But don’t forget, you’ve been warned.”

  Jared mock-shudders. “Oh, you’re so scary.”

  “I’ll ride the roller coaster with you, Jared, and I’ll even eat ice cream with you.”

  “Awesome.” Jared flashes those pearly whites at me again.

  “But don’t ever lie to me.”

  Jared closes his mouth. He looks confused.

  “Thanks for holding down the fort, Shaynee,” Carmen says, taking her place behind the counter.

  “N
o problem.”

  I march out from behind the counter and stride purposefully to the back room to gather my stuff, leaving Jared looking like a perplexed puppy at the counter.

  Chapter 18

  The Belmont Park roller coaster creaks up and up and up on its rickety wooden track, huffing and wheezing as it climbs to the top of its highest peak. Jared and I are seated side by side in our coaster car, taking in the ocean view for miles and miles to the west. At the tippy top of the track, just before the downward slope, Jared grabs my hand, anticipating our imminent drop. Just as our coaster car tips forward and begins its descent, Jared throws our clasped hands up into the air and screams at the top of his lungs.

  I, on the other hand, don’t make a sound. I am neither thrilled nor scared. This is not a life or death situation, after all. It seems pretty lame to freak out on a stupid roller coaster, now that I think about it.

  I look over at Jared as we whoosh down the track, twisting and turning, bouncing and shaking on the old wooden frame, and I see his white teeth gleaming and racing through space like shooting stars. He looks suddenly five years younger than his age. He reminds me of Lennox, though, weirdly, somehow, less mature than Lennox. Jared’s so happy. And excited. And thrilled... to be on an old wooden roller coaster.

  Good for him.

  But I can’t relate.

  “That was gnarly,” Jared says as we disembark from the ride. “You wanna go again?”

  I realize this is the first time I’ve ridden a roller coaster since Mom died. I seem to remember this particular ride being a whole lot scarier. More of an adrenaline rush. I guess, once you’ve experienced true fear—the worst fear you can imagine—simulated fear loses its bite. “Whatever you want to do,” I reply. I feel like I’m humoring Lennox.

  “Yeah, let’s do it one more time,” Jared says. He grabs my hand, laughing, and pulls me to the ticket booth again.