I also have this box of shells Faith gave me. She sent them to me right after school had ended for the summer in second grade. We had made all these plans to be together for summer vacation, all these fun things we would do together all summer. But then her parents dragged her off on a family vacation to a beach at some fancy resort.
She sent me the box of shells she collected on the beach and wrote me a note telling me the shells were her heart. She wrote that whenever I was sad this summer, I should find my favorite shell from the box. She wrote, “Hold it tight and know that shell is my heart, and my heart will go out to you, and comfort you, because that’s what hearts do. And my heart is yours.”
My older brother helped me read her note when I got it in the mail. He smiled huge the whole time and said, “Aww,” when he was done and he’d mussed my hair. Then he’d left. So I could cry.
Yeah, I had loved Faith with all of my little boy heart. And it had filled with even more love for her by the fifth grade. Before that she even taught me to read. I kid you not. The other kids kind of laughed at me, ‘cause I was kind of slow with the sounding out stuff. So, Faith had me play this phonics game that her mom had bought her to teach Faith to read back in kindergarten. Faith played it with me every single day after school, and she would write me love notes that she would make me sound out—and I wanted to know what they said so bad that I would work on them for hours, though my mom couldn’t get me to work on a reading book for a minute. Anyway, Faith taught me to read. She did.
I loved her dearly.
Then, alas. On our way to a field trip, I saw Rachel pass Faith a note on the bus. It said, “Tom likes you.”
Faith wrote her back, “Well, I like Stick-Boy.”
And I was like—stick boy??? Was she saying I was a stick? Or did she like the new guy, Ian Stick? Neither made me feel very good. In fact, both of them hurt my heart. Really bad.
I was crushed. Destroyed.
So when we got off the bus and Trina Follen did her usual—started flirting with me. This time I flirted back. And I kissed her on the cheek—right in front of Faith.
Yeah, I’d been a wad.
But when Faith frowned at the sight of that, and then ran to the bathroom crying, I felt like my heart shriveled and died. I mean, it had hurt that she called me a stick to her friend, yeah, it hurt bad, but it hurt a thousand times worse when I made her cry.
Yet, I didn’t chase after her like I longed to do.
Instead, I let Trina take my hand and lead me to her popular friends. Because I didn’t like being called a stick … and the alternative was even worse. She liked Ian Stick? My heart couldn’t take it.
Well, it couldn’t take either alternative.
Faith broke my heart.
So I went with Trina.
And then Amanda.
And then Aspen.
And then …
I just kept going. I didn’t get tied to any one specific girl. If there was one thing my experience with Faith taught me it was that I couldn’t let my heart get too tangled up with a girl’s again. Because it hurt too much when the girl decided not to treat my mushy heart too nice. In fact, it killed my heart. So I buried it.
CHAPTER 24
***JUSTIN***
JUSTIN
I didn’t talk to Faith ever again. But I sent her a shell when her friend Rachel died. I didn’t leave her a note with it, but I had written one. I had written: “Don’t forget what shells do.” But then I figured I’d probably have to remind her about what she’d said they do—about the hearts and comfort and stuff, and then I’d probably have to remind her about the rest—all of it. ‘Cause, you know, it was way back in third grade … and weird that I still remembered … and that I kept the box of shells.
So, in the end I just sent her the shell. She could make of it whatever she wanted. I just hoped she was doing okay. I knew Rachel had stayed her best friend … okay, I might have given Faith a few more looks throughout the years, even after I had vowed I never would again.
… in fact, I had always noticed a lot more stuff about her than I would ever admit—even to myself. And I never thought she was “frumpy.” Ever. Though one of my many girlfriends told her that I did. I have no idea why. Well, yeah I do. The chick had caught me staring at Faith. But there’s no way anyone could call Faith frumpy now. Faith is beautiful—inside and out. She’s all I see.
CHAPTER 25
***JUSTIN***
JUSTIN
Last night I texted Faith: “Love Bug.” Then later, “Mermaid.”
I don’t recall doing this. The only reason I know I did, is—well, here it is in my text history.
Faith had replied: “????”
That was all she said. But I don’t blame her. It was the middle of the night. She was probably asleep. I know I was.
Right now, she comes up to me in the faculty parking lot as I’m getting out of my car. She raises her eyebrows. “Mermaid?” she questions with a laugh.
Funny she doesn’t ask about the “Love-Bug.” Probably she remembers: she’s my Love Bug.
“Yeah,” I quickly explain about the mermaid thing. “I was asleep, so keep that in mind. Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you that—out loud. Although it wasn’t out loud, right? I sleep texted.”
She raises one eyebrow. One. (It’s pretty spectacular.) Then she says skeptically, “Sleep texted?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing—well, obviously, since I did it. It’s a form of sleepwalking, I suppose. It’s just when I think about stuff in my sleep sometimes, then I text it to the person I’m thinking about. It doesn’t usually make a whole lot of sense, since I’m asleep and everything.”
“Yeah. Mermaid,” she murmurs with a laugh. “—that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Again, she doesn’t mention the Love-bug thing. So, that part makes sense to her, right? Right? She totally remembers she’s my Love-bug. Right?
“Well … ” I admit, “It means more than you think.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
I love it when she blinks like that.
I try to calm down my heart that is all excited to have her staring at me like that, and saying “mermaid” to me, and then with that blink—maaan. I’m a goner. Okay, calm down heart. Though not gonna lie: I may text her random words at night from now on—on purpose, though. Still, I try to keep with the conversation instead of making fiendish plans. I explain, “Well, you know how you were on the swim team in high school?”
She nods, but she does it really slowly, like she had no idea I knew she was on the team. But come on, the girl is curvy. I used to see her a lot at her swim meets as I had dated a few different swimmers on and off through my high school years. Faith would stand out and catch my eye disturbingly often because she was quite curvy, and for swimming she couldn’t cover herself up with huge clothes like she did all through high school—well, at least after her friend died she started to do that: hide. Behind big clothes and ugly glasses. I got it. She was feeling sad and it showed. She didn’t try to hide it—instead, she tried to hide herself.
But anyway, I’d notice Faith at swim meets—a lot—but I’d always say to myself, “No, don’t go there.” She had broken my heart and I knew she could do it again. Sure, it had been years ago, but something about her drew me to her then, and whatever it was, it still called to me now. But no way (well, that’s what I used to think to myself at those swim meets). I wasn’t going to touch it. Plenty of fish in the sea … well, mermaids.
(I’ll explain that.)
I chew slightly on my bottom lip, weighing my words, and okay, just enjoying her ogling me while she waits kind of breathlessly to hear my explanation about the mermaid thing. I thoroughly enjoy her pretty eyes on me, and kind of want this moment to last forever—or at least as long as possible.
“You were on the swim team, and I’d see you swim—a lot. Then once, during junior year, I was really sick, and I’d just stare at your box of shells, and I was thinking about th
at you’d sent me one when my mom died, and I’d just seen you swim at a meet the day before. So, I guess all that stuff is why I dreamed about you. I dreamed I was being rocked and knocked around on this boat during a storm, and I was sick because of that—in my dream that’s why I was sick—I was seasick. Then you were there—and you were a mermaid, and you gave me a beautiful shell and you said ‘Remember what shells do.’”
I smile slightly as Faith makes this tiny little gasp noise. Then I go on, because the story gets even better. Well, I think. “When I woke up I felt better—and sort of in love. But I didn’t see you again until the first day of school senior year … then I was dazzled by my shell-giving mermaid.” I smile, “But she growled at me.”
She growls at me now too. Well, more like groans. Like she doesn’t believe a word I said. Doesn’t believe me whatsoever.
So, I give her my best confused smile, “What? You don’t believe me?”
“No. What I believe is you are a total player. And heartbreaker. Our past history lets me know that.”
In frustration, I watch her walk away from me. “It was fifth grade!”
CHAPTER 26
***FAITH***
FAITH
When I get to my faculty locker in the staff room, my heart explodes. Because—holy smokes! My locker is decorated to the hilt. It’s wrapped in heart decorated wrapping paper with hearts all over it—and shells too. In big bold print there is a sign tapped to it. I read it and practically pass out.
It says:
“You own my heart, Faith. Will you make me happy beyond belief and go to the school dance with me? Love Justin (who is not a heartbreaker) (Despite whatever it may say on bathroom walls).”
I stare at the beautiful message. But my heart is breaking. And aching. And yearning. (It’s breaking because I know he’s only made this cheesy sweet huge gesture for Daisy’s sake.) But it’s aching and yearning because I want it to be for real so bad. I yearn with all my lonely heart for him to really want to go to the dance with me. (Though, okay, okay, it’s as chaperones, but still.) I want him to want to go with me. ME!!! Not stupid Daisy.
I sigh and turn on my heels, looking for Daisy. I mean, I’m hopelessly falling for the heartbreaker all over again. But I can’t. I can’t go through that pain again—not so soon after the divorce. Not at all, actually, ever. So I quickly decide to cut the deal short. I’ll just confront Daisy with the truth—Justin is sweet. Daisy is a heartbreaker herself. The two are meant for each other (well, not really) (not at all) but he wants Daisy, and Daisy would be lucky to have him.
On my way to find Daisy though, I stumble into Chad.
“Sorry,” I mumble distractedly.
He says sarcastically, “What—you’re dazzled blind by Justin’s sign?”
I blink up at him. I am, yes—exactly that. It’s made me dizzy and blind and a klutz.
Chad clenches his teeth when he can clearly see my answer is yes.
He blocks my way as I silently try to walk around him. “I’ll take you to the dance, Faith. I’ll do whatever you want—don’t go with the guy.”
I swallow, not able to force out my confession—that I’m not going to the dance with Justin. That it’s all an act.
Instead I say, “Chad, if you really meant what you just said—that you’ll do whatever I want—then please leave me alone. That’s what I want. Let me have peace, let me heal.”
Chad grits his teeth. “You’re not going to have ‘peace’ or ‘heal’ with that guy, Faith. He’s a heartbreaker. It’s written on the ladies’ bathroom walls. He’ll break your heart.”
I know he will. He already has. But so has Chad.
I tell him as much. “So have you, Chad.”
Then I run to find Daisy.
I find her in the bathroom, which is not a shock. She’s reapplying lip-gloss to amazingly gorgeous lips attached to her amazingly gorgeous face.
I sigh.
Then take a deep breath and just rip off the band-aid, quickly blurting out, “Justin isn’t a heartbreaker.”
Daisy looks at me dryly, then kind of rolls her eyes. “Well, good for you.”
She says it sarcastically.
I blink.
“What I mean is, he really likes you. A lot. He was just acting like he likes me, so you could see he’s not a heartbreaker.”
She tilts her head, looking confused. “He was just acting like he adores you?” She gives a little laugh. “Well, that makes more sense.” Then she adds, “No offense, but I was wondering how that was possible. I mean, he’s famous—Justin Hanson. Yet he seemed so in love with you. So, there was obviously something funky going on. But now I get it—he was acting.”
She muses. “He’s a good actor.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
After an agonizing moment, I choke out the rest. After all, Justin has been really sweet to me. So, though it’s painful, I attempt to return Justin a favor.
Though yeah, it’s agonizing.
I tell Daisy, “Justin really, really wants to take you to the dance—really bad. Like that sign he wrote? That was really meant for you. I mean, I know it has my name on it and everything. But the sentiment of it—it was all for you.”
She smiles all happy. “Really?! I saw that sign. I was so jealous. But it was for me?”
Sadly, I nod. “All for you.”
CHAPTER 27
***JUSTIN***
JUSTIN
As I’m heading to the ice rink Daisy comes up to me with a huge smile. So I’m thinking: Finally! She’s finally going to cave and give Dave a chance. Score!
But no.
Instead she shocks me by saying, “Yes! I’ll go to the dance with you.”
Her words stop me cold.
“Um … what?!”
She smiles huge, “Faith sang your praises and said you’re not a heartbreaker—and you were just trying to convince me of that. She said you really want to take me with you to the dance. My answer is—yes.”
She smirks, “It’s funny that you kept using Dave as an excuse to talk to me.”
I run a hand over my face. “Um … it wasn’t an excuse. Dave really likes you. A lot. And he’s my friend, so I can’t take you to the dance—sorry.”
To my horror, Daisy’s eyes well with tears.
Her pretty face gets all blotchy from embarrassment—and seething rage. “You really are a heartbreaker—jerk!” she snarls, then storms away.
I watch her go, kind of shocked. Then scrub a hand over my face and groan. Guess I’m not going to get those tickets.
… or Faith.
CHAPTER 28
***FAITH***
FAITH
During break I get a text from Daisy sarcastically telling me, “Thanks a lot!”
I stare at her words, then send her some question marks.
She quickly rants that Justin IS a total heartbreaker and player and that he isn’t going to take her to the dance.
I stare at her words stunned.
Huh??
After school, I find Justin standing right outside my classroom door, apparently waiting for me.
My heart pounds frantically seeing him—because apparently he’s WAITING FOR ME. However, I try to not be a sap. Get a grip, Faith, I tell myself, all the while trying desperately to remind myself of Daisy’s words—he’s a heartbreaker and a player.
Right. Got it.
So, instead of running into his arms like I’m tempted to do, I glare at him and try to walk past him.
But he silently blocks my way. “You told Daisy I want to go to the dance with her?”
I look away from his staring, confused eyes, and try to answer matter-of-factly, “Well, yes. Isn’t that what your poster on my locker was for? To show her you’re not a heartbreaker and that you’re willing to even go to a school dance for her?”
Justin slowly shakes his head. “No. The poster was to ask you to the dance—to show you I’m not a heartbreaker and I’m willing to go to a school dance—for you.”
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My heart ricochets off my ribcage and cupids zoom around before my eyes.
I gasp in astonishment, “For me? But—but this was all for Daisy.”
“No Faith. It’s not. None of this was for Daisy. It’s been for you. So you can see that I still really like you—that you’re still my love-bug. That you’re my mermaid. That I’m not going to play games and break your heart. That I’m not a heartbreaker.”
I’m breathless. And dizzy. I have to hold on to the wall to keep from toppling over. I suck in my breath, trying to get a grip. “But—but you already broke my heart.”
Justin groans. “You’re still mad about fifth grade?! Faith, you have to admit, that’s a long time to hold a grudge.”
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Isn’t it maybe slightly unreasonable that you’re holding something against me that I did back in fifth grade?”
Heat swamps my cheeks. He has point. Maybe. Probably. I don’t know! It’s hard to think straight, since now I can’t stop being thrilled that he decorated my locker and asked me to the dance—because he wants go with me. Me! Not Daisy. Meee!!! Now all I want to do is … kiss him.
But I’m also afraid of the feelings crashing through me. Terrified, actually. Because although what he says is true—that it was way back in fifth grade—still it happened. And it hurt. A lot.
I mutter, “Okay, it was way back in fifth grade, true. But even so—the thing is, it proves the kind of person you are—your character.”
His eyebrows go up, “Or it proves I was ten—and stupid.”
I grunt. “Well, it proves the stupid part.”
His eyes twinkle. “True.”
Then he grins, “But nonetheless, I was ten.” He raises his eyebrows, “Would you really treat a ten-year-old this mean?”
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 8