Hearts Made for Breaking

by Jen Klein

  I was not expecting that.

  “Okay,” I tell her.

  “Cool!” Hope tugs her hot-pink backpack farther up on her shoulders. “I have a glee club rehearsal. See you tomorrow!” And she’s off, waving to at least half a dozen people before rounding the corner and disappearing.

  * * *

  I don’t normally put a lot of thought into what I look like at work, but tonight I do. Inspired by Hope, I braid my hair into two long, messy ropes and secure them with silver elastic bands. I pull on a long denim shirt over black leggings and shove my feet into the cowboy boots I scored from one of the vintage shops on Magnolia, topping the whole thing off with a thin white pullover sweater. The tiniest bit of extra mascara to pop my brown eyes, and I’m ready to go.

  Here’s my plan:

  See if Ardy actually comes in tonight, like he said he would.

  Watch out for red flags.

  Go with the flow.

  It seems reasonable. I need to hang out with Ardy in a place where I’m comfortable. Not his car on a mystery road trip. Not holding a hawk on a bluff over the Pacific Ocean. Just my normal work life, my normal world. Like people do. Then I can decide what to do about the rumors from his last school.

  There’s an early wave of go-karters, so Dad and Mano are very happy when I arrive. Only the three of us are working tonight, and for once Dad has plans to leave a little early. Now that we found out about the Not-Prom being held here, Mom is all hopped up about him coming home at a reasonable time this one night, because she knows it’s going to be nothing but chaos for the next couple of months.

  By eight-thirty, the early go-karters have cleared out, the place is practically empty, and I am debating whether or not to text Ardy to see if he’s still coming. I’ve decided against it (for the tenth time) when I look up from the soda machine to see him coming through the double doors. I immediately spill the cup I’m refilling for the frat boy waiting for it. “Sorry,” I tell him, hurrying to wipe the stickiness away and pour him a new soda. By the time I’ve rung him up and sent him on his way, Ardy is at the counter. He hovers there, seemingly not sure what to do with his hands—he keeps taking them in and out of his pockets in a way that melts all my misgivings. It’s like he’s gotten more adorable in the last twenty-four hours. More so when he finally takes his hands out and plants them on the counter so he can lean over it toward me. “Hello, miss. Can you assist me in renting one of your fine vehicles?”

  “Why, certainly,” I tell him. “I can put you into a kart for the fine price of zero dollars.”

  “I have cash.” Ardy drops the act. “I mean, I’ll take a discount, but it doesn’t have to be zero dollars.”

  “Well, it is. Benefit of knowing the go-kart girl.”

  He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then he closes it again.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I wanted to make sure you still wanted me to come by,” he says. “I didn’t see you at lunch, and you left English so fast.”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Sorry. I had stuff to do.” Like try to figure out what to think about you. I smile up at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Okay.”

  Ardy trails me to the driver station, where I tag out Mano. I get Ardy set up with a name (surprisingly, he goes with Ardy) for the digital wall board and explain how the controls work. Then I help him choose a helmet before handing him one of the head bandannas that you wear underneath it. “For hygiene,” I tell him. “It’s like a little head condom.”

  And then I’m blushing.

  Ardy tugs it over his hair. “I must really like you if I’m willing to look like this,” he says, pulling on his helmet.

  I reach up to help him buckle it under his chin, trying to ignore how I tingle at his words. Or maybe it’s his warm skin against my fingers that is making me feel like this. Whatever it is, it’s all new.

  And it’s all good.

  A few minutes later, Ardy and two guys who chose their driver names from Star Wars are racing around the track in the electric cars. And Ardy was right: he really sucks at it. He doesn’t hit the brakes before the curves or understand how to pump the gas when he comes out of them. He seems to be having a difficult time manhandling the car around the turns, and Womp Rat and Wookie have already lapped him. As I watch him spin out for the sixth time, all I can do is hope he’ll make it through unharmed. After all, I think a big part of what I like about him is his brain. I’d really prefer if he could manage to not injure it.

  Ardy only does one full ride before turning in his helmet. “I don’t think this is going to be my new hobby,” he tells me. “But I’m happy to help make popcorn or something.”

  “You can play basketball.” I point out the token-fed arcade game in the corner. It’s where Leo and I learned to shoot hoops. “Or there’s pool.”

  Ardy considers for a moment, then lopes off to the basketball game. I watch before heading back to the snack counter to relieve Mano.

  Dad comes out from the back. “You guys can lock up,” he says. “If it stays dead, feel free to call it early.”

  “Will do,” Mano says, adjusting his LA Lakers cap over his forehead, almost like he’s giving my dad a military salute.

  Dad leaves without noticing that Ardy is here. Which is perfectly fine with me. No reason to raise any red flags.

  The minute Dad is out the door, Mano turns to me. “I have this event in Arcadia,” he says. “With my band. A gig, kind of. I mean, it’s at this dude’s house, so it’s not like a pro thing or anything—”

  “You can totally go,” I assure him.

  “Thanks.” Mano peers down at me. “But, like, I don’t love the idea of leaving you here alone at night. So maybe you could text me when you’re in your car or something?”

  I roll my eyes even as I smile at his protective behavior. Mano has been working here for almost a year. He came over from Hawaii to try to jump-start his music career, and so far he’s been in four different bands. I set my hands up on his broad shoulders and give him a gentle push, turning him in the direction of Ardy. “See that guy?” Mano nods, and I allow him to face me again. “He is going to walk me to my car.”

  Mano takes a second look at Ardy, who is sinking…not much at all. “He’s got no b-ball game.”

  “Yeah, he sucks at driving, too,” I tell him.

  “Good thing he’s cute.” Mano and I grin at each other. “I mean, if you like that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah.” I allow my gaze to drift back to Ardy. “I think I like that kind of thing.”

  Mano takes off, and maybe half an hour later, our last customer does, too. It’s 9:15, and the place is empty except for me and Ardy. This late, no one is going to come by to start a night of go-karting, which means I can close up.

  It also means that I am utterly alone with Ardy in this huge, empty place. As I flick off lights in the party room and Ardy gets up from where he’s been dorking around on his phone at the snack tables, I have a moment of hesitation. Is this a bad idea? Not because Ardy is dangerous or scary (even though stupid Ian said that stupid thing), but because—despite our conversation where we admitted to desiring otherwise—I don’t know him that well.

  To be fair, it’s not exactly like I’ve let him get to know me, either.

  I should do something about that.

  Tonight.

  I step out of the party room, meeting Ardy in the middle by the wall of arcade games, and walk right past him. “Come on.” I don’t look back, but I know he’s following as instructed. I know because my entire body has gone into hyperalert. I can feel him behind me as I lead him along the narrow path on the edge of the pit.

  We walk past the length of the track and around the curve to where light shines from between the doors at the back. I open them and head inside to a big open spa
ce. Ardy moves to my side and looks around at the mechanical lift, the two parked go-karts, the walls of equipment, and the defunct Ms. Pac-Man game that my father keeps saying he’s going to get repaired. “What is this?”

  “Crash pad. Look.” I walk him to the go-karts and point to the big dent in the side of one. “We have a mechanic who comes every couple of days to fix any karts that have been damaged by people driving recklessly. She’s always appalled by how often we manage to mess them up.”

  “Moving too fast can be fun, but it can also screw things up.” Ardy gives me a look that is half serious and half overly dramatic.

  “You’re so deep,” I tell him.

  “Anyway, I’m sure I contributed to your mechanic’s workload this week.” Ardy grimaces. “You should apologize to her for me. I wasn’t very good out there.”

  “You did warn me. Besides, I’ve seen worse.” It’s only half a lie. “Sometimes we have a glow-in-the-dark race night. The next day this room is filled with effed-up cars.”

  “Okay, maybe that makes me feel better. A little.”

  “You can’t be good at everything.” I say it in my schoolmarm voice, which I immediately wish I hadn’t used, because it’s about the nerdiest thing I do. But it makes Ardy laugh.

  “Thank you, Miss Dayton.”

  “That’s Ms. Dayton.” I say it mock-sternly and then head over to the switches so I can turn off a bank of lights. “We’re going to do a lot of this before we leave,” I warn him.

  “Allow me, please.” Ardy bounds to my side and starts flipping switches. “I need to do something to restore my masculinity.”

  Privately I think that shouldn’t be a problem for Ardy. Sure, he’s not, like, the sports buffs at school, or one of the actor guys who’s constantly going on auditions, but he’s cute in his own way.

  It’s a way that I really like.

  Once the switches have been flipped, we leave the crash pad and return to the giant main room, where the overheads are now off. We make our way back along the path, with only the dim track lights to show us to the lobby.

  One more piece of the Wheelz puzzle to go.

  “Please note the snack counter,” I tell him as we walk past it. “On nights when we’re superslow, I’ve been known to clean the display windows six times.”

  “They’re spotless,” Ardy assures me.

  We cruise past the soda machines and popcorn maker to the back hallway, where I sign Mano and me out before continuing all the way to my dad’s office. There, I lock his door and then flick off the hallway lights.

  Which puts us in absolute darkness.

  “Damn,” I hear Ardy say from somewhere nearby.

  “Sorry. I should have warned you.” I take a step toward him, hand outstretched, and accidentally poke him in the ribs hard enough to make him jump. “The front switch doesn’t work.” It’s all very innocent, but suddenly I’m ultra-aware that we’re alone and standing in the dark. And my hand, which I’d originally yanked back, is now floating to Ardy. My fingers find the edge of his trench and wrap around it. “Come on.” I don’t think my voice is shaky, but I can’t be sure.

  I hold on to his jacket until I’ve shuffled past him, and then his hand slides up to my own. My fingers loosen of their own accord, allowing his to wrap around them. “This is spooky.” Ardy doesn’t reference the fact that we’re now holding hands. “Do you usually do this alone?”

  “Totally.” I start to muddle us back toward the front of the building, past the other office doors, pulling Ardy along with me as I shuffle through the darkness. “We’ve owned this place as long as I can remember. It was a point of pride when my dad started trusting me to work here, and then when I could help lock up. I don’t usually get to be here by myself, and when I am, it’s…”

  I don’t know how to explain it.

  “A little magical?” Ardy suggests, scuffling along behind me.

  “Kind of.” I shift our path to the right for the slight bend in the hallway that I know is there. “It’s more like I’m a boss. In control. Or that I’m in on some sort of secret.”

  “I like that,” Ardy says. “The secret of your family’s business.”

  “Yeah, and I know it should be scary, but instead all the shadows and smells…they’re like history.”

  “That seems really—” Ardy starts to say, but then, “OW, DAMN!”

  His hand jerks away from mine, and I immediately know what happened. He ran right into the thing that I avoided on instinct: a stack of soda cartons shoved haphazardly near the corner.

  “Are you okay?” I turn and stretch my hands out, taking careful steps toward him. “I should have warned you that was there—”

  But then I stop. Because my palms are flat against the canvas of his jacket.

  Which is flat against his chest.

  Which is moving up and down with his breathing.

  “Sorry.” It comes out as a whisper, because apparently that’s what sometimes happens to my voice when I’m with him.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers back, his hands sliding up to cover my own. They’re warm and narrow and smooth, and they make me lose all willpower. I take a step toward him, allowing my hands to part and slide around his rib cage under the edges of his jacket, following his bones until I can no longer discern where they begin and end, linking my hands together behind him. Ardy follows my lead, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him. I turn my head so my cheek is against his chest in the darkness.

  And then we stand like that for a long time.

  Quiet.

  Breathing.

  Until, even though I’m dying to kiss him, it’s been roughly a thousand years and he’s made no move in that direction, so I step back, turning away from him. His hands descend to my hips as I face the front of Wheelz and—without a word—start walking slowly.

  Very slowly.

  Pulling him with me.

  Frankly, I don’t want to reach the end, where we’ll be lit by the dim running lights under the snack counter. Where we’ll be able to see the front door and the world beyond this moment. Where it could look like an escape, an ending, an inevitability.

  We move that way for another half minute—Ardy’s hands on my hips, my feet shuffling ahead of his—and then he takes a larger step, catching up with me, holding me fast where I am. I pause, letting it happen. Allowing his arms to slide back around my waist, his head to dip to the side of my own. Ardy’s face is rough—the tiniest bit of stubble—against mine. I can see the glimmering light of the Wheelz entrance ahead of us, but now we’re paused.

  Stopped.

  Frozen.

  And this time, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like I’ve done it every day of my life, I turn to face Ardy. One of his hands runs up into my hair and gently guides me until our foreheads are touching. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

  I answer by tilting my head and pressing my mouth to his. And we’re kissing. This time I’m more sure of myself. Or maybe he is. I don’t know, but either way—oh my God, it’s working. My fingers are in his hair, traveling down his back, holding tight to his jacket. His hands are on my waist, my neck, my face.

  It lasts and lasts and lasts until I almost can’t breathe anymore….

  And then Ardy pulls away. I can’t see him because it’s too dark, but as he again sets his forehead against my own, I can feel and hear his breath. It’s calm and steady, and I don’t know how he’s managing to sound that way, because calm and steady are the last things I’m feeling right now.

  But I regulate my breath to meet his, in tandem with him. Inhaling the feeling and the scent of his body. And finally—

  Finally—

  Ardy says, “I like you.”

  It’s so blatant—so bald—that it takes me a minute to register. To be able to say, “I like you, to
o.”

  “Yeah?” I can’t see his smile, but I can feel it in the darkness. There’s a pause before he says, “Hey, Lark, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

  “Hmm.” I try to say the syllable in a way so that he can feel my smile right back at him. “I guess that depends on if you want to be my boyfriend.”

  “I think that might be cool.”

  “I think so, too,” I tell him.

  We stay there, leaning into each other.

  Cooper’s warning flits through my mind, but I brush it away.

  Because screw Cooper.

  And screw Katie.

  And screw Ian.

  And more than anything else, screw the game.

  It turns out that before now, I only thought I knew about kissing at school. Sure, I used to have my favorite locations to get busy, but Ardy and I are taking it to a whole new level. With the other boys, it was about sneaking around, doing it in private. With Ardy, everything’s right out there in the open. We are in the open. Like he’s proud of what we’re doing. Like he’s proud of me. Of us.

  It starts at my locker. I’ve taken a little extra time on my appearance this morning. Actually, that is a lie. I’ve taken a lot of extra time. But every minute spent straightening hair and highlighting brow arches and blending a dot of white shimmer into the center of my lower lip to make it look more pleasing and luscious was all done with the intention of seeming like I’d done nothing at all.

  Even Katie notices when she passes by me. “You look glowy,” she says. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “Shut up,” I hiss, and she laughs as she saunters away.

  I’m pulling out a textbook when Ardy lands beside me, leaning against the locker by mine. I look up, and for a second the fluorescents hit him at just the right angle for me to see my own image reflected in the lenses of his dark-rimmed glasses. I look eager and hopeful and excited, all of which makes me pull into myself, shrinking away, concentrating on shoving my textbook into my backpack. It’s a lot to see myself looking so…open.