Broken

by Tanille Edwards

  I focused my attention on Mrs. Gates, the young, new yoga instructor. “Young ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my yoga heaven. We want to get rid of our stress on the mat, and acquire peace, happiness, and Zen. This is the perfect time to get energized right before lunch,” Mrs. Gates said.

  “I almost spit up at her announcement,” Sierra texted me. I realized then I needed to keep my phone turned down so no one would know when I had a message.

  “Where is Cece?” I texted.

  “Yoga at 2,” Sierra texted.

  “Aw. Not cool,” I texted.

  “I spot her friend in the back,” Sierra texted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, sugar?” Cara texted. I turned and caught Melissa’s eye. We waved hello. Then Henrietta, to my surprise, smiled and waved to me too. When I turned back around, Mrs. Gates was up on her feet in Mountain pose. Then she started the Vinyasa. A break from the gossip, my gossip, until later.

  Chapter 23 Give Me a Break

  It would appear that my thoughts at gym were premature. Cara beat me to the lunchroom. I walked up to the glass double doors. There Cara was, with lunch and a box in tow. “Let’s ditch lunch. I got us a serving of the best Thai food in town and a board game.” Cara said.

  “A game?” I said.

  “Nothing like a game of Operation to take your mind off the break-up blues, sugar.” Cara turned me about face. Then she grabbed my arm and led me away to an empty homeroom. I had been kidnapped! By Cara! The silly part was that it was the first time I had felt at ease all day. The painful pinch in my stomach had gone away.

  I was ashamed to admit that I had never played Operation before. “My mother and I used to play this all the time,” Cara said. That was only the second time she’d ever brought up the subject of her mom.

  Lunch went by in a flash. When Cara packed up the game and announced it was sixth period, I had felt like I had just stepped off a time machine. I hadn’t looked at my watch once like I usually did to keep an eye on the time during lunch. Every time the man’s nose lit up, I’d lose. I was finally getting the hang of it. I had the heart in the palm of my hand. Cara looked at me curiously. I opened my hand to put it in the box. Cara closed it back. “You can keep it. I’ll keep the game in my locker for the next time. With boys, always keep their heart in your hand. Not the other way around,” she said.

  “I’ll see you,” I said. Were those really words of wisdom?

  The rest of school was surprisingly bearable. The pinch did come back. But having that little heart was helpful. I pretended it was Noel’s. I saw Merek right before I walked into the door of my eighth period class. I felt sad and confused. All those video diaries I complained about, suddenly I wished I could see the one of his first day of school. This was bad. Very murky.

  After eighth period, my African American Lit class was full of soft La-Z-Boy chairs and a large round table. I couldn’t see the faces of some of the students when they were answering questions. The confusion only sent me to the bathroom.

  I decided to head to the sixth-floor wheelchair bathroom. I hoped that it hadn’t undergone some Martha Stewart-style makeover. I hadn’t checked my phone since before lunch. I pulled it out of my bag to find like 15 messages from Sierra. “I can’t believe you ditched us for lunch and now you’re not answering,” she texted. After reading the first one, I didn’t bother reading the rest. I was sad enough. I didn’t need to feel bad about not eating with the twins.

  “Tell me you weren’t bawling in the bathroom without me and Si. We would be there for you. Put your world back together,” Frenchy texted. I saw there was a text from Merek. It was then that I threw my phone back in my bag.

  The bathroom was clear. Not a girl in sight. I slowly closed the door behind me. I leaned against it for support. I didn’t know how long I stood against that door—until I stopping feeling like I was going to pass out. I felt like a bad person. Merek was clearly so upset with me. I thought I was doing right by him. But it felt so wrong. It was like it wasn’t me. I wasn’t a heartbreaker. It was only a few minutes later that I got the idea that I needed fresh air. I was a good girl, a good student. I went back to class.

  The next period came quickly. I found myself just standing in the hallway peering out the window at the sun. I should not have been skipping my study period. I checked my watch. It was 20 minutes after 2 p.m. I could still waltz into the library, I thought.

  I took my last deep breath. I turned around. Then I jumped back. Cara was standing literally on my heels. “Gosh, sugar,” she said.

  “What?” I asked. She smiled and shook her head. She didn’t know it, but she was the last person I expected to be in there. “How did you find me?”

  “Girl has her ways. I have something phenomenal planned for us.” She yet again grabbed me by the arm and led me away.

  Next thing I knew, we were downstairs in front of the school. The fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks. The driver of a white Rolls-Royce came to us and took off his hat. Cara smiled. “Good afternoon, Cara,” he said.

  “This is Milan,” she said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Milan,” he said. He walked over and opened the backseat door.

  “Sweet ride,” I said.

  “Daddy’s Christmas gift,” Cara said.

  “This is your car,” I said.

  “Silly. This breakup has you all turned about,” Cara said.

  I checked Merek’s text message. “Don’t give up on me. I’m fixing us. I need you,” he texted.

  I was a bad girlfriend. Give up? I wasn’t giving up, was I? I looked at Cara. She sat quietly, sort of neatly arranged, as if she were posing. She peered out the window at the snow-laden sidewalks of Fifth. I was a bad girlfriend to Noel, too. That is probably why he didn’t want me back. It was then I realized that he maybe didn’t love me. I could have gone back to see him. Since when did I listen to Daddy? Would he love me more if I had gone to boarding school for him? I always knew he would come home. I had waited. It just didn’t seem to be enough.

  “I’m so done,” I said.

  “Boys? You can’t live without them. Tell me you know that,” Cara said.

  “I appreciate reminders.” Especially ones that I thought were particularly depressing.

  “You know Rex Wings?” Cara said.

  “I love, love, love Rex Wings,” I said.

  “I know.” We pulled up to this Art Deco-style hotel in Tribeca.

  Walking into the place was odd. It was like an out-of-body experience. Why hadn’t I been to Cara’s apartment before? Cara wrapped her arm around my shoulders and I nearly jumped. I kind of thought we were going to my house.

  I had to give it to her—the place was hot. Everything was a variation of a gray slate color. Even the kitchen cabinets were the color of gray slate. When you walked in the door, there was an open kitchen that sprawled into the living room. I could spot the bag on the kitchen counter from the door. Rex. I was so ecstatic I just walked into the kitchen and unpacked the goods. It was sort of rude. I realized after getting a healthy whiff of the wings. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sugar, please. This is for us, doll face. I also have a selection of only the best teen movies waiting for us.” She pulled up a list of movies: “Twilight,” “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,” “Mean Girls,” “Oz The Great and Powerful.”

  For a second, I almost felt thankful I had met Cara. She was saving me. This was the best I had felt all day. Yet I couldn’t altogether forget her spying on me.

  “Cara, this is so sweet.”

  “I had a bad breakup in sophomore year. Good food and movies are the only things that kept me alive.” She laughed. I wasn’t at the amusement stage of the breakup yet.

  “What should we watch first?” I asked.

  “‘She’s All That.’”

  “Cool.” I snuggled in a white stool at the bar. I noticed the stylish white leather couch. It was thin and sleek, the kind you would find in a psychiatrist’s office. The dining room table wa
s white as well. This place was strictly color-coordinated. Nothing like the way Cara dressed. I was reminded when I saw her pink Mary Janes by the door. Fashion-heavy or not, I was beginning to think I had misjudged Cara—only beginning to think that, not totally convinced.

  Around the time they made the bet over who would get the girl, Cara snuggled in the L section of the couch under a gray and green throw. She started in on a piece of pecan sweet potato pie. I realized then that no one had really done anything like this for me before. When I couldn’t see Noel anymore, no one except Winter had taken care of me. She had moved by then, but she texted me every night. We watched shows together and made jokes via text until we feel asleep. She came to visit me—not the very day Daddy threatened me, but she came for me. Winter always did.

  “I knew you were a movie type of girl,” Cara said. I smiled. I kind of was. I hadn’t been much of a movie girl lately, though. Work had taken a lot of my time, then studying and boys. I poured myself a full glass of lemonade I found in the fridge. I sat down next Cara. “You never seemed like a music kind of girl to me.”

  “I’m not. I don’t even have a favorite song.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “My mom always used to tell me how she danced with me to Whitney’s ‘The Greatest Love’ when I was a baby. It was her favorite song of all time, I think.”

  “It is a good song.” I smiled because only I knew I’d never heard it. The housekeeper came over to me.

  “I brought you a cover,” she said. I took it and smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you.”

  “Milan is a supermodel,” Cara said.

  “No. Thank you.” I brushed off the supermodel nonsense.

  “Well, you are very beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You are very kind.” Cara gave me a dirty look. The housekeeper slowly backed away. “She’s nice.”

  “She is just the help. It’s not that deep.”

  “I love this part,” I said.

  “It’s cute,” Cara said. We watched the rest of the movie without speaking. Closed caption would have been nice. But I had seen that movie already.

  Halfway through the second movie, Cara went to the kitchen for some more food. When she returned, she had a silver tray with her dinner china full of wings.

  “I’m going green, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right. No more plastic bags or plastic anything unless it’s a reusable water bottle. I have even cut my showers down to four minutes. And I recycle.”

  “Recycling is the state law.”

  “I’ve been doing it before it was the law.”

  Right then, I missed Sierra. She would chime in with an appropriate “As if.”

  “That is nice.”

  “Milan,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “You are so simple and nice. Nothing like what one would imagine you to be.” She laughed.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “You do realize, you are monumentally epic?”

  “Not really.”

  “So if we go downstairs to the magazine store, I won’t see a magazine with your face on in it.”

  “I don’t know. It’s work.” I was starting to feel a little awkward.

  “I have to say something. I wish I were you.” She laughed.

  Now it was creepy. Had she poisoned my food or something? In a movie, this would be about the time someone would say, “This is the reason I have to kill you.” I hadn’t forgotten what Winter told me about Cara. They weren’t just rumors—they were in her diary, according to Frenchy. I had to remind myself.

  “I think if my mom saw me on the cover of a magazine, things could be different.”

  “Things could be different maybe anyway.”

  “Doll face, if I were you, I would be such a jerk because I know people would love me anyway,” she said.

  “Who are you kidding?” It was such a matter-of-fact thought. It seemed so obvious. It just slipped out.

  “I see.” Cara shrugged. Then she laughed. “Who am I kidding? This is why you’re so epic. I’m already a jerk, and people still love me!” Dimitri sure did.

  I woke up around 12, sprawled on Cara’s sofa. We had watched so many movies I fell asleep. The strangest things came to me at night. It was then I reminded myself of my secret. No one knew Noel was home and that we had spoken. Winter once told me a smart girl always kept her cards close to her vest.

  Lying on the coffee table were a white robe, white slippers, and pink pajamas. They were tied together with a pale green Easter kind of ribbon—a reminder I was definitely at Cara’s house. The note attached was written in beautiful calligraphy. “Milan, please stay in my guest room. It is down the hall, next to the guest bathroom. I left the fireplace on for you. Bestie! Cara!”

  Bestie? Hmmm. I was sleeping over. I guess we were close. I guess?

  Chapter 24 Tennis, What?

  This was my first time at the twins’ house since the breakup. I found myself secretly praying the twins wouldn’t hang me out to dry for sleeping over at Cara’s. Frenchy hadn’t said much to me except “Hi” all week. Sierra was business as usual. If I had a sister, she’d have to be like Sierra (protective), like Frenchy (loyal), and a little like Winter (bad girl only on the outside). Winter could keep a secret like no other.

  In the car on the way to the house, I was reminded of my Nana—something about the way my uniform smelled. She washed and ironed everything. It smelled like her, like sweet roses. Even though I wasn’t a little girl anymore, at night, when I slept over, my grandmother would come to my room and brush my hair and put it into a tight ballerina bun. Then she’d beat on my arm the rhythm of the jazz music that she and Grandpapa adored. They played jazz every night and danced like butterflies to what she called the greats: Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie, Louis Armstrong, and Ella. I wondered if my father was adopted. He was nothing like them. My Nana was inquisitive—nothing like Daddy. She wanted to know why I had come to see them so often. I told her there was no reason. She said, “Pretty girl like you. There is boy trouble, no?” I wondered what she would think of me if I told her. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.

  “I don’t want to be home alone,” I said.

  “Your father should be home? He works, you know,” she said. Like that, I suddenly became tired and we said good night.

  When the car pulled up, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t have anything with me but my school bag. I was a poor excuse for a hobo. Sierra’s closet was mine. And mine was hers.

  “In the elevator,” I texted Sierra.

  “Hold your breath,” Sierra texted.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll wait for u 2 at the door.” I watched the golden elevator doors open.

  “Funny? Huh?” Sierra said.

  “Is Sierra even home?”

  “Milan, stop playing!” Sierra said.

  It was then my mouth dropped.

  “Oh, my god! You look just like Frenchy.”

  “No, I don’t. Not just like. Maybe highly similar.”

  “I thought you were her.”

  “Word.” Sierra’s face lit up with glee. Strange.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Sierra let out a deep sigh. I watched the black hairs dance around her face. “Yesterday, you were honey blonde. I don’t see you for one day and suddenly you’re a Frenchy doll!”

  “As if! No one would ever make a doll out of Frenchy.”

  “You don’t have a leg to stand on with that one,” I said. This was so confusing. Sierra and Frenchy wouldn’t be caught dead with the same hairstyle. I sat in the pink La-Z-Boy recliner in Sierra’s room, contemplating the possible reasons for this fiasco.

  “I’m in math class yesterday, AP Calc. Frenchy has it too in the morning, first thing. The teacher handed me my first 56! Then she pulls me aside and says, ‘You better come after school for tutoring.’ So at 2:30, I waited. I w
as still in shock. I couldn’t believe I got so many questions wrong. I studied. I studied really hard.”

  “It’s okay. It is just one test.”

  “It’s not okay. Professor Alexandra asked me to drop the class.”

  “No. She can’t make you.”

  “She said one more grade like that, even with 90s on every other test, I will have a hard time scoring above a C at the end of the semester.”

  “I don’t believe that. Did you try out some averages? Maybe she is trying to spook you,” I said.

  “I’m not a horse.”

  “How many tests are there?”

  “Four,” she said.

  “You won’t fail the next test.”

  “I was the only person there for tutoring.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I’ve failed tests before,” I said.

  “Frenchy got a 92 on that test.”

  “Is that why you changed your hair?”

  “I’m better at math than she is. And all of my teachers like me except this one.”

  “What does Frenchy think about Professor Alexandra?” I said.

  “You couldn’t guess. ‘Oh, Professor Alex’—that’s what she calls her—‘Professor Alex is a genius. Finally, there’s a class that makes going to school worthwhile,’ she says.”

  “She said that?”

  “You know it.”

  Frenchy sauntered into the room with her hair pulled up in a ballerina bun.

  “Only after I told her I got a 56.”

  Frenchy slumped into the pink La-Z-Boy across from mine.

  “What do you think about Professor Alexandra? Is she nice?” I asked.

  “To me, yes. She said I reminded her of herself when she was in college,” Frenchy said.

  “Today, she made me sit in on a regular calculus class. She said she doesn’t think I can pass the Advanced Placement exam,” Sierra said.

  “Well, she can’t make you do anything,” Frenchy said.

  “But, if I fail that class I won’t graduate.”