Veronica accused me of deflating the thrill on a fairly regular basis. But deep down, I suspected she appreciated my foot-dragging nature. It’s as if I operated as her second conscience—the one that was fully functioning.
“I’m not magician’s-assistant bendable, like you. I’m five foot seven.” (Veronica was five foot three, which gave her a clear advantage in terms of making herself suitcase-size.) “I was thinking about something more like this.” I pointed to a medium-size green case.
“Why do you want to limit our options before we even go? The world is our clam,” she said.
“Oyster,” I corrected.
Veronica licked her finger and stuck it in the air, to notify me that I’d scored a point. Then she continued her search. It reminded me of the way she shopped for bras. She firmly believed that there was a perfect bra out there somewhere, made specifically for her cup size, back shape, and skin sensitivity. She referred to it as her “soul bra.” Those shopping expeditions always lasted for hours. I was starting to worry that Veronica believed there was such a thing as “soul luggage.”
“Look! Look!” Veronica’s voice was urgent but quiet.
Even though her personality showed signs of volatility, she was an extremely task-oriented person. I watched her energetically shove an orange suitcase off a gigantic red one.
“This one. This is my bag,” she said.
It looked like you could fit three goats in it.
“And here’s another one,” she said, pointing to an even larger red suitcase. “We’re set.”
I walked over and took the second red bag by its handle.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Veronica said. “And you’re right. I’ll climb in and give this baby a test run.”
She unzipped her bag as normally as you would a pair of jeans. Then she tipped the bag on its back and climbed inside. I watched her thin, flexible body curl itself into the shape of the letter U. Then she tucked her head down. She fit. She even had room to flex her feet.
“Zip me,” she said.
In the spirit of friendship, I leaned over and yanked the zipper around the bag’s perimeter as fast as I could.
“Ouch! You got some of my hair,” Veronica said. “In the future, you need to watch for that.”
“I’m leaving two inches unzipped near your feet,” I said. “So if something happens to me, you’ll be able to force your way out. Do you have enough oxygen?”
“Plenty,” came her muffled response.
As I hoisted the suitcase upright, extended the handle, and tugged Veronica into the fine jewelry section, I felt a certain excitement tumble through me. I liked having a friend who was so into risk-taking. Because without Veronica, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had nearly the amount of fun that I’d already had in life, especially over the last two years.
“Take me to hair care products,” Veronica said.
I turned the corner and steered her through the dregs of the season’s swimsuits. Pineapples near crotches. Papayas pasted right over boob areas. I only made it a few feet before I saw something incredibly disturbing.
“There’s people from school here!” I said.
“Guys?” Veronica asked.
“No. Suzanne Mack, Raquel Cesar, and Gloria Fitz.”
They were a trio of snobby, thin brunettes with asymmetrical haircuts. I might have expected to bump into them at the Ann Taylor store in Tower City Center, but crossing paths with them in this JC Penney took me by complete surprise.
I pulled the handle forward, tilting the bag into its roll position, and could feel the full weight of Veronica fall into my right hand. It made my forearm burn.
I felt like running. What if these three asked about Hamilton? It was too soon for me to discuss it. I was an open wound that hadn’t begun to scab over yet. If they asked one question, I was certain I’d bleed all over them. So I shoved my pain into a deep pocket somewhere and forced myself to look happy. Maybe they didn’t even know about me and Hamilton. How fast does breakup gossip spread in Parma during summer? Then again, how pathetic would I look if I pretended not to know about the demise of my own relationship?
I waved. “I’m buying a suitcase for Prague,” I said.
Suzanne, Raquel, and Gloria all abandoned the rounders of cotton shirts they were fingering and walked toward me.
“It’s big,” Suzanne said. “Are you taking a lot of shoes?”
“Well, I’ll be gone for a month!” I replied. “We leave in a week!”
“Prague sounds cool,” Suzanne said. “Lots of supermodels come from there.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“They’re very angular people,” Raquel said.
“Yeah,” said Gloria. “It’s the bones that make the face.” As she spoke, she tilted her head, making her earrings swim in the air. They looked like silver mallards. Even though I wasn’t dating Hamilton anymore, I wanted to know where she’d gotten them. Because I knew he’d love them. They’d be the perfect jewelry to wear to our reconciliation dinner, if we ever had one.
“I love your earrings,” I told her. “Where did you buy them?”
Gloria shrugged. “Online.”
“What Web site?” I asked.
She shrugged again, a little annoyed. “I can’t remember exactly. A duck one. Hey, where’s Veronica?”
“She’s around.”
Gloria shook her head, making her razor-straight black hair and silver ducks shiver around her face. “I heard the police are looking for her. Will she even be allowed to travel internationally?”
“I heard that too,” Suzanne said.
In a display of either judgment or hostility, all three of them folded their arms across their chests.
“You mean that whole warrant thing?” I asked.
The “warrant for Veronica’s arrest” rumor had arisen in May regarding a traffic violation. I thought it had blown over.
“This isn’t about her speeding tickets,” Gloria said. She uncrossed her arms and walked closer to me. I continued to hold the suitcase at an angle. Veronica grew heavier as the seconds ticked by.
“She and Boz are in trouble,” Gloria whispered.
I felt my stomach tighten. It appeared likely that whatever Gloria Fitz was about to tell me was true. Veronica and Boz had finally gone out and done something so disastrously stupid and illegal that they’d both be locked up in the big house and my trip to Prague would evaporate.
“What did they do?” I asked.
“They got caught last night removing construction materials from a building site,” Gloria said. “Somebody wrote down Boz’s license plate number. They’re in big trouble. BIG.”
Gloria’s father was a judge. I didn’t think she was lying.
“What kind of stuff?” I asked.
“Building supplies,” Gloria said. “You know. Hammers. Saws. Sheetrock. Crap like that.”
“Veronica stole Sheetrock?” I asked. This made no sense.
“That stuff is worth money,” Raquel said.
“How do you know it was Boz and Veronica?” I asked. Maybe it was simply two people who looked like Boz and Veronica, who happened to be driving Boz’s car.
“It was Boz in the car for sure. Maybe it wasn’t Veronica who was with him,” Raquel said, almost smiling. Her lipstick made her mouth look purple, like she had entered the early stages of hypothermia. I didn’t have a chance to respond.
“You’re lying!” Veronica yelled from inside the bag. “Get me out!”
The red suitcase leaped away from me and fell onto its back.
“She’s in the suitcase,” Gloria said. “It’s Veronica Knox.”
Veronica didn’t wait for me to unzip her. She kicked against the bag’s wall, until the top peeled away. Then, puffing and sweaty, she punched the lid off and crawled out.
“You’re insane,” Suzanne said. “You just wrecked that bag.”
“Yeah, well, you three can’t walk through the women’s casual section of
a store saying lies about people. That’s slander. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with us?” Raquel asked. “Us?”
“I wasn’t lying,” Gloria said. “It’s the truth.”
“No it’s not. I wasn’t even with Boz last night!”
“Well, Boz was with somebody. It’s in the police report,” Gloria said.
Veronica stood doe-eyed and stunned. Then her anger surfaced, and she focused her glare on Gloria.
“He’s way too spastic anyway,” Gloria said. “Kiss him good-bye and you’ll be better off.”
I knew that would send Veronica over the edge. Nobody insulted Boz to her face, even with valid criticisms. And nobody told her what to do.
“You have no soul,” Veronica said.
“You’re overreacting,” Suzanne said.
“Guys are unpredictable,” Gloria offered.
“I feel like making a death threat right now,” Veronica said.
By this time a few shoppers had stopped culling through sales racks and were staring at us.
“Don’t say the words ‘death threat,’” I whispered. “We’re in a mall.”
“You’re so hyper,” Gloria said. “Dial it down.”
“But this is your fault!” Veronica said, kicking the bag toward the trio.
“That almost hit my foot,” Gloria said.
“We should go,” I suggested, turning away from all of them.
“You are awful people,” Veronica said. “And I’m not going to leave until I tell you all the ways you suck.”
I stopped and turned around. This might take a few minutes. Veronica was a gifted orator.
“I know that you and your gang are lying about Boz. You are all liars! And spoilers. Always trying to ruin other people’s lives. It’s like all that the three of you know how to do is invade people’s happiness and crap on it.”
“We’re not a gang,” Gloria said.
“Yes you are. You’re a gang of crappers! You follow each other like horses, one after the other, looking for happiness so you can crap all over it.” Veronica took a big breath and kept going. “And Dessy and I are going to buy our suitcases for Prague and leave here and enjoy our freaking lives. And you, you three pathetic, gutless wannabe hipsters, you can watch our butts as we leave.”
Veronica pivoted and walked toward the luggage section. I followed her. I couldn’t look at Suzanne. Or Raquel. Or Gloria. If they were laughing, I couldn’t bear to see it.
Veronica picked out a new bag for herself and one for me. “I’ll get them both.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know. But I think I made you feel uncomfortable just now. And I didn’t mean to. So, as an apology, I’d like to buy your bag for you.”
I glanced at the price tag. It cost over a hundred dollars. I really didn’t have the money to buy a new suitcase. I’d be traveling to Prague with roughly three hundred dollars that I’d scraped together in the last few months. With the new case, only two hundred.
“Okay,” I said.
Veronica’s face was a deep red, frustrated color. I could tell she regretted what had just happened. I’d never seen her flip out this badly before in public. It was a disconcerting development.
As Veronica and I rolled our suitcases across the parking lot, she surprised me again.
“I need to see Boz immediately.”
“Aren’t you going to drop me at home first?” I asked. I had no desire to witness one of their fights. Sometimes they threw stuff at each other. Like lamps. And shoes. And nectarines.
“I want you to come,” she said.
“No. You two should work this out alone.”
Veronica dropped into the driver’s seat. She was still red. “Please,” she said.
“No.”
She leaned over me and popped open the glove box. She took out an oversize tube of glitter lotion and flipped up the cap. “I’m chafing!” she said. “Look at me.”
“I don’t think you’re chafing,” I said.
Veronica loved body glitter and utilized it as often as possible. Glistening like a decorated cupcake made her feel extra special, and that was something Veronica valued.
“Do you want any?” she asked.
“I don’t,” I said.
I watched her squeeze out a generous dollop and smear it on her arms until the cream vanished and left behind a layer of sparkles.
“I’m begging you to come to Boz’s with me,” she said.
I held firm. “No.”
She threw the tube of lotion into the backseat with enough velocity to smack the rear window.
“Dessy, I need you.” Her voice trembled with authentic dread. And that was an emotion I could relate to.
“Can I stay in the car?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I said, but I regretted my decision already.
“I’m really glad you’re coming with me, Dessy. Because I’m so mad right now, I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
Chapter Three
We pulled into Boz Tidwell’s driveway, and Veronica slammed her car into park. Afternoon had shifted toward evening, and the temperature had fallen. Through a second-story window, I could see Boz at his computer. Backlit by a lamp, his head cast an exaggerated silhouette on the drapes. He looked like a giant, though in reality, even when he spiked his brown hair, he was only five feet six.
“Who do you think he was with?” Veronica asked me. She was breathing purposefully, releasing air out of her flaring nostrils at two-second intervals.
“Maybe he wasn’t with anybody,” I said.
“Gloria took way too much pleasure in telling me he was with somebody. That means it was the truth.” She cracked open her door. I locked mine.
“Would you please come with me?” Veronica asked.
“You said I could stay in the car.” I stretched my legs and leaned back in the seat.
“But I feel like I want to hit him in the head with an iron,” she said, pounding her fist on the dash. I glanced at her. The driver’s side section of the windshield was totally fogging up.
“Well, don’t,” I said.
“What if he was out stealing building supplies with Celerie? He’s not supposed to break the law with anybody but me. It’s a couple thing. Don’t you get that? Doesn’t he get that? And Celerie Sandoval? I hate foreign exchange students. They have no concept of American fidelity!”
I wanted to point out that a few hours ago it was Veronica who was contemplating “roaming” like a cheetah. Maybe she needed to take a good look at her relationship. If she was already feeling the impulse to carouse at seventeen, her union with Boz probably wasn’t all that fantastic. But I figured I’d try a safer response.
“You are so much more attractive than Celerie,” I said. “And way more interesting.”
“But she’s from Honduras, and everybody knows that’s an extremely liberal country. I think their government even encourages its citizens to do it on public buses.” Veronica swung her legs out of the car and turned her back to me.
“I know a lot about Honduras, and I’ve never heard that. You’re letting your imagination run wild.”
I could tell Veronica was crying. She didn’t cry often, only when something terrible was happening.
“Do you have your cell phone?” she asked me.
“Why?”
“Because if you hear screams or the sound of somebody’s skull being split open, you should probably dial 911.”
I wanted to hold her back. I was her best friend. Calming her down felt like my job.
“Veronica, I need a favor.”
“You want a favor right now?”
“Yes. I want you to walk around the house five times before you ring the doorbell.”
“No.”
“I think you should. I mean, you don’t look good. Your face is blotchy. And you’re making really tight fists. Boz’s mom has never seen you like this. You might ruin her impressi
on of you.”
Veronica clucked her tongue. “Well, I’m not going to walk around his house five times. I’d look psycho. I’ll walk around the block once. And then I’m going in.”
“Fine,” I said.
Veronica got out of the car and hung a hard left, setting off down the sidewalk at a good clip. I opened my door to get some fresh air. I knew Boz wasn’t cheating on Veronica, but I was surprised that he would hang out with another girl. He knew that would unhinge Veronica. That’s why he’d never done it. Until now.
She and Boz fought a lot. It seemed oddly necessary for them, like they had all this extra energy, and if they didn’t erupt periodically at each other, they might overheat at night and explode in their separate beds.
Yes, there would be a fight. Yelling. Wild gesticulation of arms. Screaming. Tossing of random items from Veronica. Boz shielding himself from objects. Extreme cursing. Crying. Further gesticulation of arms, but less frenzied. Apologizing. Hugging. At which point Veronica would walk to where I was waiting and ask if I wanted to drive her car to my house, where she’d retrieve it later. “Things are fine now,” she’d say, smiling, as she walked back to Boz. Yes. That’s the note I was hoping they’d hit: Things are fine now.
When Veronica came back from her journey around the block, she looked more furious than when she’d left. She was blotchier. And her pink eyes were now filled with rage. She walked right to my door.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I thought I saw Celerie,” she said. She was crying and biting her lip with such intensity that I worried she might draw blood.
“Was it Celerie?” I asked.
“No, it was some other anorexic-looking brunette wearing paisley pants.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Paisley pants,” she whimpered. “Nobody’s worn those since the Depression. How could that out-of-date tramp turn his head?”
“Maybe you should walk around the block again,” I said.
“My heart feels like it’s breaking inside of me,” she said. “Like it’s being dissolved in battery acid.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. But really I thought she was overreacting.
Veronica shook her head, and a fat tear spattered onto the driveway.
“I know I joke about unloading Boz, but that’s not what I want at all,” she said.
A Field Guide for Heartbreakers Page 2