A Field Guide for Heartbreakers

by Kristen Tracy

  “Nice belt,” I said.

  “Are you talking to me?” Roger asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I like your belt.”

  “I’m surprised you can see it when I’m sitting down,” he said.

  Roger made a good point. While in a seated position, his belt was hidden under his shirt.

  “I noticed it while you were standing,” I said. “Sometimes it takes me a while to form compliments.”

  Roger laughed at me. And I couldn’t blame him. “Thanks,” he said.

  I stayed stiff and didn’t lean in any direction for the rest of the ride. What was wrong with me? Every time I opened my mouth around a guy, I had the potential to sound like a freak. Who openly admits to staring at the area located just above a guy’s crotch? Apparently I did.

  Kite and Waller parked the shoe-car in front of the dorm. Roger escorted Veronica and me back to our room.

  “Do you need anything to eat?” he asked.

  “No,” Veronica said. “I’m fine.”

  “Dessy?”

  “I’m fine too,” I said.

  We all looked at each other as if we knew we needed to part ways, but we also felt obligated to say more.

  “You two take it easy,” he said finally.

  He left me with Veronica in the hallway outside our room.

  “Do you think Corky is in there?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.” Veronica swiped her card and walked directly to the bathroom. I heard her brushing her teeth. Nobody was there. Not Corky. Not Annie Earl. Not Brenda. I opened our bedroom door and lay down on my unmade bed, exhausted. Confronting the remains of the dead and your personal flaws was a lot to pack into one afternoon.

  Veronica slammed our bedroom door shut, kicked off her sandals, and climbed into her bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I really was.

  Veronica pulled the covers over her head. I ignored this easy grab for isolation and walked across the room to sit beside her sulking lump.

  “You’re not the only one with gaping imperfections,” I said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked. “Don’t be like this. You’re acting very passive-aggressive.”

  Veronica threw the covers off her head, leaving several strands of hair swimming in the static air above her.

  “I don’t think that now is the time to be hypercritical of me,” she said.

  “Okay. But we were only in that church a few minutes. How many bones could you have seen?”

  Veronica slapped my leg.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Are you kidding me? How many bones did I see? They were everywhere, Dessy. I couldn’t not see bones. It’s what Disneyland would look like if Walt Disney had been a freak of nature with a bone perversion.”

  “I know,” I said, thinking back to the chandelier. Apparently it had been composed of every bone in the human body. “It was pretty intense.”

  “Those images are burned into my head forever. Can you imagine what my dreams are going to be like now?”

  “Listen,” I said. “Don’t torture me about this. I feel like rubber. My relationship with Waller has become absurd. When it comes to guys, I’m a failure.”

  “God, Dessy. What did you expect would happen with Waller when you began openly flirting with Roger?”

  I stood up. I couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Don’t play dumb,” Veronica said.

  “But I didn’t!”

  “You did. You touched Roger’s shoulder and complimented his belt!”

  “So?” I said.

  “Flirt!” she yelled at me. Then she reached out and mockingly put her hand on my shoulder.

  I swatted it away. I was angry. At Veronica. At myself. At my current situation. At my years of subservience. Still, I couldn’t see a solution to any of it.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Corky has the worst timing,” Veronica said.

  “Maybe it’s not Corky,” I said.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Go away!” Veronica said. “And take your deranged ass and plant it somewhere where somebody has the desire to see it. Do you hear me, Corky Tina Baker?”

  “It’s Waller,” the voice said.

  “What do you want?” Veronica asked.

  “I forgot to give you my story.”

  Great. The last thing I needed was for Veronica to read his story. Veronica rolled away from me and stood up. She opened the door a crack and took the papers from Waller. Then she closed the door and turned to me. Her face appeared surprised.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I have some bad news.”

  “How bad?”

  “Oh, it’s bad,” she said, exhaling dramatically.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You know how you like Waller?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That might change.”

  “Why? Did he tell you something?”

  She shook her head. “Worse.”

  “What is it?” I felt breathless.

  “Waller doesn’t have eyebrows anymore.”

  “Are you sure?” I realized that question sounded dumb. But he had just dropped us off a few minutes ago, and he’d totally still had eyebrows.

  “Yeah. Do you want me to make any adjustments to the hot-dudes?” she asked.

  I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her. Then at the man-wall.

  “I know it’s shocking,” Veronica said. “It looks like Frank shaved them off. I bet he went crazy and ambushed him.”

  “You’re lying!” I said.

  Veronica handed me a copy of Waller’s story. “Nope,” she said. “That’s your job. I’m going to take a nap.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Watching Veronica sleep did nothing to calm my nerves. Corky still wanted to kill us. I had no connection with my father. Hamilton was right about every single last one of my flaws. Plus, in addition to giving away Veronica’s favorite plot point to Waller, it turned out that I was a complete liar to boot. Also, I’d inadvertently flirted with Roger, who I didn’t even really like. (Did I?!) And now the guy I’d been falling in love with didn’t have eyebrows. How was a seventeen-year-old supposed to cope with this?

  I decided to read Corky’s story because hers was up next. I dove into it optimistically, hoping the piece would show her kinder, gentler side.

  Every fairy has a breaking point. And Lilith had definitely reached hers.

  “Are you sure he deserves to die?” Cecil asked.

  “Yes,” Lilith said, drawing her blade against a whetstone. The point was so sharp, it looked like it could bisect a mosquito.

  “You mean you can’t forgive him?” Cecil asked.

  Lilith held the blade under the glowing moon.

  “Maybe you could just punch him in the face and then tear off his wings,” Cecil said.

  Lilith sighed, her white face burdened by her upcoming job.

  “No,” she said. “His heart needs to stop. I’m sure.”

  At fourteen, Cecil was too undeveloped to understand why one fairy needed to kill another fairy. There were rules in place. Rule one: You can’t lie to another fairy. Rule two: You must honor every fairy’s secret. Rule three: You can’t break another fairy’s heart.

  Lilith had never killed a man before. She returned the knife to its sheath and licked her lips.

  “I’ll hack him apart before midnight.”

  Cecil shook her sad head. “I won’t wait up.”

  The death scene in Corky’s story gave me goose bumps. The closing paragraph approached a pornographic level of violence that made me check the lock on the door and window. In it, the fairy graphically butchers the unfaithful guy. I was stunned. The fairy had no conscience. She was methodical and quick. And Corky seemed so comfortable analyzing the torturous way the man was split apart.

  Even though it didn’t seem like
the perfect solution, I decided to reach out to the one person you’re supposed to reach out to in a dire situations like this: your mother. But before I could make my way to the lobby, I first had to successfully leave my room. I got down on my hands and knees and peeked under the door. I didn’t see any feet or shadows. It was time to make my quick getaway.

  I grabbed some cash out of my desk drawer; that’s when I noticed Waller’s story lying on Veronica’s desk. I snatched it. Waller had titled it “How to Break My Heart.” I held the pages to my chest; he was so intro-spective and romantic. But now I needed to get rid of them.

  I watched Veronica’s chest rise and fall. She looked so unsuspecting. I doubted that my friendship with Veronica could survive another betrayal, so I stuffed the stories into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. After a quick mirror check, I grabbed my keys and slipped through the door.

  “What’s your hurry?” a voice called.

  I froze. Annie Earl and Corky were eating white puffy rolls at the kitchen table.

  “Did you know that Corky has traveled extensively through Turkey?” Annie Earl asked me.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know that Annie Earl and Corky were friends. Why would Annie Earl want to be friends with Corky?

  “It’s good to see the world while you’re young,” Annie Earl continued.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Where are you going?” Corky asked.

  “Out,” I said.

  “Do you want a roll?” Annie Earl asked. “Corky bought them at a bakery. They’re still warm.”

  I glanced at the rolls. Here it was again. The “zoo strategy.” Corky was a masterful manipulator. They looked delicious and smelled buttery. But I didn’t want to be indebted to Corky for anything. Even carbs.

  “Is Veronica taking a nap?” Corky asked.

  I glanced at our bedroom door. At this time I didn’t feel comfortable disclosing Veronica’s whereabouts or sleep state.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Well, gotta go!”

  “You’re in a hurry,” Annie Earl observed.

  “I need to make a phone call.”

  “Are you going to the lobby?” Corky asked.

  Oh my god. I’d inadvertently disclosed my plans. Corky was so treacherous.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Why don’t you use the phone in your room?” Annie Earl asked.

  “Um,” I said. “I’m dialing out.”

  “You can dial out on the phone in your room,” Annie Earl said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I’m surprised Veronica didn’t tell you that,” Corky said. “I helped her figure out how to call her boyfriend in Ohio.”

  What? Was Corky lying?

  “Well,” I said. “The lobby phone is cheaper.”

  Annie Earl and Corky looked at each other.

  “No it’s not,” Corky said. “It costs way more.”

  I felt like an idiot. “Well, I like the privacy.”

  Annie Earl looked at me and tilted her head in confusion. “But aren’t there always a lot of people in the lobby?”

  I felt like I was saying such random, stupid things. I needed to leave. “Talking in crowds doesn’t bother me,” I said. “I feel very hidden. Hey, I better go before it gets late. Bye!”

  And I ran out of the room, tore down the hallway, and flew down the staircase toward the lobby. Once I got to the phone, I fed it my money, entered all the necessary codes, and waited for my mother to answer.

  MOM: Dessy? It’s late here. Is everything okay?

  ME: Yes.

  MOM: Why are you calling?

  ME: I didn’t feel like we’d finished our first conversation.

  MOM: Are you sure nothing is wrong? Your father said that you met a boy?

  ME: No. No. No.

  MOM: You didn’t meet a boy?

  ME: I did meet a guy named Waller. We’re just friends.

  MOM: I think it’s good to get out there and look at all the fish.

  ME: Yeah. I’m looking.

  MOM: Good.

  ME: You know what I’ve been wondering about? What was Grandpa like?

  MOM: Your Grandpa Gherkin and your Grandpa Polk are both still alive. What do you mean?

  ME: I mean, what was your relationship like with Grandpa Polk?

  MOM: (Sigh)

  ME: Was he really involved in your life? Or was he—

  MOM: I’d say your Grandpa Polk was a lot like your dad. A good, hardworking man. Why are you thinking about your grandparents? Are you homesick?

  ME: Something like that.

  MOM: Dessy, you sound tired.

  ME: To be honest, I’m experiencing a little friction with my roommate.

  MOM: I knew there was something wrong. Is it Veronica?

  ME: No. It’s this person named Corky.

  MOM: What’s the problem?

  ME: She’s sort of crazy.

  MOM: Crazy how?

  ME: She’s like a maniac.

  MOM: What’s she done?

  ME: She threatens me.

  MOM: Are you sure it isn’t a misunderstanding?

  ME: I’m pretty sure she’s threatening me.

  MOM: I had a crazy roommate once. Her name was Pam. And do you know how I handled her?

  ME: How?

  MOM: I sat her down and talked to her.

  ME: About what?

  MOM: I had an honest conversation about who I was and where I was coming from. It opened up an important line of communication.

  ME: Did she stop being crazy?

  MOM: Most people who act crazy aren’t really crazy. They’re just unhappy.

  ME: Well, then I think Corky must be extremely miserable.

  MOM: Have you tried talking to her?

  ME: No. She seems too crazy.

  MOM: Dessy, it sounds like you should have a conversation with the poor girl.

  ME: I’m scared. She’s not like anybody I know at home. She’s different.

  MOM: She sounds like she needs a friend.

  ME: Maybe.

  MOM: Give it a try and let me know how it goes. Pam and I became good friends after our talk.

  ME: I’ve never heard of Pam before.

  MOM: I lost touch with her about ten years ago. After she moved to Saskatchewan.

  ME: I wish that story had a better ending.

  MOM: Is there anything else you want to talk about?

  ME: No. I better go.

  MOM: I’m so proud of you for not asking about Hamilton.

  ME: Why? Did he call again?

  MOM: No.

  ME: I never got his package.

  MOM: I never said he sent a package. I said he mailed you something. It’s probably a letter.

  ME: Oh.

  MOM: Why don’t you call me tomorrow? Let me know how things went.

  ME: Is Dad there?

  MOM: He’s sleeping.

  ME: Oh.

  MOM: Do you want me to wake him up?

  ME: No.

  MOM: Good. Because it’s one a.m. And you know how he gets when he’s behind on his sleep.

  ME: Yeah.

  MOM: (Yawning) Good luck with Corky. Conversation is the best way to bridge distance.

  ME: You’re probably right.

  MOM: I’m so glad we had this talk.

  ME: Ditto.

  Click.

  Standing in the lobby, staring at a garbage can, the world made sense again. I reached in my bag for Veronica’s copy of Waller’s story, and dropped it into the can. The conversation with my mother was so inspiring that when I came back to the dorm room I didn’t even do a “Corky check.” I didn’t need to live in fear anymore. All I needed was to have an honest conversation. I swung open the door. And there she was. Still sitting at the kitchen table. Cutting an apple into pieces.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, pushing the butter knife through the fruit’s crisp flesh.

  “I’m actually glad to hear that, Corky, because I think it’s time we had a
conversation.”

  I cleared my throat. “Corky, it scares me to think that you might be lying in wait in order to jump me,” I said. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a nice person. I don’t know where things went wrong between us. Honestly, I think we can be friends.”

  “Are you joking?” Corky asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Pretty much. This whole ‘I’m a dangerous person out to get you’ dynamic doesn’t work for me. It’s not healthy.”

  “Anything else?” Corky asked, slowly scratching her neck.

  “I think we’d all enjoy ourselves more in this city if we could remove all these vendetta vibes from our living situation.”

  “Oh,” Corky said.

  “So … what do you think?”

  Corky stood up and walked toward me. I realized that she was still holding the butter knife, and this made my breath quicken. She squinted her eyes. “I think the only reason you’re saying this is because you know that you’re screwed,” she said.

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m not wrong. You are screwed. And so is your friend,” Corky said. “Screwed. You can count on it. In fact, you can endorse that threat and take it all the way to your hometown credit union and cash it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So you’re not ready to be healthy?”

  “I don’t know what kind of self-help trash you’ve chosen to indoctrinate yourself with, but I don’t plan on drinking the Kool-Aid.”