Glass Heart

by Amy Garvey

  I let myself be dragged along, even though I can’t think of anything I’d rather see less. Halfway around the side of the house, I see Brian whispering something to a girl I don’t recognize, and I snatch my hand out of Meg’s.

  “Hey,” I say to Brian, pushing into their space. The girl blushes and licks traces of smeared lipstick off her bottom lip. “Gabriel is . . . I don’t know. He’s out front by the garage. Could you . . . ?”

  “Um . . .” I make Dar’s puppy eyes at him when he hesitates, and he shrugs and nods. “Sure. I’ll give him a ride home. Wanna come?” he asks the girl still snuggled into his side, and as I walk away, she’s beaming.

  There, done. At least I know he’ll have a way home.

  But I wait out the rest of the night on the wall in the backyard with a red cup of water, by myself. For me anyway, the party’s over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DARCIA HAS CUPS OF CONFETTI AND NOISEMAKERS and glittery party hats laid out on her dresser.

  “I don’t care if you think it’s lame,” she warns Jess, poking her shoulder. She’s already in pajamas, faded blue-plaid flannel pants and an old gray sweatshirt. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and I want to celebrate.”

  “You’re a party animal, chica,” Jess says, and dumps her duffel bag in the corner of Dar’s bedroom before kicking off her shoes. “I assume the hookers and blow will come later, right?”

  “Jess!” Dar exclaims, blushing.

  I bite back a laugh, but I say, “Don’t be a bitch,” and throw my backpack at Jess even though we all know she’s just kidding.

  She catches it and tosses it back, grinning. “Just trying to get the party started.”

  And I’m trying my best to get into the mood. We’re sleeping over, which we’ve been doing forever on New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want to ruin the night by brooding. But I haven’t spoken to Gabriel since the party at Noah’s the other night, and I can’t erase the image of his face, twisted in pain.

  Not that it matters. I’m not going to be someone I’m not just to please him, and I don’t want a boyfriend who thinks he knows better than I do what’s right for me. My heart just hasn’t quite gotten the “stop loving him, you idiot” message yet.

  I don’t think hearts really work like that anyway.

  I’ve been trying to distract myself. I took about a zillion pictures of the dumb cat to make Robin happy.

  “Oh, he’s a natural,” I said at one point when he yawned at me, whiskers twitching. “Look at him working it.” We were in her bedroom, and she’d posed him on the deep windowsill, so he would look soulful and wise, according to her.

  I thought he still looked like a vaguely overweight lump of orange fur, but I didn’t say that.

  “Take one of us together,” Robin said after I’d snapped a few more shots. She scooped him up and sat down in her desk chair, holding him up to her chest and burying her nose in the fur at his neck. Her big brown eyes were shining, and I had to smile.

  “‘A Girl and Her Cat,’ I’ll call it,” I said, crouching to get a better angle. “Maybe I’ll print it in black and white, make it totally arty.”

  As if, of course. It was going to look like a thousand other drippy cat pictures on the internet, but Robin didn’t have to know that.

  “Let me see,” she demanded when I’d taken a couple. She let the cat go, and he stalked off the bed in a hurry. I handed her the camera, and she clicked through the pictures on the screen.

  “Oh, this one,” she announced. She was biting her bottom lip, like a grin too big would crack her face open.

  She turned the camera around to show me. It was a cute shot and even though I didn’t think it was exactly groundbreaking, it was enough to make her happy.

  I was about to suggest trying something else, maybe doing her up gothy or like an old-time movie star, just for fun, when she said, “When you print that one, I’m going to send it to Dad.”

  The bottom dropped out of the moment then, all the air in the room whooshing past until I was dizzy.

  “What . . . why?” I managed.

  “Because I want to.” She crossed her arms over her chest, chin stuck out like a dare. “Because he’s my dad, too.”

  “Robin.” I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Do you get at all that I’m worried about you, too?” It felt so wrong to say it, after telling Gabriel he had no right to worry so much about me, but it was true. “You were a baby when he left, Binny. And I don’t know who he is in your mind, but if he doesn’t live up to that . . . if he left because he was selfish or didn’t care, I just don’t want your heart broken.”

  “I’m a big girl, Wren.” Tears were already shining in her eyes, but she was standing up straight, defying me to tell her differently. Stupid kid. She was more like me than she knew.

  So I left her there, with her cat and her dreams, and shut myself in my room for the rest of the afternoon.

  That night, all I wanted was a way to keep busy. I called Fiona, and we went into town with Bay to see a movie. We were early for the nine o’clock showing, so we walked around aimlessly with coffees. There were posters about Adam in almost every window, and I couldn’t help thinking about his family, missing him and aching.

  Only the restaurants and cafés were open, so the sidewalks weren’t exactly crowded, but every time Bay made a window-display Santa dance or repainted the lettering on a sign with silver glitter, my heart pounded. Fiona was chattering about what the block between Elm and Quimby would look like if it were all pink, and even Bay rolled his eyes at that, although he did let her turn one metal garbage bin into a cupcake. It was reckless, way more than an afternoon in the deserted park across town, and nothing I did drowned out the sound of Gabriel’s voice in my head, warning me to be careful.

  But tonight it will be easier to forget Gabriel entirely. Dar’s mom always provides enough snack food to feed a battalion, and there are a dozen different movies we can watch, piled together on Dar’s bed with the lights out and a zillion pillows to snuggle into. I’m secretly hoping for one of our infamous Scrabble battles, too. Dar isn’t as vicious as Jess and I can be, but she loves to egg us on, and sometimes even makes words she knows we’ll be able to build on.

  Jess and I play practically to the death. One time when I won by only three points, she tackled me to the floor and tickled me so hard I could barely breathe.

  I drop my bag beside the bed and sit down to untie my boots. Pajamas are the first order of business, and I rustle through my bag to find the black leggings and big shirt I usually sleep in.

  Jess is already changing into hers—purple thermal long johns—and from inside the shirt she’s pulling over her head, I hear, “I saw Cal last night.”

  Dar settles on the bed cross-legged and claps her hands. “Tell all, please.”

  “Not much to tell.” Jess emerges from her shirt, pulling it down into place and then reaching up to straighten her ponytail. A sly smile twists her mouth into a lopsided comma. “Except for the fact that he’s a really good kisser. Like, epic. The boy should win an award.”

  Darcia squeals, hugging her knees to her chest. “Okay, now you really have to tell all. Especially since my last kiss involved a freshman in the chess club who tasted as much like old tuna fish as he did like beer.” She shudders.

  Jess screws up her face in some weird combination of pity and disgust. “Anyway. So yeah, we went out to the big bookstore near the mall, and walked around for, like, an hour before we got coffee and stuff.”

  “Please tell me there was no embarrassing PDA in the café,” I tease her. I find my huge, fuzzy socks with pink and black stripes and slide them on before I curl up next to Darcia.

  Jess rolls her eyes. “Please.” She waits a beat before she grins and says, “We made out in his car in the parking lot.”

  “Classy!” Dar and I say together, giggling.

  “Hey, it was too late for a movie by then.” Jess sniffs, but she’s still smiling. There’s something
new in her eyes, too, a dreamy little sparkle. I haven’t seen that in a long time, and I reach across the bed to pinch her foot.

  “So he’s a good guy, huh?”

  “He’s pretty awesome, if you ask me,” Dar cuts in. Every trace of laughter is gone. “I know Jimmy Coes is just a freshman, but he’s a lot taller than I am. And he was, like, strong. Plus, I was so surprised, I didn’t even have time to yell, and then I had this gross tongue in my mouth and—”

  “Oh, Dar.” Jess reaches out and lays a hand on her arm. “I didn’t know he really scared you.”

  “I think that’s what got Cal’s attention. He walked by, and I was staring around Jimmy’s head, and I kind of . . . flapped my hands at him.” She’s flushed now, eyes focused on her bare feet.

  “Well, I’m glad he did.” I keep my voice as steady as possible. “That’s totally uncool, even if Jimmy is just a kid. Attack does not equal flirt, you know?”

  “Exactly.” Jess is flushed, too, but I think it’s pride. Even she never expected Cal to pull a white knight like that, and she expects pretty much everything from the few boys she’s ever been interested in.

  “Anyway.” Darcia smiles up at us from beneath her lashes. They’re as dark and thick as her hair. “I just hope I thanked him enough.”

  “You totally did,” Jess assures her. “For a while last night I was actually beginning to wish he would change the subject. I mean, I don’t want it going to his head.”

  I snort and flop back on the pillows, staring at the ancient glow-in-the-dark stars in Darcia’s ceiling. They don’t actually glow anymore, but I know the pattern of them by heart.

  It’s something to focus on instead of how hard it is to join in this conversation without bursting into tears.

  A week ago, I would have been gushing about Gabriel. A week ago, I usually was gushing about Gabriel, or at least what passes for gushing with me. A week ago, I didn’t think our relationship could be any more perfect.

  Being wrong is a habit I’d really like to break.

  Horror gets outvoted in favor of some romance thing with men in riding breeches and women in long, pale dresses, so I spend most of the movie imagining what would happen if they were being attacked by zombies. It’s a decent way to pass the time, snuggled between Jess and Dar in the nest we’ve made of Dar’s bed. There’s popcorn and root beer and peanut M&M’s and mini doughnuts drenched in powdered sugar, and by the time the movie’s over I’m slightly nauseous in the best possible way.

  “Okay, I know that look,” Jess says as the credits roll, elbowing Darcia in the ribs. She sits up and stretches; white powder clings to one cheek. “Who are you thinking about? You’ve got a secret Mr. Darcy in your head, don’t you? You do! Come on, spill.”

  Dar groans and rolls over, burying her face in the pillows. She grunts something unintelligible, and I help Jess roll her over again.

  “Tell,” I say, pressing the tip of one finger to her nose gently.

  She sighs and screws her eyes shut tight, like if she can’t see us, we can’t see her. “Thierry Dupuis.”

  Jess frowns at me over Dar’s closed eyes, and I mouth French kid as I tug one of Dar’s curls. “Dar, he’s adorable.”

  “He’s the French kid,” she explains to Jess when she finally sits up, as if she knew all along he’s someone who wouldn’t register on Jess’s radar. “The one here until the end of April?”

  Jess’s smile is crooked and pleased. “Very nice.”

  “We actually talked at the party,” Dar admits. “Before, you know. He plays the guitar, too.”

  “I wonder if the French are actually better at French kissing,” Jess wonders aloud, and Dar throws a piece of popcorn at her.

  Suddenly her face falls, and she and Jess exchange a look before turning to me. Uh-oh. I can practically taste the questions in the air.

  “Have you talked to Gabriel since the party?” Dar asks gently, and I try not to sigh out loud.

  Instead, I just shake my head, hoping they’ll get the idea I don’t want to talk about it. That’s never stopped Jess, of course.

  “I wish I knew what you guys are actually fighting about,” she says, and leans toward me, frowning. “I mean, everything was so great, and then . . .”

  “Yeah, well.” I shrug. My cheeks are burning, and every nerve is singing with the urge to run. I don’t want to be the center of attention, not about this.

  Dar’s bedroom door bangs open. Saved by the fourth grader, I think with relief as Dex announces, “Come on! It’s eleven thirty, and the ball-drop thing is starting soon!” His dark hair is slightly sweaty, shoved off his forehead in seven different directions, and someone plastered a temporary lightning-bolt tattoo in the middle of it.

  “We don’t want to miss that,” I say, and stand up, collecting snacks as I go.

  Dar bites her bottom lip, but she doesn’t say anything, and Jess gets up off the bed, grabbing empty root beer bottles and teasing Dex, “Where’s your broom, Harry?”

  Downstairs, the living room is crowded—Davina is home for the holidays, and Mrs. Banerjee’s sister, Sophia, is visiting. The youngest of Dar’s brothers, David, is already cross-legged in front of the TV in SpongeBob pajamas. He’s a curly head like Darcia, and just in second grade.

  “Girls, just in time for the par-tay,” Mr. Banerjee says, and Darcia groans. Dion, who started seventh grade this year, lopes in, still in his jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. He doesn’t really look at Jess and me. She thinks we make him nervous now.

  I think he and Robin would be pretty cute together, but maybe in a couple years. Like, five. Or nine.

  For a little while, it’s too noisy and chaotic to even think about Gabriel. Dar’s mom is passing around paper cups of sparkling grape juice, and Dex and David are singing along with the boy band in Times Square. It’s so familiar and so stupidly fun, I’m happy to perch on one arm of the sofa with Dar’s dad and tell him about my new camera.

  At 11:58, Dar looks up from where David has her pinned on the carpet and says, “The confetti!”

  I get up. “I’ll get it, Dar. Be right back.”

  “Get the hats and stuff, too!”

  I’m already halfway up the stairs but I yell back okay, and have to fumble along the wall to find the light switch. “Hurry,” Jess yells from downstairs, and I roll my eyes.

  By the time I stumble into Dar’s room, I can hear them downstairs, chanting, “Eight, seven, six,” but as I grab the hats and noisemakers, my phone rings. It’s lying on Darcia’s night table, shimmying closer as it vibrates, and I can see Gabriel’s name on the screen.

  I drop everything and snatch it up. “Gabriel?”

  “Wren.” His smile is right in his voice, rounding it out full and warm. “I just wanted to tell you I love you, and happy New Year. I know we need to—”

  “Gabriel.” I wonder if he knows tears are streaming down my cheeks. I wonder if he knew I was aching all night, missing him.

  “So you’re not mad,” he says. I want to reach through the phone and hold on to him, breathe him in.

  “Not about this,” I whisper, sniffling. “But we should, you know, talk.” I curl up on Darcia’s bed with the phone pressed to my ear. Downstairs, everyone’s shouting and cheering.

  Dar and Jess come up a minute later, pushing into the room and demanding to know what happened to me. I mouth Gabriel at them and point to the phone. They’re both grinning when they back out of the room and close the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “NEW YEAR’S DAY IS REALLY THE PERFECT kind of day,” I say, curling closer to Gabriel. I’m talking mostly to his hair at this point, and my breath must tickle because he wriggles and laughs.

  “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t have to do anything. Nothing. No gifts, no big meals, no parades, no football, no—”

  Gabriel snorts and pushes me off him to sit up. “Wren. Seriously?”

  “What?” I push my own messy hair out of my eyes. I think
I lost a clip at some point when we were making out before.

  “The Rose Parade? College football?” He chokes out a laugh. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “Fine, be a boy,” I say, and get up, sniffing dramatically. “In my house, there’s no football.”

  He stands up, too, but slowly, and I realize he’s inching closer. I look up at him through my lashes, ready to run.

  “Does that mean you’ve never been . . . tackled?” he asks me, and I take off, shrieking, hoping the downstairs neighbors are either too hungover to hear us or out somewhere.

  He chases me through the apartment, but there aren’t many places to go, and I nearly topple over a chair when I get past him on my way out of the kitchen. I catch my sock on a splintered floorboard, snagging to an awkward stop, and just as I wrestle my bare foot out of it, he pounces.

  We wind up on the floor of his bedroom, laughing and panting, him on top of me, his body a long, narrow cage.

  We haven’t actually talked much yet about all the many things we should talk about, but for now, I don’t care.

  I reach up to run my fingers through his hair and pull his head down for a kiss. He comes willingly, and I sigh as our lips touch. My mouth feels a little bruised already—we’ve been kissing a lot—but it’s totally worth it.

  I’m keeping a tight leash on the magic, though, because the last thing I want is for the two of us to wind up floating off the planet while we’re messing around. Besides, this—the solid, heavy feel of him stretched alongside me, the taste of his mouth, the warm weight of his hands—is just perfect.

  I left Dar’s this morning as soon as it seemed polite. There was the traditional big breakfast first, and then as I was leaving I called my mom to tell her where I was headed.

  “Ah,” she’d said, and I could picture her smile. “Have you reached a truce?”

  “We’re getting there,” I said, hefting my duffel over one shoulder as I trudged toward Gabriel’s apartment in the frigid silence of New Year’s morning.