Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “Mabel hated football,” Joe sighs nostalgically. Mabel was his late wife. Her blueberry scones were the favorite part of my childhood.

  I pat the hand dotted with age. “I’m sorry, Joe. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Nonsense, nonsense.” He waves my apology away. “Reminiscing is important. Makes you feel like you never really lost them.” He peers at me. “Suppose you know something about that.”

  “I guess,” I shift uncomfortably. How do you reminisce about someone you barely knew?

  “The usual today?” Joe asks.

  I nod, handing over my credit card to pay for the drink and then heading down to the end of the counter to wait for my beverage.

  “Good morning, Elle,” I glance over my shoulder to see Mr. Hathaway—my boyfriend’s father—rising from one of the round tables.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hathaway,” I respond politely.

  “Jason,” he reminds me with a smile. I smile back, but don’t correct myself. “You’re up bright and early,” Mr. Hathaway continues, glancing at his Rolex. “I’d imagine Liam’s just rolling out of bed at this hour.”

  I laugh. “Probably.”

  Mr. Hathaway pulls his suit jacket off the back of the chair and puts it back on. “Excited for senior year?”

  “Thrilled,” I respond, with a cheery smile. “Best part of high school, right?”

  “Absolutely,” he replies. “Especially for a girl like yourself with such a bright future. College applications already started?”

  “Finished,” I admit. “Dad had me spend the summer on them.”

  Mr. Hathaway clucks his tongue in a way that makes me think it was the answer he expected. “Well, I can only hope some of your drive wears off on Liam.”

  “He’s had football all summer,” I defend, playing the part of the supportive girlfriend.

  Mr. Hathaway laughs. “Ah, young love. Hope my son manages to make you a member of the family before you take off those rose-colored glasses.” I just smile. I took those off a while ago. “Well, I’d better head to the office. We’ll see you at the game on Friday night?”

  “I’ll be there!” I respond with a pep I’m sure he can’t tell is forced.

  “You were at the practices this summer, right?” Mr. Hathaway asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. For obvious reasons, our cheerleading camp coincided with the football team’s summer schedule.

  “Much to cheer for?” Mr. Hathaway inquires, and I realize what he’s getting at.

  “Er, about the same,” I tell him tactfully.

  He sighs. “That’s what I thought. Goodbye, Elle.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Hat—Jason.”

  He departs with one final smile.

  “One caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream. Pretty sure there’s some coffee mixed in, too,” Joe announces, setting my frothy concoction in front of me.

  “Thanks, Joe,” I say, with a genuine smile.

  “See you tomorrow?” He grins, showing off his golden tooth.

  “I’ll be here,” I promise, heading toward the door.

  I haven’t killed nearly as much time as I’d hoped to but sitting in my convertible alone just feels sad. I start the engine, opting to head to the left instead of the right. The main street melds right into the high school’s campus. But between the two is situated the part of town I avoid like the plague.

  Not for the reason people think.

  My less direct route takes me along the fringes of Fernwood. Close to the part most residents pretend doesn’t exist. Just like so many parts of the world, Fernwood demonstrates what it looks like when you have copious amounts of money… and very little of it.

  Most of the town falls into the former category.

  One trailer park falls into the latter.

  There have been numerous attempts over the years to off the couple square miles onto the neighboring town, with committee members—including my father—arguing the settlement is nothing but a leech on town resources wealthy residents pay five figures worth of taxes for.

  A more humane viewpoint is that they’re people with no place else to go.

  I pass the road I know leads back to the trailer park, continuing along the tree-lined street back toward the downtown area. When I reach Fernwood High, the same dread I woke up with this morning reappears.

  Not because I don’t know what to expect.

  Because I do.

  Despite growing up in Fernwood, this is only my fourth year attending school here. My father yanked me and my older sister Sarah out of our respective boarding schools when he decided to run for school committee three years ago. Something about it looking bad to not have your children attend the educational system you’re representing. I wonder if he regrets it now, after what happened to Sarah.

  Probably not, since it would require him admitting he made a mistake.

  Something Michael Clarke does not do.

  Expensive vehicles already half-fill the parking lot when I step out of my car, coffee in one hand and keys in the other.

  “Elle!” Kinsley Adams runs over to me as soon as I emerge. “Wow, you look gorgeous! That dress!”

  “Me? Look at you!” I exclaim. “Your skirt is adorable.”

  She preens under my praise as half the cheerleading squad descends upon us. One would not think we’ve spent the past two months swapping compliments. Every article of clothing must be remarked upon. I’d find it exhausting, if I hadn’t learned how to follow this song and dance years ago. Coming up with an endless supply of accolades is second nature by now.

  I extract myself from the group by saying I have to meet with Principal Watkins about the back-to-school fundraiser.

  It’s not a lie. I spend the next fifteen minutes in the principal’s office. Not being scolded, being complimented. Principal Watkins is as susceptible to the Clarke charm as the rest of the town. First up is some exclaiming over my contributions to the high school so far, followed by an analysis of all that’s yet to come this year.

  I tune out two minutes in.

  By the time I emerge back out into the hallway, it’s crowded with students. I head to my locker, taking advantage of the way the crowd parts for me. But when I reach my locker, the metal won’t open.

  “Ugh!” I smack the unyielding surface in annoyance.

  “D-d-do you need help, Elle?” Kevin Davis stutters to my right.

  “Sure,” I reply, moving to the side. “I think it’s stuck.”

  “What’s your combination?” Kevin asks nervously.

  “23-19-06,” I rattle off, meeting the gaze of a group of freshmen staring at me. They scuttle past as soon as they realize I’ve spotted them.

  “Hey, babe,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see Liam Hathaway approaching me. He gives me a quick kiss, attracting an envious stare from every girl in the hallway. My blond-haired, brown-eyed boyfriend is my natural counterpart.

  We’re the golden couple of Fernwood High.

  The living embodiment of every high school cliche you could think of.

  “Hey,” I reply. It’s close to ninety degrees out, and he’s wearing his letterman jacket. The people who act most confident are often the most insecure, I’ve found. Liam doesn’t dispel that theory.

  “What’s the dweeb doing?” Liam asks me, inclining his chin toward Kevin, who’s still fiddling with my locker.

  “Be nice. He’s fixing my locker,” I reply.

  “Why didn’t you ask me?” Liam looks affronted.

  “You weren’t here.”

  “It’s SENIOR YEAR!” I’m distracted from my locker—and Liam—by the appearance of my best friend Paige. Her yell draws the attention of the whole hallway. I laugh at her exuberance. She skips to my side and studies my appearance, tossing her strawberry blonde hair over one shoulder.

  “Why aren’t you wearing the pink romper?”

  “Why do you think?” I reply dryly.

  “At what point do you think you’ll stop letting your mother run your life?
”

  “You’ve met her. When I’m fifty. At least.”

  Paige snorts.

  A loud bang sounds to my left, and I glance over to see Kevin is looking triumphantly at my now open locker.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, grabbing the notebooks I need out of the locker and then slamming the door shut again. I start down the hallway with Paige and Liam on either side of me. The crowded hallway splits for us like the Red Sea.

  “Nicole and Alec broke up,” Paige informs me as we walk along. “He wants to ‘explore his options.’”

  I scoff. “Typical.”

  “Jack Rodgers hooked up with Aimee last weekend.”

  “Good for them.” I laugh. “What makes you think I care about any of this?”

  “I figured as queen you’d want to know what all your little worker bees are up to.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t.”

  “That was pretty much it, anyway.”

  “Thank God,” I mutter.

  “Aside from Ryder James.”

  Suddenly steps are a challenge. “What?”

  “Ryder James? He’s back from juvie or Florida or wherever he’s been.”

  “He is?”

  “Uh-huh,” Paige replies, no longer paying close attention to our conversation. She’s waving at some junior, oblivious to the bomb she’s just dropped on me.

  Because she doesn’t know it was a bomb.

  Because no one would ever think Elle Clarke knows—cares—who Ryder James is, or where he’s living.

  I don’t say anything as we continue down the hallway, too focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Pretty sure Liam is talking to me, but I don’t hear a word of whatever he’s saying.

  Suddenly, I don’t know what to expect from today.

  There are about twenty kids from the edge of town who currently attend Fernwood High School. One of the repeated complaints among those trying to expel the trailer park from the town’s limits is the fear its teenage residents are going to be a bad influence on the rest of town.

  Despite those fears, I’ve never so much as spoken with any of them—with the exception of one.

  I met Ryder James on my first day at Fernwood High. Since I grew up here, I knew most of my classmates already, but had never attended school with any of them before.

  I wasn’t nervous. Even as a freshman, I had some serious status.

  Ryder was paired with me on a Physics project. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met. We spent months meeting up to work on the project at the wildflower-filled field that separates the high school from downtown, since neither of us wanted to be at our own houses—or each other’s.

  Our meet ups continued even after we finished it. I didn’t realize how small my world was until I met him. Until I experienced how thrilling it was to be the girl who broke the rules. Especially when we kissed. More than kissed.

  Then, with two weeks left in freshman year, he disappeared. Without a word. A note. Anything. Just didn’t show up for school.

  I panicked for the rest of the school year and the start of the summer, worried something happened to him. Concerned someone was going to find out about us. Waiting for my friends to learn I’d flung my virginity at one of the boys we pretended didn’t exist. For my parents to find out I wasn’t as perfect as they expected me to be.

  Rumors swirled about Ryder’s disappearance, but none of them mentioned me.

  Then my sister died, and memories of sneaking out to kiss a boy in a treehouse became distant ones. It was just me and my parents’ expectations, and perfection no longer had any wiggle room.

  I’d be lying if I said I don’t still think about Ryder sometimes.

  But it’s the absolute truth I never expected to see him again.

  I enter homeroom in a daze. Liam leaves my side and strolls over to his football buddies. Paige bounces over to some of our friends. Neither of them is actually in my homeroom, but no one seems to care. I’d say it’s a perk of being seniors, but it’s really just a perk of being us.

  The loudspeaker crackles to life to expel the morning announcements, but the noise level in the classroom doesn’t decrease at all. Mrs. Andrews, our homeroom teacher, doesn’t make any attempt to quiet the group of students.

  I follow Paige over to our friends, but I don’t engage in the conversation that’s a continuation of the gossip about Jack Rodgers. Instead, I take a seat and pull out the list of questions and suggested answers my college tutor compiled for my conversation with Dean Willis later today. But the words swim before my eyes like water was just dumped atop the page.

  I can’t focus.

  “We haven’t even had an actual class yet, and you’re already doing work?” Paige takes a seat on the desk in front of me, spinning around to eye the paper I’m studying.

  “It’s for that college call later. My dad will freak if I don’t regurgitate exactly what they’re looking for,” I explain.

  “Elle. You’re going to be a shoo-in anywhere you apply.”

  I shrug, although I know she’s probably right. “Can’t hurt to prepare.”

  “As long as you promise not to do anything but gossip at my birthday sleepover this weekend.” Paige tells me.

  “I promise,” I reply.

  “By the way, I got my mom to agree that the boys can come over in the afternoon. Make sure Liam gets all the football guys there.”

  “I doubt they’ll be all that hard to convince,” I reply dryly. Paige’s got a pool.

  Paige grins. “Yeah, well we know better than to assign Liam a difficult task.”

  It might make me a terrible girlfriend to laugh at that, but I do anyway. Liam had one job for the winter carnival this past February: organize the snow cone booth. He managed to tell the delivery guy the wrong day, break the ice machine, and order nothing but orange syrup.

  The bell indicating the end of homeroom rings, and I take a long pull of my coffee concoction as we walk out into the hallway to head to History.

  Liam gives me a quick kiss and then peels off to head to English.

  “So I was thinking mini tacos for Saturday instead of pizza, what do you think?” Paige asks.

  “Tacos?” I reply. Anxiety is rising like a tide inside me. It was one thing in homeroom. Now we’re out in the open. He could be around any corner.

  “For my birthday? The event we were literally just discussing?” Paige prompts.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, tacos. Great.” I’m still searching the hallway like I’m on a treasure hunt.

  “Are you okay, Elle?” Paige asks. “You’re acting weird.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s not in this hallway, so I finally look over at her. “It’s just kind of hitting me this is our last first day of high school.”

  Paige shoots me a disbelieving look. “You’re getting sentimental? Thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  I make a noncommittal sound as we turn the corner into the Social Studies wing. I’m too busy scanning this hallway to focus on our conversation.

  Paige gives up on it with a huff.

  “Hey, girls!” Kennedy Jacobs is waiting outside the door that leads into our History classroom.

  “Hi, Kennedy,” I greet, and she beams.

  Kennedy transferred here last year and made it immediately evident her current goal in life is to be me. She copies everything Paige and I do. She made the cheer squad this summer, and I’m hoping it will mean she stops imitating everything else about me. Being a member of the squad is essentially a golden ticket to Fernwood High’s most elite social status.

  “Super cute outfit,” Paige compliments, giving me a conspiratorial wink. Kennedy’s wearing the exact same romper I wore on our trip to the city last week.

  I smile as Kennedy blushes.

  “Oh, wow, thank you. You, too. Both of you.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. I was going to wear a romper today, too. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “The one you wore to Kinsley’s last week?” Kennedy que
stions.

  “No, it’s the one I got—”

  “Is there any chance you’ll wrap this gabfest up in the next few hours? Some of us are eagerly awaiting the start of History, you know?”

  My stomach dips like the linoleum beneath me has just disappeared.

  I know it’s him immediately. Not only do I recognize his voice, but no one else at this school would ever interrupt me.

  I turn slowly, taking advantage of every possible second before I have to face him.

  Finally, I can’t postpone the inevitable any longer. Part of me doesn’t want to.

  Vivid green eyes meet mine.

  At fourteen, Ryder James gave me butterflies.

  At seventeen, I can only hope I’m not visibly drooling.

  His eyes are the exact same. Everything else is different. His brown hair is darker and shorter, just long enough for fingers to run through it, exactly the way he’s doing right now. He’s sporting a dark tan that makes me think maybe the rumor about Florida had some validity. But the biggest change is his stature. He was always tall, but I’d guess he’s over six feet now. Not only that, he’s got muscles that make him look more like a man than a boy. Shamelessly, I watch the tendons in his forearm and bicep contract and relax as he drops his hand back to his side.

  Finished ogling his body, I register what he’s wearing for the first time. A pair of athletic shorts and a threadbare cotton t-shirt. He stands out in the sea of polo shirts and khaki shorts. But I know he would even if he were wearing a preppy designer outfit like every other male in sight.

  Because Ryder James is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.

  “You’re back.” I make sure the words don’t hold any indication of my feelings about his return. But I guess studying him for a good minute probably said a whole lot.

  “Looks that way.” Ryder flashes a carefree smirk. He appraises me, his emerald eyes swimming with secrets. My secrets.

  “For good?” Every nerve in my body tightens and tenses, waiting to see how he’ll respond. It’s a far cry from the predictable monotony I typically feel in these hallways.

  “Looks that way,” he repeats. He advances on me, and I hold my ground, even as thrills of awareness race through me. He stops when he’s about a foot away. “You’re still blocking the door.”