Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “No, he’s not,” I agree.

  Chapter Eight

  Ryder’s not in History the following morning. I spent the first three periods of the day worried he’s upset the entire student body is gossiping about how we’re going to Homecoming together. Anxious he’s regretting our first bout of PDA. Concerned he’s missing because something messy came up or because something happened with his mom.

  I’m in a bad mood all morning as a result, and it worsens when I enter the lunchroom to see he’s not at his usual table. Part of me was hoping he just overslept and missed History. I debate going over to Tommy to see if he knows where he is but decide against it. Desperate doesn’t look good on anyone. I follow Paige and Kinsley over to our usual table instead.

  I’m picking at my salad when Paige whispers “What happened to Ryder?” to me.

  My head snaps up as I scan the room. “What are you talking about?”

  “His face?” Paige raises both brows questioningly as she nods toward the front of the cafeteria.

  Ryder’s settling into a seat at his usual table. The skin surrounding his left eye is a swollen, shiny purple.

  I snap the lid on the plastic container I was eating from and rise, grabbing my backpack from the tiled floor. “I’ll see you later,” I say to Paige.

  I ignore all the stares following me as I walk over to Ryder’s table. Danielle spots me coming and appears thoroughly displeased about it. Ryder’s looking down at his food and doesn’t glance up until I reach the edge of the table and speak, making my presence known.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Have you seen your face?”

  His jaw works furiously a couple times. “I’m fine, Elle.”

  “We can talk about it here or we can talk about it outside. But we’re going to talk about it, Ryder.” I smile sweetly.

  The gazes of everyone seated at his table bounce back and forth between the two of us. They’re obviously hoping for the former, but I’d prefer the latter. Obviously Ryder does too, because he rises, albeit with a long sigh that suggests he’s not thrilled about it.

  He follows me out the double doors and into the grassy courtyard.

  “Sit,” I instruct, nodding to one of the benches lining the perimeter.

  With a roll of his eyes, he does.

  I dig through my backpack until I find the small first aid kit I’ve carried around since freshman year but never opened.

  As soon as Ryder sees it, he starts to stand.

  I plop down in his lap, ensuring he can’t rise without dumping me to the ground. “Just let me put some stuff on it.” I squeeze some ointment out onto my pointer finger and then dab it around his eye.

  He winces.

  “Sorry,” I murmur.

  Once I finish smoothing the ointment, I stay put. “What happened?”

  No response.

  I spin so I’m straddling him. We’re face to face now. “Ryder. What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Thanks for the lotion, or whatever you just put on my face.”

  “Does the other guy look worse?”

  He sighs. “Yeah.”

  I keep looking at him expectantly, and he exhales again. “My mom told me who slapped her around a couple of nights ago.”

  “Oh,” I respond eloquently. I wasn’t sure he’d admit what happened to me. I haven’t given any thought to what he might say if he did. But that’s not a scenario I would have come up with on my own regardless. “Is she doing okay?”

  “Yeah. She’s fine. Not the first time it’s happened.”

  I can see him shutting down, pulling away after that confession.

  I do the only thing I can think of to halt the retraction.

  I lean forward and kiss him, pressing our bodies together.

  Ryder groans against my tongue as my hands wander into his hair. His hands slide up my thighs. After a few heated minutes, I pull away. “That’s my stance on PDA with you, by the way.”

  Ryder wrinkles his brow. “You know what public means, right?” He glances around the empty courtyard.

  I huff a laugh as I stand and smooth out the skirt of my dress. “You know the whole cafeteria looks out on this courtyard, right?”

  Based on the look on Ryder’s face, he didn’t.

  I toss him the tube of ointment. “Keep putting that on. The bruise will fade faster.” He nods as I swing my bag back on, still seated on the bench. “I’ll see you later,” I add before strolling off to the left. I can feel eyes on me—Ryder’s, or maybe some of the few hundred Fernwood High students with a clear view out the windows that comprise most of the back wall of the cafeteria. I wonder what it looks like to them.

  Elle Clark is a known quantity. A reliable, responsible person. Rebelling against that is a recipe for widespread confusion. Like learning Santa doesn’t exist or your parents were once teenagers themselves.

  I skirt along the edge of the school, past the obnoxiously large front entrance and through the extravagant landscaping. I need a moment. To recenter. Recalibrate. Refresh.

  It’s always been clear to me just how different Ryder’s life is from my own, but I viewed it in more straightforward terms. My family’s wealthy; his is poor. I have no shortage of options; he has a finite amount. Freshman year, Ryder was much-needed reminder of all the world has to offer outside of Fernwood. But I didn’t grasp how scary that could be, along with thrilling.

  Violence has never been a part of my world. It’s becoming increasingly evident it’s part—maybe a large part—of Ryder’s. I was grateful and flattered by his interference during the scene with Liam, but I viewed it as a singular event. Now it seems a lot more like a recurring one.

  I’m not naive to the way the world works; I’ve just been sheltered from observing the harshest parts of it personally. The aspects of Ryder’s life he seems to accept as normal, or at least has come to see as such, are ones I’ve never witnessed. Never even considered what it might be like to. Maybe it makes me the princess Danielle Collins called me. It definitely means I underestimated just how complicated things between us could get.

  Not because I don’t care enough to take the bad with the good.

  Because I do care enough.

  I take a seat in the gazebo nestled in the center of the gardens surrounding the school, staring out at the carefully spread mulch and neatly trimmed grass. I try not to think, just relish the unexpected moment of solitude. In the thrill of not being in the exact place I’m supposed to be at a given moment. I keep checking the time on my phone, though. It’s one thing to skip out on the remainder of lunch. Fifth period English is another matter.

  I head inside at exactly 12:29, smiling at the secretary as I enter.

  “Elle!” She greets, clearly surprised to see me.

  “Hi, Mrs. Brown,” I respond. “I just had to run out to my car to grab something during lunch.”

  “Oh, all right.” It’s definitely not something students are meant to do, but Mrs. Brown doesn’t seem the least bit inclined to chastise me. “Have a good rest of your day, Elle.”

  “Thanks, you too,” I reply, as I pass her desk and head into the hallway. Students are just beginning to trickle out into the communal space, and progress is slow as I’m stopped multiple times on my trek to English.

  Paige is already waiting in her seat when I enter the classroom.

  “Hey,” I say as I drop down in the chair next to hers.

  “Oh, hey,” she replies, smirking. “How was the rest of your lunch?”

  “Fine.”

  “Looked like Ryder’s a decent kisser.”

  I blush. “He is.”

  “If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?”

  I roll my eyes as class starts.

  The rest of the day drags. But I rush to gym, eager to see Ryder. Except when I emerge out of the locker room, there’s no sign of him. Other guys keep trickling out of the boy’s, but Ryder never appears. I start to worry again.


  It’s day two of football, and my guess is Coach Blake is just as bothered by Ryder’s absence as I am. The game proceeds at a snail’s pace without him. Jeff and Steve mostly toss the ball back and forth between themselves for the length of class.

  “Clarke!” Coach Blake barks out when class ends.

  “Yes?” I turn around hesitantly, rather than trudging off the field.

  “I need to speak to you about something.”

  “Okay.” I tell Kinsley to go ahead and retrace the few steps I’ve taken over to Coach Blake.

  “This stays between us, all right?”

  “Um, okay,” I reply apprehensively. That’s a first for a conversation with any authority figure. Foreboding slithers down my spine.

  “I need you to convince Ryder James to play in the Homecoming game Friday.”

  I jerk my head back, surprised. Maybe I should have seen that coming after the conversation I overheard on the second day of school, not to mention the game yesterday, but I didn’t.

  “I don’t know if that will be… possible,” I admit. “Ryder’s stubborn. I also don’t think he has any interest in playing.”

  Coach Blake’s lips twist wryly. “Yes. I was made perfectly aware of both of those things during our past conversations with him on the topic.”

  “Okay, then…”

  “I think it will be better coming from a peer.” He emphasizes peer, and I realize the student body doesn’t comprise the only gossips in Fernwood. Clearly news of my Homecoming date has become even more widespread. “Also, I don’t have any other option right now. I need a quarterback for Friday night.”

  “Need a quarterback? What about Liam?”

  “Hathaway’s been suspended from the team for the time being. He can’t play in the next three games.”

  “Suspended?” I gasp. “Why?”

  “I’m not able to discuss the details. Remember what I said about this staying between us?”

  I nod. “Right, okay.” But my mind is still swirling with potential explanations. Liam’s generally just as rule-abiding as I am. It’s hard to imagine what he could have possibly done to get in any form of trouble, never mind getting suspended from the football team for three games.

  “You’ve seen every game for the past four years. Hathaway was our best option for quarterback.” I wince. Hard to imagine our team being any worse, but that’s clearly what Coach Blake is suggesting. “Just get James to play in three games, Clarke.”

  “I’ll ask him,” I agree. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  “That’s all I’m asking you to do,” Coach Blake assures me. “Thank you.”

  I nod. “Have a good afternoon, Coach Blake.”

  “You, too.”

  Kinsley asks me what my conversation with Coach Blake was about as soon as I enter the locker room. I give her the same football team excuse as I did on the first day of school, when I actually stayed behind to talk to Ryder, except this time I guess it’s technically true.

  After cheer practice ends, I head to the student council meeting. It’s filled with last minute Homecoming logistics. I let Caroline talk for most of it and rush out of the meeting the second it ends. The parking lot is practically empty, Betty is one of the few remaining cars on the rectangle of asphalt. Once in the driver’s seat, I debate for thirty seconds on what my destination should be.

  Ten minutes later, I’m bouncing along the potholes that lead to the trailer park. Fernwood’s smoothly paved streets don’t extend to this part of town, clearly. The trailer park looks the exact same as it did during my last visit, right down to the lack of cars parked in front of Ryder’s home. He’s not here unless he parked his truck elsewhere. That seems unlikely, but I park anyway and walk up to the front door.

  I bang it once. No response. A second bang, and Ryder’s mother appears

  “Hi, Mrs. James,” I greet.

  Ryder’s mother eyes me suspiciously. “You again.”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Ryder’s not home.”

  I swallow a sigh when she doesn’t elaborate further. “Can I wait for him here?”

  A slight widening of the doorway is the only response. I slip past Ryder’s mother into the kitchen. It’s cleaner than the last time I was in here, but only barely. The smell of artificial lemon lingers in the air, suggesting an attempt was made, at least.

  “He should be home by six,” Ryder’s mother shares, heading over to the kitchen counter and starting to stuff the contents of a few paper bags into the cabinets.

  “Okay.” I grasp the information eagerly. It’s quarter of now, according to the clock on the microwave. “Can I help put anything away, Mrs. James?”

  She looks at me, and I experience the uncomfortable sensation of close scrutiny by someone I’m certain doesn’t like me all that much. “It’s Kat. No one’s called me Mrs. James since Joseph took his trip to the big house.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I’m glad Ryder already told me about his father, but I don’t do a great job of hiding my shock regardless.

  “You can unload that one.” Kat nods to the bag closest to me on the counter.

  I step toward it eagerly, happy to have a concrete task to complete. I pull pretzels, cereal, and a bunch of bananas out of the paper sack, and then have to swallow some disgust when I encounter a can of sardines next. I hate fish.

  Once I’ve put away the first bag’s contents, Kat pushes the next one in the line on the counter down closer to me. I take it to mean I did a tolerable job of unloading the first.

  I’m only halfway through the next bag's contents when the front door bangs open. Danielle Collins enters the trailer. Followed closely by Tommy and Ryder.

  All three of them stop like deer caught in headlights when they spot me.

  “Hey.” Ryder's the first one to speak, and his voice doesn’t give me any indication about how he feels finding me in his kitchen.

  “Hi,” I state, fiddling with the carton of raisins I’m holding. No added sugar? How great.

  “I didn't know you were coming over,” he tells me. I’m not sure if it's an explanation, an apology, or an accusation.

  “I know. I… want to talk to you about something.” That’s all I’m willing to share with an audience, and Ryder seems to recognize that.

  “Give me a minute,” he tells Danielle and Tommy, then pulls me down the hall to his room. He shuts the door behind us and presses me against it. Before I can utter a word, he kisses me. I’m quickly lost in sensation.

  Finally, I pull back. “That’s not why I came here. Although it’s definitely preferable to unloading containers of fish.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “You don’t like fish?”

  “Nope. It’s gross.”

  Ryder rolls his eyes. “Why did you come over, Elle?”

  “You weren’t in gym.”

  “I had to leave early.”

  “So today you attended… lunch?”

  Ryder’s green eyes flash with irritation, drawing my attention to the bruise marring his right one. “What are you? The school secretary?”

  “Coach Blake asked me to stay after gym. He wanted me to talk to you about playing football.”

  His face hardens further. “I already told him no.”

  “Yup, he mentioned that. I didn’t even know you played until gym yesterday.”

  “I don’t, really. I joined a team in Florida for a few weeks because a buddy begged me to.”

  I take the sign he’s capitulated on this topic in the past as a promising sign.

  “And you’re good,” I state.

  Ryder shrugs. “I’m all right.” We both know he’s more than ‘all right,’ especially after three years of Liam Hathaway leading Fernwood’s team, but I don’t push the point.

  “Why won’t you play here, then?”

  He sighs. “No point.”

  “What do you mean? Our team is terrible. The point would be to win.”

  Ryder shrugs. “Who cares if we win? Fernwood Footbal
l can keep being the laughingstock of the state, for all I care.”

  “Well it would be nice to cheer for a touchdown, for once,” I reply.

  Ryder shakes his head, letting out a short laugh. But it’s not a genuine sound; it’s a mocking, ugly one. “I should join the football team to help out the cheerleading squad? Seriously, Elle?”

  “It’s not just that.” Wrong tactic, clearly. “Don’t you want to do something unexpected? Show everyone what you’re capable of?”

  “Show off for a bunch of snobs who think I’m nothing but trailer trash, you mean?” There’s an angry edge to the question that makes it pretty obvious we’ve careened down a road that’s going to have an ugly end.

  “That is not what I meant,” I respond, although it kind of was.

  “If you want to date the Fernwood quarterback, you should have stuck with Hathaway,” Ryder snaps. “That’s not me. That will never be me.”

  “I know,” I stress. “I don’t want to be with Liam. I hated all the football hubbub.”

  “Then why the hell are you trying to push me into it?”

  “Playing sports provides opportunities, Ryder. You could get a scholarship! Or you—”

  Any emotion drains from Ryder’s face. “That’s what this is really about. You’re not just trying to make me fit in Fernwood. You want to be with a guy who’s going to college. Who’s got options in the future.”

  Coach Blake owes me big-time. What was supposed to be a simple request has devolved into a real disaster of a discussion.

  “Well, what is your plan? To have sex until I leave for college and then find a new hook-up?” I retort.

  Ryder rakes a hand through his hair as his jaw moves rapidly. Yeah, I stepped too far. Way, way too far, if Ryder’s blank face is any indication. He’s retreating. Done.

  “You knew how different our lives were when you started this again, Elle. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  I spin and open his bedroom door, stalking down the hallway to the kitchen. Tommy and Danielle have taken seats on the living room couch. Kat is still moving about in the kitchen. None of them look at me, in a way that seems purposeful, and I really hope that doesn’t mean they overheard every word of the conversation Ryder and I just had.