How to Break a Heart (15 page)

I sigh. Would he wonder those things?
Could
he wonder those things?

Thad continues. “In fact, here’s your next assignment: find a replacement for Nick.”

“A replacement?” I ask. For Nick?
There’s no such thing
.

“Someone else to talk to. Just enough to make him a little jealous.”

Jealous. Okay, if I really were Mariela, this wouldn’t be hard. But no matter what I do, in my heart, I’m a lot more like Cristina, devoted and loyal, pining after Luis, wanting nothing more than his safe return.

“I don’t really like anyone—” Thankfully, I stop myself before I accidentally add
else
. “Not in that way.”

“You don’t have to ‘really like anyone,’ genius. It’s just a game, like the rest of the love stuff you believe in.”

I ignore that comment. “Hey, what about you?”

“What
about
me?”

“You could meet me after school, like, right after the bell rings, and maybe—we could stand by his bus and, I don’t know, laugh, and maybe for like two seconds, we could hold hands—”

He is shaking his head very fast. “Nope. No way. There’s
noooo
way that I’m going to your school.”

“Fine, somewhere else, then. I pretty much know where he is at all—” I drop that sentence like a hot potato as soon as I realize that I indeed
do
sound like a stalker.

“Nope. I’m good here. And it doesn’t really matter, because I’m not
that
guy.”

I exhale loudly and slump. It’s not like I
wanted
to laugh and flirt and hold hands with Thad, but if it could somehow bring me a step closer to Nick—well, then, I’d suck it up and do it.

Oh, Nicolás, my Nicolás, no matter how it looks, everything I do, I do for you.

“Look, Collins, this really shouldn’t be that hard.” He looks away and shakes his head. “For one, Nick’s a tool. There are lots of other tools around to choose from. And for two, you may be a total head case, but you’re not
totally
disgusting to look at.”

Wow. Thad Bell. Calling me not totally disgusting. I’m almost touched—that’s got to be his version of a compliment.

“Okay, I’ll try,” I say. “But we’re supposed to talk tomorrow. He said he’d find me.”

“Well, don’t be alone when he does,” Thad says.

“I’m hardly ever alone,” I say. “I’m with Sirina, or Amelia, or Jordan.”

“A
guy
, dummy. You need to start talking to other
guys
,” Thad says, sounding exasperated. “If Nick feels like he can’t have you back, he’ll want you back even more. It’s like that saying: ‘You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.’ It’s totally legit.”

“Oh,
jeez
. You’re just
so
much wiser than your years,” I joke.

But Thad doesn’t laugh. He just puts on this weird, tight smile, and looks away.

“Come on,” I say, stepping on his toes under the table. “What do you appreciate now?
Chewbacca?
”

“Huh?”

“Chewbacca! Or was it Darth Vader?” I tease. “The figurine Nick stole from you.”

He turns back to me for a second, like he’s holding his breath.

“What?” I ask.

He still doesn’t answer.

Just as soon as I think I’ve hurt his feelings in some strange and unknown way, he breathes out a gust of air and says, “No, you know what I appreciate now? Screaming Yellow Zonkers.”

“What are
those
?”

“They were like popcorn with sugar. Yellow sugar. They were my dad’s favorite. I always thought they were kind of gross. But you know what? You can’t get them anymore. They stopped making them. And now, sometimes I just really want a Screaming Yellow Zonker.”

I just stare at him.

“What!?”
he asks with annoyance.

“So, what, I’m supposed to be a Screaming Yellow Zonker?
Really?
”

“I’m just saying, I’d take a Zonker over a burrito any day. And you know how much I like burritos, so…”

I narrow my eyes at him and he narrows his back at me, and then it turns into a full-fledged stare-off. For a full minute. Then two. And then I forget to keep count. It’s a vicious eye-lock, and it’s starting to feel so strong that it’s even getting to
me
. Finally, his eyes snap away.

“I won,” I declare.

“Only because you were about to suck my soul out through my eyeballs,” he says back.

I laugh. “Maybe I already did.”

“My soul yields to no one,” he says back, with a little smile that—for just a brief millisecond—gives me a jolt or a pang of something. Like something stirs under my rib cage. And then I remember with relief—the
bean dip
. It’s just the bean dip.

“So, what does he eat now?” I ask.

“Who?”

“Your father. Now that he can’t have those Zonker things.”

“Oh,” he says. “Right.” He turns his head and squints a little, like he’s trying to focus on something in the distance. I look in the same direction, but only see the usual shops and signs. Then he says, “Nothing, I guess. That’s what dead people eat.”

“Oh!” Dead. Oh no.
Oh no.
I feel a flurry of panic. You’d think after all the telenovelas I’ve watched, I’d be used to death. But I’m not. “I’m sorry! I really am! I—uh—I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. No worries,” he says, shrugging.

I feel awful. How does someone’s dad just die? Poisoning? Murder?

He seems to sense what I’m thinking. “Car accident,” he says, very plainly.

I study Thad’s face for any sign of what he’s feeling, but the only thing that really stands out is some dried frijoles near his chin.

“Stop admiring me,” he says.

“I’m not! I was just—”

“I’m kidding, doofus.” He gets up. “Anyway, I gotta go.”

“Okay.
I’m
sorry, though, about your dad.”

And then he takes off. Watching him leave, I feel like I’ve opened up a puzzle, but can’t find the corner pieces. Or that I’ve put on my favorite coat, but one of the buttons is gone.

T
had is staring at his mom’s big toe. They’re both staring at it. She’s pulled the sheet up so her slightly puffy foot sticks out at the bottom of the bed. It reminds him uncomfortably of one of those dollar-store Halloween props—usually a disembodied hand.

“Hang on,” she says. “I did it earlier when the therapist was here.”

Thad stares at it harder. Maybe he can will it to move. He’s read about people who can bend spoons with their minds, so maybe if he tries hard enough it’ll work.

“It’s so frustrating,” she says, and she lets out a big sigh.

“Want to try pressing into my hands?” he offers.

“Sure,” she says, sounding tired.

He puts his palms on the soles of her feet and presses gently into them. Sometimes he can feel her press back, just a little. Sometimes he’s not even sure if she’s actually moving her feet, or if it’s just the intention he feels—hers or his own. Today, he doesn’t feel any pressure back.

“Thanks,” she says, signaling she’s had enough. “Sit down and talk to me. How was your day?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

He knows it’s vague, but he really
doesn’t
know what to make of this day at all. Each day that he’s not caught, both the relief and the anxiety build. It’s like a game of dodgeball—the longer you stay in it, the higher your chances of getting blasted in the nuts.

She looks at him expectantly. “Well, what did you do?”

He goes back to his conversation with Mabry.
I told someone that Dad died,
he thinks. But the words stick in him, and he knows that’s where they’ll stay. He doesn’t like to talk too much about it. It’s not that he’s in denial; it’s just sometimes kind of nice to try to keep his dad alive in some way, if only in someone’s imagination.

But today, he surprised himself by telling Mabry the truth.
What was that about?

“Well, you had to have done
something
,” his mom says, teasing a little. “Come on, make me feel like I’m part of the world.”

He smirks. “Well, big excitement.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I took my algebra quiz.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “And?”

“I got a B,” he tells her. Actually, it was a C, but close enough. Besides, next time, it’ll be higher. He doesn’t want to keep worrying her about his grades.

She holds up her hand, but it’s slow and stays low. Then she puts it back down. “I was going to say
high-five
, but…” She laughs uncomfortably. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

He smiles and cracks his knuckles.

“Did you go to the mall again today?”

“Yep.”

“You must like it there.”

He does like the mall—not just the face-stuffing business that happens at the Macho Nacho. It’s just nice to be surrounded by stuff that doesn’t matter. It feels
safe
. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, massage chairs. Little kiosks of things like socks, or smoothies, or sunglasses. There is never anything life-or-death about socks, or smoothies, or sunglasses. Or eyebrow threading, whatever that is.

And then there’s Mabry, of course.

Wait,
he thinks. He wants to take that thought back. Yes, there’s Mabry, but it’s not really
her
that he likes. It’s just the things she says sometimes, her weirdness—it’s ridiculous. He’s
amused
, that’s all.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he tells his mom.

It
. Not
she
.

He feels his mother’s stare, and it brings him back to the room.

“You’re smiling,” she tells him, a smile starting on her own face. “So maybe today was better than you’re saying.”

“Oh.” He laughs, surprised. “Nah, it was okay. Nothing special. How was
your
day?”

She moans. “Oh, you know. The doctor. The therapist. Nora. What would we do without Aunt Nora?”

Seriously. What would they do without Aunt Nora? Without her, he’d be stuck here at home almost all the time. Just the thought of it makes his ribs feel like they’re squeezing toward each other, compressing his lungs and making his heart work ten times harder. How would he even function without Aunt Nora?

Thad realizes his mom has spoken to him, but he’s been too lost in his secret panic to hear what she’s said. “What, Mom?” he asks.

“I said, ‘Probably eat a lot of peanut butter and jelly.’ I was answering my own question,” she says, still smiling. “Play that game you like—what is it? Tankie?—and hang out at the mall.”

And then guilt punches him in the gut. His sweet mom. She would do anything she could for him,
willingly
, and yet there are days, many of them, when he’s tempted to chuck his phone off the escalator and order a second burrito. Maybe watch a basketball game at the RadioShack, bounce on some mattresses at Sears. Be where things don’t matter for an extra hour or three. “Maybe if we get a ramp, I could take you sometime,” he offers.

“To the
mall
?” she asks, like he’s suggested they go snowboarding on Mount Everest.

“Well, yeah, the
mall
. You know, that big place down the street that sells socks, and cinnamon rolls, and earrings, and…and cheese
fundue
,” he says, smirking. She used to love the cheese “fundue” at Schatzi’s.

“Maybe someday,” she says.

At the mall you can do almost everything on wheels. Buy things, eat things, hit every level, every kiosk. Even the bathrooms are fine on wheels. Maybe things could start to feel almost normal again.

Like she said, maybe someday.

She looks back at her foot. “Okay, I’m ready to try again.”

Thad stands up and moves to the end of the bed. He narrows his eyes and cups his hands in the space around her feet, staring down through the center. “I’m beaming some extra energy,” he jokes, sort of.

“Great. I can use all the energy I can get,” she says.

So they both stare at her left toe. And stare some more. And then it starts to wiggle, just a little bit.

Yep,
he thinks, smiling at his mother,
it’s amazing the things you appreciate once they’re gone.

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