Read Breaking Beautiful Online
Authors: Jennifer Shaw Wolf
“No.” I glance back at the shadows. “It’s not that important.”
“It’s cold out here.” Blake takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I slide back into the car, and he gets behind the wheel. He puts his hands over the air vent and shakes his head. “Heater’s busted. Great, one more thing.”
I snuggle against his side for warmth and comfort. “It’s okay. I’ll keep you warm.”
He leans over and kisses my forehead. Then he slides his fingers along my cheek. I lean into his hand—rough and warm—strong enough to toss bags of fertilizer but gentle enough to paint the picture of my face. I sigh in relief, feeling safe with him here. “I still want to—” He hits his hand against the steering wheel. “Ah, why can’t I just say it?” He clears his throat. “Allie, I think I love you.”
I choke on a nervous laugh. “Think?”
He turns red and stammers, “I mean, I know I love you. I’ve loved you since I was four and you were five.” He turns away from me and grips the steering wheel with both hands. “Okay, that was stupid. Nothing like what I’d planned.”
I slip my arm over his shoulders.
He leans forward. “It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if it’s too soon … I just—”
I lean my lips to his ear. “I think I love you, too.”
He turns to me with such a shocked look that I almost laugh. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.” He pulls me close and our lips melt into each other’s. It feels so good to be in his arms, to be kissing him. Let James watch. Let the whole school and the whole town watch. I don’t care anymore. Blake loves me and I love him. The rest of the world can go away.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket—Dad. I don’t mean to answer, but when I try to silence it, it opens. “Allie, Allie, are you there?”
“Hi, Dad.” I breathe in and hope I don’t sound as breathless
as I feel. “We were just—” Breathe again. “We were just heading home now.”
“Good, I’ll expect you in about ten minutes.” The phone clicks off.
“I guess we’d better go,” Blake says. “Got to keep the sergeant major happy. I don’t want to do anything that would keep me away from you,” he says.
“Don’t worry.” I laugh, but another voice echoes in my brain.
“Nothing will ever keep us apart.”
I reach for the stone, but instead find Blake’s hand. I take it and hold on tight the rest of the way home.
The clock says 7:20, even though it’s really only 7:00. I couldn’t get to sleep last night, but I’m not tired.
Blake loves me. I love him. Nothing else matters. I said the words out loud, but they didn’t feel big enough to encompass what I feel for him. Love, gratitude, exhilaration, all swirl around my chest and through my whole body.
I love Blake.
It’s not like before. Not quick and exciting and giddy. Not so fast that it took my breath away. Not like with Trip.
It came on slowly, like the tide filling up the entire shore before you even realize it’s coming in. So slow that I didn’t expect it, didn’t know I was falling in love until I said it out loud. At the same time it feels like I’ve always been in love with Blake. Like he said, since I was five and he was four.
It’s Saturday morning, the day of the dance, finally. I wrap
my grandma’s quilt around me and wonder if it’s too early to call him. Blake, Andrew, and I aren’t leaving for Hoquiam until ten. We’re going skating and then having a gourmet dinner prepared by Caitlyn’s mom. Mel is going to help Caitlyn and me with our makeup and hair. I still haven’t figured out how to duplicate the disappearance of my scar. I’m eager for Blake to see me without it.
My phone rings and my heart leaps. It’s him. He must feel the same way I do. He couldn’t wait to call.
I reach for the phone, almost giggling with excitement. “Hey, babe.”
“We have a problem.” Blake’s voice is serious.
“What is it?” In a second my mood has changed from exhilaration to fear. I grip the phone and pray that he’s kidding.
“There was a fire in the gym last night.” He swallows. “Ms. Flores wants us to meet her at the school.”
“Your paintings?” I wrap the quilt closer to me but all the warmth is gone.
“I don’t know.” His voice sounds pained. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
.........
Most of the town, two fire trucks, and the entire volunteer fire crew of Pacific Cliffs are standing in the school parking lot outside the gym. It’s raining—a slow, cold, drizzly rain, the kind that sucks the joy out of everything. Through the crowd I pick out Ms. Flores, wearing a long coat and rubber boots and talking to one of the firefighters. Hannah is here, too, looking like she just left the beauty salon. She must sleep in full makeup and with her hair done.
Ms. Flores waves me and Blake over. Hannah follows. We step to one side, and after giving Hannah a funny look, Ms. Flores lets her stay. “It isn’t as bad as it looks,” she says. “The fire suppression system put out most of the flames before the crew even got here. But I guess it’s a mess inside, water and soot everywhere.” She puts her hand on Blake’s shoulder. “I don’t know how your paintings fared.”
“How did the fire start?” Hannah is eyeing me suspiciously.
“They’re still doing the investigation.” Ms. Flores passes her hand over her face. She has a glob of brown paint above her eye. “But it looks like a wiring issue. The building is old and the circuits might have gotten overloaded.” She looks at Blake. “Did you guys unplug the equipment before you left last night?”
“No.” Blake hangs his head. I slide my arm around his waist.
“It’s okay. I didn’t tell you that you had to. We’ll know more when the chief comes out. He said we might be able to go in and see what we can salvage later today, as long as his investigation doesn’t raise any questions.” She looks toward the school. “It’s a blessing that this happened now, when there weren’t any kids inside.”
It seems like forever, milling around in the cold rain with the rest of the town. The rumors fly, and people are looking at me and Blake again. We retreat to his car to get away from the rain and the gossip, but without the heater it doesn’t do much good. About an hour after we get there, Mom shows up with coffee for all the firefighters. She asks me to help pass it out.
While I’m handing out coffee, I see Chief Milton and Detective Weeks in a heated discussion. I’m close enough to hear the words “arson” and “investigation.” Detective Weeks keeps
looking at me. I know I should say something about James standing by the Dumpster, but I don’t want any more attention, and I can’t prove it was him. And if I told everyone he was at the school last night, what would he say about me?
Police Chief Milton gets on the loudspeaker in his car. “The fire crew has finished the initial investigation. It looks like the fire was started by an overloaded circuit.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t have to tell anyone about James. “You can all go home. Once the firefighters have taken out all of their equipment, we will allow a few people to go inside with the chief to get their personal belongings.”
He starts to put the radio back into his truck but Mom stops him. She smiles her public-relations smile and takes the radio from him. “Mr. Phillips has agreed to have the dance tonight at Pacific Cliffs Inn, so everything will go on as planned.” She beams at me like she’s doing me a big favor.
It takes another half hour for the firefighters to pack up all of their hoses. In that time Ms. Flores decides to let me and Blake and Randall go inside. Hannah looks absolutely livid that she doesn’t get to be one of the elite to see the destruction in the gym. The face she makes would be funny if everything weren’t so horrible.
Except for a haze of smoke, the hallway looks normal, so I’m not expecting what we find when we walk into the gym. The floor is wet and the wood is already buckling. Everything is covered with thick black soot.
Blake runs his hand across one of his paintings and leaves a streak of fingerprints through the black.
“Don’t touch anything!” Randall’s dad, the fire chief, warns.
“Some of them are salvageable.” Ms. Flores puts her hand on his shoulder. He just nods.
“Man,” Randall says, “when I was a kid I always wanted the school to burn down. But this is kind of sad.”
“The fire must have started here.” Ms. Flores points to the corner that I’ve been afraid to look at. I follow her finger to
Hope
and see what I already knew. The painting of me got the worst of it.
Bits of the woman’s face—my face—are left, hanging in blackened strips from the metal frame. The sail looks like a ship after a pirate attack. Her expression looks mournful instead of hopeful, and the place where the ship was on the horizon is a blackened hole.
“Doesn’t look like there’s much left to salvage,” Randall says, “except for maybe these.” He points to a staple gun and a hammer that we forgot. He kicks the staple gun and it leaves an outline in soot on the gym floor.
“Probably not.” Ms. Flores has a streak of soot across her forehead. She gestures to the lump of black plastic that used to be Andrew’s computer. All the speakers are burned or melted, too. “The school’s insurance will probably cover your personal belongings. Allie’s mom told me they still have most of the decorations from the cotillion in a storeroom at the inn. We could put up those, but we’ll have to hurry.”
She starts moving toward the door. I keep my eyes on the ground, searching while trying to look like I’m not searching. No one notices. They’re all too caught up in the mess. Then I hear a thump and something sliding across the floor. I turn around to see Randall picking something up.
I cross the room to him. “What is that?”
“Just a rock.” He slides his fingers over the tigereye and wipes a streak of soot off of it.
“It’s mine,” I say, holding my hand out, “for luck.”
“I don’t think it’s working.” He dumps it into my hand. When it lands the tigereye breaks apart into two pieces. I gasp when I see it. The yellow stripes inside have turned bloodred.
Blake slams the staple gun through plastic green vines and into a wood frame harder than he needs to. He’s in a really bad mood. I’ve been avoiding him since we got to the inn. Tiptoeing around like I was walking on eggshells is too familiar a feeling. I don’t like it. And Roger Phillips keeps poking his head through the doorway, like he needs to supervise us. I don’t dare get close to Blake while Trip’s dad is watching.
The tigereye is in my pocket again. I put it back together, but every time I bend over, the pieces slide apart and the edges dig into my thigh.
Hannah is eating this up, pinning little flowers to the curtains, joking with Angie and reminiscing—I’m sure—about the happiest night of her life. Back before I stole her spotlight.
“Did we bring any more staples?” Blake snaps at me.
“I’m not sure.” I nervously touch the bulge in my pocket. “There might be some in the back of your car. I could go look.”
“No, I’ll do it.” He stomps across the ballroom and through the back door.
I’m almost happy to see him leave. Then Mr. Phillips calls me over. I set down the bow I was pinning to a tablecloth and walk over to meet him.
“Hello, Allie.” He puts his arm over my shoulders. I want to shake it off, but instead I force a smile. I can still pretend everything’s okay. “It’s really coming together. Seeing these decorations up again is kind of bittersweet, isn’t it?”
I look across the fake grass and flowers, the ugly metallic streamers, and the satiny tablecloths tied with bows. I hate everything about it.
He grips my arm. “But you don’t remember the first time they were put up, do you?”
I look down at the floor, not sure how to answer that.
“Such a shame about the fire, and Blake’s paintings.” Mr. Phillips shakes his head, but he doesn’t look like he thinks it’s a shame.
“We really appreciate your letting us use the ballroom.” I can even force my lips to say pleasant things.
He waves his arm. “No problem, happy to do it. In fact, I wish you would have asked me to have the dance here first, then we could have avoided the mess at the school. And”—he’s still smiling, but his dark eyes are hard and intense against mine—“maybe Blake would still have his paintings.”
I pull away with the distinct feeling that I’m being threatened. “I should get back to work.”
He’s not done. “I have something that belongs to you in my office. I’ve been meaning to return it, but I see so little of you
now. If you’ll follow me.” It’s an order, not a request. I wish I had the courage to refuse. I wish I had the courage to ask him why he had James follow me and what he thinks he’s going to find out by threatening me. I wonder which of the things I sold he’s going to return to me now and how I can possibly be nonchalant about it. I work on making my face a mask as I follow him down the hall and into his office.
Like everything else in his world, Mr. Phillips’s office is clean to the point of being sterile. The bookshelf behind him is lined with pictures of Trip, including—I shudder—two of Trip and me.
He sits behind his desk, reaches into a drawer, and slides a flat black frame facedown toward me. “It was in bad shape when I got it.” I touch the edge of the frame, afraid of what it might be. It’s nothing that I sold at the pawnshop. “One of the guests turned it in to the office at the inn. She said she found it on the beach when she was out walking. ‘Such a nice-looking couple,’ she said. ‘I’m sure they don’t want to lose this.’ “ Mr. Phillips turns the picture over. I see me and Trip, standing in front of the same archway that Blake was just stapling. I’m wearing the red dress now hidden in the back of my closet. Trip is wearing a tux and his perfect grin. I look trapped.
I try to keep the horror out of my expression as Mr. Phillips runs his finger down the edge of the frame. “I could have had the photographer just make up another copy, but I knew you’d want the original.” He touches the discoloration on the edges. “It still has a few water spots, but it’s not too worse for the wear.” He looks up at me with the same stone-cold look that Trip had. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to lose it. Trip told me you
were absentminded—always losing things. Like the expensive gifts he gave you.”