Heart Shaped Rock (21 page)

“Lennox says you came to bed right after school. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Did something happen at school today?”

“Yeah, actually. I ditched two classes.”

Dad looks alarmed. “Why? Were you with that boy?”

“No, Dad. He doesn’t even go to my school. He’s Sheila’s son, actually.”

“Oh.” Dad arches his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. Well, I’ll have to check my Teenager Manual, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to ditch class.”

“No, Dad. That’s what your
Parent
Manual says
about
teenagers. The
Teenager
Manual actually says ditching class is exactly what I’m supposed to do.”

“Ah.”

“And, anyway, don’t worry, because the boy doesn’t ever want to see me again.”

“I told you—he’s a big dummy.”

“No, Dad, he’s not a dummy. I’m the dummy. I made a big mistake.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“This one was a doozy.”

“Everyone makes doozies. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re still figuring things out. You’re sixteen. If he loves you, he’ll forgive you.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He doesn’t love me. Not anymore.”

Dad makes a sympathetic frowny face. “You want me to beat him up for you?”

I shake my head. Even in my misery, I can’t help but smile at the idea of Dad running around beating people up for me.

“So, why’d you ditch your classes?”

“I got caught up talking to Tiffany during lunch. About Mom, actually.”

Dad looks surprised.

“Funny thing, too—once I started talking about her, I couldn’t stop.”

Dad looks away.

“You should try it sometime, Pops. Talking about Mom, that is, not ditching Trigonometry. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”

Dad looks like he wants to bolt out of my room. “You sure you don’t want any dinner? You’ve gotta eat.”

“I’ll eat an especially big breakfast. I promise.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m worried about
you.”

Dad gets up from my bed and heads to my door. “No more missing classes, Shay.”

“Don’t worry. I think I’ve gotten my teenage rebellious phase totally out of my system.”

“Gosh, I hope not.” He smiles and leaves the room.

I don’t want to leave my bed, but my bladder’s got a different idea. I hop into the bathroom to do my thing and brush my teeth. When I return, I slip into my monkey pajamas and get back into bed. I grab my phone from my nightstand and look at my incoming texts. Nothing.

I look at my library of past text messages. I click on the texts from Dean.

“This is Dean. I don’t understand what just happened.”
I sigh.
“Please give me a chance to explain. What did I do wrong?”
Dean sent both texts on Thursday, about an hour apart, and I never responded to either one—unless, of course, you count the indirect “message” I sent through C-Bomb via Jared. What must Dean think of me? What must he think
I’m
thinking? The last time he saw me, I was a screaming, melting, maniacal mess, streaking down the street and then hopping into a car with Jared—right in front of him. And the next thing he hears? “Hey, dude, she’s sucking Jared’s face.” He must think Jared and I are a couple now. I feel sick just thinking about it. I should have texted Dean right away. Or called him. But now, texting or calling would be too little, too late. I know in my bones there’s no alternative but to talk to him, face-to-face. I need to tell Dean I’m not with Jared. I need to tell him I’m sorry, and that I’m ready to hear whatever he has to say. I don’t know why Dean didn’t tell me the truth right away. I don’t know why he pretended to know nothing about me, or why he didn’t stop me when I started babbling about my normal family and my not-dead mother, but, I suddenly realize, I have enough faith in him to know he must have had his reasons.

When Dean kissed me in front of Wang Palace, he gave me his heart, I’m sure of it. And I gave him mine. And when I saw him again on Thursday at Sheila’s, and he put his hands on my face and said my name with such burning intensity my knees went weak, we belonged to each other. And now, just a few short days later, he’s out there, believing I’m Jared’s girlfriend, and that he and I meant nothing. And through my silence and everything I’ve done—and not done—I’ve let him think it.

Damn! I should have heard him out on Thursday. I should have listened to whatever he had to say. I should have sat right down and let him talk. I never, ever should have gotten into that stupid car with dumbass Jared. Or, jeez,
kissed
Jared on the boardwalk, right there in plain sight where anyone could see us. Wait, what am I thinking? I never, ever should have kissed Jared, period.

Should I call Dean? What if my call goes to voicemail?

I gasp.
Oh my God.
I’ve suddenly remembered something.
Dean left two voicemails on Thursday.
How could I have forgotten about the voicemails? With a sudden surge of adrenaline, I fumble with my phone, accidentally dropping it onto the bed next to me. I quickly pick it back up, my hands trembling, and press “play” on Dean’s first voicemail.

“Shaynee,” Dean says, and the very sound of his voice brings a lump to my throat. He sounds like he’s in agony. “I’m such an idiot, Shaynee. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please,
please,
let me explain. I don’t completely understand what just happened, but
please
believe me, the only thing I ever wanted to do was show you how much I... ” Dean’s voice breaks and becomes garbled. He emits a low-pitched moan. “Shaynee, it killed me to watch you go off with... ” There’s a sharp sound like a wild animal getting caught in a trap, followed by a shuffling noise. The voicemail ends.

I am overwhelmed with emotion. My hands are shaking. What have I done?

I press “play” on the second voicemail message, which is time-stamped a good twenty minutes after the first message. “Sorry about that,” Dean says. He sounds much more composed. “I think I understand why you’re so upset, thinking about it from your point of view. You have every right to hate me. I abused your trust—something I never, ever meant to do. But please, just let me explain. I can’t do it in a voicemail. I just need to talk to you, face-to-face. The truth is, yes, I did hear about you from Tiffany before I ever met you. And, yes, I saw your picture, and I thought you were beautiful... and
intriguing
. Like a dream girl. And then, when I met you, Shaynee, you were so much more than I had imagined, so much better... Oh,
Shaynee
.” He says my name like no one has ever said it to me, like he’s reciting a sacred word. “And to meet like we did, just by chance? It was fate.” He moans. “We’re written in the stars.” He semi-laughs, but it’s an aching laugh. “Just let me talk to you. I’m back at the coffeehouse now. I see your car’s still here, so I’ll wait here for you to come back—all night if I have to, my whole life if I have to. I won’t leave ‘til I talk to you. Please come soon.” The voicemail ends.

I stare at my phone.

He waited for me at Sheila’s on Thursday, all night long?

And I never came.

And I never answered his texts.

And I never called.

I imagine Dean sitting at Sheila’s, heartbroken, looking expectantly at the door, wondering why I haven’t at least come back for my car, and slowly coming to the conclusion it’s because I’m with Jared. I imagine Sheila closing down the place for the night, telling Dean it’s time to go, honey, and Dean hanging his head. Fast-forward a couple days, and I imagine Dean finding out that his “dream girl” just swapped spit with Jared on the boardwalk, in plain sight of the whole world. The full weight of my predicament crashes down on me. I’ve lost Dean forever. If ever there was a chance for me to be with him, I’ve blown it, totally and completely. Irreversibly.

C-Bomb’s right. I suck.

I put my phone back onto my nightstand and turn onto my side, toward my wall. I can’t even cry. I’m all cried out. When Dean held my face at the coffeehouse, before he leaped onto the stage to sing me his song, he said my name like he was saying a prayer. And what did I do? I stabbed him in the heart. And now, I’m getting what I deserve in return.

I hear my door open, followed by light footsteps on the floor. The bed jerks and lowers with the weight of a small body climbing into my bed, and I close my eyes in anticipation of being touched. Sure enough, two chimpy arms wrap around me from behind, and a small, chimpy chin rests on my shoulder.

Without saying a word, I lay a hand on Lennox’s slender forearm, close my eyes, and drift off to sleep.

Chapter 21

When the alarm blares on Tuesday morning, Lennox is lying next to me in my bed, sleeping soundly. We both groan simultaneously.

Lennox stretches his hands above his head and yawns.

We look at each other quietly for a moment.

“Another day, another dollar,” I finally say.

“This kid at school keeps saying I’m weird,” Lennox declares, out of nowhere.

“
You?”
I ask, feigning incredulity. “Is this kid on crack?”

“He says I’m a dork.”

I shrug. Lennox
is
a dork.

“He calls me a loser.”

I’m instantly offended. Lennox may be weird, and he might even be a dork. But Lennox is most definitely not a loser. In fact, he’s as far from being a loser as you can get. “Why, in his infinite wisdom, has this supreme winner in the game of life decided you’re a loser?”

“ ’Cause I still like Pokémon and dragons and stuff.”

“Well, what are you supposed to like in sixth grade? Geothermal engineering?”

“Girls, I guess.”

“Oh, no, no. Listen to me, Lenny. Stick with dragons and Pokémon as long as possible. You’ve got the right idea. Trust me.”

Lennox doesn’t say anything.

“Listen, Lennox. You
are
weird, okay? But guess what? Everyone’s weird. I’m most definitely weird. And, believe me, that kid is plenty weird, too. And it’s the same thing about being a dork. There’s no such thing as normal.”

Lennox smiles.

I’m on a roll. “But you’re not a loser. A loser is someone who’s trying to be someone they’re not. I mean, Mr. Sixth-Grade-Ladies’-Man? Loser. And he knows it, so he’s picking on the coolest kid he can find so he feels better about himself.”

“I’m not the coolest kid.”

“Yeah, well, I might have aimed a little high with that one. But, dude, let’s roll with it. I’ve seen your music video. Even if you’re not the
coolest
kid, you’re pretty freakin’ cool.”

“Yeah... ” Lennox smiles in warm remembrance of his bizarre little music video. “That video
was
pretty cool. Especially the part where I rode my skateboard dressed like a penguin.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s not get too crazy here.” I’m not so sure I can buy into the penguin-riding-a-skateboard trope as the new standard of cool. “Anyway, speaking of losers
,
I’ve recently become a certifiable juvenile delinquent, so now I’ve got to show my teachers I’m back on the straight and narrow. Let’s move.”

The clock on the wall in Art History moves at a snail’s pace. All I care about is getting over to Sheila’s after school. When Tiffany agreed to swap her Tuesdays for my Thursdays, she assured me that Dean almost always comes in on Tuesdays. When I see him, I’m going to tell him I’m sorry, that I’m ready to listen to anything he has to say, if he’s still willing to speak to me. I’ll tell him I’ve been an idiot, and that Jared means nothing to me. I can only hope he doesn’t reply with the same words C-Bomb used to describe me. Or worse.

After fourth period, before heading to the lunchroom, I swing by Mrs. Garrison’s classroom to pick up a handout I forgot to get from her yesterday.

“Thanks again for being so understanding,” I say. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I’m just glad you had the chance to get some support. If you miss class again for
that
reason, then I’ll understand
again
.”

Who knew?

By the time I reach the lunchroom, it’s already bursting at the seams with rambunctious kids at every table. I fill my plate sky-high at the salad bar, plus I grab a bag of chips, some string-cheese, and a huge chocolate chip cookie—I guess I’m starving after missing dinner last night—and make my way to my usual table in the back. When I arrive at the table, I’m surprised to see Tiffany sitting practically on top of Delaney, giggling without a care in the world. The Giggle Twins are joined by Delaney’s best friend, Juliette, plus Kellan, and two of Kellan’s baseball teammates, plus their girlfriends. Wow,
our
table is now The Fun Table.

“Hi, Shaynee,” Delaney sings out when I arrive. “You’ve got to hear Tiffy tell this hilarious story. She’s so funny/”

Tiffany laughs gleefully. “No, Laney. You’re the funny one. I’m just your sidekick.”

Well, well, well, aren’t
Tiffy
and
Laney
just two peas in a pod? Interesting. I survey Tiffany’s face, and realize she’s falling all over herself with giddiness. Clearly, I’ve kept my social-butterfly best friend trapped for the better part of a year, unable to flit and fly from flower to flower as she’s meant to do. I smile at her.

“So, what’s the deal with Jared?” Kellan asks me bluntly, just as I’m tearing open my bag of chips. Leave it to Kellan to throw a haymaker on the pink elephant in the room.

“Who’s Jared?” Delaney coos. “Oh, is he the one with the jacket?”

“No,” I shout. “Nothing’s going on with Jared.”

“Jared’s not Jacket Boy,” Tiffany explains.

“But Shaynee went out with him anyway,” Kellan adds, grinning.

I’m mortified.

“Wow, Shaynee,” Delaney gasps. “You’re a trollop. So who the heck is Jared?”

“Jared is, you know, the ‘red herring love interest,’
”
Tiffany explains. “Hot werewolf, killer abs—but he’ll never get the girl.”

“Oh,” Delaney says. “Well, in that case, send him my way. If he’s not gonna get
the
girl”—she points at me—“then he can help himself to
this
girl.” She points both thumbs at herself.