Queen of Broken Hearts (6 page)

I wrote my number on his arm slowly, trying to ignore the way the steady beat of his pulse under my fingers evened out my own heartbeat. I tilted my face toward him. “That’s it,” I said.

“Right. I should go. Curfew.” I’d never known anyone with a curfew before.

Neither of us moved. What if I un-paused this scene with a kiss? He was too good for me. I’d only hurt him.

“I’m a con artist.” The words escaped my lips in a rush of air. “And a thief. And a liar. And—”

He cut me off with a kiss.

I’m not going to tell you any more about it, to preserve Chad’s delicate sensibilities. He’s already informed me that he doesn’t want to know anything about how soft and warm Sam’s lips are or how they taste like—

Okay, okay, I’ll stop.

After telling Sam good-bye with only a little more tongue, I drove home. The house was silent. Mother had left a note on the inside of the door:
Be back soon.

Except I wasn’t sure if that were true. My happy high crashed to the ground. I’d gotten so carried away with Sam that I’d forgotten my life was in ruins. I’d even forgotten about the election on Wednesday that would stop me from going to his stupid mathletes game. I sank to the floor, note crumpled in my fist.

That was how Mother found me the next morning, red-eyed and clinging to her meaningless words.

In Colorado, Mother spent a month deciding to give up her life of crime and immorality in order to become a Good Person and Responsible Mother.

She started this campaign by stealing a house. She pretended to be an inspector and told the former residents their walls were filled with asbestos. I played the child who’d gotten sick from playing at their house. “If you don’t sell right now,” my mother had whispered to the terrified residents, “there’ll be lawsuits.” We bought the house with what was left on the credit card from when Mother impersonated a governor.

Long story.

It was a pleasant month of elementary school and my mother first attending, then leading the PTA. But she got bored. If there is one thing I know for certain about my mother, it’s that she will always get restless, searching for those blue skies up ahead.

I didn’t want to walk into school on Monday. I chewed my fingernail and stared at the doors for a good half hour.

Then I called Sam. “Remind me why I have to go to school.”

“Education?”

“Different reason.”

He laughed, the sound warming my insides.

“How about this: If you don’t go, you won’t get to show up your no-good backstabbing secretary.”

“Right.” I took a deep breath. “I’m going.”

“Good luck.”

I clung to the phone, fighting the urge to beg him to ditch his own classes to come with me.

“See you tonight?” he asked.

“You know me,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss my pizza for the whole world.”

I reluctantly put my phone away, threw my shoulders back, and walked into school. The first thing I noticed was that no one was looking at me. The reason became apparent a moment later when she glided by. Everyone was staring at Skittle.

Skittle, who was doing my laundry last week. Skittle, who usurped me in front of the entire school two days ago.

I found Songbreeze’s Monday tabloid shoved into my locker. Headline:
Skittle offers amnesty to Birdie’s followers. Becomes favorite to win the election.

 
Her reign had to end. Immediately. I knew better than to try gathering the Stone Throwers. They wouldn’t follow one of my plans again. I’d have to do this one on my own.

I would need to go deep undercover if I was going to pull this off. At lunchtime I snuck out to my car and clipped on my black wig, then added a pair of dark sunglasses. I looked—well, I looked like Annabelle. I then proceeded with Bring Skittle Down, Phase One. I stalked her. I shadowed her in the hall between every class.

She was too guarded for me to get her locker combination, but she did give away one vital piece of information. On her way to algebra, while flirting with the Yogurt Brothers, she twirled her ugly thin hair and said, “I’m having a party tonight. It’s
Wizard of Oz
–themed. You know, like, the witch is dead?”

Jackpot.

I stopped by Cheesey’s after school.

“I have to go to a party tonight,” I told Sam as I walked in.

“‘Have to’ is a strange choice of words when paired with ‘party.’”

I pushed myself up to sit on the counter. What? It’s not like I could have made it dirtier.

 
“The backstabbing secretary is throwing it, so it’s kind of like my version of work.” I swung my legs around until I was facing him.

“So not a date night?”

“Nope. You can stay home, so we won’t need a babysitter for Chad.”

Ow!
That was a
joke
, Chad.

“We can pretend Wednesday at the mathletes game is date night.” He flashed his annoyingly charming smile at me.

I looked up at the ceiling. “About that.”

“That doesn’t sound great.” He tugged my chin down until I was facing him.

“The election is on Wednesday. I can’t make the game.”

“Okay.” I thought the look in his eyes might be disappointment, but we both pretended it didn’t exist.

“But the party doesn’t start till eight, so I’m all yours until five,” I said, overly chipper, as if I could make up for bailing on him with sheer enthusiasm.

“It takes you three hours to get ready?”

“Disguises as awesome as mine don’t happen in five minutes.”

Sam wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me closer. “Cheesey’s isn’t exactly an ideal first date.”

“I’ll stay out of the other customers’ way and won’t even complain about paying two bucks for cheap pizza.”

“It’s for the drink, not the pizza. And I’m pretty sure the boss’s son’s girlfriend eats for free.”

My throat tightened. “That sounds like an awfully convoluted rule. If I understand it correctly, I’d have to be your girlfriend for it to work.”

“Generally after making out in a car for ten minutes, it’s implied.”

I yanked my purse into my lap and fiddled with the zipper so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Oh.” He shifted away from me. I doubt it was more than an inch, but I could still feel the cold creep between us. “Or assumed by one party of said making out.”

“I’m not really the girlfriend type.” The closest I’d come to dating was with Pak, and that was… complicated.

“Of course not.” He walked to the cooler and banged drinks around. I watched his back, not sure how to restore the easy repartee of a minute ago.

“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Can I still have free pizza?”

He grunted something to the wall.

“Sam.” I reached out and touched his arm. “I don’t want to fight about this. It’s silly.”

He swung back around to face me. “Just because you—”

I kissed him to stop him from talking. I estimated my weight wrong and leaned into him just a bit too hard. “Later,” I whispered against his mouth when we broke apart. “We can talk about this later.”

“Later,” he said, but his voice was all scratchy and wrong. Probably from the cold in the cooler. Right.

The party was dangerously close to police-calling levels by the time I arrived. I put on my best drunken swagger for Skittle’s new lackey checking names at the door. A week ago, that would have been Skittle’s job. I fought down the burning ire that threatened to choke me.

“It’s Cecily,” I said, practically tripping over him. Really. He was so confused and incompetent, I could have taken his wallet. Okay, I did take his wallet, but I gave it back. Mostly. Wasn’t like he’d miss his membership card to The Coffee Hut, anyway.

The music inside was so loud I couldn’t hear what some guy said as he shoved a drink in my hand. But that was okay. I didn’t need to hear. I dumped the drink in a planter and pressed the camera button on my phone. I had one goal tonight: get dirt. I know, I was bowling with the bumpers up. Getting dirt at a party is like getting sand in your shoes at the beach. Inevitable.

I stopped by the kitchen to snap a few pics of the kegs. Was that a wine barrel with a spigot? Really, Skittle. There’s such thing as taking it too far.

But drunken students and secret makeouts weren’t enough. I needed the jackpot. I needed Skittle. I got out of the main room and walked down the hallway, flipping open doors as I went. I found one of the Yogurt brothers leaning over a trashcan in someone’s bedroom.

I shook his shoulder. “Skittle,” I shouted over the music that was blaring even here. “Where’s Skittle?”

“Outside,” he mumbled. “Stupid bitch.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about her or me, but it didn’t matter anyway. This was no time for campaigning. He wouldn’t remember anything in the morning, anyway.

The set of double glass doors in the kitchen led outside to the well-tended garden. It must be their landscaper’s pride and joy. It smelled like vomit.

I could dimly hear a boy and girl arguing about something.

I pushed through the bushes to get to the voices. They got clearer until I could see them by a swimming pool.

“It had better not be lame again.” Skittle paced in front of the shimmering water. “I am not dyeing her hair blue. That’s so elementary school.”

I yanked my phone out of my pocket and clicked the screen on.

“No, tying her shoelaces together was elementary school. This idea is good.”

I saw the boy’s profile, and my phone hit the dirt. Literally.

“Forgive me for believing you’re not really taking this seriously, Pak.”

I scrambled for my phone. It crunched as a leather shoe stomped down on it.

“No.”

I looked up and met Pak’s blue eyes.

“This idea is a
really
good one.”

“Well, what is it?” I could hear Skittle’s high-pitched whine, but I couldn’t see her with Pak in the way.

“I’m going to need paper.” Pak walked forward. I crawled back as fast as my hands could push me. My knees were filthy by the time I made it through the bushes and scrambled to my feet.

“What are you doing here, Birdie?”

“I’m Cassidy. No. Casey? Cassandra?”

“Birdie.”

“What are you doing plotting with Skittle?
Skittle
, Pak. She’s practically Satan.”

“You would have to be God in order for that to make sense.”

I did the most mature thing I could think of. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Stop it, Birdie. What do you think you’re doing? Tattling on her party?”

“I have an appointment with the principal. I’m sure he’d be interested in the teenage drinking Skittle is enabling.”

“Birdie.” Pak scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What happened to you? When did you become
this
?”

“When did you start joining my arch-nemesis in a We Hate Birdie-off?”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself. I talked to Annabelle, and we agreed—”

“Oh, Annabelle’s a part of this now?” I threw my arms in the air. “Did you turn Madison on me, too? Should I start checking under my car for bombs?”

“Don’t be insane. We’re your friends; we’re trying to help.”

“I think I’ve had all of your help I can take. Why can’t you just leave me alone, Pak?”

“I’ve been leaving you alone,” he shouted. I flinched. “I’ve been back a week, and you haven’t talked to me once, Birdie. Not
once
. Do you even care that my parents cut me off? Did you even know that I’ve been fixing movie sets for money? Or that I’m paying for school by helping the janitors at night? Do you care about
anything
but yourself?”

I couldn’t find my legs.

“Of course not, Birdie. Why would you?” His shoulders slumped. I knew that look. I’d created that look, time and time again. It was defeat.

I watched him walk away. I should’ve called him back. I should’ve done something.

I didn’t.

I spent the night staring at the ceiling. Exhaustion pulled me down, but guilt held me up. How had I missed this? In all my careful scheming and intricate plotting, I hadn’t noticed the speeding semi-truck until it plowed into my side.

I stood up and paced my room. I didn’t want to think about this. I couldn’t not think about this. I’d never thought of myself as a saint, but this?

Mother knocked on my bedroom door. “Honey?”

I closed my eyes, then snapped them back open. “I’m awake.”

She opened the door slowly. The light from the hallway outlined her high cheekbones and cotton traveling outfit. “I need to talk to you.”

“You’re leaving.” I couldn’t manage inflection.

“We’re leaving, baby. You need to pack a bag. I already bought the plane tickets.”

I looked at her, my mother who couldn’t see a blue sky when she had it. Maybe we weren’t so different after all. “I’m staying.”

“We don’t have time for one of your teenager fits; the plane is leaving at six.”

“I’m not going, Mother.”

“But—”

“No.”

“I’m the adult here, and you’ll pack when I say pack.”

I didn’t move.

Her eyes crinkled. When had my mother gotten so old? “You’re not coming?”

I shook my head.

We watched each other.

“I’ll be back for you. In a week.”

I don’t know if I believed her.

Twenty minutes before school started, I went to see the principal with my brand new phone in hand. Unfortunately for Skittle, the pictures had synched to my account before Pak smashed my old phone.

I tugged my shirt down over my roiling stomach and shoved my doubts to the side. I couldn’t let Skittle win. I’d make it up to Pak later. After I took Skittle down and had my position back I’d fix everything. I was doing this for Pak, really.

I swallowed back vomit.

“You can go in now, Miss Anders.” The secretary waved me to the door.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. The principal was sitting behind his desk, with a pile of papers spread out in front of him. I rearranged my speech in my mind and took a deep breath. Like a Band-Aid, I’d just pull it off. “Principal Stevens, as the current Queen of Heart, I’d like to bring a matter to your attention.”