Tears of the Broken (40 page)

“
What other reason would he have?” she asked, smiling at
Spencer as he walked past; he didn’t smile back.

Emily looked into her lap—seeming to forget I’d said
anything.

Maybe I should tell her about the fight David and I had. But
what if she thinks I’m a horrible person for dumping him on the day
his friend died? She might not want to be friends with me anymore,
and I need a friend right now—someone to make me feel like I do
deserve another chance to be happy. But that makes me feel even
worse to be keeping Emily as a friend under pretences.

There’s a place for selfish people like me in the
afterlife—they call it Hell—and right now, I feel it’s more than I
deserve. If David ever talks to me again after I said those
horrible things to him, I might be lucky if it’s just to say
so long
and
it’s been great.
So,
Thursday? I can get through a day and a half without him—I
think.

“
What’s the deal with Spence?” I asked, changing the subject
when Spencer sauntered past, avoiding eye contact with Emily. “Was
he close to Nathan?”

Emily shook her head. “No. You saw that, huh? The
quick-look-away thing he does.”

“
Yeah. Does he do that a lot?”

“
Every time I look at him.”

“
And you think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like
you?” I tried to stifle a giggle. She is
so
clueless.

“
It
must be. Why would he do it if he liked me?”

“
Because, Emily—” I shoved my notes on the chair and stood up,
“—he’s a guy. They’re more afraid of you than you are of
them.”

“
Ara!” she squeaked. “What are you doing?”

I
ignored her and walked over to Ryan, Alana, and Spencer—all talking
among themselves. My brilliant idea of setting Emily up with Mike
while he’s here is about to go out the window…

“
Hey, guys.” I waved as I stepped up to the group.

“
Hey, Ara.” Alana leaned a little closer. “I was
thinking…about the sleepover this weekend?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Um,
could we…maybe move it to next weekend?”

“
The
Saturday before the concert?” I confirmed.

“
Yeah. With the funeral this week…” She nodded at Emily,
sitting low in her chair, staring at her feet. “It might be a bit
much.”

“
I
agree. That’s cool. Next week’ll be fine.”

“
So,
Ara?” Ryan asked, “Are you coming to the wake at Betty’s on
Thursday night?”

“
I
um—I didn’t know about it. Why is Mrs. Rossi doing it there?” It
seems like an odd place for a wake.

“
She’s not,” Ryan said, placing his arm around Alana. “It’s
just a bunch of us kids fare-welling Nathan in our own way. Betty’s
was his favourite burger joint—we figure it’s
appropriate.”

“
Oh,
okay. Well, that sounds cool. I guess I’ll try, but I may have to
go to Mrs. Rossi’s with my dad, you know—pay my respects as a
family.” I shrugged.

“
I
get it. Totally cool. If we see you there, we see you there,” Ryan
said.

“
Hey, so, you two are going together, right?” I asked Alana
and Ryan.

“
Yup.” Ryan tightened his arm around Alana’s shoulder,
grinning.

“
So,
why don’t you take Emily, Spence? I know she needs a ride,” I lied.
I hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that I couldn’t know
that—since I didn’t even know about the wake before now.

Spence smiled and looked over at Emily—looking away before
she looked up. Hopefully, this is one more match that’ll work out
well.

Grief struck the school like a tidal wave; the teachers
cancelled homework for the week, and even my dad, when I woke up
this morning and begged him not to make me go to school, just
sighed and said, “Fine, stay home—but just for today.” I froze on
the spot, thinking,
This is some joke,
seriously.
But Dad’s not his usual self
right now. I don’t think he’s coping with the loss of a
student.

Everyone around me is heartbroken about Nathan—and I’m
heartbroken about David. That’s why I couldn’t go to school, and
that’s why no homework for the week is a relief to me. Now, I can
spend my afternoons sulking, instead.

There’s no point in going to school, anyway—David won’t be
there and I can’t bear the emptiness that surrounds that place
without him. I only stayed at school yesterday for the small
glimmer of hope that he might decide to come back. He didn’t. David
has inflicted on me, a foul taste of what life without him will be
like, and already, I can’t take it.

Sam
stacked the last of the dinner plates on the bench beside the sink
and I flicked the tap on to help wash the scraps down the ancient
garbage disposal. There are an awful lot of leftovers tonight, and
I know it’s not because Vicki’s lasagne is bad. Dad’s plate doesn’t
even have the usual layer of salt over the base of it, and he’s
been in a silent-groaning-every-now-and-then-mood since he got home
from helping Mrs. Rossi plan the funeral. Even Vicki’s plate looks
as though she’s just moved the food around to make it look like
she’s eaten something.

Sam
handed my plate over next; this is nothing unusual. I never eat my
dinner. I just shift a few bites around in my mouth, then claim
exhaustion and go upstairs until it’s time to do the dishes—by
hand, since Dad doesn’t believe in mod cons. His aversion to
technology is something clinical, I think. Sam apparently had to
beg him for a TV, and I can only imagine the arguments that went on
when Sam sent a letter to Santa, asking for a game console. But,
since Dad’s convinced there’s a Santa, he had no choice but to let
Sam have an Xbox. That was clever of Sam, who hasn’t believed in
Old Big Fat and Red since he was five.

When
the clock in the front entrance chimed seven, I sighed. The day is
going so slow. I have a stack of dishes left to do, but all I can
think of is running upstairs and tossing ideas around in my head
about why David would’ve taken me to the lake, dedicated that
soul-touching song to me, then told me he’s leaving, only to go and
kiss me. Our argument yesterday solved nothing—and he still managed
to get away without giving me an answer.

I
know I should be thinking about how
he’s
feeling right now—how
devastated he must be over losing his friend, but I can’t help
being stuck in why-doesn’t-he-love-me land.

I
mean, why kiss and say
I love you
to a girl you don’t plan to stay with?

I
spent all day on the swing, today—rocking back and forth between
conclusions—only to realise in the end, as Vicki called us for
dinner, that my thoughts won’t reason beyond emotion; I’m
suffering, really suffering right now and worse, I don’t know how I
should be feeling. I’m either feeling hurt, sad, angry or
betrayed—I think. Confusion is the only emotion I can properly
identify, and it’s hovering like humid air.

I
thought I’d concluded to let him go, once and for all, but in my
heart, that’s not what I want—not really. I’m mad because he keeps
things from me and hurt that he finds it so easy to leave—that he’s
just going to go, and not even
try
to fight for us. But I shouldn’t have said I want
to break up, because I don’t, and now it’s too late. I said it, and
he left. I guess that means we’re not together anymore. That
must’ve been the quickest, most tragic tale of true love,
ever—aside from Romeo and Juliet.

It’s
funny how time passed with David, though, like, we only got
together a few days ago, but it feels like I’ve known him and loved
him my whole life. He made my days feel full—not slow, like
today.

My
ears pricked to the sound of Dad and Vicki’s footsteps overhead.
It’s unusually empty in this house tonight; there’s no TV buzzing
from the lounge room, no laughter from Dad as he tells Vicki about
his day, and Sam, who normally tosses the forks in the air and
catches them behind his back, dried them slowly and placed them
quietly in the drawer. All this silence has given me too much time
alone with my thoughts—never a good thing.

God,
why didn’t I just let David talk? I was so mean to him. If I’d just
given him the chance to get a word in, I would’ve known why he was
so sad, but no, I had to go all crazy-cat-throwing-lady—assuming he
was sad because he had to leave poor little old me. I should’ve
been there for him, and instead, I said things to hurt him. I know
I don’t deserve to say sorry, but if I don’t at least say goodbye,
I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing I’d had the
chance.

The
quiet meandering of my thoughts was broken suddenly by a pattering
drip and a warm sensation around the base of my singlet top. “Oh
crud!” I gasped and jumped back, flicking the kitchen tap off as I
lifted the soggy fabric from my belly. What the hell? The sink is
totally full. There’s no way I fazed-out for that long.

“
Are
you okay, Ara? You were pretty spaced out there for a bit?” Sam
asked slowly and cautiously, with his hand extended.

“
I’m not going to flip, Sam.” I rolled my
eyes. “I know everyone’s waiting for it, but I’m okay,
really.
Really
!”
I added in response to his conceited grimace.

He
doesn’t believe me—no one believes me. My shoulders dropped with a
huff. Enough is enough. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? I
can handle my mum’s death in my own way. I’m nowhere near a nervous
breakdown.

Sam
took a long step sideways—away from the crazy person—and continued
drying the dishes, wearing the same smug grin he always wears when
he thinks he has the upper hand.

That’s it! My teeth clenched and I dipped my fingertips into
the sink. He is so going to get it. Lost in his own
self-righteousness, Sam never saw it coming. I flicked the soapy
dishwater all over his face. “Argh, Ara!” He jumped back, blinking
and wiping his eyes.

I
laughed aloud, but Sam’s lips meshed together and his eyes became
small.

Okay, that seemed like a better idea in theory.

“
Oh,
you’re gonna pay for that, big sister.” He held the tea towel an
arms-length away, spinning it in circles until it looked like a
long, twisted snake.

“
Oh,
no. No. Don’t you dare!” I warned, with the pointed finger of
authority.

“
Oh,
yeah? And who’s gonna stop me?” He laughed and flicked the back of
my leg with the towel.

“
Ouch.” I squealed, running around the island bench to
out-manoeuvre him. No good—he took a head shot. “Hey, no fair, keep
it below the knees,” I yelled, running toward the dining table,
then bolted up the stairs.

“
Come back and I’ll make it quick.” He thudded up behind
me.

As
the towel came at me again, I slammed my bedroom door—catching the
end of the towel in the doorframe. Sam laughed boisterously as he
tried to pull it out.

“
Told you I’m faster, Samuel,” I called through the door as I
folded over, laughing. “And don’t even—”

“
That’s enough, you two.” Dad’s strong voice forced Sam and I
into stillness.

“
But, Dad—” Sam started.

“
I
said enough! Now get back down and finish your chores.”

“
What about her?” Sam said.

“
Now!”

This
is not a good time to argue with Dad.

In
the hall, Sam sighed loudly—probably rolling his eyes and planning
a revenge strike, too. The tea towel made a grating sound before it
released from the door with a short, dull thud. “Why does
the
princess
always get her own way? It’s not fair.” Sam’s voice trailed
off.

Folding my arms, breathing out with a smile, I leaned on the
back of my door. It’s good to laugh again. Sam can be a pain, but
at least he’s good spirited. However, there’s no way I’m going back
downstairs to get my butt whooped.

Instead, I sat at my desk and looked out over the yard. Under
the charcoal sky of the coming night, the oak tree rustled lightly
in the breeze, and the swing, hovering low over the soft grass,
swayed gently—almost as if a small, invisible child were rocking
back and forth on it.

My
mum would’ve loved it here. She’d be happy that I found David—that
I was able to start living again. I wish I could call David. I even
picked up my phone a few times today and dialled his number, only
to stop myself before I pressed the call button. If David wants to
talk to me, he’ll call. I wouldn’t—if I was him—I would’ve left
already. There must be a million inconsiderate and selfish girls
out there in the world, there’s no reason for him to want to stay
with this one, especially since I’m so messed up and damaged as
well.

My
ledger of secrets—housing many hours of hopelessness and
memories—peered out at me from under the corner of my mattress.
That’s not right. My diary was definitely stuffed a lot further
under there than that. Maybe Sam’s been reading it. I know Vicki
wouldn’t. She’s desperate to get inside my head, but even she
wouldn’t stoop that low. Still, I think I’ll find a better hiding
place for this.