Glass Heart (12 page)

By the time I stumble into Dar’s room, I can hear them downstairs, chanting, “Eight, seven, six,” but as I grab the hats and noisemakers, my phone rings. It’s lying on Darcia’s night table, shimmying closer as it vibrates, and I can see Gabriel’s name on the screen.

I drop everything and snatch it up. “Gabriel?”

“Wren.” His smile is right in his voice, rounding it out full and warm. “I just wanted to tell you I love you, and happy New Year. I know we need to—”

“Gabriel.”
I wonder if he knows tears are streaming down my cheeks. I wonder if he knew I was aching all night, missing him.

“So you’re not mad,” he says. I want to reach through the phone and hold on to him, breathe him in.

“Not about this,” I whisper, sniffling. “But we should, you know, talk.” I curl up on Darcia’s bed with the phone pressed to my ear. Downstairs, everyone’s shouting and cheering.

Dar and Jess come up a minute later, pushing into the room and demanding to know what happened to me. I mouth
Gabriel
at them and point to the phone. They’re both grinning when they back out of the room and close the door.

Chapter Fifteen

“NEW YEAR’S DAY IS REALLY THE PERFECT
kind of day,” I say, curling closer to Gabriel. I’m talking mostly to his hair at this point, and my breath must tickle because he wriggles and laughs.

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“Because you don’t have to do anything. Nothing. No gifts, no big meals, no parades, no football, no—”

Gabriel snorts and pushes me off him to sit up. “Wren. Seriously?”

“What?” I push my own messy hair out of my eyes. I think I lost a clip at some point when we were making out before.

“The Rose Parade? College football?” He chokes out a laugh. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Fine, be a boy,” I say, and get up, sniffing dramatically. “In my house, there’s no football.”

He stands up, too, but slowly, and I realize he’s inching closer. I look up at him through my lashes, ready to run.

“Does that mean you’ve never been . . . tackled?” he asks me, and I take off, shrieking, hoping the downstairs neighbors are either too hungover to hear us or out somewhere.

He chases me through the apartment, but there aren’t many places to go, and I nearly topple over a chair when I get past him on my way out of the kitchen. I catch my sock on a splintered floorboard, snagging to an awkward stop, and just as I wrestle my bare foot out of it, he pounces.

We wind up on the floor of his bedroom, laughing and panting, him on top of me, his body a long, narrow cage.

We haven’t actually talked much yet about all the many things we should talk about, but for now, I don’t care.

I reach up to run my fingers through his hair and pull his head down for a kiss. He comes willingly, and I sigh as our lips touch. My mouth feels a little bruised already—we’ve been kissing a
lot
—but it’s totally worth it.

I’m keeping a tight leash on the magic, though, because the last thing I want is for the two of us to wind up floating off the planet while we’re messing around. Besides, this—the solid, heavy feel of him stretched alongside me, the taste of his mouth, the warm weight of his hands—is just perfect.

I left Dar’s this morning as soon as it seemed polite. There was the traditional big breakfast first, and then as I was leaving I called my mom to tell her where I was headed.

“Ah,” she’d said, and I could picture her smile. “Have you reached a truce?”

“We’re getting there,” I said, hefting my duffel over one shoulder as I trudged toward Gabriel’s apartment in the frigid silence of New Year’s morning.

“And is Olivia home?”

“I have no idea, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “We
had
the talk, remember? More than once, if I remember right.”

She’d just sighed. “Well, you’re not sleeping over there tonight, so call me later, huh?”

I think I promised. It’s getting harder to remember anything that happened after Gabriel opened the door and pulled me inside, kissing me for so long I was a little breathless. He was in gray sweats and a soft, faded blue flannel shirt, and he smelled so good, I kept lowering my head to his shoulder and breathing in the dark, rich scent hidden in the hollow of his throat.

He rolls to the side a little bit, one leg still slung over both of mine, and traces my face with one finger. “Now you’ve been tackled.”

“You win,” I whisper, and pretend to bite at his finger as it passes over my mouth. “Touchdown.”

“We should probably be talking about other things, right?” he says, but he doesn’t look very eager. His hair is crazy, and his face is hot with color.

I sigh and push up on my elbows. “Probably. It would be all grown-up and mature and stuff. Dr. Phil would approve.”

He snorts again, and I like the wicked glint in his eyes. “Let’s definitely not do that then.”

I scratch my cheek idly and tilt my head, trying not to smile. “What should we do instead?”

His grin gets just evil enough to make me giggle. “I have a couple of ideas.”

Since Olivia is at a friend’s for the day, we don’t talk much for the rest of the afternoon. Turns out that’s totally okay with both of us.

I had planned on Sunday being more of the same—me, Gabriel, kissing, then more kissing—but Jess is adamant.

“Come on, Wren.” She’s practically whining, which she never does, and it startles me to attention. “I want you to see what I see. Cal is so sweet, and you don’t really know him.”

A double date. Jess is proposing a double date, me and Gabriel, her and Cal, and it’s so unbelievable, I check the readout on my phone to make sure it’s actually her.

There’s just one thing that stops me from saying yes immediately. Well, aside from losing the chance to spend the afternoon curled up with Gabriel, making out until we’re dizzy with it. “Is Dar going to feel left out?”

“No!” She sounds positively giddy. “She and her French dude are going to be working on songs at her house this afternoon. He called her last night.”

“Ooh la la,” I say, and laugh, but I’m pumped. Dar moons over boys at home alone, but she rarely makes a move, and she’s so shy a lot of guys just ignore her.

“So we’re doing this?” Jess demands, and it’s impossible to say no to that tone.

“We’re doing this,” I tell her, and then I stop. “What exactly
are
we doing?”

A movie, it turns out. The Rialto is donating half the ticket sales for the two afternoon shows to a fund Adam’s parents set up. There are flyers up all over the lobby, thanks to Audrey, I bet.

“We should sit in the back,” Gabriel whispers into my ear as we walk into the theater, and I elbow him, giggling.

“Are there going to be explosions? I like movies where shit blows up,” Cal says to Jess. He’s teasing, a smirk curling up one corner of his mouth.

“Very funny.” She tucks herself under his arm before turning into a row just six or seven from the back, and I watch as he kisses the top of her head. He’s huge compared to her, this solid block of boy in an actual football jacket, but he’s got a gooey marshmallow center I didn’t expect. When he looks at her, his brown eyes go soft and sort of dreamy, like he’d run into a burning building for her and write her a poem while he was at it. It’s adorable.

“He’s really not bad,” I whisper to Gabriel as we take our seats beside them. “I actually like him.”

“And it’s all about you, right?” He ducks when I try to elbow him again and grabs my hand to hold it tight. “Hey, I know what you mean. He’s pretty cool.”

It’s hard to remember how furious and heartbroken I was just days ago when Gabriel has one arm around me in the dark theater, and he’s feeding me greasy popcorn. I keep glancing sideways at Jess and Cal, too, and biting my lip to keep from grinning when I see her head on his shoulder and his fingers combing through her hair.

Even as the huge screen explodes in gunfire and a ridiculous car chase, I’m thinking that I don’t want to mess this up again.

The gray winter light is shocking when we come out of the movie theater, and I huddle deep inside my coat as I search for my gloves. Gabriel wraps his scarf around his neck, and doubles mine, tucking the ends inside the front of my jacket.

“Well, I never thought I’d see someone drive a car down subway tracks,” Cal says, rubbing his hands together. He’s grinning, all bright white teeth and laughter.

“I never thought I’d believe Rob Pattinson as an FBI agent.” Gabriel smirks before adding, “Still not sure I do, actually.”

“It’s too cold to stand out here,” Jess announces, scanning the street with purpose. “Let’s go get hot chocolate. With extra chocolate.”

“And extra hot,” Cal adds, swinging an arm around her. “Bliss is on me, unless you want to go somewhere else, Wren.”

“Are you kidding? Geoff gives us free stuff.” I take Gabriel’s hand and start walking down Broad Street, still shivering.

We’re just rounding the corner onto Elm when I spot Fiona and Bay. They’re coming out of Bliss hand in hand, and for a moment everything goes slow-motion, syrupy. He glances up, recognizing me, and even from a block away I can feel the weight of his gaze. Trained on me like a laser sight, taking in everything around me, including Cal and Jess and Gabriel.

That’s all it takes for my happiness, so solid and unbreakable just minutes ago, to shatter. I can practically hear it as time speeds up to normal again, and my breath stutters in my throat.

It’s so stupid. I’m not cheating on Gabriel, and it’s not like I’ve been running around knocking over convenience stores or smoking crack in some back alley. But it feels wrong that I haven’t told Gabriel about them. Hell, it feels wrong that I haven’t told Jess and Dar about them.

And for a split second, I wonder if it’s because the only reason I hang out with them is for the magic.

That feels wrong, too.

I must have slowed down, because Gabriel is pulling me along the sidewalk and saying, “Wren? You in there?”

I swallow and nod, pasting on a smile. “Sorry. I was just trying to figure out if it’s physically possible to drive a Mini Cooper through the subway while you’re bleeding out of your femoral artery.”

Bay and Fiona are closer now, heading toward us on the opposite side of the street, and Bay’s dark eyes are following every step I take. Watching me and smiling a small, secret smile that makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

Fiona is nose-down in an enormous latte, completely oblivious as usual, but my heart is still pounding. Jess and Cal are laughing about the movie, and Gabriel’s arm is tucked around my waist, firm and warm, and I want to blink my eyes and make something disappear—us or them, I’m not sure.

But even though he never stops staring, Bay and Fiona pass by without a word, and I’m drawing in a shuddery breath as we open the door to the café. Geoff is at the counter, and he beams at us over the heads of the people in line, and the steamy sweetness inside feels so familiar and safe, my heart finally slows down to normal.

Gabriel squeezes my hand, looking at me carefully, and I make sure my smile is bright and calm. I’m so transparent to him, it’s hard to believe he hasn’t seen the secrets I’m still keeping, or my guilt at having them at all.

But he hasn’t opened up to me completely yet, either. Even now I can tell by his pinched expression that another headache is starting, but I know he won’t say anything if I don’t ask. I let him lead me up to the counter as Jess chatters about hot chocolate and chocolate croissants on top of it, but my appetite is long gone.

Chapter Sixteen

MONDAY IS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME EVER
I’m glad to go back to school after a vacation. For once, the regular routine of it feels good, like my favorite jeans—comfortable, familiar, normal.

And if I spend one more minute with Robin moping or weeping or accidentally making flowers grow out of the dining room wallpaper, I’m going to scream.

Plus, there’s Gabriel waiting for me at my locker. “Hey.” He smiles and bends down to kiss me, and I stretch up on my toes to meet him. We walk to homeroom hand in hand, and snatches of conversation drift past on the current of noise in the hallway: “. . . not
believe
he said that to my face . . .” and “. . . fireworks at the dorm, isn’t that weird . . .” and “. . . got a car for Christmas, seriously?” With my free hand, I touch the charms on the necklace Gabriel gave me.

“I have to work today after school,” he says as we take our seats. “Sheila’s got a doctor’s appointment or something, so I’m going to have to run, like, right when the bell rings.”

“Oh. Bummer.” I let my shoulders slump, since I don’t have to work till tomorrow, and I was already planning on spending the afternoon with him.

“Only till six or so. She texted me this morning.” He reaches across the aisle and takes my hand. “We could do homework together tonight, though. Olivia will be working. You could meet me at the shop when I get off.”

“That’s not a totally sucky plan B.” I grin at him, and we drop hands when Mr. Rokozny comes in, looking like every minute of his break was spent plotting either a new career path or ways to destroy us all.

It’s a mostly quiet day, aside from the occasional groan from someone getting an exam back. I drift through the morning, holding on to those moments in the theater, and the day before at Gabriel’s house, not paying attention at all to differential equations or French irregular conjugations.

Maybe those moments with Gabriel weren’t as perfect as they could be, but for now I’ll take what I can get.

I find Gabriel in the cafeteria at lunchtime, already at our usual table with a bowl of something horrifically orange and congealed, and a wilted salad.

I plop down my brown bag. “What the hell is that?”

“I’m told it’s minestrone. I highly doubt it, though.” He peeks into my bag. “Please tell me you have something like a Twinkie in here.”

Jess shows up, waving a banana victoriously. “I
aced
my history exam.”

I groan and rip open my yogurt. “You’ll write to me from Harvard, right?”

Before she can say anything, the cafeteria goes weirdly quiet, and I look up to find five girls on the stage at the far end of the room. Each of them has on a black T-shirt with the words
FIND ADAM
in stark white letters emblazoned on the front. Audrey stands in the middle of them, holding the microphone.

“Thanks, everybody. I just wanted to say that we raised a lot of money for the Adam Fund yesterday at the Rialto, and the Palickis really appreciate every dollar.” Her voice doesn’t waver for a moment, and she looks so determined, so strong, she’s sort of awesome. “All of it is going toward efforts to find Adam—more flyers, a website, and all the resources we need for those things. They haven’t given up, and I hope you won’t give up on helping them.”

“We have T-shirts for sale, too,” Cleo says, taking the mike when Audrey hands it to her. Her shirt has been pulled tight and tied just above her belly button. Of course. “Only seven dollars. We’ll have a table in here every lunch period.”

Someone behind me starts clapping, and soon the whole room erupts in applause. Audrey waves, and the other girls follow her off the stage. From a distance, they look a little like five sad black ducklings.

Jess is already checking her wallet for cash, but the rest of us go back to eating. Post-break isn’t the best time to expect anyone to have money to burn, but I decide I’ll buy a shirt when I get my next paycheck. I know what grief feels like, and something I’ve managed to bury pretty deep aches when I imagine Adam’s family, trying so hard to find him.

Or what happened to him.

It’s a sobering thought, and I dig into my yogurt to distract myself.

Behind us, a couple of kids sit down with their trays and insulated lunch bags. I scoot my chair in just as one of them says, “Everyone’s mad, and no one knows what to do. The house looks like someone dipped it in Pepto-Bismol, and the neighbors swear they didn’t see anything.”

A distant alarm clangs in my head, but it’s hard to hear in the cafeteria’s din.

“Dude. Who could paint a whole house without being seen?” another kid asks around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Uh, that’s the point.” I glance over my shoulder in time to see a French fry arcing over the table. “But the neighbors are clueless.”

“That’s effed up,” another kid says with a knowing nod, and I turn around, my spoon suspended over my plastic cup of fat-free Raspberry Cheesecake.

It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, pranks are pranks, and lots of people pull them. People who aren’t Bay and Fiona.

But I can hear her voice in my head, that naughty singsong, chattering about turning a block of Elm Street pink, and Bay nodding and laughing like it was the best, funniest plan in the world.

And all afternoon, I try to ignore the feeling that there just aren’t a lot of people who could paint an entire house in a single night without being seen. It doesn’t work very well.

“So you’re all ready?” Jess asks, appearing at my locker at the end of the day. She’s already in her coat, bag packed and slung neatly over one shoulder. She glances at my bag, open on the floor at my feet, frowning. “Did you remember samples?”

I close my locker and spin the dial before turning around to stare at her. “You want to give me, like, one clue what you’re talking about?”

She stares right back, waiting for me to break, I guess, and finally frowns. “The yearbook meeting? Hello?”

Oh. Oh
shit
.

“You didn’t,” she says, eyes wide, and then her shoulders slump as she shakes her head. “You did, didn’t you? You totally forgot.”

I smile weakly. “Um . . .”

“God, Wren.” She huffs and looks at her watch. “Look, it’s not till four, right? You have time. You could go home right now and get everything together.”

“Am I forgetting about some secret jet pack I’m supposed to be using? It’s three fifteen now!”

Uh-oh. Her hands are on her hips now, and her foot is about to start tapping. Next thing I know, she’ll be spitting out my full name like I’m really in trouble. “You can get there if you hurry. And you should, because this will look great on college applications. It’s not like you do anything else.”

“Hey,” I manage because that stings.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Her face softens. “Just . . . how could you forget?”

“I was a little busy having a nervous breakdown over Gabriel, you know,” I hiss. “And not everyone is as perfect as you are, okay?”

“You know if you would stop whining and leave, you could be back on time,” she says pointedly, and I growl at her until she backs up.

“Call me after,” she yells from halfway down the hall, and I groan as I put my coat on.

I can’t believe I forgot—on Christmas Eve I actually started putting together some photos to bring to the stupid meeting, and I’d decided I really wanted to do it. Maybe Jess isn’t wrong about writing things down.

I’m still muttering to myself, trying to ignore the angry flares of power in my gut, which would love to spark out and smash something, when I get to the north door. A couple kids are still milling around, lighting cigarettes, and opening up their cell phones.

And Bay and Fiona are leaning against the bike racks, grinning at me.

My voice freezes in my throat for a moment, but no one is paying any attention to them. Or to me, for that matter. Even with Fiona perched on the railing in a bright purple coat with glittery butterflies all over it, her hair a firmly sprayed cloud of cotton candy.

“Hey there, little girl,” Bay says, and I make a face at him.

“Don’t be gross. Ick.”

“Come play with us,” Fiona says, hopping off the bike rack and skipping forward to grab my hand. “It’s been days and days since we’ve seen you!”

“I can’t,” I say, taking my hand back quickly. “I have this thing, and I have to—”

“So we’ll drop you off,” Bay says easily, standing up.

“I’ve got the car, come on.”

A car. That’s actually handy. I consider for a minute, flapping my hand at Fiona when she dances around me like a deranged firefly. “Okay, let’s go.”

She whoops and skips toward the parking lot with Bay and me trailing behind her. “Is she on a sugar high every day?” I ask, only half kidding.

“I think she was born on one.” He laughs and points his keys at a red Jetta. It beeps and Fiona opens the door, climbing in the back.

“You get shotgun,” she yells from inside, and I can’t help smiling, even though I’m dying to know if they were responsible for the Pepto-Bismol nightmare house. For once, I wish I had Gabriel’s power instead of my own.

“Okay, I live across town, just past the—”

“Later,” Bay says as he starts the engine. The doors lock automatically, and I jump. “We have a little errand we could use your help with first.”

“Bay, no,” I protest, my heart thumping again. He pulls out of the lot smoothly, but he takes the turns way faster than he should. Then again, he doesn’t crash, so what do I know? I fasten my seat belt anyway. “I have to get home so I can pick up my camera. There’s a yearbook meeting I need to—”

“Yearbook?” Fiona groans dramatically. “This is going to be much more fun, I promise you.” She unwraps a piece of gum, and suddenly the car smells like ripe strawberries.

“Well, you can have your fun without me,” I tell her firmly, even though I’m staring at the side of Bay’s face. “I need to go home, so if you just pull over, I’ll get out here.” We’re near the traffic circle, and Bay veers right instead of left. “Bay, come on.”

“Shhh, watch.” He points out the windshield, and I watch as the red light up ahead suddenly turns green. The opposing traffic screeches to a halt, and I wonder if their green lights even went to yellow or just blinked right to red.

Fiona hoots. I slap my hand over my mouth, shocked. I can’t believe he just did that, and I really can’t believe I didn’t hear the shrieking metal sound of cars crashing.

“Bay, what the fuck?” I manage when my heart stops pounding in my throat.

“Calm down,” he says easily, waving a hand at me. “Nothing happened.”

“But . . .”

“Wren, loosen up, sweetie.” Fiona hands me a piece of gum, like it’s the answer to all my problems. “He’s a good driver.”

My mouth is hanging open, but I can’t make any more sounds come out. I knew they liked to “play,” but I never pictured anything dangerous. Anything so reckless that innocent people could have been hurt.

Bay glances at me and reaches over to pat my shoulder. “I’ll be good. Now relax, huh? We have important business to take care of here.”

My house and my camera and the yearbook meeting are fading into the distance with every block, and unless I can figure out how to, like, teleport in the next five minutes, I’m stuck.

Furious and horrified and stuck. I grit my teeth and pretend to relax into my seat. If nothing else, I can see for myself how far they’re willing to go, even if I can’t get a definitive answer about the pink house. And I’m beginning to think that I should know what they’re capable of before I wind up doing something I really don’t want to do.

Well, something
else
anyway.

“I thought we were off to have ‘fun,’” I say. It’s not totally possible to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, but I give it a shot.

“Whoever said business couldn’t be mixed with pleasure was wrong,” Fiona chirps, and I pretend to smile while I hang on for the ride.