Queen of Broken Hearts (3 page)

“Changing the format?” I swallowed.

Songbreeze strode into the room, adjusting a microphone headpiece.

Mrs. Larue smiled. “You know, like an interview instead of a speech? It’ll be more interesting.”

“Of course.” I checked my reflection in the camera to make sure my smile was still in place.

Songbreeze settled into the chair across from me, with the air of a raptor about to learn how to open a door and slaughter the hapless victim hiding behind it.

“And, rolling!”

No, no, I’m not ready yet.

“First question. How do you feel about being called the queen of broken hearts?”

“I—”

“There’s been complaints that you’re not following through with the promises you made in that big speech you gave the night you were elected. You do remember the speech, don’t you?”

“I—”

“And what do you think about the rumors of new competition?”

“What?”

“Oh, hadn’t you heard those? Someone else is throwing their hat into the ring. She thinks she can take down the queen of broken hearts. Response?”

The red light blinked at me. “Stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what, broken—”

“Stop it!” I pushed my chair back. “You set me up.” I turned to Mrs. Larue. “They set me up. Can’t you see they set me up?”

Mrs. Larue squinted at me. “Are you okay, Birdie? Do you need some air? Camera fright is perfectly natural.”

“I’m not— Stop rolling!” I snatched up my purse. “I can’t do this today.”

I needed to get the tape. I needed to get the tape before the whole school saw me ambushed by Songbreeze. I grabbed the camera.

“Birdie!” Mrs. Larue tugged on my arm. “Don’t hurt the equipment!”

I jammed buttons until a side popped open and I snapped the tape out. “I have to go.”

“Birdie!”

I pushed out of the recording studio and into the empty hallways.

I dug a blond wig out of my backseat and pinned it on before going into Cheesey’s. Cheesey’s is a combination gas station and pizza place that I go to for three reasons. One, no one famous goes there. Two, because nobody famous goes there, no one looks for anyone famous there. Three, it’s the only place where you can buy a greasy hunk of pizza for sixty-nine cents.

Actually, with my purple dress, heels, and blond hair, I kind of looked like a movie star. Or a hooker. I spotted Annabelle sitting at the table beside the trashcan. That might sound like the worst table, but you have to understand, it’s the only table. She was wearing dark sunglasses that covered half her face and holding a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup that was almost white.

I stepped up to order. There was never a line. I’d never seen the boy behind the counter before. I figured he must be new. His nametag read “SAM” in bold print, but somebody had added “ANTHA” in pen. “I’ll take a hunk of pizza and a diet Coke.”

“Two bucks,” he said, not looking up from the register. His black hair flopped over his dark eyes.

“It was a dollar seventy-nine last time.”

“Inflation.”

I hunted down eight quarters in my purse and tossed them on the counter. “Just give me my pizza.”

“Sure thing, Miss Demanding.” He glanced up. His jaw dropped. “Whoa, overdressed much?”

“I was doing an interview. You know what? It’s none of your business.”

He pulled a slice of pizza with a pool of grease around it out of the slightly heated glass bubble, then set a slightly cooled bottle of soda beside it.

“I said diet.”

“I don’t care.”

“I liked Keith better. What happened to Keith?”

“Fired for stealing from the drawer. And I’m pretty sure I like the other customer better than you, which is saying something, since her only words to me were ‘Buzz off.’”

I wanted to shove my pizza in his face, but that would have been a waste of perfectly good pizza, so I settled for my best glare paired with a smile and a “Thanks, Samantha.”

“It’s Sam!”

I grabbed my already soggy Styrofoam plate and bottle of Coke and walked off to sit beside Annabelle. It really wasn’t that far away, but I picked the seat facing away from him to make my point.

“You can’t even meet me here as yourself?” Annabelle said, waving her hand at my wig. As out-of-the way as Cheesey’s is, I still couldn’t risk someone from school seeing me with Annabelle.

I took a bite of pizza. If there was anything more delicious than this on the planet, I hadn’t found it yet. It was totally worth the five times it had given me food poisoning. “I felt like being Lola.”

“You look like a Roxanne. In a bad way.”

I took a swig of Coke. “I saw Pak this morning.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I thought he was in France.”

“So did I.” I chewed my pizza.

“Are you getting back together?”

I shook my head.

Annabelle rapped her black fingernails on the table. “Is he re-enrolling?”

I swallowed. Grease coated my throat. “Don’t know.”

“Is he planning something?”

“Don’t know. I only talked to him for a few minutes. He called me boring, and I left.”

“You are pretty boring these days. When you’re not stabbing your friends in the back.”

“About that.” I tore the edges of my Styrofoam plate. “You wouldn’t happen to be plotting against me, would you? Writing on posters, starting nicknames, running for queen, that sort of thing?”

Annabelle’s lips pursed. I wished I could make out her eyes behind the sunglasses. “Of course not. You’re the one executing evil plots with your oh-so-funny paintings. Why would you even—
Is someone Birdie-ing you
?”

I drew my back straight. “My name is not a verb.”

“It is in golf. Spill, Birdie.” She leaned forward, animated for the first time. “Is it a takedown?”

I chugged my Coke.

Annabelle whistled. “Someone has the balls to take down Birdie Anders. This is the best thing that’s happened since
Arrested Development
got new episodes.”

“This is my life, Annabelle.”

“No, this is high school. Get a grip, Birdie. It’s not like it matters.”

A year ago, I was sitting at that same table (Keith was working) beside Pak when he asked, “What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever stolen?”

“A house,” I told him. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m already impressed.”

I smiled, bubbles rising in my stomach. It might have been happiness. Or food poisoning.

“What would be bigger than stealing a house?”

“A skyscraper?”

“You’re thinking too literal, Birdie.” He took my hand, making my head do spinny circly things. “What if we pull off something really cool, like one of those casino heists in the movies?”

I laughed. “I don’t think we have the skills to pull that off.”

“We’ll start small, then. What about a bank?”

I swiped a leftover cupcake from the fridge when I got home. Only chocolate could cure the mess in my head right now. I could hear Mother and Rob arguing again in the living room.

“But the Bahamas are terrible this time of year,” Mother said. They never yelled when they argued. Mother only displays emotions that strong when she’s lying, and Rob is just too suave.

“Think about it,” he said. “You, me, the beach. It would be a romantic getaway. With rings.”

I gagged on my cupcake. There was only one way for this to end, and it wasn’t well. I crept across the floor until I could peek into the living room. They were standing next to each other, Rob rubbing Mother’s arm. He tried to catch her eye but she stared past him, her flat expression fixed in place.

“You know why things have to be this way.”

“Margie.”

She shook her head. “We do it my way or no way at all.”

Wednesday morning, I armed myself for battle. I couldn’t find my purse, but that was fine, just fine. I’d buy a new cell phone after school. I put on my best Prada heels and ironed my uniform. Not a single piece of lint or smudge of dirt would be allowed to get past me. It was time to remind this school who their queen was.

I clacked out to my convertible where Skittle wasn’t waiting. Fine, that was fine. It didn’t mean anything. I took a deep breath and dug my nails into my palm. I was in control. I could handle this. I got into my car and started driving.

I glanced at the tic-tac-toe board as I went past, but it was the same. Pak hadn’t left me any messages. Maybe he really had left, this time.

I got to the school forty minutes later, right on time. There was no one outside. It still didn’t mean anything. The parking lot was full of cars, so I knew it wasn’t a weekend. There just weren’t any people.

It felt post-apocalyptic, and I carefully checked for zombies between the cars. I swung open the doors to the school. I knew the entire student body couldn’t really fit in the entryway, but it felt like every last student of Hollywood Hills was staring at me.

I smiled so hard my cheeks felt broken. “Am I late?” They silently moved out of my way. I walked through them like it was any other day of school.
Never let them see you hesitate, baby.

I made it to my locker. On the door was a new poster. The text was right, this time. The picture was one I’d only seen once before, but I recognized it immediately: my mug shot from the night I was arrested.

I was wearing that red shirt, with the tear right there, and my mouth was open, arguing with the cameraman. I’d wanted to put on some lip gloss, at least. My red hair was matted and tangled from hours spent under a wig.

In one scientifically brilliant moment, all the air was vacuumed out of the high school at once. Someone snickered.

“Birdie,” Skittle whispered from behind me. “I tried to get them all down in time.”

Always be in control, even when you’re not.
I did the only think I could think of. I laughed. There was a shuffling from the hallway behind me.

I smiled at Skittle, careful to restrain it from becoming maniacal. “When’d you get so good at Photoshop, Skittle? I said I wanted pizzazz, but this?” I laughed again. “And that shirt! Don’t tell me—it’s one of Lightbulb’s? Brilliant, Skittle. Songbreeze herself couldn’t have done a better job.” I linked my arm through hers and all but pulled her away.

The crowd parted for me, but I could tell by their faces that I hadn’t convinced them yet. I’d created uncertainty, which was the important thing. All that was left was to strike back.

I gasped in air once I walked through the door to first period, then lost it once I saw who was sitting in my seat: Pak. Of course. I slid into the seat next to him and turned my second-best glare on him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be responsible for the not-so-flattering picture of me littering the school right now, would you?”

He held up a hand. “Innocent, unfortunately. Wish I’d thought of it first. Though it’s a little small-time for my taste.” He put his mouth so close to my ear, I could feel him breathe. “Go out with me tonight.”

“No.” I slammed my textbook on the desk.

“Please.”

He was trying to throw me off. He had to be trying to throw me off.

“Pak.” I turned, but he was too close. His lips brushed my cheek, burning through my arteries. I jerked back.

“
Silence
.” Mr. Raganoff flipped on the projector. “Class begins now. Turn to page…”

I avoided Pak the rest of the day. Avoided everyone, really. Everyone except Skittle, who I needed to use as a human shield against the peons who were inches away from turning on me.

The house was dark when I got home. I found Mother sitting in the silent shadows of the great room.

“Mother?” I slid my hand into hers.

“Did I make a mistake?” she whispered.

“Let’s get you to bed.” I pulled her to her feet and led her to the stairs.

“Rob left,” she said. “I don’t know… I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if he’s coming back.”

“Of course he’s coming back.” I rubbed her shoulders as we headed upstairs. “He loves you. He has to come back.”

Her lips were pinched and pale. “Am I a bad mother, Birdie?”

“No.” And in that moment, I believed it.

“I never know what I’m doing.”

“Hey.” I squeezed her hand. “There’s blue skies ahead, right?”

A smile chipped her lips. “Of course, baby. There’s always blue skies ahead.”

My mother stole a show when I was thirteen. It was the first time she stole something in the figurative sense instead of the literal one.

She didn’t mean to be an actress, exactly. We’d just finished a seven-hour drive and lied our way onto a set for the free food. They mistook my mother for an extra, and she just sort of… went with it. And people fell in love with her. One invented identity and twenty roles later, and she was a movie star famous for her tear-jerking family values flicks.

I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not jealous of the families in those movies where she plays the perfect mother. I don’t want the perfect mother. I just want my imperfect one.

The phone rang a few hours later. I snatched it up before it could wake my mother. “I said no, Pak.”

“Great, I’m happy for you. But this is Sam, from Cheesey’s. You left your purse here yesterday. I just found your cell and thought I’d try calling your home number.”

“You touched my stuff?”

“You left your stuff on my table, so yeah. Are you coming down here for it or what?”

“Sure thing, Samantha. Be there in twenty.”

“It’s—”

I hung up.

The sun was setting by the time I got to Cheesey’s.

Stop rolling your eyes, Chad. This part is totally relevant.

Where was I?

Cheesey’s. Right. So I walked in and my purse was sitting on the counter.

“Do I get a free hunk of pizza for the inconvenience?” I asked.

“I was the one inconvenienced. I am not giving you free food, too.” Sam was spraying down the counter with what looked like and probably was just water.

I grabbed my purse. “You better not have gone through it.”

“I had to get it back to you somehow. Did you really see
We Bought a Zoo
three times?” Sam rested his elbows on the counter.

“I’m not dignifying that with a comment.”