Queen of Broken Hearts (4 page)

“And whoever Pak is, he’s called you, like, five times. Though I guess you already told him no, so it doesn’t matter.” His smile was uncertain.

I reached into my purse to check my cell phone. “It’s a long story. He’d wreck my reputation.”

“Ah. So you’re one of those.” He scrubbed at the counter with an already dirty towel.

“One of what?” I snapped my purse shut.

“One of those girls who wants the perfect boyfriend to marry and have two point three kids with.”

“Two point
five
.”

“I guess I’m a statistical rebel.” His eyes were dark. Not quite as dark as the black hair I suspected was a bad dye job, but still. Dark. And… the only word I could think of to describe them was
sparkly
.

“So, rebel.” I leaned my elbows on the counter. Probably a bad move, hygiene-wise.
“If your entire school went from believing you’re royalty to thinking you’re a convict, what would you do about it?”

He blinked. I guess it isn’t the most common question to ask purse thieves. “Depends. Which one is true?”

“Neither. Well, the convict part might be a little true.”

“I’d tell the truth.” His mouth set in a strangely serious line, as if he believed the words.

“I can’t do that. But thanks anyway for your non-advice.” I swung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the door.

“Anytime.”

When I got home I decided it was time to send a signal of my own. That night I snuck out my window and headed to the playground.

A broken bar tore at my sweat pants on my way up the monkey bars. I’d have to toss them in the kitchen trash when I got home so Mother wouldn’t notice. I got to the tiles and made a square with the
x
’s, leaving the
o
in the middle. It was our version of a bat signal, but the people it gathered were much crazier than Batman. I was calling a meeting of the Stone Throwers. Hollywood save us all.

I waited for them in the clubroom the next day after school,
clubroom
being a loose term to describe the art room we took over when we met up.

Annabelle showed up first and claimed a spot sitting on the table in the back. I still couldn’t see her eyes. “Let me guess, you called this meeting?”

“What makes you think that?” I knew I should’ve owned up to it, but her tone was just so obstinate. “Maybe Pak wants to announce his plans for being back in town.” As cofounders, only Pak and I are allowed to call official meetings.
Were
. I meant were.

“He already did. He wants you back.” Annabelle’s voice was a sneer.

I cringed. “This involves everyone.”

“No, it involves you. It’s always about you.” Annabelle crossed her arms.

Madison showed up next, backpack in hand. Madison isn’t just the daughter of someone famous; she’s a politician’s daughter, which means no fun for her, ever. If she’s caught with so much as a beer, her father’s campaign will come crashing to the ground.

Then again, that’s part of being a Stone Thrower. We didn’t get caught. Ever. Until we did.

Pak showed up last, a bounce in his leather shoe–clad feet. He was finally wearing the school uniform, mostly. I caught flashes of orange lining in his navy jacket. “I knew you couldn’t stay boring with me around,” he said. “I wanted to go raccoon hunting in the park last night but you never showed up. I left you, like, five messages.”

“Lost my phone.” It was only partially a lie.

“What are we here for?” Madison asked. She flipped her gaze between me and Pak. “I don’t want to hurt raccoons.”

“That’s not what we’re here for,” I said. “Someone’s trying to take me down.”

“I knew this was about you.” Annabelle grabbed her purse. “I’m out.”

“Wait!” I took a deep breath. “There’s something in it for you.”

“I don’t care. I’m not helping you win that crown again.”

“Not even if it means taking down Tolulu?”

Annabelle froze. In the tightening of her shoulders, I could almost see her anger at me warring with her hatred of Tolulu. That big role Tolulu’s parents just landed? They stole it from Annabelle’s parents. “I need details,” she finally said.

I relaxed.

“You want us to do a takedown?” Madison chewed on the ends of her hair. She got her hair cut every week to control the split ends she created. Lucky for her, it grew fast.

Even Pak looked dubious. “I thought we agreed after Athena. No more takedowns.”

“But this is different. It’s practically self-defense.”

“They want your crown, not your life,” Annabelle said.

“But they’re trying to destroy my reputation, which is…” All I have. I stopped short of saying the words, afraid of how pathetic they would sound out loud.

“I’m in,” Pak said. He knew enough about my past to know the hot water I’d be in if it ever got out.

“I don’t know,” Madison said, chomping away at her hair.

“You’ll get to detonate something.”

Madison’s eyes glazed over with longing. “How big of an explosion?”

“A small one. But there’ll be a fire afterwards.”

“In.”

Pak came up with the idea for the Stone Throwers for vague philosophical reasons; I helped him create it to get in his pants, and Annabelle joined for the sake of our friendship. Madison is the only one who joined with no personal connection. She just wanted to blow stuff up. Even I’m a little scared of Madison.

“Annabelle?” I watched her hopefully.

She sighed. “Fine. But only to get back at Tolulu. And this doesn’t mean we’re friends again.”

I clapped my hands in a moment of glee. For the first time in a year, the Stone Throwers were readying a plot.

I don’t know how to tell this next part. There may have been some illegal activity involved. Then again, I’ve always hated it when movies skip the best part. Like when the hero is in a fix, the camera pans away, then it comes back, and they’re out of the fix. So I’m going to tell it. On principle. It’s not like I can get in even more trouble at this point. Oh, but pretend I never told you my friends’ names, okay?

On Thursday, I watched the clock tick through sixth period, tapping my foot along with the second hand. At exactly 1:15, I raised my hand.

“May I be excused?” I crinkled my face. “Emergency.” Mr. Ronald nodded, and I was off. I pulled out the scrap of paper Pak had slipped into my pocket during passing period.
#157
: Lightbulb’s locker number. Pak must have stalked her all morning to get it. Then again, I don’t know anyone who would mind being followed by Pak. Except for me.

The one fifties are in the hallway beside the gym. I made it there to find Annabelle waiting for me, tapping her steel-toed boot on the floor.

“I said one seventeen
exactly
.”

“Well, I was early,” Annabelle said. “Deal. Now give me your phone.”

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and handed it over. Annabelle pulled some wires out of her backpack, climbed up on the bench, and began fiddling with something on the security camera I didn’t pretend to understand.

“Five minutes,” I said, checking up and down the hall.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. They don’t bother keeping these things recording, so whatever you want will have to be new footage. You can monitor it on your phone and save it to there. Got it?”

I nodded in time to my nervous hopping.

Finally
Annabelle stepped down and handed me my phone back. “Right on time.”

“Get going. You’ve been here longer than me. Someone might notice.” She set off toward her classroom at a casual stroll, as if we hadn’t just broken five different school rules and two federal laws. Satisfied that everything had gone off correctly, I turned to hurry back to my classroom. And found the principal standing behind me, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

“Ms. Anders.”

My heart hit my throat. In that moment, I absolutely hated being recognizable. “Principal Stevens.” I smiled. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” I focused on slowing my pulse.

“And you couldn’t find a more appropriate time than the middle of class?”

“I was just running to the bathroom.”

“And your locker.”

I dug through my mental box of advice from Mother until I found something relevant to the situation.
When committing a serious wrong, always admit to a smaller one.
I tilted my face down and peered up through my eyelashes. “I forgot my homework.”

“Don’t let it happen again, Ms. Anders.”

“No, sir.”

“Come back and talk to me during office hours.”

“Yes, sir.” I would worry about what to talk to the principal about later.

Between that period and the next, I hid in the supply closet with my phone until I got exactly what I needed. As the bell rang, I slipped into my seat and flashed two fingers to Pak, the signal for “mission complete.” He gave a slight nod.

At exactly 2:27 p.m., classroom 115 sent the school into chaos. To be more precise, the light fixture above the chair where Tolulu sat exploded, catching her hair on fire. I’ve been told her screams were bloodcurdling. Don’t worry, they put it out before it did any real damage, but her blond extensions were a pile of ash on the floor.

The fire alarm went off, blaring its no longer helpful warnings. I slipped out of the classroom and down the hall to the broadcasting room, dodging into doorways to avoid students and teachers going the other way. I made it to the emptied studio and began pulling tapes. There was about to be a change in the Friday morning announcements.

I could hardly sit still in my seat Friday morning. I got to school twenty-minutes early, victory pounding a drumbeat in my veins. I was going to win.

Pak slid into the seat beside me. “Hold it together, Birdie. If you look any more excited to be in school, they’ll give you detention on principle.”

I grinned at him. “I haven’t had this much fun since the first time I stole the crown.”

Pak frowned and looked at the top of my head as if he could see an actual crown there. “For all the good it’s done you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pak shook his head. “Nothing, Birdie. Let’s just get through this. Break into the zoo and ride the giraffes tonight?”

“No.”

“I helped you with your—”

Mr. Raganoff walked in. We both stopped talking and glared at separate walls.

“Never thought I’d see the day when Birdie Anders shows up early.”

“Pak is helping me study for history,” I said at the same time he said, “Birdie is helping me catch up on homework.”

We used to be so in synch.

The rest of the class trickled in. I tried to get Annabelle’s attention, but she ignored me. Not like I needed her, anyway. Skittle sat on my other side. “What’s the plan?” she whispered.

I gave her a small smile. “You’ll see.”

The bell rang, the TV flickered on, and it was time for the world to come crashing down on Lightbulb.
 

Songbreeze’s face appeared on the screen. “She thinks she can take down the queen of broken hearts. Response?” The video switched to security footage from the camera by the lockers. Since the school didn’t really keep track of what it recorded, mostly the girls used the camera as a mirror. Lightbulb squinted into the camera and puckered her lips, applying a new layer of lip gloss.

A giggle ran through the class. The real news flipped on.

I pasted on my best expression of horrified sympathy. “Who would do such a thing?”

It hit them at the same time. I could see the fear growing in their widened eyes, in the hunch of their shoulders. No one takes down Birdie Anders. No one.

In the hallway, they scurried to get out of my way. When love fell through, I’d settle for fear. Skittle clung to my side, whispering in my ear.

“I heard Lightbulb found a note in her locker and burst into tears. It just said ‘Withdraw.’ Did you do that?”

I hadn’t actually been sure the note would work. It wouldn’t have been enough to knock me out of the running, which is why I held a few last trump cards up my sleeve. I smiled. “I’ve decided to change the guest list for my party. No more excluding people, Skittle. I’m inviting the whole school to attend.”

“The whole—Birdie, there’s only room for a hundred people, at most.”

“Then get a new venue. Really, Skittle, do I have to do everything around here?”

“No, Birdie,” Skittle sighed.

Pak stood waiting beside my locker. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen him scowl before. It wasn’t a pretty expression. “That was—”

“Brilliant?”

“Cold. That was cold, Birdie. Lightbulb put in a request to transfer schools.”

I shrugged and tore open my locker. Pak reached over and slammed it shut.

“You messed with her life. I expected boring, but I didn’t think you’d turn cruel.”

I yanked my locker back open and grabbed my history book. “People change in a year.”

“Yeah. I guess they do.” He pulled his arm back and walked away.

I blinked moisture out of my eyes. I must be getting a cold. “On second thought, strike Pak from the guest list, Skittle. And Annabelle, while you’re at it. I don’t need enemies at my party.”

I drove straight to Cheesey’s after school. I needed to think, and there was no better way to do that than with a hunk of pizza, extra grease.

I breathed in the roach-infested air and headed to the counter, where Sam was working
again
. “Do you live here or something?”

He plopped a hunk of pizza on a plate. “Do you want this or not?”

I sighed and handed over two dollars.

“How’s your convict thing going?”

I pulled a face. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.” I leaned on the counter. My arms felt dirtier just for touching it. “It’s worth it, isn’t it? Being perfect is worth it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He plunked a Sprite on the counter.

“It makes perfect sense.”

“If you were perfect, you wouldn’t need to prove it to anyone.”

“It’s not good enough to be perfect if no one knows about it.” I tore open the Sprite.