The Heartbreak Messenger (9 page)

I had no idea where I was headed, but the dirt road leading to the small farm was smooth and well worn. It was set off from the dairy farm, but the smell of cow poop was quickly settling on the back of my tongue. I pulled my shirt collar up over my nose and mouth.

I headed toward the biggest building. It seemed to have the strongest smell, although the whole place was rich with animal fumes. I parked out front and poked my head around one of the tall wooden doors.

Cows. Lots of them. Each with their own stall. A guy with a pitchfork shoveled hay toward each cow, one by one.
Huh,
I thought.
People really do that
.

The guy, complete with cowboy boots and a plaid shirt, turned when the door creaked open. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Hi. Uh, howdy. I'm looking for Sarah.”

“Goat kennels. That way.” He gestured out the door to my right.

“Much obliged.” I nodded and pinched the brim of my imaginary hat. When in Rome, you know …

I veered to the right, and then followed my nose from really disgusting to somewhat disgusting, arriving at a smaller building. The roof was low and made from plywood and wavy aluminum, and the door was hinged with super-strength twisty-ties. I gently pulled it open and stepped inside.

The long room was filled with metal pens painted bright green. Several goats milled around in each pen, eating, or sleeping, or just standing there. What a life. A girl with a long blond braid down her back sat on a three-legged stool next to one of the pens. She wore tight jeans and high leather work boots, and her plaid shirt was tied in a knot just above her belly button. She was stroking the head of an ugly brown goat, but she paused and looked up as I came in.

“Hi.” She studied me for a minute, her eyebrows scrunched. “Are you one of the field trip kids from the elementary school?”

Ouch. I forced a laugh. “That's a good one.” I tried to make my voice sound as deep as possible without slipping into my Darth Vader impression.

She forced a laugh, too.

“I'm looking for Sarah.”

She studied me a little more, glanced down at the flowers in my hand, and then turned back to pat the goat's head. “I'm Sarah.”

I looked around the building, trying hard to remember some of the one-liners I'd pulled off the Internet awhile ago. But all that came to mind was old Ben Kenobi, saying, “The Force will be with you always.”

“Nice goats,” I said instead.

“Yeah. Thirty-two of them. Ten males. And yet somehow they all get along.” Sarah laughed nervously. Her eyes kept darting at me and then looking away, and her fingers fidgeted with the goat's ear.

“Um…” I said.

She interrupted before I could go on. Her voice was quiet, already defeated. She looked for all the world like she was talking to the goat, but she couldn't have been because she said, “I've heard you're just some junior high kid. Makes sense, really. Wouldn't work if you were a high-schooler. Somehow I thought you might be a little taller, though.” She looked at me, eyes watery. “You are him, aren't you?” Her shaky voice dropped to a whisper. “The Heartbreak Messenger.”

It was a statement, not a question.

And it struck me all at once, a single explosive idea. An idea so crazy that it never could have occurred to me without staring it in the face.

This high-schooler, this goat girl—older, taller, smarter, more experienced—she was afraid. Of
me
.

Afraid of this kid delivering a message. Afraid of what my visit would mean to her social life and her love life and whatever other lives high-schoolers have. From the second she recognized who I was, right up to the point where I finished delivering the message, she was terrified of me. The messenger.

A feeling of power suddenly surged through me, like taking a smooth jump on a bike. I felt ten feet tall, taller than Carmen Mendoza or any other senior whose fist I may come up against. Me. Bearer of messages that made every last high-schooler tremble with fear. Even the ones that wore Wranglers and hung out with goats.

I nodded graciously and held out the flowers. “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. But your boyfriend did send me with a message.”

She took the flowers and sniffed them, a sniff that turned into a sniffle as her eyes became even more watery. “We've only been together twenty-two-and-a-half days. I thought things were going so well, but you never know, do you? You never know what he's thinking, I mean. I guess he wasn't thinking about me.”

Then the floodgates opened.

She cried and blubbered and then cried some more. Tears flowed like the fountain in front of city hall. I started to worry about her dehydrating. There wasn't anyone else there in the barn, and it didn't seem right to leave her alone like that, so I stood and watched her. I wasn't sure what else to do. I felt like I should put my arm around her and comfort her or something, but I didn't know how to do that or even if it would be appropriate, professionally speaking. So I just watched her cry.

Man, she was good at it.

It took her awhile, but she finally settled down, or at least went from choking sobs to pitiful sniffles. I didn't say a word, wishing for the hundredth time that I had a personal scriptwriter to hand me cool lines when I needed them. Finally I just reached over and patted her arm, which I hoped didn't violate any kind of workplace code of conduct or anything. “It's okay,” I said, which probably sounded pretty dumb.

She eventually started plucking off the flower heads and feeding them to the goats. I was glad to see that because then I didn't feel nearly as guilty for giving her recycled funeral flowers.

It was about then that another girl walked in on the scene. She also wore jeans and boots, but her dark hair was cropped short around her ears. She wore a T-shirt that said “Manure happens.” Her eyes grew wide when she saw us.

“Sarah! What's the matter?” She rushed over to my target's side and put her arm around her. The new girl looked up at me like I was shoving bamboo shoots under Sarah's fingernails.

Sarah sniffed. “It's the Heartbreak Messenger. Rick sent him to break up with me.”

The new girl pulled Sarah closer and squeezed her tight. “That son of a…”

Rick?
Sarah's last statement left a ringing in my ears.

I cleared my throat. “Um…?”

The new girl shot me a death ray with her eyes. “You can leave, squirt.”

“Yeah, okay.” I pointed at Sarah. “But isn't your boyfriend's name … ex-boyfriend … isn't his name Doug?”

The new girl looked up at me sharply. “My boyfriend's name is Doug.”

I pointed at Sarah again. “But your name is Sarah.” There may have been a touch of panic in my voice.

The new girl stood up, towering over me. “She's Sarah with an
H
. I'm Sara with an
A.
My boyfriend's name is Doug.”

Oh, boy.
I scratched my head, cleared my throat again, and then took what was left of the flowers out of Sarah's (note the
H
) limp hand. I pushed them toward Sara (no
H
).

“In that case, these are for you.”

Sara crossed her arms and stared at me. More death rays. But now she was shooting them out at me from behind a trickle of tears. I laid the flowers down at her feet. Time to go.

I turned to Sarah. “Really very sorry. I mean it. Really. But, hey, good news for you, right?”

She looked confused, which was understandable. But at least she'd stopped crying.

I didn't dare look back at Sara as I turned and hightailed it to my bike.

Personally, I think the chocolates would have made a big difference.

 

Chapter 14

Abby became a lot busier after our conversation in the gutter. Apparently dating a blunder-brain keeps you pretty swamped. She did manage to spend time with Rob and me every once in a while, mostly because our after-school homework sessions were still her best bet for scoring decent grades in the classes we shared. It definitely wasn't the same, though. Our studying became all business. No more goofing off or fooling around or seeing if we could make Abby laugh and snort her orange juice. Just grammar and geometry and Jack London.

When I showed up late at Mick's one day, I was glad to see Abby there. She and Rob already had their notebooks out and were deep in conversation. But as I approached, Rob gave me a sheepish grin, opened his backpack wide, and pulled it over his head. Abby squinted at me and folded her arms.

“What's up, guys?” I looked from one to the other. “Why's Rob playing ostrich?”

Abby just stared at me.

I looked down at my watch. “I'm not even that late.”

“I have three questions for you,” she finally said.

This can't be good.

“Do you remember my cousin Audrey?” she asked, holding up one finger.

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Her best friend Sara was dumped earlier this week by her boyfriend.”

I felt my face getting hot. I couldn't let my ears turn red.
Cool thoughts. Sherbet. Icicles. Snowball in the face.

“Only he didn't do the dumping,” she continued. “He used that Heartbreak Messenger guy.” She raised a second finger. “Have you heard of him?”

I found myself staring at Abby's hand instead of her face. Only one more finger to go.
Time to stall.

“Have I heard of your cousin's best friend's ex-boyfriend?”

Abby didn't say anything. She just narrowed her eyes into razor-thin slits.
So much for stalling.

“I've heard the rumors.” I tried to keep my voice as level as possible.

“Well, I mentioned that incident to Rob just now.” Abby lifted a third finger. “Do you have any idea what he said?”

Oh, here we go.
“I can only imagine,” I said, staring at the ostrich.

“It just slipped out, Quentin,” said Rob, emerging from his backpack. “I couldn't help it.”

Abby's outstretched arm fell to her side, her fingers closing into a fist. “You really are the Heartbreak Messenger? The punky kid who charges people to break up with their girlfriends?”

“That's four questions … no, five.”

“I can't believe it, Quentin!”

“It's not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You're wrecking people's lives for money!”

“Come on, Abby,” Rob chimed in. “It's not like he's breaking the law.”

Abby turned to stare at Rob. He placed a hand on his backpack, ready to climb back inside.

With a hard laugh, she said, “No, he's not breaking the law. He's just breaking hearts—” She turned back to me. “And watching girls cry. I can't believe it. Why would you do that?”

I felt the blood drain from my face and start pounding through my veins. “Because it's good business. Plus I'm providing a community service.”

“Since when does helping guys act like cowards count as a community service?”

“Hey, don't blame me. It would still happen in the end, you know, even if I didn't do it. They'd still break up.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “But how do you think Sara felt knowing her own boyfriend didn't care enough about her to break up with her face-to-face?”

“I don't know. We didn't talk much about feelings.”

“That's right.” Abby pointed a finger at me. Just one. “Nobody's thinking about the girl's feelings here. You aren't, and the guy that's paying you money sure isn't. It's wrong, Quentin.”

“Breaking up is hard to do.” An image of Carmen just before she'd hit me sprang to mind and I knew I was speaking the absolute truth. “Who wouldn't want to get out of it?”

Rob raised his hand. “I think Quentin has a good point there.” He gave me a quick nod and a thumbs-up. I wouldn't be forgiving him any time soon, but he probably figured jumping on my bandwagon counted for something.

“That's just it,” Abby said. “Some things are hard for a reason.”

“Give it a rest,” I said. “Whether they hire me or not, they're still going to break up. I just help them get things done sooner so that everyone can move on with their lives.”

Abby folded her arms. “If Justin ever broke up with me—which isn't going to happen, by the way—I'd want him to sit down with me in person, like a man.”

A huge grin spread across Rob's face. He swung his legs over the table and sat in front of me. He took my hand and lowered his voice an octave.

“Abigail, my love, our relationship stinks like yesterday's garbage, you're way too intelligent for my tastes, and another artist has come into my life.”

I smiled and raised my voice to a falsetto. “Oh, that's okay, Justin. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you telling me that yourself.”

Rob and I broke out laughing.

Abby stared at us, lips tight. Then she grabbed her notebook from the table and shoved it into her backpack. She zipped it up, got up from the table, and stopped in front of me. “You've sold your soul for a couple of bucks, Quentin. I always thought you were better than that.” She spun around and stalked off.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like laughing. I watched her go, her golden blond hair bouncing with each step, until she turned up the street and out of sight. The blood that had been pulsing red in my veins quickly cooled, leaving behind a numb desire to go back and try that conversation again.

“You know, Quentin,” Rob said, “she's right. If you really have sold your soul for a couple of bucks, you should go back and renegotiate. You're getting ripped off.”

 

Chapter 15

There was no doubt about it, Abby had changed, and not for the better. I hadn't noticed it right away, but looking back I realized she had been acting weird for several weeks. And the way she took the news about me being the Heartbreak Messenger clinched it. The old Abby wouldn't have gotten upset about it. She would have rolled her eyes and called me a dweeb or something. The new Abby was a whole different story. She'd apparently crossed over to the dark side.