Glass Heart (11 page)

Chapter Thirteen

NOAH’S IS PACKED, PEOPLE AND LIGHT AND
noise spilling out onto the frozen lawn in front, and huddled in half-drunk, shivering circles around the covered pool in back, smoking. I give it another half hour before a drunk sophomore tries to walk across the tarp.

Music is blaring in the living room, and someone has moved all the dining room furniture to one side so people can dance. Jess heads off in search of Noah, as if saying hi to the host is really an issue, and Dar sticks close to me as we push through to the kitchen.

Gabriel trails along behind us at a respectable distance of about six feet.

I hate how much I love that he’s not giving up.

“It’s really crowded,” Dar says, and I can barely hear her above a bunch of senior guys laughing and hooting over the keg. I grab her right before a spray of beer arcs across the kitchen, and she groans.

When I look over my shoulder, Gabriel has been cornered by Brian Sung and Phoebe Gleason, who can spot a guy fighting with his girlfriend at five miles. She already has one hand on his arm and her cleavage exposed, and I want to pull her out of the house by her shiny, over-conditioned hair and pounce on her. Hard.

Not that I’m jealous, of course. I’m not even worried, since I know in my bones that Gabriel wouldn’t cheat. But I still don’t like the way she’s hanging all over him, in her perfect little outfit with her perfect not-so-little breasts, or the way she’s telegraphing “available for random make outs” in huge, neon letters.

Gabriel’s attention is focused strictly on Brian, though, and in another minute Phoebe loses interest and wanders away.

“See?” Darcia whispers, still clinging to my jacket with one hand. “Nothing to worry about there.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I snap.
Not about that,
is what I don’t add. Instead, I pull her toward the family room. The sweaty press of bodies all around is already too hot.

The French doors off the family room lead out to the patio, where there are coolers full of soda and more beer, and the cold is biting and welcome after the crush inside. Dar wipes down a diet cola with the sleeve of her jacket and cracks it open, sitting on the low stone wall that borders the patio.

“Why are we here again?” she asks me, trying to smile. This kind of thing is never her idea of fun.

“To have a good time,” I inform her, and grab a bottle of beer out of the other cooler. I’ll just have one, because I know what can happen if I don’t stop, but I don’t mind the idea of a little buzz for now.

“You don’t have to babysit, you know,” Dar tells me when I sit down beside her. “Go have fun. Or even better, go find Gabriel and talk some more. Isn’t that a good idea?” She makes a hopeful puppy face, and I snort.

“I’m not babysitting, I’m hanging with my best friend.” I bump her shoulder companionably with my own, but I’m restless. I spent the afternoon running around the deserted park with Bay and Fiona, showing Bay how I could levitate, turn brittle, brown leaves into pinwheels, and make a shimmering carpet of pine needles.

There’s nothing like the feeling of magic running hot in your blood. It’s like being made of light, silver shimmering in every cell. In comparison, the party feels like nothing but noise and confusion.

Meg D’Angelo wanders toward us, nodding at Dar before she sits down. “I’ve got a pool going on who pukes first. Want in?”

That startles a laugh out of me. “No, thanks. I’m tapped out at the moment.”

She nods. “Yeah, well, me too. Why do you think I’m running it?”

Darcia stands up abruptly. Her chin is set firmly, and I watch her squaring her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle. “I’m going to go . . . mingle. Just so I can tell Jess I did.”

“Good girl.” I raise my beer, and Meg does the same. As I watch her push back into the crowd, I tell myself I’m not looking for Gabriel at the same time, and either way, I don’t see him.

Meg saves me from that by asking if I’ve heard the new Pilots song. We spend the next half hour slowly drinking our beer and discussing the incredibly lame music being played by whoever’s in charge of the sound system. At one point, a couple of sophomores walk by talking about Adam, and Meg and I fall quiet for a few minutes. We’re both shivering, teeth chattering around the wet mouths of our bottles, when Jess plops down beside me.

“Hey, you,” she says, and grabs my bottle to down the last little bit.

Meg nods at her, and Jess nods back, and I frown at Jess. “That was my beer, you know.”

“I tell myself a sip here and there doesn’t count as long as I don’t grab a bottle for myself. Anyway, the keg’s already spent.” She’s pink-cheeked and pretty, eyes bright with happiness and a faint smear of alcohol, and I grin at her.

“Where’s Dar?” She twists around to scan the crowd around the pool, her ponytail just missing my cheek.

“She headed inside a while ago. Which I should do, because I’m freezing and I need to pee,” I say, standing up. “I’ll find her.”

“What did you think of the Brown brochures?” Meg is asking when I walk away. She and Jess aren’t exactly friends, but Meg is another not-so-secret brainiac who’s going to end up somewhere with ancient ivy crawling up the walls.

I spot Gabriel and Brian sitting on the stairs, each with a half-f beer. They’re talking so intently that Gabriel doesn’t notice me, which I decide is a good thing. I cut through the packed living room and peek into the dining room, where a couple of junior girls are dancing to Kesha, but no Darcia there, either. The last thing I want to do is go up the stairs, which would mean practically climbing over Gabriel, so I decide to look out front before circling around to the back and into the kitchen.

A few freshmen are sitting in the driveway, passing around a lone red cup, and Jenny Carpenter and Greg Nowak are tangled up in a redwood deck chair someone dragged into the middle of the front lawn. Her shirt is half open, but since his hand is inside it, I figure she’s probably plenty warm enough.

I don’t look over toward the garage until I hear voices, and then every hair on the back of my neck bristles. Cal Gilford is there, looming over Dar in an actual letterman jacket, like every bad cliché from an after-school special ever written. She has her back up against the garage door and her face tilted up to him, and even from a distance I can see the reflected gleam of tears in her eyes.

Oh,
no
way.

I don’t think twice, just unleash my power in a gust of wind that sends a formerly nonexistent basketball rolling off the roof onto Cal’s head. It lands with a nasty thunk, and he staggers backward, yelping. His red cup of beer splashes all over his jacket, and he winds up on his ass in the driveway, shaking his head and swearing.

And Darcia is . . . leaning over to help him, horrified, checking for a lump.

She’s supposed to be running away, because Cal, who’s supposed to be crushing on Jess, was making a move. I think. I
thought
. Crap.

I swallow hard, and walk toward them, pasting on my best innocent face. “Everybody okay?”

“Sort of?” Dar says, and tries to wipe beer off Cal’s jacket with one of her mittens. “A basketball rolled off the roof!”

“Those things are harder than I thought,” Cal grunts, and stands up. “Hey, Wren.”

Before I can say anything else, Darcia cuts in. “That awful Jimmy Coes was being a . . .”

“A dick,” Cal says distinctly, and rubs his head again with a wince. “Had her practically pinned up against the door. Fucking drunk little geek. He took off down the block, probably puking all the way.”

“I’m going to have beer-breath nightmares for days,” Darcia says with a shudder. “Why can’t anyone normal have a secret crush on me?”

I’m pretty close to puking myself.
Way to get every last detail wrong,
I tell myself, and realize someone is standing just behind me. I turn my head and there’s Gabriel, looking very sober and completely grim.

Perfect.

“You okay, Dar?” Gabriel says, and she nods. The color is coming back into her cheeks, even if she’s holding one beery mitten by its thumb like it’s toxic.

“Cal scared him, for life, I think. I almost feel bad.”

“Well, don’t,” Cal says. “I’m going to, uh, get some ice, I think. Or maybe another beer. No pain, right?” He laughs as he ambles toward the house, the beginning of a spectacular blue egg on his forehead.

“I’m going to make sure he’s okay,” Dar says with a worried smile. “And tell Jess he should get extra points if she’s still keeping track.”

Which leaves Gabriel and me standing in the driveway alone, with the basketball in a puddle of spilled beer. This is definitely not my idea of a good party anymore.

“What did you do?”

“I don’t actually report to you, you know,” I say, and cross my arms over my chest. I’m already mad at myself. I don’t need him to join in.

He scratches his head, still frowning. He’s wearing my favorite of his shirts, a dark blue button-down that makes his eyes look startlingly gray. Through the steam of anger, I wonder if he wore it on purpose. “I’m just saying, this is the kind of thing that could get you in trouble. I mean, what if you really hurt him or—”

“But I didn’t.” I step closer, straightening my spine. “I feel awful about it, okay? But I thought he was hurting her. Plus, he’s supposed to be all in love with her best friend! And anyway, she
was
being hurt, just not by him.”

It’s a stupid explanation, and I know it, but now I’m mad at both of us. Clarity has never been a strong point when I’m vibrating with anger.

“You could have walked up to them, you know, or yelled,” he argues, keeping his voice low. In the reflected light from an upstairs window, his eyes are dark as slate, and in each one is an accusation.

Tears are hot in my eyes now, and the lump in my throat is going to be hard to talk around. “Well, I didn’t, okay? And I don’t need you supervising me every minute. I know I screwed up, believe me, but thanks
so
much for making sure to drive that point home a couple more times.”

He clenches his jaw. “Wren, you don’t—”

I let it come, fury and hurt whipping together inside me until I have to let it out. “You’re right, I don’t.” A sudden wind swirls up around us, tossing leaves and stray twigs at our feet, a personal storm. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t. I don’t
care
what you’re going to say, and I
don’t
want to talk to you anymore.”

“Wren, please.” The agony in his voice would be hard to walk away from if I wasn’t so furious.

“Just stop,” I tell him, and let my anger shatter the lightbulb in the fixture over the garage door in punctuation.

He looks wrecked, lost, and I can’t tell whether he’s having another headache or if he hurts somewhere a little deeper.

“Wren, you have to see this,” someone calls from the front yard, and I drag my gaze away to see Meg arm in arm with Jason Carlson, cracking up. Jason graduated last year, but a lot of kids are home on break and not too proud to come to a high school party. I didn’t know he and Meg were still together.

Gabriel runs a hand over his face, and I want to walk away, but I also want to throw my arms around him. I’m so tired of being torn.

I’m still wavering when Gabriel hisses, “Just go.”

I swallow back a protest and walk over to Meg and Jason, who bends to kiss my cheek. He’s got a new tattoo and an even newer black leather jacket on, and Meg tugs at my hand.

“Seriously, come on, two of the juniors on the wrestling team are stripped down to their tightie-whities and going at it in the backyard.”

I let myself be dragged along, even though I can’t think of anything I’d rather see less. Halfway around the side of the house, I see Brian whispering something to a girl I don’t recognize, and I snatch my hand out of Meg’s.

“Hey,” I say to Brian, pushing into their space. The girl blushes and licks traces of smeared lipstick off her bottom lip. “Gabriel is . . . I don’t know. He’s out front by the garage. Could you . . . ?”

“Um . . .” I make Dar’s puppy eyes at him when he hesitates, and he shrugs and nods. “Sure. I’ll give him a ride home. Wanna come?” he asks the girl still snuggled into his side, and as I walk away, she’s beaming.

There, done. At least I know he’ll have a way home.

But I wait out the rest of the night on the wall in the backyard with a red cup of water, by myself. For me anyway, the party’s over.

Chapter Fourteen

DARCIA HAS CUPS OF CONFETTI AND NOISEMAKERS
and glittery party hats laid out on her dresser.

“I don’t care if you think it’s lame,” she warns Jess, poking her shoulder. She’s already in pajamas, faded blue-plaid flannel pants and an old gray sweatshirt. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and I want to celebrate.”

“You’re a party animal,
chica
,” Jess says, and dumps her duffel bag in the corner of Dar’s bedroom before kicking off her shoes. “I assume the hookers and blow will come later, right?”

“Jess!” Dar exclaims, blushing.

I bite back a laugh, but I say, “Don’t be a bitch,” and throw my backpack at Jess even though we all know she’s just kidding.

She catches it and tosses it back, grinning. “Just trying to get the party started.”

And I’m trying my best to get into the mood. We’re sleeping over, which we’ve been doing forever on New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want to ruin the night by brooding. But I haven’t spoken to Gabriel since the party at Noah’s the other night, and I can’t erase the image of his face, twisted in pain.

Not that it matters. I’m not going to be someone I’m not just to please him, and I don’t want a boyfriend who thinks he knows better than I do what’s right for me. My heart just hasn’t quite gotten the “stop loving him, you idiot” message yet.

I don’t think hearts really work like that anyway.

I’ve been trying to distract myself. I took about a zillion pictures of the dumb cat to make Robin happy.

“Oh, he’s a natural,” I said at one point when he yawned at me, whiskers twitching. “Look at him working it.” We were in her bedroom, and she’d posed him on the deep windowsill, so he would look soulful and wise, according to her.

I thought he still looked like a vaguely overweight lump of orange fur, but I didn’t say that.

“Take one of us together,” Robin said after I’d snapped a few more shots. She scooped him up and sat down in her desk chair, holding him up to her chest and burying her nose in the fur at his neck. Her big brown eyes were shining, and I had to smile.

“‘A Girl and Her Cat,’ I’ll call it,” I said, crouching to get a better angle. “Maybe I’ll print it in black and white, make it totally arty.”

As if, of course. It was going to look like a thousand other drippy cat pictures on the internet, but Robin didn’t have to know that.

“Let me see,” she demanded when I’d taken a couple. She let the cat go, and he stalked off the bed in a hurry. I handed her the camera, and she clicked through the pictures on the screen.

“Oh, this one,” she announced. She was biting her bottom lip, like a grin too big would crack her face open.

She turned the camera around to show me. It was a cute shot and even though I didn’t think it was exactly groundbreaking, it was enough to make her happy.

I was about to suggest trying something else, maybe doing her up gothy or like an old-time movie star, just for fun, when she said, “When you print that one, I’m going to send it to Dad.”

The bottom dropped out of the moment then, all the air in the room whooshing past until I was dizzy.

“What . . . why?” I managed.

“Because I want to.” She crossed her arms over her chest, chin stuck out like a dare. “Because he’s my dad, too.”

“Robin.” I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Do you get at all that I’m worried about you, too?” It felt so wrong to say it, after telling Gabriel he had no right to worry so much about me, but it was true. “You were a baby when he left, Binny. And I don’t know who he is in your mind, but if he doesn’t live up to that . . . if he left because he was selfish or didn’t care, I just don’t want your heart broken.”

“I’m a big girl, Wren.” Tears were already shining in her eyes, but she was standing up straight, defying me to tell her differently. Stupid kid. She was more like me than she knew.

So I left her there, with her cat and her dreams, and shut myself in my room for the rest of the afternoon.

That night, all I wanted was a way to keep busy. I called Fiona, and we went into town with Bay to see a movie. We were early for the nine o’clock showing, so we walked around aimlessly with coffees. There were posters about Adam in almost every window, and I couldn’t help thinking about his family, missing him and aching.

Only the restaurants and cafés were open, so the sidewalks weren’t exactly crowded, but every time Bay made a window-display Santa dance or repainted the lettering on a sign with silver glitter, my heart pounded. Fiona was chattering about what the block between Elm and Quimby would look like if it were all pink, and even Bay rolled his eyes at that, although he did let her turn one metal garbage bin into a cupcake. It was reckless, way more than an afternoon in the deserted park across town, and nothing I did drowned out the sound of Gabriel’s voice in my head, warning me to be careful.

But tonight it will be easier to forget Gabriel entirely. Dar’s mom always provides enough snack food to feed a battalion, and there are a dozen different movies we can watch, piled together on Dar’s bed with the lights out and a zillion pillows to snuggle into. I’m secretly hoping for one of our infamous Scrabble battles, too. Dar isn’t as vicious as Jess and I can be, but she loves to egg us on, and sometimes even makes words she knows we’ll be able to build on.

Jess and I play practically to the death. One time when I won by only three points, she tackled me to the floor and tickled me so hard I could barely breathe.

I drop my bag beside the bed and sit down to untie my boots. Pajamas are the first order of business, and I rustle through my bag to find the black leggings and big shirt I usually sleep in.

Jess is already changing into hers—purple thermal long johns—and from inside the shirt she’s pulling over her head, I hear, “I saw Cal last night.”

Dar settles on the bed cross-legged and claps her hands. “Tell all, please.”

“Not much to tell.” Jess emerges from her shirt, pulling it down into place and then reaching up to straighten her ponytail. A sly smile twists her mouth into a lopsided comma. “Except for the fact that he’s a really good kisser. Like, epic. The boy should win an award.”

Darcia squeals, hugging her knees to her chest. “Okay, now you really have to tell all. Especially since my last kiss involved a freshman in the chess club who tasted as much like old tuna fish as he did like beer.” She shudders.

Jess screws up her face in some weird combination of pity and disgust. “Anyway. So yeah, we went out to the big bookstore near the mall, and walked around for, like, an hour before we got coffee and stuff.”

“Please tell me there was no embarrassing PDA in the café,” I tease her. I find my huge, fuzzy socks with pink and black stripes and slide them on before I curl up next to Darcia.

Jess rolls her eyes. “Please.” She waits a beat before she grins and says, “We made out in his car in the parking lot.”

“Classy!” Dar and I say together, giggling.

“Hey, it was too late for a movie by then.” Jess sniffs, but she’s still smiling. There’s something new in her eyes, too, a dreamy little sparkle. I haven’t seen that in a long time, and I reach across the bed to pinch her foot.

“So he’s a good guy, huh?”

“He’s pretty awesome, if you ask me,” Dar cuts in. Every trace of laughter is gone. “I know Jimmy Coes is just a freshman, but he’s a lot taller than I am. And he was, like, strong. Plus, I was so surprised, I didn’t even have time to yell, and then I had this gross tongue in my mouth and—”

“Oh, Dar.” Jess reaches out and lays a hand on her arm. “I didn’t know he really scared you.”

“I think that’s what got Cal’s attention. He walked by, and I was staring around Jimmy’s head, and I kind of . . . flapped my hands at him.” She’s flushed now, eyes focused on her bare feet.

“Well, I’m glad he did.” I keep my voice as steady as possible. “That’s totally uncool, even if Jimmy is just a kid. Attack does not equal flirt, you know?”

“Exactly.” Jess is flushed, too, but I think it’s pride. Even she never expected Cal to pull a white knight like that, and she expects pretty much everything from the few boys she’s ever been interested in.

“Anyway.” Darcia smiles up at us from beneath her lashes. They’re as dark and thick as her hair. “I just hope I thanked him enough.”

“You totally did,” Jess assures her. “For a while last night I was actually beginning to wish he would change the subject. I mean, I don’t want it going to his head.”

I snort and flop back on the pillows, staring at the ancient glow-in-the-dark stars in Darcia’s ceiling. They don’t actually glow anymore, but I know the pattern of them by heart.

It’s something to focus on instead of how hard it is to join in this conversation without bursting into tears.

A week ago, I would have been gushing about Gabriel. A week ago, I usually was gushing about Gabriel, or at least what passes for gushing with me. A week ago, I didn’t think our relationship could be any more perfect.

Being wrong is a habit I’d really like to break.

Horror gets outvoted in favor of some romance thing with men in riding breeches and women in long, pale dresses, so I spend most of the movie imagining what would happen if they were being attacked by zombies. It’s a decent way to pass the time, snuggled between Jess and Dar in the nest we’ve made of Dar’s bed. There’s popcorn and root beer and peanut M&M’s and mini doughnuts drenched in powdered sugar, and by the time the movie’s over I’m slightly nauseous in the best possible way.

“Okay, I know that look,” Jess says as the credits roll, elbowing Darcia in the ribs. She sits up and stretches; white powder clings to one cheek. “Who are you thinking about? You’ve got a secret Mr. Darcy in your head, don’t you? You do! Come on, spill.”

Dar groans and rolls over, burying her face in the pillows. She grunts something unintelligible, and I help Jess roll her over again.

“Tell,” I say, pressing the tip of one finger to her nose gently.

She sighs and screws her eyes shut tight, like if she can’t see us, we can’t see her. “Thierry Dupuis.”

Jess frowns at me over Dar’s closed eyes, and I mouth
French kid
as I tug one of Dar’s curls. “Dar, he’s adorable.”

“He’s the French kid,” she explains to Jess when she finally sits up, as if she knew all along he’s someone who wouldn’t register on Jess’s radar. “The one here until the end of April?”

Jess’s smile is crooked and pleased. “Very nice.”

“We actually talked at the party,” Dar admits. “Before, you know. He plays the guitar, too.”

“I wonder if the French are actually better at French kissing,” Jess wonders aloud, and Dar throws a piece of popcorn at her.

Suddenly her face falls, and she and Jess exchange a look before turning to me. Uh-oh. I can practically taste the questions in the air.

“Have you talked to Gabriel since the party?” Dar asks gently, and I try not to sigh out loud.

Instead, I just shake my head, hoping they’ll get the idea I don’t want to talk about it. That’s never stopped Jess, of course.

“I wish I knew what you guys are actually fighting about,” she says, and leans toward me, frowning. “I mean, everything was so great, and then . . .”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. My cheeks are burning, and every nerve is singing with the urge to run. I don’t want to be the center of attention, not about this.

Dar’s bedroom door bangs open.
Saved by the fourth grader,
I think with relief as Dex announces, “Come on! It’s eleven thirty, and the ball-drop thing is starting soon!” His dark hair is slightly sweaty, shoved off his forehead in seven different directions, and someone plastered a temporary lightning-bolt tattoo in the middle of it.

“We don’t want to miss that,” I say, and stand up, collecting snacks as I go.

Dar bites her bottom lip, but she doesn’t say anything, and Jess gets up off the bed, grabbing empty root beer bottles and teasing Dex, “Where’s your broom, Harry?”

Downstairs, the living room is crowded—Davina is home for the holidays, and Mrs. Banerjee’s sister, Sophia, is visiting. The youngest of Dar’s brothers, David, is already cross-legged in front of the TV in SpongeBob pajamas. He’s a curly head like Darcia, and just in second grade.

“Girls, just in time for the par-tay,” Mr. Banerjee says, and Darcia groans. Dion, who started seventh grade this year, lopes in, still in his jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. He doesn’t really look at Jess and me. She thinks we make him nervous now.

I think he and Robin would be pretty cute together, but maybe in a couple years. Like, five. Or nine.

For a little while, it’s too noisy and chaotic to even think about Gabriel. Dar’s mom is passing around paper cups of sparkling grape juice, and Dex and David are singing along with the boy band in Times Square. It’s so familiar and so stupidly fun, I’m happy to perch on one arm of the sofa with Dar’s dad and tell him about my new camera.

At 11:58, Dar looks up from where David has her pinned on the carpet and says, “The confetti!”

I get up. “I’ll get it, Dar. Be right back.”

“Get the hats and stuff, too!”

I’m already halfway up the stairs but I yell back okay, and have to fumble along the wall to find the light switch. “Hurry,” Jess yells from downstairs, and I roll my eyes.