My Clueless Broken Heart (School Dayz #3) Read online

  The next afternoon, he calls and asks me to go to the movies.

  I’m moving on, ready or not.

  ***

  “Did you pick a date outfit?” Avery zips into my room as I half-heartedly search my closet. Suddenly, I hate all my clothes.

  “I’ll throw something together.” I hold a red sweater against my pale winter skin and check out the results in the mirror. No way can I compete with overwhelming brightness. Back to black.

  “Are you going to kiss Will again?”

  Sweet Lord, she must track every boy I’ve ever talked to in her cute little head.

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you ask him if he plans on hooking up with me?”

  Avery flinches. “Jeez, Becca! Sorry I asked. When you went out with Travis you used to laugh at my questions.”

  I turn away before she catches me blinking back an unexpected tear. “Sorry. How about if I promise to tell you every measly detail when I get home?”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” She zooms out of the room and down the steps. “I gotta call Corinne. She thinks Will is gorg.”

  ***

  In my sixth week without Travis, I am obsessed with his nineteenth birthday.

  I want to call him, but I chicken out. After tossing and turning for hours, I switch on my phone, two minutes before midnight, and fire off a text. Happy Birthday, Travis. I wait for a reply to buzz in. The room remains deathly silent. I try not to let it upset me. I’m sure he’s busy with school and work.

  ***

  Seven weeks without Travis.

  Happy Birthday to me. My friends send goofy Snapchats and message me with their birthday wishes. Val decorates my locker with streamers and balloons. After school, Mel takes me out for pizza. As we shove down slices, both of us starving after two hours of speed-shooting drills, we chat about basketball and boys.

  “So … I hear you and Will are back together?” She arches one auburn eyebrow.

  I pause before taking another bite of pizza. “Sort of. It’s different this time.” I leave it at that. She doesn’t press me.

  At home, Gran and Avery bake a cake with pink frosting. They light seventeen flaming candles, setting off the smoke alarm in the process. Will calls and we make plans to celebrate. We’re not officially dating, but we hang out together a lot.

  Last year, Travis stopped by in the middle of his busy senior year. Gran bribed him with a piece of birthday cake. This year, nothing. Not even a text.

  Has he completely forgotten me?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Two months Travis-less. Say that ten times fast.

  Monday morning. As usual, I’m late. I rush to my car, throwing a quick glance toward the carriage house. My keys slip from my hand and clang on the ground. Travis’s truck is parked in the driveway.

  My stomach ties itself into an unbreakable knot. On top of this nice surprise, I’ve been fighting off a cold. My head throbs, like a little elf is smacking my brain with a tiny hammer.

  Before anyone (Travis) notices me, I grab my keys, hop in the car and drive away. Not that anyone (Travis) is looking. If a certain person (Travis again) wanted to see me, he could easily come up with a plausible excuse to knock on my door.

  By third period, all I can think about is the truck, sitting by the carriage house, like it’s waiting for me. But it isn’t waiting for me. It’s just Travis, home for spring break. During Mr. Ryan’s lecture on the Battle of Gettysburg, I’m sweating like I just finished back-to-back basketball games without subs. My nose runs continuously, and thankfully, Will’s not around. I’m nowhere near reaching my full attractiveness potential this morning.

  In the hallway, I zombie-march right by Val.

  “Hey!” She chases me down and grabs my backpack, nearly toppling me over.

  I swivel my head around and squint hard. “Ha. There’s two of you.”

  Val redirects me to the nurse’s office.

  “She’s sick,” blurry Val says, dropping me off at the door.

  The nurse grunts and hangs up her phone, unbelieving. She shoves a thermometer in my mouth. It beeps a few times and her eyes widen when she reads the result.

  “One oh two point seven. You’re excused.” She lifts her arm and points to the door. “And don’t even think about coming back tomorrow. Fever free for twenty-four hours.”

  But she doesn’t seem to care if I drive myself home.

  When I pull up to the house, just before lunch, I’m convinced that I’m hallucinating. Travis stands on the back step, hooked into his iPod. Wow. He looks so … real. I forget to brake until the last second and the tires squeal when I stop. I get out of the car, blink twice, and look again. He’s five feet away from me, painting our kitchen door.

  Should I go around front? But I always use the back door. This is my house, not his, and I can’t avoid him forever. Plus, I need to see him. Maybe if he gives me some sign, shows me he still cares, even a little bit, I’ll be able to make it through another day without him.

  “Hi, Travis.” My voice crackles from the dry fire in my throat. When he doesn’t respond, I poke him lightly in the back. The paint brush falls from his hand. With a plop, it lands back in the can.

  Gran’s gonna flip out when she sees paint splattered on the step.

  Turning to me, he tugs the left headphone from his ear.

  “Becca,” he says. Nothing else. Not even how are you. Okay, Travis isn’t the most talkative person, but we kissed. A lot. I cried in his arms. When I was a wreck about my parents moving me to Africa, he held me for hours.

  I watch the paint drip off the step, into the grass. “Spring break?”

  “Yeah. No school today?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well. The nurse sent me home.” I sniff three times to prove my point. “Travis, um, my prom is coming up …” The words gush out of my mouth before I can stop them. I’d refused to let myself consider the possibility, but the idea must have been buried somewhere in my head. I’m already going to the prom with Will, but I’d find a way to un-ask him if Travis said yes.

  “I can’t take you to the prom,” Travis says. My heart sinks like someone just tied an anchor around it and threw it overboard.

  “So, I guess you’re busy every weekend for the rest of your life?” I take a cautious step toward him.

  He glances around the yard, like he’s expecting my parents to pop out from behind a tree. “It just wouldn’t be a good idea. For us.”

  Then he closes the distance between us.

  When his arms slide around my waist, I lean into him and let him hold me the way he used to. He skin feels warm against mine, even though I’m burning up with fever. Through my stuffed nose, I detect traces of the paint on his clothes and the familiar scent of his shampoo. When he starts to shift away, I refuse to let him go. He draws in an unsteady breath.

  “I miss you,” I whisper.

  “I miss you, too.” He pushes a matted curl off my hot forehead. “This gets easier. I promise.”

  He brushes his lips against mine, a secret kiss. The world slants beneath my feet at the light touch.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he says, his mouth hovering above mine.

  I hold onto his shoulder until my legs are steady. “Why not? Because I don’t fit into your busy, important college life?” This new rejection hits me hard. I break away from him and my shin hits the paint can. Travis lunges for the handle.

  Humiliation burns me, hotter than a thousand-degree fever. I need to get away from him.

  I force open the door, smearing green paint on my yellow shirt. Gran and Mrs. Hunter both look up from their tea.

  “Becca? What’s wrong?” Gran rushes toward me but stops short when huge, racking coughs start rolling out of my chest.

  “Sorry, I’m sick. Fever. Chills. Cold.” On my way up the steps, I ramble something about being sent home from school, leaving the two of them looking dazed.

  An hour later, my bedroom door creaks open.
<
br />   “Becca, I asked Tim to do some painting around the house, but he wasn’t feeling well either. Something must be going around. Travis came over and offered to help. I told him it would be fine since you were at school.”

  I sigh and toss the blanket off my sweaty legs. “It’s okay, Gran. I expected to see him again someday.”

  The corner of my mattress drops when Gran sits on the edge of my bed. “How did it go? The first time seeing him again.”

  I choke back a laugh. “Actually, terrible. I tried to ask him to the prom, but he shut me down.”

  “Listen to me, Becca.” Gran looks at her hands. “I don’t believe Travis wants to hurt you. Whatever he’s doing, I think it’s because he’s trying to do what’s best for you.”

  I rub my eyes, easing the ache of forcing back tears. “You don’t think he’s a commitment-phobe?”

  Gran shakes her head. “I don’t. This has to be about something else.”

  “How can he possibly think I’m better off without him, though? I’m not any happier.”

  “Do you want me to ask him? Talk to him about it?”

  I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. “No. It’s over now.”

  Gran reaches for one of my loose curls and tucks it behind my ear. “I thought you were feeling better about Travis. You talk about Will.”

  An arrow of guilt darts through the center of my heart. I do talk about Will. We don’t label our relationship, but my guess is that we have an unspoken understanding in place. And I just kissed someone else.

  I roll away from Gran, hiding my misery. “I thought I was better too. Until I saw Travis again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Three months without Travis takes me past the end of March, my least favorite month.

  In my opinion, March is a total scam. Spring’s supposed to arrive. Flowers should be blooming. Warm temperatures. Snow on the ground a distant memory. But, every year, March makes a fool out of me. One day of Florida weather and the next day the wind blows in from Alaska.

  Even Harmony High avoids the false promise of March. Knowing the junior girls will be devastated if prom night is cold, windy, snowy, and miserable, the big event is traditionally held on the first Friday in April.

  One week before the prom, Avery and Gran accompany me to Yancey’s Dress Shop in the center of town. It’s the best place to go for formal wear, because Mrs. Yancey records your name, school, and the exact color and design of the gown you purchase. Then, when you make your show stopping entrance on prom night, no one else will be dressed like your better looking evil twin.

  Not a huge concern for me, but one of the seniors on the basketball team told me about a gruesome scene last year when two girls showed up in matching dresses from the Prom Parade in the mall. Tons of name-calling and epic wailing ensued. Horrific.

  Avery suggests a floor length pink gown, because it’s spring, the dress is frillier than Gran’s Irish lace curtains, and pink is her favorite color. I prefer short and black.

  “Are you in mourning?” Gran asks, shifting uncomfortably on the dressing room chair when I model my pick. “I’m sorry, Becca, but on this I side with Avery.”

  “How about something in a jewel tone?” The sales lady cranes her ostrich-length neck around the door when she hears our argument. “A sapphire blue or purple amethyst would look gorgeous, especially with your skin tone and dark hair. And, yes, shorter lengths are appropriate for the junior prom.”

  She winks at me.

  Since I’ve already spent way more time on this shopping excursion than planned, I ask her to hunt down a few more dresses, hoping to speed up the process. I squeeze myself into the tightest, darkest one, a plum-colored chiffon with a crystal beaded bodice. The dress shimmers under the soft dressing room light and the deep color brings out the glints of red in my hair. The skirt rises above the knee, but swings lower in the back, giving an illusion of formality, according to Mrs. Yancey herself, a towering woman with a severe gray bun, who makes a point to stop by and say hi to Gran. I’ve got so many visitors; it feels like open season for half-dressed teenagers.

  “Yes or no?” I march in a circle for the benefit of my audience.

  “I love it. Will’s gonna love it,” Avery says.

  “Yes, but do you love it, Becca? Prom dresses are not … inexpensive,” Gran says.

  “Mom’s paying, Becca. So go all out.” Avery’s voice carries a recognizable bitterness.

  I turn to the full-length mirror. In my reflection, I glimpse the whole charade of my life crashing down on me. In the deepest, darkest part of my heart, I don’t care about this prom. I like my date. He’s a great guy. Funny, athletic, popular, and exceptionally good-looking. But if Will dumps me tomorrow, missing him would never destroy me. I won’t count ceiling cracks for hours on end.

  But that isn’t the purpose of a prom, right? The prom is a rite of passage, a night to dress up, go out with friends and celebrate your high school years. It’s not about the boy; he’s only an accessory. This is the twenty-first century. No one meets the love of their life in high school anymore.

  Taking a deep breath, I slowly spin around, checking the back of the dress once more. I twist my hair into a sloppy updo, secure it with an elastic ponytail holder and force a photo-worthy smile.

  “I like it, Gran. It’s me.”

  She digs into her wallet, retrieves Mom’s credit card, and I buy the dress.

  ***

  Without Travis, I find myself confiding in Avery more and more. She’s the only person who understands how messed up I am because our shared parents are now messing her life up as well.

  I chauffeur her to dance class, or relieve Gran from pick-up duty after the middle school mixers, marked in our family calendar every other Friday night. On the days I’m off from basketball, I truck Avery home from school, now that her mini-clique has decided riding the bus is uncool. As we drive, she vents about the cattiness of eighth grade girls who tend to form opinions based on your hair style and clothing labels. She’s disappointed because she still hasn’t kissed a boy. But, she’s always captured more attention than me, not that I ever minded, and I’m convinced her wish will happen soon enough.

  “Middle school guys act cool around girls, but they’re really just oblivious,” I advise, on the way home from her latest disastrous social event. As soon as she ducks into the car, she dissolves into tears because Corinne held hands with a seventh-grader, while the boy Avery likes completely ignored her.

  “He spent the whole night with his friends, making videos of their annoying tricks. Seriously, they’re flipping water bottles and playing Pokémon on their phone. When I left, he said ‘See ya, Ashley’,” she wails. “That jerk didn’t even get my name right!”

  I bite my lip to hide a smile. “Sometimes you have to be the one to strike up a conversation. Ask a question. That’s what I did with Will.”

  “Really?” She uses her sleeve to wipe her tears away. “You talked to Will first? I’m surprised. You know, after, uh, Travis.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Why not? I can’t stop living just because Travis … ”

  “Because Travis is clueless. You never told me why you broke up. But I guessed by the way you were so sad it wasn’t what you wanted. Did he cheat on you?”

  I laugh at the thought. “No. He just … it wasn’t the right time for us. He said he didn’t want me to wait for him.”

  “Wait for him to what? Finish school? Don’t people date in college?”

  I blow out a stream of air. “To be honest, Avery, I didn’t really follow his reasoning. I thought we were in a different place. Not that we had a ton of deep conversations about our relationship.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy kissing. Because it was Travis,” Avery says, cracking a smile despite a second wave of tears brimming in her big blue eyes.

  “Right. So, I’m not really in a position to give you advice about boys.”

  But Avery is undaunted. “Becca, if you underst
and anyone on the planet, it’s him. And he knows you. I’m sure someday—”

  “I can’t live for someday,” I say, cutting her off. “So, how do you think I should wear my hair to the prom?”

  Someday, maybe. I hate those words.

  ***

  Prom day means an early release for the junior class. Mel and I meet Val at the new all-organic spa in town. Mrs. Villanueva considers beauty treatments to be her personal form of religion, so all of the stylists greet Val by name and treat us like royalty. Three manicures, pedicures, blow outs, and makeup applications later, my hair is steamed straight, Mel’s is bundled high on top of her head, and Val sports big, glossy curls. I choose Black Raven nail polish, my one indulgence, because I’m not completely over Gran and Avery shooting down my favorite dress color.

  As the hours tick closer to prom time, Mel enters a state of euphoria. She’s reached the “everything he does is both awesome and hilarious stage” with Connor and loves to tell us all about him. I decide to quit talking and wait for the rainbows of happiness to shoot out of the huge bun on top of her head.

  Meanwhile, Val slides into her slinky black dress, almost exactly like the one I wanted to buy. We would have looked like best friend clones, except she would have looked better. I take this as a sign that I’m wearing the dress meant for me, and dating the person I’m meant to be with. For now.

  “What do you think of these?” I hold up the pair of crystal chandelier earrings Avery picked out. “They’re so … dangly.”