Excerpt: A Mender of Broken Hearts

CHAPTER ONE
Trig. Not my favorite class, however it is among one of the necessary requirements in order to leave this horrific place—excuse me, I meant school. Mr. Brooks was at the board explaining quadratic functions for the umpteenth time this semester. You’d think that after that many lectures, students would finally grasp the concept, but no—that would require them to actually think and pay attention in class. You see, it’s not that I despise math for its difficulty and confusing concepts like any other normal high-school student; no, it would be because of its annoying repetitive nature that makes you want to pull your hair out in moments like these when you feel as if you could commit suicide if you hear the dull explanation one more time. There are only so many times you can sing the quadratic formula before it becomes entirely futile.
Caught in a day dream of how I loathe the educational institution, the bell rang which signaled the end of 4th period. As I gathered my belongings and headed out the door, I was immediately swept into the current of impatient students who were trying to get to their next period on time (more like exert their angst upon those of us who were actually trying to move through their harsh shoves and pushes). I, too, pushed my way through the crowded halls until I arrived in the, ironically, empty cafeteria. I discovered my usual table and placed my things on its blue, vinyl surface, proceeding to sit down on the bench. A few minutes later, I saw a familiar friendly face— one with chocolate brown eyes, long sandy blond locks, and perfect high cheek bones—moving closer and closer. Out of habit, I waved my hand and accompanied the gesture with a cheerful smile.
“Emma, how’s it going?” She exclaimed and questioned curiously as she sat down across from me.
“Things are great. You know how A-Days are—first the dreaded P.E., then the loathed Spanish III class, followed by the obnoxious high pitched voice of Ms. Shelton in Modern Dance. Oh and how can I forget the annoying Math class that’s filled with people who have IQ’s lower than Pee Wee Herman? Yeah I’d say things are going great,” I sarcastically replied, “And how was your day?”
“Oh, you know, wonderful,” She went on, with a deep sigh of one who is in love, “Robbie picked me up this morning and when I got in the car, there was a dozen of Krispy Kreme doughnuts—you know, because on our first date, I told him how much I loved them. Emma, he is the one. I just know it!”
“That’s great, Michelle, really great. Did you know that if you eat a doughnut every day for a year, you’d gain 30 pounds?” I sarcastically questioned. It’s not that I don’t care about Michelle and Robbie’s relationship; I just honestly can’t even see them getting to Prom without at least one break up.
“Why do you always have to be a Debbie Downer, Em? I mean, just because I am in love with Robbie does not give you the right to sass our relationship and make snide comments.” She fought back, throwing her arms across her chest mid-sentence. Michelle was not one for sarcasm—yet she’s my best friend? We’re not sure how that happened either.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just; you know with mid-terms coming up, I just have a lot on my mind right now,” I admitted.
“Thank God I got out of AP classes when I did. My complexion would be shot right about now if I were as stressed as you!” Michelle replied, a little too loudly if you ask me.
“Thanks, I guess,” I said, raising one eyebrow at her as she continued to look at herself in a tiny Clinique compact. I could tell she wasn’t actually thinking about what she had said, and so I let it slide. After a couple of seconds of silence, I decided to pull out my lunch—a ham and cheese sandwich, carrots, and potato chips. You would think that after 12 years of this my mother would come up with some fresh ideas about making school lunches. As I nibbled on my sandwich, I saw Michelle’s face instantly light up as she gazed past my head—Robbie.
“Robbie! Over here!” She yelled, again a little too loudly. This relationship sure had taught her to increase her inside voice.
“Hey, babe,” I heard from behind me. “You look beautiful as always.” He was now walking around the table to sit next to her, but before he sat down he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. At least she’s happy. That’s all that matters. I thought. Robbie’s right hand man, Jacob, appeared on my right side as he set his things down and sat next to me. Jacob, who normally went by Jake, was cute—brown curly locks with big blue eyes and fair skin, accented by a number of freckles. But, along with every other boy at Marshall High School, I had found something wrong with Jake, too. He was wealthy and sort of preppy. In other words, definitely not my type.
“Emma! How’s my girl?” Jake inquired. I hate the way he refers to me as ‘his girl’—as if I’m his property or something. But I figured spending time with him while Michelle and Robbie talked privately was the least I could do for my best friend.
“I’m doing great, Jake, what about you?” I replied with a smile. Maybe that’s why he felt comfortable enough to call me ‘his girl’—I smiled at him too much. At that thought, I wiped that semi-fake smile right off my face and turned my attention back to my ham and cheese.
“Hanging in there, I suppose. I have Hardin’s test next block and didn’t get a chance to really study for it. Do you mind quizzing me? I just need to go over the stuff about Hitler and the Nazis.” Jake requested, with a glint of hope in his eyes.
“Sure, but isn’t the whole test over Hitler and the Nazis?” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. If there was one thing I admired about Jake, it was that he truly did care about school and getting into a great college, which he had already accomplished. He would be going to Duke University while I would attend a community college 30 minutes from my house. I would be living on campus, at least, away from my overprotective mother. I had applied to other places—the University of Georgia, the University of South Carolina. I had even applied to Duke, too. But I didn’t stand a chance of getting any kind of scholarship, so I had settled on a small, affordable school.
“Yeah, I guess it is. Still, will you help me?” He pressed.
“Of course I will.” I said.
We got down to business. With only 15 minutes left in the lunch block, we managed to cover Hitler’s acquisition of power, the Night of the Long Knives, and also the Enabling Act. Jake was smart, and I knew he would do well on Hardin’s test. “Thanks, Emma. That was really nice of you to help me. I think I’ve pretty much got everything up in here now!” He said enthusiastically, pointing to his head. We were walking back to class now.
“You’re welcome, Jake!” I said, stopping at my locker to change books. Jake kept on walking next to Robbie.
“You rock, Emma Weinberg! I love you!” He yelled from down the hall. Shhh! A teacher had come out into the hall to warn him about another test which was going on. I giggled to myself as I got out my books for Biology and then headed to Mrs. Rainwater’s classroom. As I walked I thought to myself about Jake and our developing friendship. I wondered if he had a girlfriend or not. He always seemed to be following Robbie’s lead, which mainly consisted of hanging out with Michelle who was always with me. Therefore, we were like the fantastic four. Only Jake and I were kind of there by association. Well, for whatever reason, I was glad to be making friends—guy friends for that matter. And if it meant being called ‘my girl’ by Jake Weston? Well, I wasn’t all that opposed to the idea.
CHAPTER TWO
After sitting through Mrs. Rainwater’s monotonous Biology class, I bolted to the parking lot where my 1997 Jeep Cherokee waited for me in my assigned parking spot. I dashed across the black top stealthily so that others around me would not notice my haste and make unfair judgments about my priorities in life. Internship block at the local animal shelter was definitely one of those priorities; however I didn’t feel like the entire Marshall High School needed to know that. I opened the door, threw myself into the worn yet comfortable seat, pulled the door shut, place the keys into the ignition, and began turning them to start the engine. Instead of making the loud roaring sound it normally did, it sputtered a bit and then the sound died out. I looked in the rearview mirror and instantly noticed the panic in my facial expression. Quickly, I tried starting the engine again—nothing. How embarrassing? Here I thought my car was perfectly capable of making it to the end of the year when I would graduate and now it wouldn’t even start!
I swung the car door open and got out, walking around the perimeter of the vehicle to analyze the situation. As I made my way to the front of the car, I stopped dead in my tracks and had an epiphany. My lights were on, and had been since early that morning when I’d arrived to school. Frustration rushed over me so quickly, it felt as though I was dry one minute and the next I was drowning in a sea of anger. I scanned the parking lot for a signal of any students left—none. This couldn’t be happening. What am I suppose to do now? Work starts in 2 minutes and here I am, stranded at school with no one around to assist me.
At that very moment, I heard the long, drawn out squeak of the enormous entrance doors to the school opening. Out walked a face I would have rather avoided for the last year of my high school career. Tall, athletic body and brown cropped hair? It had to be none other than Greg Phillips, the school jock, or as I had figured out 3 years prior to this moment, he was also a jerk. You see, freshman year, I wasn’t such a tempestuous teenager like many would say I am today. I was actually popular to a certain extent. I had all of the right friends, I had participated in 2 sports that year, and every weekend had been full of social events. And then came along Greg Phillips, the boy I was madly in love with for so long. He finally began to notice me—a lot. We started “going out,” well, as much going out as you possibly can do when you’re 15 and can’t drive yet. I had really, really liked him at the time; everyone knew it. And he liked me back—or so I thought.
My opinion of that belief changed the night of Lauren Stetson’s 15th birthday party, a night I will never forget. It was a boy-girl party, of course, and things began to heat up between the members of the group when we decided to play the dreaded “7 Minutes in Heaven.” Michelle was present at the party, too, and she was dared to go first with none other than Robbie Spears. At the time, they had hated each other. Robbie couldn’t stand the way Michelle looked in the mirror at least 20 times a day, and Michelle couldn’t stand the level of immaturity Robbie held. Needless to say, they were repulsed by the thought of spending 7 minutes together in a dark closet with their fellow prospects watching their every move. The kids at the party would have been able to tell if they were lying, and therefore they at least had to do something. Michelle says she just kissed him. Robbie says she nearly groped him. But neither of them really pays attention to the details anymore now that they’re together.
Back to the story though, Greg and I were next in the closet. I, for one, had been ecstatic about the chance to make out with Greg Phillips. For the first 30 seconds, neither of us said anything, which meant that the only noise in the closet was my heart banging against the inside of my chest over and over again. I was thoroughly embarrassed, until—suddenly I could hear Greg moving slowly across the 3 feet of space we had. I felt his hand gently run down the length of my arm, which made me shiver. “Emma?” He had said.
“Yeah, Greg?” I managed to say through the nervous lump that had risen in my throat.
“You wouldn’t mind if we lied, would you?” I could tell he had that incredible grinning look on his face that made me weak in the knees.
“I’m sorry, what?” I retaliated before I could think to stop myself.
“Yeah, it’s just—you see, Kimberly is out there, and well, we’ve kind of been hooking up a lot lately. I don’t want her to think I like you.” He said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All this time I had thought he was attracted to me, not Kimberly Cook, who might I add, was nothing special. Just your average bleach blond-headed girl with fake acrylic nails and way too much Clinique caked on her face.
“Kimberly? Really? I thought you—, “At that, I stopped speaking. Not because I had willed myself to, but the tears which were forming in my eyes had.
“You thought that I what? That I was into you?” He said with a slight laugh in his voice. He found this hysterical, for one reason or another. “Emma, you’re a lot of fun to be around, but dateable? No. You’re too much like one of the guys.” I was so glad he couldn’t see my face right now because let’s just say, it wasn’t my normal shade of pale. It had to have been bright red. I tried to be strong, I really did, but the tears just kept on coming. “You’re crying, aren’t you?” He said this more like a statement than a concerned question.
“No.” I fought back. There was no way I was going to let him see me cry.
“Yes you are. And I don’t blame you. But, will you please play along?” I couldn’t believe he still expected me to play his game. After he had just told me I was practically a boy. The nerve of him!
“Absolutely not.” I snapped, and threw open the door. As I did this, I grabbed onto his neck and pulled him to my mouth and kissed him hard on the lips. I could tell that we had an audience by the laughter and “Oh’s” coming from various partiers. Then, I let go of Greg’s neck and walked out of the closet covering my face. I still managed to catch a glimpse of Kimberly’s face, though. She was not happy at all. Good, I had thought to myself as I ran out of Lauren’s basement, and dashed up the path towards the road. My mom had dropped me off, but the nice part about it was I only lived about a mile away from Lauren, so I began the trek home in the freezing November rain.
As my mind slowly came back to reality, I noticed Greg walking towards a black Land Rover about 30 feet away from me. My mind instantly went back to my priorities list as I thought about how much trouble I would be in if I didn’t get to the shelter soon. I had to do it; I had to ask him for his help. Otherwise, my boss, Mr. Jansen, was going to be thorough pissed off at me for not showing up to work. I set aside my anger and decided to seek his help.
“Hey, Greg!” I yelled loudly, and heard my echo bounce off of a couple of cars. He looked around for a second before laying his eyes on me. I had caught him off guard, that was obvious, but he looked like he didn’t even recognize me.
“Yeah?” He yelled back.
“Hey, it’s Emma. I was wondering if you could help me. My car’s not starting.” I was starting to regret this chosen path to seeking help. Greg didn’t even remember who I was, even though I had kissed him in a closet 3 years ago. My plan for being remembered had failed, apparently. He started walking towards me, and I suddenly got nervous—but why? This guy broke my heart. Why should I be at all nervous? If anything, I should be breaking his nose right now for treating me the way he had.
Once he approached me and my car, he said, “Yeah, sure. What seems to be the problem?” He said, sort of superficially. He eyed me for a split second, but then immediately focused his attention to my beaten, old car.
“Well, I think maybe it’s because I left my lights on this morning.” I hated this. I hated that I was the one having to ask him for help instead of it being the other way around. I never did get my revenge after that night at Lauren’s, and it irked me to this very day.
“Oh, that could cause your car to not want to turn on,” He said with that ridiculously handsome grin of his. Stop, Emma! Stop thinking of him the way you used to before everything happened! He’s not worth it!
“Yeah, I suppose.” I agreed, flatly. There was no way I would let him play me again.
“Well, it’s a good thing I have jumper cables in the back of my car. I’ll be right back. While I go get my car, though, do you mind popping the hood for me?” He questioned, still smiling.
“Sure, no problem.” I replied. Pop the hood? How do I do that? Even though my car was old, it had never given me trouble before until now. This was just great. I probably looked like a complete idiot as I tried to figure out how to ‘pop the hood.’ Finally, I managed to do it though before he returned with his pristine, black Land Rover and a pair of jumper cables. He managed to get the car running within 2 minutes. The only conversation that existed was an exchange of ‘Now, slowly hit the gas pedal’ and ‘okay.’ Once he got my car running, he said I should probably have my father look at it when I got home just to make sure everything was running safely. How courteous of him. Never mind the fact that my father died 3 years ago. You could say our relationship was extremely shallow before Lauren’s party; we hadn’t even talked about our parents yet—or lack thereof.
CHAPTER THREE
It turns out I wasn’t even needed at the shelter. They had overbooked the shifts and I got to leave 2 hours early, which meant I would be able to get my homework done early and have time to watch television tonight. That is, until Michelle started intervening with my plans. Now, I would be going to Steak & Shake with her, Robbie, and Jacob and then hitting a late night movie—probably a thriller since Michelle always wants a reason to cuddle up close to Robbie without seeming needy. I had agreed to go. After all, it was Friday and I had the rest of the weekend to catch up on homework and studying. Plus, I needed to be around people. Spending your senior year alone with no social life was out of the question in my mother’s eyes.
“You have enough money for dinner and a movie, sweetheart?” She said as I was walking out the door.
“Yes, mother. I have a steady job, remember?” I replied sarcastically. My mom treated me like I was 5; asking me questions, constantly checking on me every 2 minutes. She had yet to realize that I was 18 years old and would be moving out in less than 6 months.
“Well, here, let me give you a little bit of cash just in case. I’d hate for you to get there and not have enough. Movies are expensive nowadays, you know?” She insisted. Actually I didn’t know. I hadn’t been to a movie in theaters since I was about 13 years old. I had just always assumed I’d watch it when it came out on DVD instead. It’s cheaper and you don’t have to deal with rude audience members.
“Fine, but I’m going to be late. I’ve got to go.” I said, taking the 10-dollar-bill from her hands and kissing her on her cheek. “Don’t wait up.”
“Have fun!” she had exclaimed just before I slammed the door shut. To my surprise, there was another car in the driveway besides mine and my mom’s. I looked around to see a white sedan parked behind my Jeep with Jake sitting behind the steering wheel. Had he gotten confused? I had thought I was supposed to meet them there at Steak & Shake. He honked his horn and waved, smiling. I walked around to the passenger’s side, open the car door, and plopped down into the new tan leather seat.
“Hey, I didn’t realize I was riding with you.” I said, smiling. Not that I could complain. I liked Jake. We were a lot alike in that we took the same classes and rooted for the same sports teams. But we were just friends; nothing more.
“Well, I figured I’d just pick you up on my way. It’s easier and saves gas.” He said as he began pulling out of my driveway. I buckled my seat belt and got comfortable. That’s what I was around Jake—comfortable.
“I like the way you think, Weston.” I commented.