The Heartbreak Messenger Read online

  Finally he lifted his head. His eyes were puffy and glistening. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. He took a few shaky breaths. He wiped his nose with his shirt collar.

  “Sorry you had to see that, Heartbreaker,” he finally said. “I guess you’re probably used to it by now.”

  I nodded vaguely. “It’s all right, man. You gotta let it out.”

  He sighed, and then spoke some more, his voice still weak. “I saw this coming, you know? I tried to stop her, to make her understand, but she just wouldn’t listen. She thinks I’m two-timing her, but that ain’t the case. It’s something I had to do.”

  I seemed to remember Lisa saying something about that offense.

  “If I don’t get my math grades up, I can’t play. Coach told me that. The principal’s not giving any exceptions. So I’m working on it, you know? I find a tutor, a junior girl, a nice kid that’s real smart. Of course I have to spend some time with her. How else am I going to get my grades up, man? But it wasn’t anything, she’s a friend, she’s helping me out. That’s it. End of story.”

  “Have you talked with Lisa about it?” I asked.

  Duke looked up at the stars, which seemed especially bright. “Lisa won’t listen. She only sees what she wants. Not what’s in here.” He tapped his chest. “In here, it’s all about her. No one else.”

  The neighborhood was silent, as if everyone was mourning in honor of Duke the Ripper. I looked over at that giant on the stairs next to me. He looked sincere. He looked like he was in pain. I wondered if his story was true, if he really did only have feelings for Lisa, and if she just blew off a guy that was completely and totally devoted to her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. Not sorry that I’d delivered the message. That was just business, after all. Right? But I did feel sorry for him, that it all had to happen. Seemed like a little communication could have cleared things up. A different kind of communication.

  Duke wiped his eyes again. “It’s all good, dude. Thanks for listening. You’re all right, Messenger.” He held out his fist. I tapped my fist down on his, and he did the same to mine. He looked up at the stars again, and then sniffed like he was smelling something and scrunched his eyebrows.

  “Hey, kid, I think you must have dog poo on the bottom of your shoe.”

  Chapter 23

  When I left Duke’s house later that evening, I was still carrying the gift box full of dog crud. I didn’t have the heart to leave it with Duke. Instead, I tossed it into the neighborhood Dumpster before hitting the road.

  There was one more stop I had to make, even though it was well past dinnertime. A few blocks from my apartment, I parked my bike in the driveway of a one-story house with a tidy yard. I knocked on the door.

  I heard the scurry of feet and then a curtain was whisked aside behind a glass panel in the door. The round black eyes of Katie, Abby’s little sister, peered out at me for a brief second.

  “Abby!” her muffled voice echoed. “There’s a boy here for you. The one that’s not your boyfriend.”

  I glanced up, pretending a sudden interest in the current phase of the moon.

  The door opened a moment later. Abby peaked her head around the edge of the door. “Yes?” she asked with thin lips.

  “Hey, Abby. Um, how’s it going?”

  “How’s it going? Oh, fine. Just fine. Despite the fact that I beat my head against a picnic table all afternoon trying to get through my English homework alone.”

  “Yeah. Hey, we’re really sorry about that. We got caught up in a project that took us all the way out to Jorge’s Scrap Yard.” I mentally braced myself for the cross-examination headed my way.

  “Mmm-hmm. A project. What kind of project?” Somehow the question sounded like an accusation.

  Tread carefully, man. “It was a … research project.”

  “Mmm-hmm. A research project. Did you find what you needed?”

  “Yeah, but it took us awhile. Obviously.”

  Abby studied my eyes. Scrutinized them. I felt like a blob of gunk in a petri dish. “You know,” she said, “the whole time I was sitting at that table—alone—I told myself that if you had stood me up to go off and break somebody’s heart, that I wouldn’t talk to you for a very, very long time. At least ’til next Presidents’ Day. You weren’t doing Heartbreak Messenger stuff, were you?”

  Don’t answer! Avoid the question. “Abby, we went to the scrap yard, just me and Rob. There aren’t many hearts out there that need breaking. Just rats and junkyard dogs. All right?”

  She scrutinized me some more.

  “Hey,” I said, “I’m here now, aren’t I? I came straight to your house. I haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  Abby turned off her scrutinizing rays, although she seemed reluctant to do it. “I know. Which is why, if you and Rob are lucky, I may grace you with my presence later this week.”

  I gave her a mock bow. “We would be honored.”

  “I’m doing some stuff with Justin, and I have my photography class tomorrow … so hopefully I don’t get caught up in any projects. Good night, Mr. Chinetti.” I saw her dimple flash just before she closed the door.

  As I turned away, I felt pretty lucky. It’s not every night you face both a bear and a wildcat—and come away without a scratch.

  Now that the day was over, I rode slowly to Mick’s, weaving my bike on and off the sidewalk under the streetlights. The experience with Duke Ripling kept replaying in my mind. I tried to push it aside, but it nagged at me, like a piece of popcorn stuck in my teeth. It had been a good job. Fifty bucks, minus the five for Rob and the extra two-fifty I loaned him that I’d probably never get back. I had come away without a black eye, with all my bones still intact, and with just a little cigarette ash dusting my shoe.

  And yet, for the first time since starting my brilliant entrepreneurial scheme, I felt something I’d worked hard to avoid. Guilt.

  I’d told myself a hundred times since leaving Duke’s back porch that nothing was my fault. It wasn’t my fault Duke was failing math. It wasn’t my fault Duke had chosen a cute junior girl as a math tutor instead of some pimply nerd from the trigonometry club. It wasn’t my fault his girlfriend was being unreasonable and had chosen to coldheartedly end their relationship through some kid who was quickly becoming a legend. Not my fault in the least.

  But there was the guilt, hanging around as if looking for a buddy. And I couldn’t figure out why.

  I pulled up to the garage bays at Mick’s and popped the kickstand. Across the bay I could see Mom scrubbing her hands with the orange pumice soap. It was her early night, and she was getting ready to leave. She didn’t notice me. I hung back, just watching, thinking about how starved I was.

  Then, next to the stainless steel sink, she did something that I’d seen only once—maybe twice—before. And a few pieces of my mental puzzle clicked together.

  Mom never wastes any time talking about my dad. She doesn’t wallow in self-pity and let everyone know how much her life stinks. She never wishes things were different. At least, not out loud. But as I watched, she rinsed the scratchy orange soap from her hands, and dried them, the black crescent moons still under her fingernails. Then she pulled out two rings from her pocket. One was a silver ring I’d given her for Christmas, the other was a ring she’d had since high school. She slowly placed one of the rings onto the ring finger of her left hand and then held it out. She looked at it wistfully, as though it lay behind a glass case in a jewelry shop.

  It was just for a moment. Then she moved the ring to the other hand and turned off the light by the sink.

  And I realized that’s where the guilt came from. Knowing that my dad, in his own way, was a heartbreaker, too.

  Chapter 24

  The day after my visit to Duke’s, I sat at the picnic table at the end of the poplar path next to Mick’s. Abby was at her weekly photography workshop with her mom. Rob had gotten detention for dozing off in Mr. Hogan’s history class. And I was contemplating the best way to
flee the country.

  Mexico’s closer, I thought to myself, but I don’t know Spanish. Why did I decide to take German this year instead of Spanish? Dummkopf! I could do Canada, but that would be one heck of a bike ride.

  I stared down at the crumpled piece of notebook paper lying on my open algebra textbook. The note Rob had given me after the scrap yard. For the hundredth time I reread the words written in Marcus’s sloppy handwriting.

  Q—Gunner is asking around for you. Watch your back.

  Gunner. The Beast. Leather jacket. Switchblade. Smile like a lion.

  He’s figured it out. He knows it was me. Panic clawed at me from the inside. Why on earth did I try to take on a high-schooler like Gunner? What was I thinking?

  I took a deep breath, then let it out. Then another breath. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he just wants to ask if I’ve seen his black book. Maybe he found another girlfriend and wants to dump her already. He said he could be my best customer.

  I tried to push away the idea of Gunner hunting me down. I tore up the note and shoved the pieces into my pocket. I pulled out a pencil and stared at the numbers in my textbook. Pneumatic wrenches whirred inside the garage bays, and I tried not to let my mind morph the sound into the growl of a motorcycle.

  I forced myself to plunge into a sea of variables, to think of something else.

  3a + 4b = 17. Both a and b are whole numbers. What do they equal?

  Eventually my mind relaxed and started to wander. Before I knew it I was jotting down a different set of numbers. Twenty-five for Melissa. Fifty for Carmen, minus fifteen for flowers and chocolates. Thirty for Ty’s girl. What was her name? Oh. LaTisha. Thanks to her I’d had nightmares for a week about my hand being stuck between the jaws of a sewer gator.

  I listed and totaled, thinking about the wad of cash pushed into an argyle sock in my drawer, and about Mom paying rent in a few days. I’d earned a little less than two hundred dollars—not bad for a part-time business owner trying to keep up with school and all—although I’d been hoping to pay at least half of the rent. Maybe there was still time. I tried to picture the look Mom would have on her face when I casually walked into the kitchen and plopped down a couple hundred bucks. I’d pull an orange juice from the fridge, take a swig, and say, “That’s for the rent. Just trying to do my part, you know?”

  “Hey, Quentin. What’s up?”

  My head snapped up and my body tensed. Justin Masterson came toward me through the parking lot, his slight-but-annoying swagger scuffing the cement. The air suddenly smelled like hair gel. I relaxed a little. At least it wasn’t Gunner.

  I turned a page in my textbook, suddenly very interested in variables. “Nothing. Abby’s not here.”

  “Yeah, I know. At some class with her mom.”

  Yeah, and actually, it’s a photography workshop down at the community center she goes to every Wednesday from three to five, I added silently. I scribbled an answer for number ten on my homework.

  Justin sat down across the table from me. I glanced at him, and then copied number eleven out of the book.

  “Algebra, huh?” he said. “That stuff can be killer. Trying to keep all those variables straight. Figure out which one means what. And then you change one of them, and suddenly everything else changes with it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not bad.”

  Justin let the silence hang there for a moment before speaking again. “You know, there sure are a lot of people talking about you these days.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I scribbled something, anything, on my scratch paper. I didn’t look up. “About me? You must have the wrong Quentin.”

  “Don’t be so modest. Every rumor I hear floating down from the high school is about that Heartbreak Messenger. He’s got quite the business going. Smart guy.”

  I erased what I’d written and brushed the rubber dust away, biting my tongue. I certainly wasn’t going to let him draw me out with flattery.

  “I know it’s you.”

  I stopped writing. I knew it would work its way into the junior high eventually. I didn’t exactly wear a mask and spandex when I did a job. All it would take is a former customer pointing at me as I walked past in the supermarket, saying to his junior-high sister, “Hey, that dude’s the Heartbreak Messenger.” And Rob knew, which meant all of creation would find out before Thanksgiving. I just didn’t think Abby would be the one to spill the beans, especially to Polo-shirt Boy.

  “I didn’t hear it from Abby, by the way, if she even knows.”

  The mention of her name made me look up. “Of course she knows.” I couldn’t resist saying it like only a best friend could.

  “It took some serious investigation to find out your secret identity.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “And what makes you so curious?”

  He glanced off into the swaying poplars. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Who? Your sister?” I knew he had a sister in high school.

  He laughed, short and quick. “No.” He cleared his throat. “Me.”

  It took a moment for my algebra-drenched brain to catch up. “You don’t mean…”

  “Yeah. Abby.”

  Something rushed through my body like a gust through the trees. I felt like pumping my fist back and forth and whooping. I felt like doing a crazy victory dance in the end zone. I felt like slapping Justin on the back and shouting, “Yes, yes, yes! You better believe I’ll take the job!”

  And then I stopped and wondered why I felt that way. Justin started talking again before I found an answer.

  “I know Abby’s your friend and all…”

  Best friend, actually. One of two.

  “… but I thought that might actually make it easier to, you know, deliver the message.” Justin didn’t look up. Instead he picked at a few bits of lint on his shirt.

  I nodded. “Why don’t you want to break up with her yourself?” The question took me by surprise. I couldn’t believe I’d said that to a customer ready to fork over money.

  Justin looked at me, his swagger showing in his eyes. He gestured to my books on the table. “Algebra just seems like numbers and letters until you get into it. Then you realize that it’s actually pretty complicated. Breaking up’s not as easy as it sounds, either. When it’s your own girlfriend, I mean. I’m sure you’ll understand someday. But if you’re not comfortable doing it, I can probably find someone else.…”

  Images flashed through my mind. Goat Girl weeping like a broken pipe. LaTisha angry and hurt. Duke the Ripper blubbering. Abby crying painful tears … and then me, her best friend, waiting with open arms. Me comforting her in a time of need. Me telling her what a jerkwad that ex-boyfriend is and how she’s totally better off without him. Me, with my old friend back.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “I was just curious, that’s all. I’d never turn down a paying customer that needs a hand.” Especially this customer.

  He asked the price. I told him.

  He’d heard about the flowers and the chocolates. I put him down for both.

  He wanted it done as soon as possible. I said I’d take care of it.

  Then Justin thanked me, turned, and sauntered away like a guy without a care in the world.

  Thoughts sprang into my head one on top of another. Abby would be around to laugh with again. We could start doing our homework together everyday, just like old times. We could go look for shooting stars whenever we wanted. She and Justin together never made sense anyway. She would be so much happier without him.

  I closed my algebra book and folded my arms.

  She’ll probably take it hard at first. Perhaps a few tears, a few curses to the gods of love. Then she’ll be ready for comfort. A firm shoulder to cry on. Strong arms to hold her. She’ll need her friends right by her side.

  There was one minor thought, however, that I kept pushing to the back of the line.

  Abby was about to get dumped by her boyfriend—and her best friend was going to deliver th
e message.

  And there was that guilt again.

  Chapter 25

  That evening I stared at the phone for over an hour. Alone in our apartment, I knew I had to do it. Pick it up. Dial the number. Set things in motion. It had to be done.

  I needed a fixed time. An appointment. Abby might come by for homework the next day, but then she might not. I could wait until class, but there was always the possibility that I might not get to talk with her. Or I might get the chance, but then chicken out, turning yellow in the few seconds it took to walk up to her and say …

  I picked up the handset.

  I put it down.

  This will be good for her. Justin’s a bigheaded know-it-all. She deserves better. I’m doing this for her.

  I picked it up, then put it down.

  Sigh. And for fifty bucks.

  I picked it up and dialed her number.

  It rang. It rang again. I fought the urge to jam my finger into the red OFF button.

  “Hello?” an adult voice answered.

  “Hi. Is Abby there?”

  “Sure, Quentin, hold on.”

  I counted seconds to calm my nerves. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Miss …

  “Hey, Quentin. What’s up?”

  Okay. That was a much friendlier greeting than I’d expected after standing her up the other night. I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Hey, Abby. How are you?”

  “Fine. Playing Monopoly with Katie. Getting my trash kicked.”

  “Cool. Um, hey, can you come by Mick’s tomorrow after school? There’s some things I want to run by you.”

  Some things I want to run by you? Was I nuts? Couldn’t I at least prepare her for the nuclear bomb I was going to drop?

  Pause. She finally said, “I was planning to come by for homework anyway.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “Assuming you guys are actually going to be there this time, instead of off ruining people’s lives.”

  I bit my tongue and managed to say, “Don’t worry. We’ll be there.”

  “What kinds of things did you want to run by me?”