Heartbreaker Hanson (17 page)

CHAPTER 45

Rider
stopped at his house to pick up his little brother and sister. They were out in
the front yard, waiting for him.

My
heart tugged a little—well, a lot—realizing his sweet mom had
passed away. She was the nicest lady. She would always bake cookies when I came
to their house. And once she patiently taught Rider and me to make a pie.

“I’m
sorry about your mom,” I whispered.

His
eyes sparked and his breath caught for a moment. His jaw muscles flickered,
then he gave my hand a quick squeeze. “She really liked you. She was always
asking about you.” He grinned, “—
always
.”

He
emphasized the word with frustrated amusement.

Rider’s
little sister was adorable. She wanted to sit on my lap, but I was a big meanie
and made her put her seatbelt on. Since Rachel’s car accident, I’m way too
aware of how devastating a car accident can be. But at the game, I made sure
the adorable little sweetie-pie was aware that I was really glad to meet her
and I bought her a hot dog and soda and popcorn while we sat in the stands
rooting for her brother’s soccer team, and admiring Rider’s refereeing skills.
(Well,
I
admired them.) (And many
other things about him.)

I
couldn’t help comparing this experience to ones I had with Drew in the past,
him being all sweet to little kids, especially his younger siblings, and his
sweet little sister adoring me. But the difference between those times of the
past and this was: Drew never paid attention to me back then, yet Rider did the
whole entire game. He kept peeking over at us and waving.

Every
time he did, my heart melted.

So,
this was bad. Very, very bad.

Because
I was hooked on the heartbreaker.

I
was a goner.

CHAPTER 46

After
the soccer game we took Rider’s little brother and sister out for ice cream. I
have admit, I was in love the moment—in fact with the whole experience:
being with Rider, seeing him be all sweet with his family, seeing him keep
sneaking little peeks at me. It all had my heart drumming and my mind going,
awww!

 
When he pulled up in front of my house,
he asked me all huskily, “Are you sure you don’t want to come over to my house
for a while? You can see me make dinner and take out the garbage and other
non-heartbreaker-type stuff.”

Though
I was tempted more than he could possibly know (
so
tempted), I rolled my eyes, trying to get a grip. I mean—let’s
not forget Dear Daisy, right? So I reminded him (sort of bitter-like), “It’s
not
me
you’re trying to fool.”

He
smiled weakly. “No. It’s you I’m trying to
convince
.”

I
huffed, “Don’t bother. I’ve already had my heart broken by you Rider. So you
can’t convince me you’re not a heartbreaker. I have the proof—a shattered
heart.”

Rider
ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Isn’t it maybe slightly
unreasonable that you’re holding something against me that I did back in
kindergarten?
”

Heat
swamped my cheeks. He had a point. I guess. Probably. But I quickly shrugged
the thought off, since I was in jeopardy of losing my heart to him—yet he
was trying to win Daisy’s.

I
muttered, “It might have happened to
me
in kindergarten, but you went on to do it to other girls in the first, second,
and third grade—right on up until now. So I’m not really just holding
your past against you—your present is pretty scary too.”

As
I start to stomp out of his car, Rider says, “Wait.”

With
a frustrated sigh, he opens my car door for me, then walks me to my front door.

With
another frustrated exhale of breath, he holds out his hand to me. Then, rather
than the customary kiss that comes at the end of a wonderful date (which face
it, this was), instead of the kiss, he shakes my hand.

Then,
just to be a rebel, since the deal was he wouldn’t do it—he gently
(though quickly) swipes my cheek playfully with two warm fingers.

He
winks. “Couldn’t resist.”

I
tug on his hair, “Couldn’t resist.”

He
grins, “Touché.”

CHAPTER 47

***RIDER***

RIDER

Back
in kindergarten, I had been sick for Valentine’s day. Mom wouldn’t let me go to
school, though I kept begging her—well, in between my puking.

Mom
just smiled sympathetically, “Your sweet little girlfriend will understand,
Rider.”

“I
know she’ll understand,” I grumbled. “But I don’t want her to have to
understand. I stayed up all night making my valentine for her—I want her
to have it in class. I want to give it to her.”

I
puked as I said the last part.

Mom
smiled slightly. Gently. “Rider, what you’ll give her is the flu. Do you really
want her to be sick too?”

“Yes,”
I lied. “At least then we could be together. It’s
Valentines
. She was going to have me come over to her house and we
were going to build a tree fort.”

Brooke
ended up coming to
my
house—after school. She snuck to my window, and brought me all the
valentines I’d gotten, and the cookies she made for me, and she was wearing
this cute little headband with two bouncy springs connected to it like
antennas.

“I’m
your love-bug,” she explained, bobbing her head up and down so her antennas
bounced.

My
mom caught her at my window and smiled huge—because Brooke was adorable.
And sneaky! Coming to my window and all. Mom didn’t chastise her though.
Instead she quickly hunted up her camera and took a picture of me and my
“love-bug.” I still have the picture.

I
also have this box of shells Brooke gave me. She sent them to me right after
school had ended for the summer. We had made all these plans to be together for
summer vacation, all these fun things we would do together all summer. But then
her parents dragged her off on a family vacation to a beach at some fancy
resort.

She
sent me the box of shells she collected on the beach and wrote me a note telling
me the shells were her heart. She wrote that whenever I was sad this summer, I
should find my favorite shell from the box. She wrote, “Hold it tight and know
that shell is my heart, and my heart will go out to you, and comfort you,
because that’s what hearts do. And my heart is yours.”

My
older brother helped me read her note when I got it in the mail. He smiled huge
the whole time and said, “Aww,” when he was done and he’d mussed my hair. Then
he’d left. So I could cry.

Yeah,
I had loved Brooke with all of my kindergarten heart. And it had filled with
even more love for her by the first grade. She even taught me to read. I kid
you not. The other kids kind of laughed at me, ‘cause I was kind of slow with
the sounding out stuff. So, Brooke had me play this phonics game that her mom
had bought her to teach Brooke to read back in kindergarten. Brooke played it
with me every single day after school, and she would write me love notes that
she would make me sound out—and I wanted to know what they said so bad
that I would work on them for hours, though my mom couldn’t get me to work on a
reading book for a minute. Anyway, Brooke taught me to read. She did.

I
loved her dearly.

Then,
alas. On our way to a field trip, I saw Rachel pass Brooke a note on the bus.
It said,
“Tom likes you.”

Brooke
wrote her back,
“Well, I like Stick-Boy.”

And
I was like—stick boy??? Was she saying I was a
stick?
Or did she like the new guy, Ian Stick? Neither made me feel
very good. In fact, both of them hurt my heart. Really bad.

I
was destroyed.

So
when we got off the bus and Trina Follen did her usual—started flirting
with me. This time I flirted back. And I kissed her on the cheek—right in
front of Brooke.

Yeah,
I’d been a wad.

But
when Brooke frowned at the sight of that, and then ran to the bathroom crying,
I felt like my heart shriveled and died. I mean, it had hurt that she called me
a stick to her friend, yeah, it hurt bad, but it hurt a thousand times worse
when I made her cry.

Yet,
I didn’t chase after her like I longed to do.

Instead,
I let Trina take my hand and lead me to her popular friends. Because I didn’t
like being called a stick … and the alternative was even worse. She liked Ian
Stick? My heart couldn’t take it.

Well,
it couldn’t take either alternative.

Brooke
broke my heart.

So
I went with Trina.

And
then Amanda.

And
then Aspen.

And
then …

I
just kept going. I didn’t get tied to any one specific girl. If there was one
thing my experience with Brooke taught me it was that I couldn’t let my heart
get too tangled up with a girl’s again. Because it hurt too much when the girl
decided not to treat my mushy heart too nice. In fact, it killed my heart. So I
buried it.

CHAPTER 48

***RIDER***

RIDER

I
didn’t talk to Brooke ever again. But I sent her a shell when her friend Rachel
died. I didn’t leave her a note with it, but I had written one. I had written
:
“Don’t forget what shells do.”
But then I figured I’d probably have to
remind her about what she’d said they do—about the hearts and comfort and
stuff, and then I’d probably have to remind her about the rest—all of it.
‘Cause, you know, it was way back in kindergarten … and weird that I still
remembered … and that I kept the box of shells.

So,
in the end I just sent her the shell. She could make of it whatever she wanted.
I just hoped she was doing okay. I knew Rachel had stayed her best friend …
okay, I might have given Brooke a few more looks throughout the years, even
after I had vowed I never would again.

…
in fact, I had always noticed a lot more stuff about her than I would ever
admit—even to myself. And I never thought she was “frumpy.” Ever. But now
she wears her hair all long and flowing. And her clothes are no longer all
baggy like she’s trying to hide things. She lets her curves show. Not going to
lie: I enjoy her new wardrobe. I enjoy it quite a bit.

CHAPTER 49

***RIDER***

RIDER

Last
night I texted Brooke:
“Love Bug.”
Then later,
“Mermaid.”

I
don’t recall doing this. The only reason I know I did, is—well, here it
is in my text history.

Brooke
had replied:
“????”

That
was all she said. But I don’t blame her. It was the middle of the night. She
was probably asleep. I know I was.

Right
now, she comes up to me while I’m at my locker. She raises her eyebrows.
“Mermaid?”
she questions with a laugh.

Funny
she doesn’t ask about the “Love-Bug.” Probably she remembers: she’s my Love
Bug.

“Yeah,”
I quickly explain about the mermaid thing. “I was asleep, so keep that in mind.
Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you that—out loud. Although it wasn’t
out loud, right? I sleep texted.”

She
raises one eyebrow. One. (It’s pretty cool.) Then she says skeptically, “Sleep
texted?”

“Yeah,
it’s a thing—well, obviously, since I did it. It’s a form of sleepwalking,
I suppose. It’s just when I think about stuff in my sleep sometimes, then I
text it to the person I’m thinking about. It doesn’t usually make a whole lot
of sense, since I’m asleep and everything.”

“Yeah.
Mermaid,” she murmurs with a laugh. “—that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Again,
she doesn’t mention the Love-bug thing. So, that part makes sense to her,
right? Right? She totally remembers she’s my Love-bug. Right?

“Well
… ” I admit, “It means more than you think.”

She
blinks. “What do you mean?”

I
love it when she blinks like that.

I
try to calm down my heart that is all excited to have her staring at me like
that, and saying “mermaid” to me, and then with that blink—maaan. I’m a
goner. Okay, calm down heart. Though I might text her random words at night
from now on—on purpose, though. Still, I try to keep with the
conversation instead of making fiendish plans. I explain, “Well, you know how
you were on the swim team last year?”

She
nods, but she does it really slowly, like she had no idea I knew she was on the
team. But come on, the girl is curvy. I used to see her a lot at her swim meets
as I had dated a few different swimmers on and off last year. Brooke would
stand out and catch my eye disturbingly often because she was quite curvy, and
for swimming she couldn’t cover herself up with huge clothes like she did all
through high school—well, at least after her friend died she started to
do that: hide. Behind big clothes and ugly glasses. I got it. She was feeling
sad and it showed. She didn’t try to hide it—instead, she tried to hide
herself.

But
anyway, I’d notice Brooke at swim meets—a
lot
—but I’d always say to myself, “No, don’t go there.” She
had broken my heart and I knew she could do it again. Sure, it had been years
ago, but something about her drew me to her then, and whatever it was, it still
called to me now. But no way (well, that’s what I used to think to myself at
those meets). I wasn’t going to touch it. Plenty of fish in the sea … well,
mermaids.

(I’ll
explain that.)

I
chew slightly on my bottom lip, weighing my words, and okay, just enjoying her
ogling me while she waits kind of breathlessly to hear my explanation about the
mermaid thing. I thoroughly enjoy her pretty eyes on me, and kind of want this
moment to last forever—or at least as long as possible.

“You
were on the swim team, and I’d see you swim—a lot. Then one time last
year, I was really sick, and I’d just stare at your box of shells, and I was
thinking about that you’d sent me one when my mom died, and I’d just seen you
swim at a meet the day before. So, I guess all that stuff is why I dreamed
about you. I dreamed I was being rocked and knocked around on this boat during
a storm, and I was sick because of that—in my dream that’s why I was
sick—I was
seasick
. Then you
were there—and you were a mermaid, and you gave me a beautiful shell and
you said ‘Remember what shells do.’”

I
smile slightly as Brooke makes this tiny little gasp noise. Then I go on,
because the story gets even better. Well, I think. “When I woke up I felt
better—and sort of in love. But I didn’t see you again until the first
day of school … then I was dazzled by my shell-giving mermaid.” I smile, “But
she
growled
at me.”

She
growls at me now too. Well, more like groans. Like she doesn’t believe a word I
said. Doesn’t believe me whatsoever.

So,
I give her my best confused smile, “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No.
What I believe is you are a total player. And heartbreaker. Our past history
lets me know that.”

In
frustration, I watch her walk away from me. “It was kindergarten!”