The Museum of Heartbreak (23 page)

Before I could respond, there was a rough-lipped kiss on my cheek.

“Hey, Scout,” Keats said.

I smiled, giddy with the journal, with Eph's art, with Keats at my side. “I'm so glad you could come,” I said, handing him my copy. “Check out how gorgeous it is!”

Keats opened the journal, scanned the table of contents, an eyebrow raised.

“These are all that's in there?” he asked, his face not entirely readable.

I nodded carefully. “Yeah, that's it.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, tossing his copy on a table without spending any more time with it.

I knew he was disappointed his piece hadn't been chosen, but I wanted him to be twelve-hours-on-a-bus selfless, just for a few seconds, just for me. “Um, what was that about?”

“It's . . . I don't know what I expected in the first place. It's only a high school journal—not exactly the
Paris Review
.” He shook his head, like he was so above the whole thing he was in his own galaxy.

Asshole.

All my excitement about the evening and the journal and our work whooshed out of me. I hugged myself, stepping back.

“I'm sorry—I didn't mean anything by that, Scout.” He tried to put his arm around me, but I jerked my shoulder away.

“You know, we worked really hard on this.”

“Oh, damn, did I offend you?” he said. “I'm so sorry. I'm such an ass.”

I realized three things then: One, Keats spent a lot of time asking if he offended me; two, I spent a lot of time assuring him he hadn't; and three, I wasn't going to this time.

He waited for me to disagree, to console him, but my face felt ugly and mad, and I couldn't say anything.

A flash of bright pink near the door caught our attention.

Cherisse, in her ugly neon-pink coat. Of course.

Keats sighed, stroking my arm to placate me. “Listen, Scout, I have to talk to Cherisse about something. I'll be back. But I'm sorry, 'kay? Emily worked on a literary journal too, and I think she kind of ruined me. I'm sorry I'm so messed up.”

My face was motionless as he kissed me on the lips.

He sauntered over and gave Cherisse a kiss on the cheek. Ugh.

I turned and straightened the pile of journals on the table, not wanting to see one more stupid second.

“So you helped with this?”

I turned around. Audrey was standing there, her face unsure.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Yep. Yes.”

“That's really cool.”

“You got your hair cut,” I said, pointing to her new shoulder-length angular bob. “I like it.”

“Thanks . . . It's a change, but a good one, I think.”

We fell into silence, until she perked up. “Oh, and I'm all set for the French Club trip to Paris this summer. I'm finally going!”

“You are? That's awesome!” All my muscle memory told me to reach out and give her a hug, but I stopped halfway, remembering what had gotten us to that moment, and stood uncomfortably.

“How's your grandma doing?” I finally asked.

Audrey's face fell into sadness. “She's having a hard time. She misses my grandpa a lot lately.”

“Oh, Aud, I'm sorry.”

“She's told my mom a few times that they still talk every night. Mom's kind of freaking out.”

I chewed on my lip. “Maybe he does visit her? They did really love each other.”

Audrey paused, her expression relaxing a bit. “Yeah, they did, didn't they?”

I thought back to the first few summers we visited the lake house, and how after our mandated nine o'clock bedtime, after we could hear Eph's soft snore, Audrey and I would sneak down the steps and watch her grandparents slow-dance, Billie Holiday or Bing Crosby crooning in the background. They were so in love.

Audrey shifted, tugging on a front strand of hair, not long enough to twist around her finger multiple times anymore, and I wondered again how we'd gotten so far from who we used to be.

“So did you see Eph's stuff in
Nevermore
?” I asked.

“Don't tell me you guys published his Teachers Farting series,” she said, referring to the caricatures Eph had drawn of all our sophomore year instructors doing exactly that.

“Oh God, no.” I paged through a copy and held it out to her, pointing to the first drawing. “Here.”

Her eyes lit up as she took in all the tiny details, and I imagined she was feeling the same burst of awe I felt when I first saw his small magnificent worlds.

“Wow,” she said. “That's really amazing.”

“Turn to the last page.”

Audrey let out a small sigh of wonder. “God, his mind is so freakish. But in such a good way, you know?”

“I do,” I said.

“Is he coming?” she asked, scanning the gathering crowd.

“Maybe, I don't know.”

“I hope so. I want to congratulate him. I haven't seen much of him lately since our, you know, weirdness . . .”

I cringed, but she seemed as awkward about it as I did.

“But I saw you guys in the hall a couple of weeks ago . . . ,” I said.

“He was telling me about your fight, at the Flea.”

“Oh.”

“He felt bad.”

“Seriously? He could have fooled me.”

“Since when has Eph ever been good at showing his emotions? He's total crap at it,” Audrey said.

“Did he tell you what the fight was about?” I asked slowly.

“He just said he was worried he messed things up at some thrift shop?”

“Oh.” I didn't know what to say, so I chewed on my lip, thinking of the day Audrey and I became friends, the truck wheels tangled in her hair, how things get messed up so fast—past the point of fixing—and
wondering if Eph felt that way with us. “Well, I'm glad you came. It's good to see you.”

She shrugged. “Keats invited Cherisse, so I'm her wingman.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling the sting of it—Audrey wasn't here for me anymore—then wondering why Keats invited Cherisse to an event I invited
him
to.

Her face flushed, flustered. “But it's good to see you, though. I mean, I'm happy for you. And the journal is pretty cool.”

Grace beckoned to me from across the room. “Pen! It's time to start!”

“I gotta go,” I said. “See you around?”

“Yeah, see you around,” she said with a small, rueful smile.

As Mr. Garfield welcomed everyone, I saw Eph duck in the back, tilting his head at me. I felt a rush of relief that he'd come, then remembered that he probably wasn't here for me—he was here because his art was in the journal. Mia floated in after him, tall and celestial and glistening and ethereal, and I glanced down at my beat-up Docs, my legs in black tights, and felt stumpy.

Grace stepped to the lectern, introducing me, Miles, Oscar, and May, and welcoming the first reader.

As people shared their poems and short stories, the ones we'd fallen in love with, I tried to pay attention.

But my eyes kept shooting around the room.

Keats was sitting with Audrey and Cherisse, and I couldn't help but notice the way he leaned in and whispered loudly to Cherisse throughout the whole reading, how she tipped her head coyly, how he rolled his eyes when someone shushed them, how they were distracting even from four rows away.

NoNoNo.

And then there was Eph. He and Mia were rapt at the readings, her head leaning against his shoulder. At one point she leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and they were so tall and pretty together, my heart panged.

I looked back at Keats, narrowed my eyes, squeezed the edge of the chair, and focused any potential soul-mate energy into psychically channeling
SHUT UP
his way.

It didn't work.

By the time the last contributor finished reading, I was way past furious. Everyone stood and clapped, but I couldn't even start, my hands clenched tightly against me.

Eph and Mia walked over, Eph hanging back a few steps.

“Pen, the journal is amazing,” Mia said, genuinely happy to see me. Of course she was.

“Thanks,” I said, turning away from Cherisse's loud fake laughing at something Keats told her. “Did you see Eph's stuff? It's amazing,” I said as I turned toward him. “Seriously. I loved them.”

Eph kicked the floor, hands shoved in pockets. Even though it was dark, he might have been blushing.

“It's no big deal,” he said.

I was so relieved we were talking without fighting, that the physical matter of him was standing next to me, I grabbed his sleeve. “Sometimes, things
are
a big fucking deal. And these pictures are. They're phenomenal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not frakking?”

“Nope,” I said, smiling at him. “Definitely not.”

Keats came up from behind me, sliding his arm around my
waist, pulling me close. “Hey, Mia, Eph.” Mia waved at Keats, and Eph gave a curt nod. “Listen, Scout, you need to stick around here much longer? I thought we could go back to my place.”

I couldn't meet his glance; I was afraid of what I'd do. Instead I lifted his hand off my waist and stepped aside. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right?”

“You okay?” he asked, trying to pull me close again. I held up my hand.

“I said
tomorrow
.”

He held up both hands, giving Eph and Mia an indignant
Can you believe this?
look.

Eph ignored him. “Everything all right?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I gotta go help Grace and Miles.”

Keats waited for a second, then rolled his eyes and walked to the exit. Cherisse was already gone, I noticed with no small degree of satisfaction. Audrey must have left with her.

When I looked back at Mia and Eph, she seemed concerned, and Eph looked like he was fully prepared to mow someone down.

I could tell by the jut of his chin he was about ready to say something I probably didn't want to hear, so I held up my hand.

“I'll talk to you later, yeah?” I turned toward Mia. “Thanks so much for coming.”

All seven feet of her leaned down, a goddess bestowing me with her mortal presence, and she pulled me into a warm hug.

“Ephraim is so proud of you. Me too!”

Crap. I couldn't completely hate her.

“Honey, I'm going to go grab my coat. Meet you out front?” She gave me a soft wave and walked toward the door.

“ ‘Ephraim'? ‘Honey'?” I said.

He grimaced and shrugged into his fleece pullover. His hair stood up from the static energy. Without thinking, I stood on my tiptoes and smoothed it.

He looked surprised I'd done it.

I was surprised I'd done it.

“So, you going to come out and celebrate with us, Penelope Marx? Coffee shop closes in a half hour,” Miles said from behind, his mouth full of cookie.

I grinned, shrugging into myself with glee. “Um, heck, yeah!”

“I love this girl—don't you love this girl?” he asked Eph.

I blushed, immediately looking for Eph's reaction. He smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, so quietly Miles didn't hear it, so quietly my heart leaned forward to hear it.

“Hey, Eph!” Grace said, joining us, May and Oscar following behind, as giddy and proud as I felt.

“Hey,” he said. “Good to see you, Grace. The journal is amazing.”

Oscar stepped forward, shaking his hand. “Wait, you're the dinosaur guy? Those blew me away. Tell me you've got more for our next issue. Maybe you could show them getting on the ark with Noah?”

Eph froze.

“Dinosaurs weren't on any ark . . . ,” Eph started, and Miles leaned over.

“He's messing with you. It's his thing. Don't engage.”

Eph's face relaxed into an appreciative grin. “Nice one.”

Oscar nodded at the compliment.

“Hey,
wanna come celebrate with us?” Grace asked Eph. “Your girlfriend can come too.”

The word “girlfriend” immediately bothered me.

“I've got plans, but thanks. And yeah, we can talk,” he said to Oscar, and they shook hands again, all cool-guy nodding, before Eph waved to me and left.

“Hmmm,” Miles said loudly over my shoulder, watching him leave.

“No,” I said. “It's not like that.”

“I'm just saying . . .”

“You're not saying anything!”

He grinned.

“Celebratory churros at Coppelia?” May asked.

“Yes!” Grace said, pulling on her coat and scarf.

As we walked out the door, Grace yanked May's and my arms, her face surprised, and pointed ahead of us.

Oscar was talking animatedly and Miles was listening, rapt, periodically and affectionately nudging Oscar on the arm.

“That's amazing,” Miles said to him.

May's mouth dropped open. I spun to Grace.

“What is that?”

“When did that happen?” May asked.

“How did it happen?” I asked.

Grace threw her hands up. “I have no clue!”

Miles looked over his shoulder to see if we were coming, and I can only imagine how the three of us appeared right then, stunned, mouths hanging open.

He stuck his tongue out at us and leaned closer to Oscar, and we all followed them into the early evening.