Page 29 of The Heart That Breaks
“You’re welcome. We’ll leave here at 8:45. We’re writing at his house. They’ve got a studio there where they record demos.”
“Awesome,” I say. “‘Thanks.”
“‘Yep. Night, son.”
“Night.”
I head up the stairs, stoked at the thought of sitting in on a session with Holden Ashford. But then I think about Ann-Elizabeth and the glaring differences in the lives we lead. And again, I feel a stab of guilt for the things I have that I’ve done nothing to deserve.
*
Ann-Elizabeth
NATHAN’S NOT IN class.
I don’t realize how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing him until I see he isn’t in school today.
I wonder if he’s sick. Or maybe he got in trouble for being out so late. Although I doubt it. His parents seem pretty cool with his schedule.
I’m walking out the door at the end of class when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Matt, one of Nathan’s friends from the football team, studying me with a look of uncertainty, as if he’s not sure he should be approaching me. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say back.
“Ah, Nathan texted and asked me to tell you he’s doing something with his dad today.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why he’s not in school.”
“Okay.”
Matt shifts his backpack and steps away. Carlie Jennings walks up and stops next to Matt, putting her hand through his arm. She glances up at him with a smile, then looks at me as if she’s not sure what to make of the two of us talking.
“Hey, Matt. Where’s Nathan today?”
He shrugs. “Had something to do. He wanted me to let Ann-Elizabeth know.”
Carlie is Nathan’s ex-girlfriend, and I’m wondering what Matt’s angle is in telling her this. She stares at me for several seconds, saying nothing, even as her thoughts play across her face. I’m pretty sure they go something like this. What? The? Heck?
She glances up at Matt, her expression now one of disbelief. “Why would he want Ann-Elizabeth to know?”
He shrugs, gives me a smile and says, “Maybe you ought to ask her that. Gotta get to class, girls. See ya.”
And he’s loping off down the hallway, leaving me with a now-glaring Carlie.
“You know we’re a thing, right?” she asks, her face now devoid of any pretense of pleasantry.
“I know you were a thing,” I say, forcing myself to meet her chilly gaze and not take a step back.
“We’re taking a break,” she says, indignant. “That’s all.”
“Oh. That must be why he asked me to Homecoming.”
“What?”
The question erupts from her on a knife-sharp note. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t.”
“I doubt you’re anymore surprised than I was.”
