Page 9 of The Heart That Breaks
“So you write songs too?”
“I try.”
“Maybe you could get Ann-Elizabeth to sing one of them for you.”
“I’m not sure they’re all that good yet.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere.”
I handed her the money. “That’s what my dad says.”
She bagged up our items and passed them across the counter to me. “I’ll be sure and tell her you boys came in the store.”
We thanked her and headed back outside to get our bikes. “Does she really think we hang around with Ann-Elizabeth?” Matt asked, once the door had closed behind us.
“What do you mean?” I asked, giving him a narrow glance.
“She’s not exactly in our crowd,” he said, climbing on his bike and starting across the parking lot. “Except for you being in the smart classes, of course.”
His words echoed in my ears, striking a note of something defiant inside me. Admittedly, I’d never balked the unwritten rules of the group I ran with. But that day, in that moment, I wondered why I didn’t.
*
Ann-Elizabeth
AS SOON AS I get home from school, I down a glass of orange juice and grab the plastic box from under my bed where I hide Henry’s grooming essentials. I like to keep his nails clipped and brush his teeth a couple of times a week, always making sure I’m done before Lance gets home at his usual five-thirty.
I don’t dare bring Henry in the house to do it. If he sees a single hair on the floor, it’ll set him off on a two-day rampage of “we’re getting rid of that idiot mutt.”
I can’t even take him off the chain because Stupid Lance has a padlock on his collar, and he has the only key.
I spread a blanket on the hard-packed dirt next to Henry’s barrel and sit cross-legged with his paw on my thigh while I carefully clip and tell him about Nathan.
“I bet we’ll never even speak to each other again,” I say, concentrating hard not to nip the quick of his nail. “I think he felt bad using me to make his old girlfriend jealous, but he did say I was pretty. Do you think he was just saying that to make me feel better? Probably, right?”
I replay the whole scene for Henry, all the way from how I had looked up to find Nathan sitting beside me, to that last moment when he’d taken off down the hall, late for his next class.
He listens as if he understands every single word I’m saying, his tail thumping against the blanket every so often.
When I’m done with his nails, I start on his teeth. He tips his head back, knowing the routine by now. I work on the back ones first with the toothbrush I bought at Wal-mart and the special dog toothpaste I’d saved up for by skipping lunch and keeping the money Mama gives me every morning. I get it at the vet’s office and try to use it sparingly so it will last longer. I love the way it keeps his teeth white and looking as good as they did when he was a brand new puppy. It makes him look like he’s cared for, even though I can’t have him in the house with me.
I’ve just put everything back in the plastic box when I hear Lance’s truck turning into the driveway, its low, menacing engine a perfect soundtrack for his arrival.
I kiss the top of Henry’s head, gather up my stuff and hightail it to the back of the house. I push the window up, climb in and manage to shove everything under the bed just as he bangs on my door.
“What are you doing in there, girl?” his voice booms through the cheap panel, and I jump straight up from the floor, forcing my expression into boredom as I open the door and say, “Homework. Why?”
Lance is still dressed in the oily coveralls he wears to work. Mama tries to get him to let her wash them every night, but he says he prefers to leave them grimy because when the boss walks through, he looks as if he’s been working hard whether he actually has or not. His hair is equally oily today, pulled back in his customary man-bun, which for some unknown reason, he thinks makes him look cool.
“Where’s your mama?” he asks, his glance skipping past me to my narrow bed and the stuffed animals piled against the pillows.
“I guess she’s still at work,” I say, barely suppressing the desire to add, “Where do you think she is, you jerk?”
His cloudy eyes drop from my face to the neckline of my t-shirt. I have to make myself not yank it upwards. That would be a sign of weakness to Lance and all the motivation he needs to try to intimidate me further. I stand, silent, waiting for him to have his fill, refusing to back down.
He glances at the watch on his left wrist. “Since it looks like your mama’s not going to be home for a while, I could help you with your homework.”
“I don’t need any help,” I say.
