Jar of Hearts

Geo opens her mouth to retort, but then closes it again. What’s the point? Geo served her time. She lost her job. She lost her fiancé. Wherever she goes, for the rest of her life, she’s a google hit away from everybody knowing the terrible thing she did.

  So fuck this woman. She didn’t even know Angela Wong. Fuck Roberta Heller and her self-righteousness and her bad breath.

  “Get off my father’s property,” Geo says. “Before I remove you myself. You are trespass—”

  She never gets a chance to finish her sentence because the woman throws what’s left of her coffee right into Geo’s face. Fortunately, the liquid’s not too hot, but it does hit Geo in the eyes while they’re open, which stings like hell. Some of it lands in her mouth, too, and she can taste it. No cream or sugar, just bitter. Like Roberta Heller.

  If this had happened the day before, she’d have the woman on the ground in a chokehold. But this isn’t prison.

  “Roberta!” Cliff Heller is running across the street toward them, and by the look on his face, he saw the whole thing. He’s aghast when he reaches his wife, taking her by the arm and shaking her a little. “What are you doing? You stop this. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t want her here, Cliff,” Mrs. Heller spits, shaking her husband’s arm off while still glaring at Geo. “She’s a menace. We’re not safe. I don’t know what her connection is to the dead bodies in the woods—”

  “Stop that now. There’s no connection.” Cliff Heller looks at Geo, sees her face and shirt covered in coffee, and digs into his pocket. He hands her a wrinkled handkerchief, and Geo takes it without comment, wiping her face as best she can. “She’s been in prison. She can’t have contact with anyone while she’s in there. She’s not involved in what happened to those people.”

  “You don’t know that.” Mrs. Heller, emboldened by her outrage, takes another step toward Geo. Her husband holds her back. “Nobody knows anything about who she really is. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she says again.

  “I am ashamed,” Geo says.

  “How dare you come back here?” Roberta Heller’s voice is a few decibels shy of a shriek. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Please,” Cliff Heller says, but he’s speaking to Geo now. “Please, go inside the house. Leave the pressure washer out. I’ll clean your garage door; I would have offered, anyway. Please, Georgina.”

  She nods and leaves the man to deal with his obnoxious wife. They continue to argue in the driveway for another moment, and then finally Mrs. Heller stomps back across the street, bathed in her own indignation. Mr. Heller, glancing around furtively in embarrassment, turns on the pressure washer.

  Her father is home for lunch an hour later, armed with tacos and French fries. Geo, dressed in a clean shirt, accepts the food gratefully. When Walt asks her how her morning’s been, she shows him her new cell phone, almost identical to the one he owns. She doesn’t mention the bank, or the graffiti, or Roberta Heller. If he noticed the wet driveway when he pulled in, he doesn’t say anything.

  When they’re finished eating, she cleans up.

  “I have to get back to the hospital,” he says with some regret. “What will you do for the rest of today?”

  “I thought I’d take a walk,” she answers. “To Rose Hill.”

  It’s the cemetery where her mother is buried, and that coaxes a smile out of the normally stoic Walt. Grace Gallardo Shaw is buried under a tree, her headstone made of polished white marble. It’s the prettiest spot on the hill.

  “Stop at the corner market and bring her some daisies,” he says, squeezing her arm. “You remember how much she loved daisies.”

  Geo nods and returns the smile. She doesn’t remember, she was too little, but she knows it comforts her dad to believe that she does.

  At the market on the way to the cemetery, she picks out two different bouquets of flowers from the bins out front, paying in cash because her old debit card is expired and she forgot to get a new one at the bank. The daisies, of course, are for her mother.

  The wildflowers, colorful and fiery with their pinks and oranges and yellows, are for Angela. She, too, is buried at Rose Hill, but on the other side.

  19

  Things were testy with Angela ever since their argument at practice the week before, but Geo took Calvin’s advice and kept her distance. Angela lived for drama, some of it real and most of it imagined, and it was best to let her cool off.

  On the third day, unable to stand it any longer, Geo worked up the courage to ring Angela’s doorbell after school, two Slurpees from the 7-Eleven in hand. Grape for Angela, of course. Blue raspberry for Geo.

  She wasn’t entirely surprised when Kaiser opened the door. The poor guy had been trying to get them to speak to each other since their fight, without success.

  “Thank fucking god,” he said when he saw her. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Where’s Ang?”

  “In the kitchen, looking in the fridge at food she won’t allow herself to eat. She’s doing her whole ‘I’m so fat’ thing right now. Come on in.” He stood aside to let Geo in, nodding his approval at the oversize containers filled with artificially flavored slush. “She might drink that, though. Where’s my Big Gulp?”

  “Didn’t know you’d be here.” She stepped in and stood in the entryway awkwardly, unsure what to do. Angela came around the corner, stopping in her tracks when she saw Geo.

  “Peace offering?” Geo said, holding out the grape Slurpee. She must have been squeezing too hard, because the lid popped off and grape slush seeped out the top and onto her hand.

  “Oh, nice. Come on in and make a mess, why don’t you.” Angela had her high-horse voice going, as if nobody had ever spilled anything before.

  Kaiser looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’ll get some paper towels,” he said, backing away. “When I get back in thirty seconds, I fully expect that the two of you will have made up, because you’re both killing me right now.”

  Angela rolled her eyes, and Kaiser disappeared down the hallway.

  “I came by to bring you this.” Geo offered her the Slurpee. It was dripping onto the floor, but Angela didn’t take it. “And to say that I’m sorry. Everything you said was right. I haven’t been myself lately, and that needs to change. I’ve been a shitty friend.”

  “Yes, you’ve been a bitch,” Angela stated bluntly. Then her demeanor softened. “But I guess I was, too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you in front of the other girls. That wasn’t cool.”

  “Thank god,” Kaiser said, coming back with a towel. “Is the Great Fight of St. Martin’s finally over?” He took Angela’s drink and wiped it, then handed Geo the towel so she could clean the floor.

  “Shut up, Kai,” Angela said absently. The two girls stared at each other. Finally, Angela shrugged and took the Slurpee, taking a long sip. “Yeah. Okay. It’s over.”

  “Hug it out,” Kaiser said. When they didn’t move, he engulfed them both in a bear hug. Skinny arms wrapped around them, squeezing them tight, and the three of them stood like that for a moment. Nobody said anything.

  Then, Kaiser being Kaiser, he ruined it. “Every man’s fantasy, right here,” he quipped. “Ang, where’s your camera? Let’s take a picture.”

  They broke apart, and Angela smacked him on the arm. But she was smiling, and so was Geo. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed this, the weird and comforting dynamic of the three of them. Angela’s camera was in the kitchen, and Kaiser grabbed it, taking a picture of them together in the hallway mirror.

  “I’m ordering pizza,” he announced, traipsing back down the hallway. There was a phone in the living room. The two girls exchanged a look and followed.

  They spent the next few hours eating Domino’s and fooling around with Angela’s new camera. It was a brand-new Nikon, something her father had won in a golf tournament but had no use for, and which he’d bestowed upon his daughter as if he’d picked out the gift on purpose. They snapped a bunch of silly pictures
, wasting film, until Kaiser had to go.

  “He likes you,” Angela said when he was gone. They were up in her bedroom now, listening to one of her mix tapes. Pearl Jam, Alanis Morissette, No Doubt. “And not just as a friend.”

  “I know,” Geo said, feeling a little bad.

  “He hates Calvin.”

  “I know,” she said again, and this made her feel worse.

  Geo had met Kaiser on the first day of freshman year at St. Martin’s. He sat behind her in science, and wouldn’t stop kicking the back of her chair, even though she’d turned around and glared at him twice. After class, he followed her down the hallway, a little too closely. She was about to accuse him of bothering her, until she realized his locker was right beside hers. He spent the rest of the year annoying the hell out of her, but along the way, she learned to accept his friendship. He gave it so damned freely, with no expectation of anything in return except kindness.

  Angela didn’t know what to do with Kaiser at first. His social status was only barely acceptable thanks to his prowess on the soccer field and basketball court, and he’d have been reasonably cute if he didn’t have acne on his jaw. And braces. But over time, he grew on her, too. He was mild-mannered and unassuming, and he laughed at her jokes.

  “He’s thinking of dating someone now,” Angela said. She was lying upside down on the bed, her legs resting against the headboard. Geo was sitting on the carpet, legs crossed, near the stereo. “Now that you’re with Calvin and there’s officially no hope.” Angela paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Barb Polanco.”

  “Backseat Barbie?” Geo was horrified. “No. You tell him no way.”

  “I’m not telling him shit,” her friend said with a laugh. “Au contraire. I told him to go for it. The guy deserves to get laid.”

  Geo knew Barb a little bit from gym class, and the truth was, she didn’t think the girl was a slut at all. It was a nasty rumor started by Barb’s ex-boyfriend after she dumped him, and Geo felt slightly ashamed for saying the unfortunate nickname out loud. Deep down, she knew why she did.

  She was a tiny little bit jealous. She’d never had to share Kaiser with anyone but Angela, and even so, not really.

  Out loud, she said, “You’re right. It’s great. Good for him.”

  Angela rolled over to look at her. “So you don’t care? I thought you liked that he pines for you. If he has a girlfriend, he won’t be around as much.” She frowned. “You know what? Now that I think about it, you both suck. I would never ignore either of you for a guy.”

  Geo couldn’t argue. Because it was true. God knows Angela had her flaws—she was moody, critical, and bossy as hell—but not once had she ever allowed a boy to come between them. And that was saying a lot, considering how many boys she had chasing her at any one time. What Geo had been doing with Calvin was a direct violation of girl code, a big offense. She had a lot of making up to do.

  “You were right about my head being up my ass.” She joined Angela on the bed, propping her legs up on the headboard as well. “Our fight … that was a wake-up call. I don’t want to throw my whole life away for a guy. My grades are slipping, my dad doesn’t know anything about Calvin, and I’ve been lying to him about where I go … and now I’m off cheer. It’s got to stop. It’s just, I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. You know me, Ang. I don’t go crazy. I don’t get stupid. But with Calvin, I can’t control it. I want to be with him all the time, and I know it’s not healthy.”

  “You guys had sex yet?” Angela asked, her voice casual.

  “No!”

  “Seriously?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “I figured all the orgasms were messing with your brain.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t having orgasms,” Geo said, her face reddening instantly. She had never been completely comfortable discussing sex, even with Angela, who had lost her virginity the year before and was completely open to talking about it. It felt even weirder because it was Calvin. She loved him, and she believed that certain things should stay private. However, she sensed that holding back about her relationship with him was not the way to go, considering the problems it had already caused. Geo was the one who had changed, who had shut Angela out. She had to let her best friend be part of what was happening with her boyfriend. “We do … other stuff.”

  “Does he go down on you?” Angela’s grin was knowing and wicked.

  “Ang,” Geo said, pained, but a few seconds later, she pulled a pillow over her face. “Yes.” Her voice was muffled. “All the time. He … he likes it.”

  Angela cackled. “No wonder you disappeared. But I get it. Has he tried talking you into going all the way?”

  Geo moved the pillow. “No, actually. He says it should only happen when I’m ready. And I think I’m getting there.”

  “You only get one first time,” Angela said, her voice matter-of-fact. “Don’t do what I did and waste it on the wrong person.”

  A comfortable silence fell between them, and Geo couldn’t help but smile. It was starting to feel like it used to, and she was grateful for the second chance. It only proved she was happier when she had her shit together. Her grades, for instance, needed to be the focus from now on. She had midterms coming up, and she couldn’t afford to blow it.

  “Bring Calvin to the party at Chad’s this Friday,” Angela said. “If he wants to be with a sixteen-year-old, then he needs to see what your life is like. No more bullshit compartmentalizing.”

  “I already asked him,” Geo said with a sigh. “He won’t go to any high school parties. He said he’d feel stupid because he’ll be three years older than the oldest guy. So I told him I didn’t want to go bars with him anymore because I hate being five years younger than the youngest girl.” She looked up at the celling. “It’s, uh, something we argue about a lot.”

  “He doesn’t hit you, does he?” Angela said. Her tone was nonchalant, but Geo could detect the concern behind it.

  “What? No.” Geo continued to stare at the ceiling. “Of course not.”

  “Tess said she noticed bruises on your arm during practice a couple weeks ago. She said they looked like fingers, like someone gripped you too hard.”

  “Tess is making shit up because she wants to be your new bestie.” Geo spoke fiercely, glaring at her friend. The bruises were high up on her arm, close to her shoulder, and she hoped that Angela wouldn’t insist on checking. “Anyone with two eyes can see that.”

  Her friend raised an eyebrow. Geo was being too defensive.

  “If he was hitting me, I would tell you,” she said, softening her tone. To her own ears she sounded completely sincere. “I know that shit’s not okay.”

  The sad part was, she did, too.

  Angela was quiet another moment. “Okay,” she said. “Well, if he’s going to be in your life, that means he’s going to be in my life, so I guess I should at least try get to know him. Plan something this weekend so we can all hang out. But not Friday. Friday’s the football game and Chad’s party, and you’re doing both, because we’re fucking sixteen, and that’s the shit we do. Now get up. I’ll help you with your split jump. We have to work off that pizza.”

  “I’m back on the squad?” Geo held her breath.

  “Yes, bitch,” Angela said with a smile. “Now, up. I love you, but your thighs are getting fat, and who else would have the balls to tell you that but me?”

  20

  They both got drunk at Chad’s party. It was unintended—Geo didn’t even like alcohol, but Friday was a long day, and she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Chad Fenton, not a football player or athlete of any kind, was popular at St. Martin’s for exactly two reasons: his epic parties (because his parents were never home) and his fruit punch (because his college dropout brother was happy to buy all his booze).

  It was the fruit that did Geo in. Chad made his infamous punch in a giant plastic paint barrel, adding watermelon, cantaloupe, strawberries, orange slices, and pineapple to water, club soda, and vodka. Lots of vodka. He made it in the morn
ing, so that by the time people started coming over, the fruit was saturated with alcohol. Geo, starving, passed on the beer, but munched on the fruit. By eleven P.M., she was hammered.

  The music was loud and pulsing, Montell Jordan and R. Kelly blasting through speakers set up all around the house. For the first time in months, Geo felt like herself. She was surrounded by people her own age, listening to music she liked, not feeling like she had to apologize for being too young or too busy with school. It was funny how when she was around Calvin, she felt like a totally different person. And while she liked who she was around him—sexy, slightly out of control—she liked being this person, too.

  Still, she missed him.

  She had no idea where Angela ended up, and she wandered around the large house for a few minutes trying not to look as drunk as she felt. She eventually found her best friend in the den at the back of the house. She was nestled in the lap of Mike Bennett, St. Martin’s starting quarterback, her short dress hiked up to expose her long, lean thighs. Geo was wearing a similar dress, but everything always looked better on Angela.

  Geo watched them kiss for a few seconds, more amused than surprised. The two had an on-again, off-again relationship, and the on times seemed to be more out of obligation to their respective statuses as the football star and cheer captain—people assumed they should date, so they did.

  However, Angela was pretty damn sure Mike was gay. He sometimes lost his erection with her—something she swore never happened with any other guy—and a few months ago, in his bedroom, she’d found a gay porn magazine tucked in his gym bag under the bed. When she’d confronted him, he’d laughed it off, saying that one of the guys on the team must have stuck it there as a joke. She’d broken it off shortly after.

  “I’m nobody’s beard,” she’d told Geo. “But he is the quarterback. If I don’t have anyone to go to prom with, it’ll be him.”

  You would never guess he was gay now, the way his tongue was rammed down her friend’s throat. Geo headed over to the two of them, the room spinning a bit, and almost tripped on the way there. She tapped Angela on the shoulder.