How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,19
the bar.
“He said you weren’t together.”
“Well, we are, but I don’t know why.” What am I doing? “He’s pretty rotten. He loves seeing other guys flirt with me, and he knows I get embarrassed, but he does it anyway. It like, turns him on.”
“Ew.”
“I know.”
“So he set me up?”
“He set us both up. It’s one of his sick little power games.”
“Wow. Uh…okay. Sorry.” He shoots a dark glance in Abel’s direction. Abel gives him a goofy thumbs-up. “’Scuse me.”
I’m not proud of myself while Ian’s bitching out Abel. I thought it would be more satisfying, but instead it just feels like that time in the sacristy when I blamed Pete Mertz for knocking over the Communion wine. The more Abel protests, all cartoony wasn’t-me flailing, the more pissed off Ian gets. He finally leaves the bar, slamming the door behind him.
Abel clomps to our table. Tank Top Guy smirks.
I get a whack on the head with the heel of his hand.
“That was mean, Brandon!”
“Ow.”
“Listen, toolbox: I don’t know what head games you and Zander used to play, but I don’t do that shit. C’est compris?”
“Yeah…” Cartoon stars, little birdies of pain. I deserve them.
“What kind of person are you? Seriously?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, what—you get your heart smashed one time by one loser and you think you get to be Mayor of Doucheville the rest of your life? Because let me tell you something, absolutely no one’s going to—oh, shut up!”
He yanks his buzzing phone from his pocket. Beer sizzles in my stomach; I’m not used to making people mad. Get out of this place. Say three Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers.
“Oh.” Abel’s mouth drops open a little. “Oh my.”
“What?”
He taps the phone screen. “Nothing.”
“Tell me!”
“We got a text. From Bec.” He sighs. “Don’t freak, okay?”
He turns the screen around.
NEW HELL BELLS POST @CADSIM COMM
OMG FREAKY
HURRY B4 THEY DELETE IT
Chapter Seven
“I got a screencap. Don’t worry.”
By the time we get to the Cadsim fanjournal on Abel’s phone, the Post of Doom’s been blipped into oblivion. Bec’s prepared, though. When the cab drops us off near our SavMart campsite, she’s waiting for us in the doorway of the Sunseeker with her glasses on and her hair in a she-means-business bun.
“It was so dramatic, you guys.” She yanks us inside and locks the door. “They all attacked like, the second she posted. It was like a steak in a shark tank.”
She points to the laptop. Onscreen is another post by hey_mamacita, featuring a brand-new photo of me and Abel. New as in taken this afternoon, at the Q&A, without our knowledge. It’s a shot of our backs. We’re standing in front of the pull-down screen, watching the fanvids. There’s a very, very creepy graphic overlay on the photo: a big circle with a cross inside it.
Like we’re peering at ourselves through a gunsight.
HELL BELLS ARE RINGING
THANK YOU CLEVELAND SPY
WE ARE WATCHING YOU BOYS!!
(BFC = coming very VERY soon.) Under that:
cavegrrl94: MAXIE THIS IS IT. BAN HER NOW.
willabelle: uugggghhhhh this whole thing is SO vile and hideous. I’m actually concerned, you guys. I thought it was all a joke but now I think they’re FOR REAL.
mrs.j.cadmus: whatever. i used to hate the hell bells thing but now I’m like screw it, have at ‘em
willabelle: Still, guys. I know we’re all extra angry after today, but Brandon and Abel are people too.
illumina: THEY ARE NOT PEOPLE THEY ARE HEARTLESS GOONS AND DESERVE ETERNAL FIERY TORMENT.
Another sign. Are you listening yet? says Father Mike.
“They took our picture,” says Abel. “Three feet away.”
What else will they do?
“This is hardcore. We have organized haters.” Abel clasps his hands. “You guys?”
“What.”
He sighs dreamily. “I’m so proud!”
I stand without knowing where I’m going. Dishes. Perfect. They stack up so fast. I go to the sink and fill it halfway with water, hot as I can stand it, and three pumps of Mom’s lemon dish soap. Then I grab a clean sponge and start scrubbing. Hard.
Abel stage-whispers, “What’s with him?”
“I don’t know,” Bec says softly.
“Brandon?”
I don’t answer. I plunge a plate in the little basin and Abel’s disgusting chili remnants dissolve in the white cloud of suds. He’s saying something to Bec. Something I don’t want to hear, about time alone with me or whatever. I try to clearly communicate my wishes to her with the side of my head, but our telepathy isn’t what it used to be, because she gets up from the table and slips out the door.