The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,6
so good.”
“That’s what she said,” he replied, so automatically and smugly and insufferably that I remembered why I had just, albeit accidentally, pushed him over.
“You are the worst, Ephraim O’Connor.”
“I’m not the one who tried to kill me.” He zipped and shouldered his bag, effectively ending the dinosaur conversation.
“Hardly.”
He squinted, pushing his hair off his face and back under his hat. “Come to the park with me.”
“Apologize.”
He let out this long, aggrieved sigh, dug in the outside pocket of his bag, and tossed me a small, red-orange-wrapped square.
“Your surprise.”
I barely caught it.
“Holy cow, where did you get this?” I breathed, holding it reverently in both hands.
Dark chocolate Kit Kats were my favorite candy in the entire world, nectar of perfection, the candy of the gods, rarely found in stores in the US and usually enjoyed only when my dad brought them back through customs at Heathrow. Finding them in person in New York City was like finding the holy grail.
“Bodega in the West Village. Now come to the park with me?”
I thought of the tiny dinosaurs I’d seen in his notebook, imagined them standing on his shoulders, protecting the secret parts of him, the parts that still believed in dinosaurs.
“Okay, apology accepted,” I said, turning toward the park. “For now.”
Anne of Green Gables, book
Anne of Green Gables, liber
1908
New York, New York
Cat. No. 201X-3
Gift of Jane Marx
“SO FRENCH CLUB IS SPONSORING a monthlong trip to Paris this summer,” Audrey said, sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed.
“That’s cool.” I tossed her the giant bag of M&M’S we’d grabbed at the bodega and dropped my book bag on the floor.
“I have to go. My dad said if I can save half, he’ll chip in the rest. I figure an August spent immersed in everything French will be killer on my college applications. Besides, it’ll help take my mind off not being at Gram’s.”
I sighed, flopping down next to her. After Audrey’s grandfather passed away peacefully last year, her grandma Mary had decided she’d spend one more summer at their house on Lake George before moving to a retirement community in Pleasantville, making the past August that Audrey, Eph, and I had spent there with her our last.
“What am I going to do without you for a whole month?” I asked.
“You’ll survive.” She opened up the bag and leaned over it, inhaling deeply. “Oh man, never disappoints.”
She handed it to me, and I sighed, smelling the chocolate too. Her grandmother had taught us the trick during one of our summer trips—how smelling an entire jumbo bag of M&M’S was almost better than eating the candy itself.
“Or better yet, why don’t you come with me to Paris?” Her face brightened as the idea started to take shape. “You and me and Cherisse can share a triple. All you have to do is join French Club. And start saving.”
“Aud, I take Spanish,” I said, not mentioning that if Cherisse was going to Paris, I’d rather spend next August on NYC garbage patrol. I hugged a pillow against my chest. “French Club no es bueno.”
“But you don’t have to speak French to join French Club. It’s more about the culture and food and movies—next week we’re watching this classic black-and-white French film about a girl who drives all around Paris on a Vespa with her cat in a shoulder bag. Doesn’t that sound fun?” She flopped down on her stomach next to me, propping an elbow up. “Besides, it’s a good way to meet cool people.”
Like Cherisse, I thought with an inner grimace.
“Like Cherisse!” Audrey said brightly.
“I don’t need to meet new people. I have you and Eph,” I reminded her.
She started to say something, thought better of it, and started again. “It can’t be the three of us forever, Pen.”
“Sure it can!” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me we’re breaking up?” I folded my arms in a mock huff.
“No, I’m trying to say—” she began earnestly.
“It’s been great getting to know me, but you want to spend time with other people?”
She ignored me. “That expanding our social circle is really important, and I—”
“Our social triangle isn’t fulfilling all your needs?”
“I love you and Eph, but sometimes—”
“It’s you, not us?”
“Shut up!” she yelled, scooping up Barnaby, my favorite stuffed animal of indeterminate species origin (Dog? Bear? Unknown) and winging him right at my head.
“Ow,” I said. “I would have thought by now you’d have learned firsthand the dangers of toys around heads, young lady.”
She grimaced. “Tom and