The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,68

the bad pun. “That’s some Theodore Marx humor right there.”

“What can I say, I have good taste.” He kicked the floor in his scuffed boots, not making eye contact.

“Wanna go see the exhibit?”

When we got to the central room, it was packed, people drinking from champagne glasses, chattering excitedly, enjoying the socializing, and not paying a single bit of attention to anything about the dinosaur circulatory system. I was glad my dad wasn’t in the room. It would have made him so angry.

Eph tilted his head toward the main attraction, and when we got there, we leaned over, looking at Willo—the dinosaur with a heart-not-heart. Its skeleton was oddly curled in on itself, almost in the fetal position, its legs tangled, like it was disoriented, confused, trying to protect the brown clump in the middle of its rib cage.

“You know, it’s actually concretized sand,” an older man said passing by. “They were wrong. That’s the whole point of the exhibit.”

Eph gave an exasperated sigh, muttering something under his breath about people minding their own business.

Of course I knew the old guy was right. But that didn’t mean I still didn’t want to push him over, make him go away.

Because at that moment, standing next to that skeleton, more than anything I wanted that rusty clump in Willo’s fossil to be a heart.

I wanted to believe that, even though this dinosaur had existed centuries and centuries ago, its heart had pushed and pumped blood through its limbs like mine, that there was something vulnerable and tender in its leathery skin, that something of that heart still remained.

“Your dad did a nice job with the exhibit, Pen,” Eph said.

“Yeah, he did,” I said, leaning on the railing, unable to take my eyes away from Willo.

“Hey, there’s my mom.”

Ellen was on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd, her red hair glowing in the light of the room, like she was one of the exhibits.

“Mom!” Eph called her over.

“Hey, guys. Happy belated birthday, Penelope! You and your parents still coming over Monday night to celebrate?” I nodded, and she turned to Eph. “Have you seen your dad? There’s a major donor who wants to meet him. You think he’s in his office?”

“I haven’t seen him, but we can look,” Eph said.

“Great. If you find him, send him down to the main lobby. I’ll keep making the rounds down here.”

Eph and I walked through the crowd until we found the private staff door in the back of the room. The noise of the party behind us dulled to a murmur as the door clicked behind us.

The ensuing silence of the hall felt unbelievably loud.

“So what’d you do for your birthday?” Eph asked over his shoulder.

“Keats had dinner with us.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool,” Eph said. He turned forward. “Yep, cool.”

I frowned at his back. Since when did Eph use the word “cool” three times in a row?

“He got me a gold necklace. It was really thoughtful.”

He stopped, dismayed.

“A necklace?”

“Um, yeah, a necklace?” I said, echoing his tone of voice.

“Oh,” he said, face falling.

“But I’m wearing my good-luck subway token,” I said, holding up the chain. “It goes better with my outfit anyway.”

“That’s cool.” He stalked down the hall, his pace faster this time, and I sped up.

“What’s with you tonight?” I asked.

“Nothing. You and Keats make up from the other day?” he asked, not looking at me.

“What other day?”

“The Nevermore launch.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Cool.”

Five times.

When we got to George’s office, it was unlocked but empty, the lights off.

“Not here,” I said.

The corners of Eph’s mouth curled, the start of a crooked smile. “Want to go to the attic?”

“We can’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s locked.”

In one uninterrupted move he slid open the top drawer in his dad’s desk and dangled a ring of keys in front of me.

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble . . . ,” I started, but Eph was already out of the office, jogging down the hall to the stairway.

The second floor was pretty dark—the only illumination coming from the basic utility lighting marking exits and entrances—and we couldn’t hear the sound of the party anymore, only the creaking of the building in the wind. We were in one of the older sections, where my dad’s office was. Everything was wooden—the old drawers and bookcases, the doors and desks. My dad even had one of those crazy old iron moving ladders for his top shelves.

Eph cleared his throat. “Remember when I kept insisting there was a real dinosaur who lived here and roamed the