When The Heart Heals

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Book excerpt

Chapter 1

January 2001

Central High School

I don’t like Alyssa Miller, Drew thought, scowling as he waited for the teacher to stop talking. His eyes skated over the object of his disapproval.

I suppose, objectively, that there’s probably nothing wrong with the girl. She’s certainly pretty enough, with a mane of silky, strawberry blonde hair, a heart-shaped face with turquoise eyes, soft rosebud lips, and a slender, waif-like figure. Not that I’ve been looking, of course.

No, there’s just something about her personality that rubs me the wrong way. I can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but from early elementary, whenever we had class together (which was often, as they'd always attended the same school), we teased, made fun of, and generally tried as hard as possible to make each other miserable. And now, as seniors in high school, our stupid A.P. English teacher is assigning us to work together on a major project that will count for a quarter of their semester grade.

It’s bad luck really. How did the two of us – only us – both end up being absent on the day when groups were selected? And what a project it is: exploring theater, from Ancient Greece through the modern era, and our topic is the use of romance in plays. If there was one thing Drew did not want to talk to Alyssa about, it was romance.

“Mrs. Thompson, he begged, and his voice, he noticed, was no longer pitched for whining. The deep tone sounded collected and professional. Good. “Mrs. Thompson, can’t I please with Adam and Jamal instead? I don’t like romance. War is much more interesting to me, so I’ll do a better job. You’ll see. We’ll have the best project in your class… in all your classes. I promise.

“I'm sorry, Drew.” Mrs. Thompson said, her chins jiggling as she shook her head “But a group of three is too big for this project. I want you to work with Alyssa.”

“I don't like her,” he argued. Though his tone suggested calm, inwardly he raged. “She doesn't like me either. There's no way we can work together. It would be a disaster.”

She closed one eye halfway, in that oh please look all teachers seemed to have. “Listen, Drew, sometimes in life, we have to work with people we don't like. Do you think I enjoy the company of every other teacher in this school? The real disaster would be if you two refused to do this project and got a bad grade for the whole semester. You're not changing groups. Make peace with it and get to work.”

Muttering under his breath, Drew returned grumpily to the desk where Alyssa was sitting, along the wall under a large poster of a bear with paws over its face groaning about forgotten homework. Mrs. Thompson seems to love those kinds of decorations. They dominate every wall of the whitewashed classroom. “Sorry, Miller,” he said in a sarcastic drawl. “No go. She won't let us switch.”

“Shit,” Alyssa whispered.

“No kidding,” Drew agreed at normal volume. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'll be damned if I get a bad grade in this class. We'll have to make it work somehow.”

She leaned her head back against the wall in defeat. “I guess. I need a scholarship pretty bad, so I have to keep my grades up, and pass the A.P. exam too.”

Drew didn't respond. I’d like a scholarship, he thought, but I probably won’t need one. Dad can afford to send me to college if I live at home, but since my first pick is in town, that will be easy. He turned his attention to his nemesis – now his project partner – and considered what the statement might mean about her. I knew Alyssa was a little poor, but she always seemed all right. It struck him how much worse off she suddenly looked. Her clothes are shabbier than I recall, and that cheap makeup isn’t doing her skin any favors. A twinge of pity snaked its way through his insides. Uh oh. Can’t have that. It’s too much fun teasing her. I don’t want to give that up.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes, suddenly determined. “Well, Peterson, let's brainstorm. What kind of project do you want to do?”

He shrugged, not yet finished being annoying. “I don't know. What do you think?”

She frowned at his obvious attempt to push the decision making back on her, but gamely stuck to the topic, suggesting, “A diorama? I think I have an old shoebox.” She began to sketch on the notebook with a purple pen.

“Naw.” He dismissed her thoughts with a wave, plucking the pen from her fingers. “That's pretty middle school. What about a commercial?”

“What kind of commercial?” she asked in a hard voice, narrowing her brilliant turquoise eyes.

He grinned at her annoyance. She didn’t appreciate the middle school comment. Then he stopped teasing her and got down to business.

“Like, what if all our plays represent romantic getaways,” he mimed quotation marks in the air, “each one with a caution, like those medicine commercials. We could talk about passionate Ancient Greece, where you can marry your mother, but the side effect could be gouging your eyes out, Venice, specializing in the interracial scene, like in Othello…”

“But you have to watch out for treacherous friends. Good idea.” He could see Alyssa starting to get inspired. Her hard expression had softened, and her eyes were sparkling. “And how about a cruise, like in that Eugene O'Neill play, but you could end up…”

“In the zoo.” They both laughed.

“I hate to say it, Peterson,” she admitted, grabbing her pen out of his hand, “but you do sometimes come up with a good one. Let's do it.”

“You know what would make it even better?” His enthusiasm sparked higher at his next clever inspiration.

“What?”

“If we recorded it on a video and played it for the class.”

Alyssa got quiet, her smile inverting itself as the sparkle faded from her eyes.

“What's up, Miller?” he asked, wondering what had deflated her high spirits.

“Do you have a video camera?”

What a strange question. “No, but I think we can rent one.”

“I can't afford it.” Her pale cheeks turned pink.

It was a perfect opportunity to make fun of her, but for some reason, he didn't want to do it. Teasing her about her dimple is one thing, he reasoned to himself, but Dad always told me not to be cruel to people. Making fun of this girl for being poor is ungentlemanly. He refrained. “Well, the camera was my idea, so I'll take charge of renting it. How about if you work on the script?” She is a good writer, that much I know. After all, we’ve been competing for top marks since we realized grades were something to fight over.

It would have been a great opportunity for her to make a cutting comment to him, about buying his 'A', but she didn't. “That sounds fair,” Alyssa said, and then, with a touch of intensity in her voice. “Thank you, Drew.”

They never called each other by their first names, and he knew what she was trying to say, without really saying it… that she understood why he had said what he said, and she appreciated his kindness.

“You're welcome, Alyssa.”

She gave him a little smile and leaned over the notebook to start working on the script. She kept running ideas past him the entire period, some that, even as she spoke them aloud, both could see wouldn't work. Others were so funny they had him roaring with laughter, to the point where the teacher had to tell him to calm down several times. He had never had so much fun in English class, at least not while working on his lesson, and it shocked the hell out of him. Stubbornly, he reminded himself, everyone knows Alyssa’s smart. That’s not the problem, never has been, and I won’t start liking her just because we have to work together.

At last the bell rang.

“Alyssa, do you think you can finish the script this evening?” Drew requested as they gathered their books and pencil cases.

“Maybe. At least, I’ll try,” Alyssa replied. “See you tomorrow. I have to get to choir.”

“Bye.” He waved, friendly in a way that would have shocked him, had he taken the time to consider it.

As Drew made his way down the red and white tiled hallway, Dave and Jamal came up behind him, nudging him with their shoulders. “Looks like working with Alyssa is going to be okay after all,” Dave commented.

“Yeah, you too seem almost like… friends,” Jamal added.

“I’m not going to screw up my grade just because it’s Alyssa,” Drew shot back, trying to sound grumpy. “Come on. Physics. If we’re late, Mr. Rodriguez will not be happy.”

“Nerd athletes to class!” Dave shot one letterman-jacket sleeve into the air like some kind of dorky superhero.

“I’m looking forward to A&P this afternoon,” Jamal added, scratching his head. “The cadaver lab is going to be so gross.”

“Maybe if you’re not planning to become a surgeon,” Drew shot back. I need to be able to look at gross things and not get sick.”

“True,” Dave agreed. “I’m not sure why a future PT does. I’m going to stick with the outsides of people, thank you very much.”

“We go because it’s a class requirement, even for future engineers who are only taking A&P to stick together,” Jamal reminded them. “So, let’s get to my favorite class before we’re late and we can debate the use of corpse gawking later.”

The laughed. “Oh, by the way,” Dave added as they neared the physics classroom, “I can’t go to practice today. My mom’s taking me to the orthodontist. Coach Berry already knows, but can you guys remind him?”

“Sure thing,” Drew agreed. “Sorry to hear that though. I’d much rather work on my tackles than get my braces tightened.”

Dave shrugged. “I want to be able to eat pizza on Friday after the game. It’s better to get the pain over with early in the week.”

They ducked into the classroom and took their seats, ready for another lesson. We are a bunch of geeks. Good thing we play football and basketball, or we’d get beat up. Mr. Rodriguez stepped up, the fluorescent lights shining on the bald top of his head and indicated the discussion question on the board.

Throughout the rest of the day, Drew found himself slightly distracted. A soft pink mouth turned up in a smile, a deeply dented cheek, and a pair of sparkling turquoise eyes kept lingering around the edges of his consciousness. He angrily tried to push the images away, but he couldn't do it.

By the next morning, he felt thoroughly grumpy and he wanted someone to blame for it. Alyssa provided a likely target, as it was her fault he was so distracted. He stomped into English class madder than he'd been the day before.

“Well, Miller, did you get the script finished?” He confronted her with a belligerent tone.

“I'm sorry, Drew,” she said softly, “it's not quite done.”

“Why the hell not?” he all but howled. Mrs. Thompson gave him a warning look from across the room.

“I had choir practice after school and then I had to work,” she explained, chewing on her lower lip. “I'll finish it at lunch, I promise. Would you like to see what I've already done?”

Odd, normally she would have fought back. Today she’s answering softly. “Work?” he asked, still feeling aggressive but lowering his volume a bit. He placed his hands on his hips and glared, demanding an explanation.

She blushed, her gaze skating away from his, and she fiddled with the end of her hair. “I'm a cashier at Sophie's Groceries most evenings. Last night I was scheduled from 5:00 to 10:00, but they kept me until 11:30. Then I still had homework due today in two other classes.”

No wonder she had such dark circles under her eyes. The fight went out of Drew. “Why didn't you just tell them you had to go home?” he suggested. “Legally I don't think they can keep you so late on a school night.”

“We need the money.”

We is a strange thing to say. Every other high school student he knew who worked did it to save money to buy a car, or a prom dress, or save for college. I wonder who exactly is spending Alyssa's grocery cashier paycheck. But they weren't friends, and it was none of his business, and so he let it go. “Are you working today?” he asked, returning the conversation to safer territory.

“No, I'm off today. I still have rehearsal though.” She tugged on a strand of strawberry blond hair.

“Until when?” he pushed.

“Until 4:30.”

He nodded. “Okay, I have basketball practice until about then. Can we get together after that and finish the script?”

She shook her head. “I have to go home afterwards. My parents are expecting me.”

Drew sighed, beginning to feel exasperated again. “Call them and let them know.”

“We don't have a phone at the moment,” she admitted her face flushing a dark red color.

He stared, appalled. Who doesn't have a phone? It took a moment of him opening and closing his mouth like a hooked fish before his thoughts could coalesce into an answer. “Okay, how about this? I'll go home with you and we can work on the project together at your place. I can see you don't like that, but listen, Allie, we've got to work on it. I promise to be nice, no matter what, okay?”

“Okay,” Alyssa said, gnawing on her thumbnail, her nerves plainly displayed.

They spent the rest of the period working on the script together.