It’s hard to determine which is worse: the couples who fall all over themselves and each other to prove their undying love that will likely end before the balloons run out of helium or the singles who lavish each other with chocolates and roses in some ritualistic show of unity and strength that would end in an instant if anyone showed a hint of interest.
Right now, my aunt belting out bubblegum pop love songs downstairs loud enough that it’s trickling its way all the way up to my attic room ranks right up there. I know nothing I can do will make her stop, so I give up my efforts to just sleep my way through the holiday. Getting dressed, I walk downstairs and find her in a vibrant pink and red dress in front of the stove. She picks up a plate beside her and flips pancakes onto it. When she slides them into the middle of the kitchen table, I see they are the shape of hearts.
“Adorable,” I tell her.
She grins at me and comes up to plant a kiss in the middle of my forehead.
“Don’t try to pretend you forgot about our Valentine’s Day pancake tradition,” she smiles. “It might have been a few years since I made them for you, but with you living with me, I’m not going to skip this year.”
“I remember,” I nod. “But now I have my own personal Valentine’s Day tradition I’d really like to honor.”
She’s still dancing as she drizzles syrup down over the pancakes.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“Skipping school so I can avoid all the sickening Hallmark explosions.”
“Good try, but no. I promised your father if he let you come here to spend your last semester, you would go to school and do well. This is part of life, Talon. You don’t get to just skip out on parts of life because you don’t have the patience for other people,” she tells me.
“My father does,” I point out.
That takes some of the shine right off her, and her dancing falters. The smile on her lips tips down and a distant look filters through her eyes. It’s only there for a few seconds, though, before she pushes it away and dives right back into Valentine’s Day splendor.
“Not you,” she says. “You are going to be a better person.”
“And being a better person somehow includes going to school on Valentine’s Day and listening to incredibly awkward teenage poetry presented by the school’s acapella group as singing telegrams?”
“Is that really happening?” she cringes.
“During third and fourth period,” I sigh. “With special encore editions in the courtyard during lunch.”
“Well, that’s uncomfortable. Be that as it may, amid all that plush, chocolate, and sparkly glitter, there is education happening. And you’re going to be there for it. Now, eat your pancakes.”
The day doesn’t get a whole lot better when I walk outside and see my motorcycle draped with garlands of bright red hearts. I tear it all off and throw it on the ground. I’m so angry; I almost don’t notice Wren’s car still sitting outside her house. She’s always gone by the time I leave in the morning. Dismissing it as just another girl putting far too much time and effort into getting herself ready for Valentine’s Day, I get on my bike and head to school.
Lisabeth is waiting for me. I never should have gotten linked up with this girl. She’s a lot of fun, especially over the last few weeks of Wren avoiding me like the plague, but after just a few hookups, she’s starting to make Velcro look slippery. As I pull up in my usual parking spot, she jumps toward me in a red sequin mini dress and giant wings in the shape of hearts. Her headband has springs with even more hearts bobbing around, and something black sticks out from her ass. She flings her arms open in an attempt to hug me, but I grab her by her wrists and deflect it.
“Good morning!” she gushes anyway.
“What is this look you have going here?” I ask as I head toward the school building.
“I’m your love bug!” she says. “Let me sting you!”
She turns around and wiggles her hips, so the black cone hanging from her dress bobs around.
“Let’s not,” I mutter, continuing on. She rushes to catch up with me and reaches for my hand. “Look, Lisabeth. I don’t do Valentine’s Day. I don’t do love. I did do you, but I’m over that now. So, why don’t you go ahead and flutter away before I need to bring in a fly swatter?”
She stops, her humiliated cry audible above even the ear-piercing squeals of a gaggle of girls nearby as they exchange roses. I get inside and see Samantha leaned against a set of lockers. She’s in a decently non-holiday outfit and only smiles as I approach. The expression isn’t contagious.
“Did you put that shit all over my bike?” I demand.
“It was supposed to be a joke,” she offers.
“Not funny. I told you not to touch it.”
Without waiting for a response, I storm down the hallway toward first period. Every step further into the building fills me with more aggression and frustration. When I see Isaiah in front of me, I nearly snap. Then I realize Wren isn’t with him. He looks forlorn, holding a bouquet of daisies and a purple heart-shaped balloon and staring down at his phone. I start to walk past him, and he steps in my path.
“Where is she?” he asks.
I look him up and down. “What’s wrong? Lose your girlfriend?”
“Where is she?” he asks again.
“How the hell am I supposed to know? Just because she lives next door doesn’t mean I keep tabs on her.”
“You seemed more than happy to keep tabs on her when you first got here.”
“If you can’t find your girl, that’s on you. I didn’t do shit. I haven’t even spoken a word to her for more than a month. I suggest you step down and do a little inward thinking about why Valentine’s Day might be the day she decides to give you the slip,” I glower.
I walk around him and end up in the trig classroom. The entire place smells like milk chocolate and desperation. Someone took a bath in cheap body spray in an effort to lure a mate, and some girl is sobbing in the back row because her boyfriend gave her white roses instead of red. I can’t fucking wait until I can get out of this place. Four more months. Just four more months and I can go back to Atlanta for the summer before college starts.
The thought isn’t enough to keep my eyes from flickering over to Wren’s empty seat. It stays empty for the first ten minutes of class. Finally, I stand up and scoop my backpack off the floor.
“Mr. Whittaker, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to visit the nurse.”
“Too many conversation hearts this morning, Talon?” he asks, bursting into laughter.
It’s hard to take a middle-aged man seriously when he’s wearing a Cupid costume over his clothes. I force a tight smile.
“Maybe that’s it,” I say.
“Well, go on.”
I walk out of the classroom and head directly for the back doors of the school. I did what I promised Aunt Bree. I went to school. There were no specifications for how long I had to stay. Her car is gone when I get back to the house. Valentine’s Day is big for crafting supplies, apparently.
I stop my bike and climb off, then notice Wren’s car is still where it was before I left for school. It shouldn’t matter. What she does doesn’t concern me. Let her boyfriend worry about her. I shove down another surge of jealousy and storm inside. In my room, I’m pulled to the window and look out into Wren’s bedroom below. Everything is still pristine pink and white, except for the bright red form of Wren curled up in the middle of her bed.