Page 129 of The Breakup Artists

“Exactly!” she says. “Yell.”

I clench my jaw.

“Yell, August,” she repeats. “Look at that tree and yell!”

“I’m not—”

“Unless you want me to have this conversation with you on repeat until the end of time, you will yell at that tree. You will yell to your sister. And you willstopblaming yourself.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyebrows, desperate to be anywhere but here. But she just grabs my wrist and pulls me to the tree, placing my palm over the scar Kyle’s car left in its trunk.

My mind screams at me to pull away, to take my hand back and leave, but I don’t. I just stand there, frozen, with my hand pressed into the cool bark, bent and twisted from the fender. And something inside me uncoils—the crack that formed while arguing with my dad suddenly expands, fissuring my self-control,my Wall, as Tiny called it. And I do scream. I scream Des’s name, loud and long and broken. I scream until my throat burns and my eyes pour onto my cheeks. I scream until I have nothing left.

65

valentine

August and I spend the rest of the night screaming at the tree, shouting to Des. When we’re too exhausted to stand, we collapse in the grass, chests rising and falling with the effort. And then slowly, quietly, we begin to speak—voices nearly gone—and tell stories. Stories about Des, our childhood, and what it was like after she left.

To say we loved her is as inadequate a description as saying the sun is yellow. We worshipped her, followed her everywhere. And she was the type of older sister who let us, who didn’t make us feel small and stupid but would wrap an arm around our shoulders and say things like “Two goddamn creative geniuses. I swear. If I grow up to be half as interesting or funny as you two, I’ll have achieved all my personality goals.” And the admiration was mutual, because Des was larger than life, a bright spark in a dark night. She made you feel good about yourself with a smile or feel seen with a gesture. People used to joke she was town mayor, but in a way it was true.

As the sun starts to rise and a brilliant red line forms over the trees, we sink into silence once more, lying back in the cool morning grass.

“Thanks,” August says, quietly looking up at the glowing sky.

And I slip my hand into his like I used to when we were little. He squeezes it. Once again we’re August and Tiny, best friends extraordinaire who face the world together. No Wall, no silence. Just us.

66

valentine

Something shakes my arm and I groan.

“Valentine,” my mom says.

“I’m not human,” I croak. “I need like four more hours.” I sent them a text last night, several actually, telling them where I was and apologizing for being out so late. I’m not stupid—I literally just got un-reflective-period-ed or whatever.

“Valentine, we’ve come from the doctor’s,” Mom says.

I sit up so fast that my room sways. “What? Now? What did she say?”

Mom takes a seat on my bed, and Dad stands on my white carpet.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” I sputter before she can get a word out.

Mom pushes stray hair out of my eyes. “While there are no guarantees that this won’t be a challenging pregnancy in all the normal ways, the doctor says that the tests look good. That the baby and I both look healthy.”

“Best news I’ve ever gotten,” Dad adds.

For a second, I just stare at them, trying to make sense of their words.My mom’s okay, I repeat in my head. And the moment the idea takes root, my throat tightens. I try to swallow, but there’s no stopping it; I start sobbing.

“Oh, honey,” Mom says, pulling me into her and wrapping her arms around my back. “I know it’s all overwhelming—”

“It’s not that,” I cry into her shoulder. “I thought you were going to die. I thought something happened—” But I can’t go on because it’s too awful to say.

“Where on earth did you get an idea like that?” Mom holds me tight, but I can feel her head turn to look at my dad.

“I heard you guys arguing about it,” I say between stuttered breaths.