The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

72. Caleb

"So what do you say? Do you want to go?" I asked bracing myself for the inevitable eye roll but it never came. Santana sat fidgeting with her key chain—a fish made of orange beads—not listening.

"Santana?"

"What's that?" She looked up, squinting as the sun blinded her. We sat atop the bleachers, an awkward place for me since below was where Farrah and I would usually meet, but Santana had insisted. It was far away enough from the school that we wouldn't be overheard, which was the main reason Farrah and I liked it here. I pushed the thought out of my head and focused on the confused girl in front of me.

"Is everything okay?" I asked. Her long hair was picked up high on her head, and I could see her exposed neck, long and tan. Her pulse beat in the center of her throat the way mine did when I was anxious.

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cause you've been playing with that thing for a good ten minutes while I babble about this party thing."

"What party?"

"The one at Farrah's," I said and I could tell she knew I was getting annoyed. It wasn't her, or the fact that she wasn't listening. The way her mom showed up out of nowhere had obviously taken its toll. She didn't tell me straight out, but it was obvious, and now I wasn't so sure she would agree to come with me to the party. "You know what? Forget it. It's not a big deal."

"I don't know, Caleb. Are you sure she said 'invite,' and not, 'bring along as a sacrifice?'"

I snorted and shook my head. At least she was listening. "I'm pretty sure you're the guest of honor."
"Yay, me."

"If anyone had a reason to be afraid of that, it was me back when you dragged me to Zealand's party." I thought back on that day and how angry I'd been when she had ditched me. For a second, I had thought she'd left me with a mob of angry kids with a chip on their shoulder and an out for the rich doctor's son.

I looked up and she was smiling, shaking her head. "You know, I think that was the first time I realized you were a real person and not just a plastic Ken doll."

"Ouch."

"I'm serious." Her smile turned into something else, something bolder, but I didn't understand why. "The way you helped with Marlow—I could've sworn she was going to die—but there you were being all heroic like you love to be. At first, I thought it was some kind of gimmick, but it's just you."

Heat crept up my face as she looked at me with her big eyes like she'd never done before. Maybe she had, and I'd never noticed. I remembered that night too. I remembered it often. It was instinct to help, but seeing the hopeless look on Santana's face had been what propelled me into action. Since the day she agreed to help when Farrah hit her with the hose, since I'd seen the bruise around her eye, I'd just wanted to protect her. Never in my life would I tell her that, though. She'd probably throw the feminist manifesto at my face and burn down my house with her bra.

And I'd love it.

Her hands were back to fiddling with the fish.

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"You went away for a second."

"Away is my favorite place to go," she sighed. "Yes. I'll go."

"Really? I mean, you don't have to—"

"I know. I'll go. I want to." Her cold hand grabbed mine and squeezed.

I waited for a second before replying. Waited for her smile and when it came, I was sure she meant it. To say she was beautiful wasn't fitting. Yes, she was lovely, but most importantly, she looked happy. Her eyes were wide and bright and her smile timid. She didn't need a toothy grin to show me how happy she felt. Her smiles were quiet, secret, but they were mine.